Gerda and the Red Cloak
No one in the villages scattered along the Rhine or nestled in the Black Forest knew the exact or even approximate age of the peddler. Even the most elderly villagers remembered him as Old Kristof from their childhood days. Oddly, no one questioned that the old man seemed to have stopped aging decades earlier. It was as though he were born an old man and remained one through the years. In the eyes of the people who knew and loved him, he was as timeless as the stories he told.
Forgive me for getting ahead of myself. Let me first introduce you to Old Kristof. Before there were malls, department stores and online shopping, people produced most of the food and goods they needed. For the products they were unable to make or grow themselves, they traded with other villagers. Bartering was common practice: a dozen eggs for two loaves of bread, a gallon of milk for six candles, ten chickens for a new wagon. Of course, there were goods that no one in the surrounding area produced—pots and pans, for instance. These things were brought into the village by men such as Old Kristof, an itinerant peddler who travelled from town to town selling his wares from an old wooden cart drawn by a horse that looked every bit as old as Kristof himself.
The old peddler is not to be pitied because he had no home or family, for in truth he lived as well as his most affluent customers and far better than his poorer ones. When he arrived in a village, he was treated like royalty. He was given the best accommodations available, and the farmers' wives fed him well. You may ask why a simple peddler deserved such splendid treatment. It is because Old Kristof brought with him more than goods to sell. Although a peddler by necessity, he was a storyteller extraordinaire by choice: he sold his wares to live, but lived to tell his tales.
Needless to say, his stories were well received. In a world with few books and newspapers, and no radio and television, folktales were one of the main sources of entertainment, and no one could tell them as well as Old Kristof. A raconteur par excellence, he had a true knack for weaving a plot that captured the listener's attention and held his imagination. The peddler's stories were so popular that they became the basis for fairy tales written by Charles Perrault and, later, the Brothers Grimm.
Now that you are somewhat acquainted with Old Kristof, let us travel to a small village in the Black Forest. It has been at least six months since our peddler last visited this area, and the villagers have eagerly awaited his return. When the racket of his pots and pans clanging together on his cart first announced his arrival, the cobbler, blacksmith and wheelwright came out of their shops to greet him. Before an hour had passed, word spread throughout the village: Old Kristof has returned!
That evening when the farmers came in from the fields, the craftsmen closed up shop, the mothers were done with their housekeeping and children were finished with their chores for the day, dozens of people squeezed into farmer Bachmeier's barn. Old Kristof, the guest of honor, was seated on a milking stool in the center of the spacious building, with one child on his knee and several more sitting at his feet.
Little Leisl, a blond, blue-eyed angel of a child, tugged on Old Kristof's coat for attention.
"What is it, little one?" the peddler asked.
"Tell us a story about a pretty girl."
"A princess?"
"No, not a princess. I want to hear a story about a farmer's daughter, one who is pretty like me."
Old Kristof smiled. He knew just the tale to tell.
* * *
Once upon a time, there lived in a village not far from here, a kindly farmer and his gentle wife. They were simple folk who lived a quiet, uneventful life. Although they worked hard, they never complained, for they had a roof over their heads and food on their table. Above all, they had each other, and they were truly in love. Unlike most other men and women of modest means, they did not envy more prosperous people for their grand homes and fine clothes. They had no need of worldly riches, jewels and furs.
Still, there was one thing missing from their otherwise happy lives, but it was something money could not buy. The farmer and his wife wanted a child, yet years went past, and the wife remained barren. Then, just as the couple had given up the dream of being parents, the wife gave birth to a baby girl.
Little Gerda was an exceptionally beautiful child. Even as an infant, she had a head full of blond curls, eyes the color of a late afternoon sky and dimples set deep in her rosy cheeks. With each passing day, the girl seemed to grow lovelier. Given her exceptional appearance, it is easy to imagine that every unwed man in the area would vie for her hand.
Such was not the case, however. You see, Gerda's beauty was equaled only by her vanity. She believed that the exquisiteness of her looks made her somehow superior to the less attractive girls in the village.
"Let them marry these penniless farmers," she was wont to say. "With my face and figure, I can marry anyone I choose, perhaps even a count."
Naturally, such conceit did not endear her to the humble villagers. Most chose to ignore the narcissistic girl when they encountered her, yet a few openly ridiculed her for putting on airs. In fact, only three people welcomed Gerda's presence: her mother, her father and her grandmother.
In her youth, the elderly Frau Helga had been as homely as her granddaughter was beautiful. But what Helga had lacked in physical attractiveness she more than made up for in her sweet disposition and skill with a needle. She was as talented a seamstress as any who sewed clothes for the crowned heads of Europe. Obviously, there was little need for fine embroidery or delicate lacework in the small German village, but after her husband died at an early age she managed to adequately provide for herself and her son with her sewing. A man's work shirt could be traded for pork and ham, and she could barter a woman's apron for cabbage and carrots.
Even more than her son and daughter-in-law did, Frau Helga doted on Gerda. From the time the child was born, her grandmother made her clothes, always adding some small embellishment to the garments. Each year on Gerda's birthday, Helga gave her a special gift, an outfit that had taken her months to sew. For her sixteenth birthday it was a dirndl made of royal blue fabric and embroidered with tiny gold and white flowers.
As her seventeenth birthday approached, Gerda's anticipation mounted. What was her grandmother planning to give her this year?
Then a month before her birthday, something happened to make Gerda forget about the surprise that awaited her. While walking along the wooded path that led from her parents' farm to her grandmother's cottage, she heard the sound of a gunshot nearby.
"Who's there?" a man's voice rang out.
"It's me. Gerda."
The noise of snapping twigs indicated that someone was making his way through the underbrush of the forest. The girl turned in the direction of the sound and saw a handsome, well-dressed young man emerge from a thicket of trees.
"What are you doing on my property, Gerda?" the man demanded to know.
"I didn't know it was your land," she apologized. "I've taken this path to my grandmother's for many years. I wasn't aware anyone owned it."
"You're related to the old woman who lives in the cottage by the brook?"
"Yes. Frau Helga. She's my grandmother. Do you know her?"
"Not personally, but I know of her. My father owns the cottage where she lives. She's his tenant."
The young man stepped closer and got a good look at Gerda. Not surprisingly, he liked what he saw.
"Since your grandmother pays my father rent, I suppose that entitles you to use the path to visit her."
"Thank you," Gerda said with a sweetness of voice that no villager had ever heard. "May I ask what brings you to our village?"
The stranger's eyes narrowed with suspicion. Why did the girl want to know his business? But her smile was so enchanting and her eyes so captivating that his apprehension quickly vanished.
"We're staying at a hunting lodge not far from here."
"We? Is your wife with you?"
"Did I say we? It was a mere slip of the tongue. I meant to say I'm staying at the lodge. And," he added with a smile as charismatic as Gerda's, "I'm not married."
"This is a small village. I'm sure we'll meet again," she said.
"I hope so, Gerda."
"And what is your name?"
"Nikolaus."
"Then I'll say goodbye to you, Nikolaus—until we meet again."
When Gerda walked through the front door of her grandmother's cottage nearly half an hour after her parting with Nikolaus, Frau Helga noticed the girl was much more cheerful than usual.
"And what is the reason for that smile on your face?" the old woman asked. "Were you hoping I would give you your gift now and not make you wait until your birthday?"
"No. My good humor has nothing to do with my birthday or your present."
"What is it then? Tell me so that I might share your joy."
"I met the most wonderful man. He's tall and handsome and ...."
Gerda paused dramatically to heighten the effect of her words.
"And what?" Helga urged.
"He is wealthy."
"Where did you meet such a wonder?"
"I met him on the path on my way here. He says his father owns this house of yours."
Frau Helga's smile abruptly vanished, and her face turned the pale color of the underbelly of a fish.
"You met one of the von Richters?" she asked in a tremulous voice.
"Is that his family name, von Richter?" Gerda asked, taking no notice of her grandmother's reaction to the news. "His given name is Nikolaus. Isn't that a wonderful name? Nikolaus."
"What was he doing here in the forest?"
"He said he is staying in a nearby hunting lodge."
"If I were you, I would make every effort to avoid him in the future."
"What?" the girl asked with disbelief. "Why would I want to do that? Haven't you heard a word I've said? He's young, handsome, unmarried and wealthy. He'll make the perfect husband."
"You mustn't even think about marrying a von Richter!"
"Why not?"
"Because the family is cursed. Every one of them has met with a bad end."
"Family curses! What foolishness you speak of!"
"Curses exist, and the von Richters are proof that they do. Despite their lands and their money, they are plagued with ill fortune. Few of them live to an old age, for most die young of mysterious accidents and even suicide. Those that don't die young usually wind up mad."
"Well, Nikolaus seemed healthy and sane enough."
"You must heed my advice, liebchen. Nikolaus may seem like the answer to your prayers, but he'll end up like the rest of them. You must swear you'll stay away from him."
Gerda, bored by the foolish argument, hoped to silence the old woman with a false promise.
"All right, Grandmother. If I should see Nikolaus coming, I'll turn and go the other way."
Helga, who had no reason to doubt her granddaughter's word, sighed with relief.
"Since you're such a sensible young woman, I don't see any reason for you to wait three more days for your birthday gift."
"You mean I can have it now?"
"Yes. I just finished it this morning."
Helga opened the wooden chest that sat beside her bed, removed the present and handed it to the girl. Gerda squealed with delight when she unfolded the bundle and saw the scarlet wool cape that her grandmother had made her.
"It's magnificent!" she cried, slipping it over her shoulders.
"And it has a hood to protect your hair in the bad weather," Helga said.
"I love it!" Gerda exclaimed, enjoying the feel of the soft fabric against her arm.
"It ought to keep you warm in the winter."
The practical purpose of the cape was not what delighted the vain young woman; rather, she was certain that the fineness of the garment would make her even more attractive to Nikolaus von Richter.
During the following week Gerda searched the woods around her grandmother's cottage, hoping to find Nikolaus's hunting lodge or, better yet, run into the handsome young man himself.
"What were you doing in the forest?" her mother asked when Gerda returned home late one afternoon.
"Just taking a walk."
"You must stay out of the woods. They're not safe."
"Not safe? But I've walked in those woods all my life. I even played there as a child."
"Animals have recently gone missing from nearby farms: chickens mostly but Wilhelm lost a goat. Now, it might only be a fox, but it could be something more dangerous. The year before you were born, there was a bear living in the woods. It ripped a man's arm right off."
Gerda thought of Nikolaus. What if he didn't know about the animal attacks in the village? What if he went into the woods unarmed?
I have to warn him, she thought.
The next morning, she woke early and left the house before her mother could stop her. She walked along the path, straining her ears to listen for any unfamiliar sounds. This time she heard someone running rather than walking through the thicket of trees. A young man, another stranger, stopped short in surprise when he saw her.
"Who the hell are you?" he asked brusquely.
"I'm Gerda. You must be related to Nikolaus. You look like him."
"I'm Hans von Richter, but any resemblance to my brother is purely physical, I assure you."
"I should think you'd be glad to be likened to such a fine man as Nikolaus."
Gerda found both Hans's sardonic smile and the devilish glint in his eyes disturbing. Ironically, what she disliked most about him was his arrogance. They say opposites attract. If so, then it must also follow that those who are alike in nature are repelled by each other.
"By the fineness of your red cloak, I'd say you're a young woman of some standing in this pathetic village, perhaps the wife or daughter of a prosperous farmer. If so, what are you doing out in the woods by yourself?"
"Where is Nikolaus?" she asked, ignoring his question.
Hans's smile widened.
"A tryst, is it?"
"I have something of great importance I must tell him."
"You can tell me, and I'll tell Nikolaus," he teased, enjoying her discomfort.
"I don't need you to ...."
A dog's bark startled Gerda into silence. The same sound caused Hans's mocking smile to turn into a brooding frown.
"It seems you can tell Nikolaus yourself."
Moments later, the young man's brother joined them.
"Gerda!" Nikolaus exclaimed with surprise. "On your way to see your grandmother?"
"Actually, I was looking for you. I've learned that there have been a number of animal attacks in the village, and I wanted to warn you to be careful."
"Animal attacks?" Nikolaus repeated, looking not at Gerda but at his brother.
"If you'll excuse me," Hans said, "I'll return to the lodge. I'm sure the two of you would prefer being alone."
"I'll be right behind you," Nikolaus called after the retreating man.
"So you're not living in the lodge by yourself after all," Gerda said.
"I might as well be. My brother and I don't get along. He ... resents me."
"I can see why."
"Can you?"
"Yes. You've got all the charm that he lacks."
"I'm also older by a year, which means I'm the one who'll inherit everything when our father dies."
"I'm glad."
"Glad?"
Gerda hadn't realized she'd spoken the words aloud until she saw the angry look on the young man's face. She had to think quickly to soothe him.
"Glad that you'll be my grandmother's landlord when your father is gone. You seem like a kind, fair man. I don't get the same impression from your brother."
"That's true enough. He's always thought of no one but himself. If it weren't for me ...."
Nikolaus closed his eyes and shook his head, as though trying to shrug the weight of the world off his shoulders.
"Enough of my troubles. We all have our crosses to bear. You've got to get out of the woods, and I've got to do something to stop these animal attacks."
Four weeks went by and not a chicken or goat was lost. Perhaps the wild animal had moved on or, more likely, Nikolaus had shot it with his gun.
"Now that it's safe to go back into the woods," Gerda told her mother, "I'm going to visit Grandmother."
"Just be careful."
"I will," the young woman said and draped the red cloak over her shoulders.
As she walked through the dense forest, Gerda hoped she would meet Nikolaus. She hadn't seen him in four weeks and missed him terribly. It was with a feeling of disappointment that she saw Helga's house at the end of the path.
Maybe I'll see him on the way back, she hoped.
Suddenly, a man burst through the door of the cottage. His clothing was disheveled and spattered with blood.
"Nikolaus!" the girl screamed and ran to him. "What has happened to you?"
"Have you seen my brother?" he asked, highly agitated.
"No. You must be hurt. You've got blood on your clothes. Come inside and let me bandage your wounds."
"Don't go in there!" he cried and grabbed her by the arm.
"Why not?"
"You don't want to see ...."
Gerda broke free of his grasp and went into the cottage. The girl shrieked with horror at the sight of her grandmother lying on the floor, her body ripped open by an animal.
Nikolaus put his arms around the hysterical young woman and tried to comfort her.
"I thought you had taken care of the animal that did this," she sobbed. "But it's still out there."
"I couldn't do it," the young man confessed. "You see, it wasn't a bear or a fox that's been terrorizing your village. It was Hans. He lives under a curse that turns him into a wolf when the moon is full. I brought him here to the lodge to keep an eye on him, to make sure he hurt no one during his transformations. Last night, he must have gotten out because I was alone in the lodge this morning. I followed his tracks here."
"Hans killed my grandmother? Why?"
"There's no rhyme or reason to these killings. He has no control over what he does when he's a wolf and no memory of his actions when he becomes human again."
"If he has no control, then he might kill you."
"It's a chance I've been willing to take, but now ... I realize it might have been you lying dead on the cottage floor. I would never be able to live with myself if Hans had harmed you."
Even in the midst of horror and death, Nikolaus's kiss made it the most precious moment in Gerda's life.
"I know what I must do," the elder von Richter brother said. "I have to find Hans and ...."
He took Gerda's arm and led her through the woods.
"Where are we going?"
"To the lodge. I need to get my gun."
They walked nearly two miles before arriving at a clearing in the woods. The von Richter hunting lodge was grander than any home in the village and made Gerda wonder what the family manor must look like. The inside was even more impressive than the outside. Decorated with finely crafted furniture, elaborate tapestries and silver sconces, it was the kind of dwelling the young farm girl had imagined but never actually seen.
Nikolaus picked up his gun and headed back into the woods, telling Gerda, "Stay behind me."
They eventually found Hans walking along the path. He had apparently been in the village and was returning to the lodge.
"Nikolaus?" he said with surprise, and then he saw Gerda walking behind his brother. "Ah, the lovely farmer's daughter with the red cloak. So that's where you've been all ...."
The sound of the gun was deafening. Hans, shot in the chest, died instantly.
"You killed him!" Gerda screamed.
"It had to be done," Nikolaus declared with resignation, lowering the gun to his side. "A silver bullet is the only true way to end the curse."
The next day the villagers buried Frau Helga, believing she was the victim of a bear that had carried off their chickens and killed Wilhelm's goat. Gerda assured them that they no longer had anything to fear, that she had witnessed the shooting of the beast with her own eyes. Meanwhile, Nikolaus accompanied his brother's body back to the family home where Hans was laid to rest in the von Richter family cemetery.
In two months' time, Nikolaus returned to the village. He proposed to Gerda, and she accepted. At this point in most tales, the storyteller would say, "And they lived happily ever after." However, destiny was not so kind in this case. The wedding took place on a warm autumn afternoon. After a feast held in the von Richter manorial home, the couple retired to the wedding chamber.
All of my dreams have come true, Gerda thought as she lay upon the lavish feather bed, surrounded by evidence of the von Richters' great wealth.
"I love you," she whispered to her husband as he embraced her.
There was no reply because Nikolaus was no longer capable of speech. The transformation had started, and in a matter of moments he was more wolf than man.
"No!" Gerda sobbed. "You are cursed, too."
It has been said that when a person is on the precipice of death, he sees his life flash before him. This may be so, but the young wife relived only her recent past. She saw Nikolaus, covered in blood, emerge from Helga's cottage. Hans, on the other hand, had not a drop on him. Nikolaus's words echoed in her memory: "He has no control over what he does when he's a wolf and no memory of his actions when he becomes human again."
It hadn't been Hans, she realized. It was her beloved all along, and he wasn't even aware that he was the one living under the curse.
As Nikolaus sunk his fangs into Gerda's tender flesh, he ended not only her precious life but also the von Richter family line. For on the following morning when he returned to his human form and saw his wife's ravaged body, the bridegroom knew he was the one who had killed her. To escape his curse, he loaded a silver bullet into his revolver, put the gun to his temple and pulled the trigger.
* * *
Little Leisl sat open-mouthed at Old Kristof's feet, staring up at the peddler's face with rapt wonder. Similar expressions were on the other children's faces.
"That was a great story!" the blacksmith declared.
"Will you tell us another one?" Leisl asked.
"I'm afraid it's getting late," Old Kristof replied. "We should all turn in for the night."
"I couldn't possibly sleep now. I know I'll have nightmares about wolves attacking me in my bed!"
Old Kristof gently tugged on one of the girl's blond braids.
"Nonsense!" he laughed. "You'll sleep like a baby. It's just a story. There are no such things as curses or men who turn into wolves."
Two days later, after a restful sleep in farmer Bachmeier's spare bedroom and a breakfast fit for a king, Old Kristof left the village, promising to return before winter set in. Walking along the familiar dirt road, he and his horse approached the next stop on their route. When the peddler arrived at that village, he would have to tell a happy story, for the farmer and his wife would not want to be reminded of the gruesome death of their beautiful and beloved daughter, Gerda, whose body had been wrapped in her red cloak and placed in the von Richter cemetery beside her husband's.
Salem, what great big eyes you have!
Salem, what great big ears you have!
Salem, what a great big appetite you have!
