--- title: Improvement Era description: Monthly periodical of the Mormon church, 1897 onward. This library holds the issues of November 1897 to December 1930. authors: - Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations collections: - periodicals tags: - magazine - improvement-era periodical: Improvement Era volume: 1 number: 4 published: 1898-02 publisher: Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations publisher_place: Salt Lake City language: en type: magazine reference: 'Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations, "Ancient Tales—Peter Klaus: A German Legend," *Improvement Era* 1, no. 4 (February 1898): 286–288.' source: url: https://archive.org/details/improvementera14unse transcription: Transcribed from the Internet Archive scan of each issue (the item for each issue is named in the issue's own source); unnumbered advertising leaves are omitted, printed page numbers are kept as page markers. identifier: improvementera14unse start_page: 286 end_page: 288 rights: status: public-domain basis: US publication 1930 or earlier (published 1898-02) source: https://archive.org/details/improvementera14unse publication_year: 1898 note: The Internet Archive item metadata carries a blanket "© Copyright by Intellectual Reserve, Inc." notice. The library owner judged it inapplicable because this issue was published in 1898, before 1931; a scan-level notice does not restore copyright. --- # Ancient Tales—Peter Klaus: A German Legend ANCIENT TALES. PETER KLAUS. A GERMAN LEGEND. [The following story will be of interest to our readers, not only on account of its own quaintness, but also because it was this legend which our own Washington Irving amplified into his charming story of Rip Van Winkle.— Ed.] Peter Klaus was a Goatherd of Sittendorf, and tended his flocks in the Kyffhausen mountains; he was accustomed to let them rest every evening in a mead surrounded by an old wall, while he made his muster of them; but for some days he had remarked that one of the finest goats always disappeared some time after coming to this spot, and did not join the flock till late: watching her more attentively, he observed that she slipped through an opening in the wall, upon which he crept after the animal, and found her in a sort of cave, busily employed in gleaning the oat-grains that dropped singly from the roof. He looked up, and shook his ears amidst the shower of corn that now fell down upon him, but with all his inquiry could discover nothing. At last he heard above the stamp and neighing of horses, from whose mangers it was probable the oats had fallen. Peter was yet standing in astonishment at the sound of horses in so unusual a place, when a boy appeared, who by signs, without speaking a word, desired him to follow. Accordingly he ascended a few steps and passed over a walled court into a hollow, closed in on all sides by lofty rocks, where a partial twilight shot through the over-spreading foliage of the shrubs. Here, upon a smooth, fresh lawn, he ANCIENT TALES. 287 found twelve knights playing gravely at nine-pins, and not one spoke a syllable; with equal silence Peter was installed in the office of setting up the nine-pins. At first he performed this duty with knees that knocked against each other, as he now and then stole a partial look at the long beards and slashed doublets of the noble knights. By degrees, however, custom gave him courage; he gazed on everything with firmer look, and at last even ventured to drink out of a bowl that stood near him, from which the wine exhaled a most delicious odor. The glowing juice made him feel as if re-animated, and whenever he found the least weariness, he again drew fresh vigor from the inexhaustible goblet. Sleep at last overcame him. Upon waking, Peter found himself in the very same inclosed mead where he was wont to tell his herds. He rubbed his eyes, but could see no sign either of dog or goats, and was, besides, not a little astonished at the high grass, and shrubs, and trees which he had never before observed there. Not well knowing what to think, he continued his way over all the places that he had been accustomed to frequent with his goats, but nowhere could he find any traces of them; below him he saw Sittendorf, and, at length, with hasty steps he descended. The people, whom he met before the village, were all strangers to him; they had not the dress of his acquaintance, nor yet did they exactly speak their language, and, when he asked after his goats, all stared and touched their chins. At last he did the same almost involuntarily, and found his beard lengthened by a foot at least, upon which he began to conclude that himself and those about him were equally under the influence of enchantment; still he recognized the mountain he had descended, for the Kyffhausen; the houses too, with their yards and gardens, were all familiar to him, and to the passing questions of a traveller, several boys replied by the name of Sittendorf. With increasing doubt he now walked through the village to his house; it was much decayed, and before it lay a strange goatherd's boy in a ragged frock, by whose side was a dog worn lank by age, that growled and snarled when he spoke to him. He then entered the cottage through an opening which had once been closed by a door; here too he found all so void and waste that he tottered out again at the back door as if intoxicated and called his wife and children by their names, but none heard, none answered. In a short time, women and children thronged around the stranger with the long hoary beard, and all, as if for a wager, joined in inquiring what he wanted. Before his own house to ask others after his wife, or children, or even of himself, seemed so strange, that, to get rid of these querists, he mentioned the first name that occurred to him, 'Kurt Steffen?" The by-standers looked at each other in silence, till at last an old woman said: 'He has been in the churchyard these twelve years, and you'll not go there today.' 'Velten Meier?' 'Heaven rest his soul!' replied an ancient dame, leaning upon her crutch; 'Heaven rest his soul! He has lain these fifteen years in the house that he will never leave. ' The Goatherd shuddered, as in the last speaker he recognized his neighbor, who seemed to have suddenly grown old, but he had lost all desire for further question. At this moment, a brisk young woman pressed through the anxious gapers, carrying an infant in her arms, and leading by the hand a girl of about fourteen years old, all three the very image of his wife. With increasing surprise he asked her name: 'Maria!' — 'And your father's?' — Peter Klaus, Heaven rest his soul! It is now twenty years since we sought him day and night on the Kyffhausen mountains, when his flock returned without him; I was then but seven years old." The Goatherd could contain himself no longer; 'I am Peter Klaus,' he cried, 'I am Peter Klaus, and none else,' and he snatched the child from his daughter's arms. All for a moment stood as if petrified, till at length one voice, and another, and another, exclaimed, 'Yes, this is Peter Klaus! Welcome neighbor! — Welcome after twenty years!'