For two years Peter drove about everywhere, gazing to left and right from his coach at the houses as he passed them, and at the signboards of the inns at which he stopped, afterwards wandering about the towns, where everything that was worthy of note was shown to him. But he found pleasure in nought;--no picture, no building, no music, no dance,--nothing could move his heart of stone; his eyes and ears could no longer convey to him any sense of the beautiful. Nothing remained for him but to take what joy he could in eating, drinking, and sleeping; and thus he lived; travelling aimlessly about the world, eating, drinking for his sole entertainment, and sleeping his only escape from ennui. Now and then he would recollect how he had been happier when he was poor and had to work for his living. Then every beautiful vista over hill and vale had enchanted him, music and song had always delighted him, and he had found lasting enjoyment in the simple fare brought him by his mother as he sat by the charcoal pile. And as he pondered on the fact, he thought it very strange that now he could laugh at nothing, whereas, formerly, he had been wont to roar over the smallest joke. Now, when others laughed, he, for politeness' sake, distended his mouth, but there was no laughter in his heart. He perceived then that this outward tranquility of his brought no contentment. In the end it was not homesickness or melancholy which drove him homeward, but a depressing sense of solitude and joylessness. As he drove over from Strasburg and came within view of the dark forest which was his home; when he saw for the first time since his departure the powerful frames, the friendly, trusty faces of the Black Foresters; as his ears caught the old familiar homely sounds, he put his hand to his heart, for his pulse beat more quickly, and he was sure that in another moment he must either rejoice or weep--but, how was it possible for him to be so foolish; had he not a heart of stone? His first visit was to Dutch Michael, who welcomed him with all his old friendliness. "Michael," he said to the latter, "I've been on my travels, and have seen everything; but it is all trash and humbug, and has only succeeded in boring me. Certainly, this stony thing of yours, which I bear in my bosom, saves me from much. I am never angry, and never sorrowful; but then I am never glad, and I feel as if I were only half alive. Cannot you put a little life into this stone heart? or, better still, give me back my old heart? It was my companion for five and twenty years, and if at times it did play me a bad turn, yet on the whole it was a merry and brave heart." The forest spirit laughed grimly and bitterly.