On the Heights: A Novel. Auerbach Berthold
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if nothing is to go right with me. I'd just begun to think that everything would go on smoothly as it had been doing, and now, all at once, I've got to climb another mountain. But you're single and, of course, you can't know how I feel."
"It's very good of you to be so fond of your wife."
"My wife? So fond?"
"I know how you must feel."
Hansei shook his head with an incredulous air.
"Cheer up!" said Wastl. "Many a husband would be glad to be rid of his wife for a year."
"For a year."
"The longer the better, some would say," thought Wastl. "But your wife will come back again and turn your cottage into a palace, and then you'll be king number two!"
Hansei laughed loudly, although he was not in a laughing mood. He felt as if he must go out into the forest, where he should neither hear nor see anything of the world. Confound it all! Why did the wife leave? Was it for this that we married and pledged ourselves to be one for life, come weal come woe?
But Hansei could not get away. Half the village had gathered about him. All spoke of his good-fortune. The owner of the great farm up the road, he who was known as the Leithof bauer, even stopped his team at the garden gate and alighted in order to shake hands with Hansei and wish him joy.
"If you'd like to buy the meadow next to your garden, I'll sell it to you. It's a little too far off for me," said the Leithof bauer. The joiner who lived in the village, and who had long been anxious to emigrate, quickly said:
"You'll do far better if you buy my house and farm. I'll let you have them dirt cheap."
The starlings up in the tree could not out-chatter these people. Hansei laughed heartily. Why, this is splendid! thought he. The whole world comes to offer me house and farm, field and meadow.
"You were right, Walpurga!" said he suddenly. The people stared, first at him and then at each other, and did not know what to make of him.
He stretched his limbs, as if awaking from sleep, and said:
"Many thanks, dear neighbors. If I can ever repay you, in joy or in sorrow, I'll surely do so. But now, I'll make no change; no, I shant move a nail in the house till my wife comes back."
"Spoken like a man, good and true," said the Leithof bauer, and greater praise could befall no one, than to be thus spoken of by the wealthiest farmer in the neighborhood.
"Would you like to look at my cow?" said Hansei, beckoning to the Leithof bauer, who now seemed the only one on a level with himself.
The Leithof bauer thanked him, but had no time to stop. Before taking his leave, he assured Hansei that he would willingly advise him how to put out his money safely.
His money? Where could it be? Hansei trembled with fear and pressed his hands to his head-he had lost the roll of money! Where was it? He plunged his hand into his pocket. The roll was still there! And now that his hand again clutched it, he was quite affable to those who still remained, and had a kind word for every one.
At last, the villagers had all left, and Hansei could think of nothing better to do than to climb up into his cherry-tree-the true friend that would never desert him, and would give as long as it had aught to give.
He plucked and ate lots of cherries, while he looked at the telegraph wire, and thought: It runs into the palace and I could talk to my wife through it, if I only knew how. He bent forward until he could touch the wire, and having done so, quickly withdrew his hand, as if frightened.
Suddenly he heard a voice calling to him:
"Hansei! where are you?
"Here I am."
"Come along!" was the answer. It was the priest who had called to him.
Hansei hurried down from the tree and now received the greatest honor that had yet been paid him. The priest beckoned to him, and Hansei approached, hat in hand.
"I wish you joy!" said the priest. "Come along to the inn; the host of the Chamois has opened a fresh tap."
Hansei looked at himself to see what had come over him. To think of the priest's inviting him to walk with him, and to drink in his company, too!
He received the new honor with dignity. While he walked with the priest, the people whom they met along the road would lift their hats and he would acknowledge their greetings quite affably.
In the large room at the Chamois, where every one was either talking to or of him, he felt so happy that he opened the roll of money, without, however, removing it from his pocket. He meant to offer the first piece to the priest, so that he might say a mass for Walpurga. But the pieces were so large. They were all crown thalers. And so Hansei merely said:
"I wish you'd say a mass for my wife and child. I'll pay you."
It was already twilight. The guests gradually departed. But Hansei remained sitting there, as if rooted to the spot. At last, he and the inn-keeper were the only ones in the room.
"Now that they've all had a talk at you," said the innkeeper, "you may as well listen to me. No one means it as kindly with you as I do, and I'm not a fool, either. Do you know what would suit you, Hansei, and would suit your wife still better?"
"What?"
"This is the place for you, – you and your wife! I've been landlord long enough. When your wife comes back, you can say 'good-night' to your cottage and settle yourselves here, where you'll find a good living for your children and your grandchildren. We won't talk about it now; but don't commit yourself to anything else. I'm your best friend; I think I've proved that, this very day. I don't care to make a penny by the affair-quite the contrary."
Oh, how kind they are when all goes well with one!
Hansei sat there for a long while, looking into his glass, and endeavoring to satisfy himself as to who he really was. Then he began to think of his wife again: where she might be, and how it was with her. If he could only go to sleep that very moment and remain asleep until the year was out; but to sit and wait… He looked up at the clock; it was just striking ten.
"How often you'll have to strike ten before we meet again," thought he to himself.
Hansei almost staggered as he walked through the village. The people who were sitting at their doors, or standing about, saluted him and wished him joy, and he well knew that, far away among the mountains, all were speaking of his good luck. He felt as if he must cut himself into a thousand pieces in order to thank them all.
He was standing near his garden and looking at the hedge. How long was it since he, who had never before known a spot which he could call his home, had prized himself as ever so happy in the possession of a little property! And now the grandmother was sitting in the house, and he heard her singing his child to sleep:
"If all the streams were naught but wine,
And all the hills were gems so fine,
And all were mine:
Yet would my darling treasure be
Dearer far than all to me.
"And since we needs must part,
One more kiss before I start.
Thou remain'st, but I must leave,
And parting sore the heart doth grieve;
But, though life drags, we'll not despond,
For longer far is the life beyond."
"But though life drags, we'll not despond, For longer far is the life beyond." The words sank deep into Hansei's heart, and the fireflies flitting about in the darkness, or resting on fence and grass, drew his glance hither and thither, as if they were some new and startling phenomenon. Hansei's waking dream continued for some time, and when he, at last, passed his hand over his face, it was wet with the dew. He felt as if some one must carry him into the house and put him to bed. But a sudden turn caused the roll of money to touch his hip, and he was wide awake again. He walked far out along the road, in the same direction that Walpurga had gone, and at last reached the pile of stones