On the Heights: A Novel

The grandmother smiled, and stroked Walpurga's head with her hand, as if blessing her. She felt that Walpurga's joy at being home again affected her every thought and action.

"The home soup-yes, indeed," said she at last, and smiled; and, moved thereto by the grandmother's cheerful looks, the child laughed, too.

BOOK IV

CHAPTER I

The soft glimmer of early dawn stole through the heart-shaped opening in the shutters of their little room. Down by the reedy bank the water-ousel piped its matin song. Walpurga awoke and listened to the breathing of her husband and child. Her life, now, is a threefold breath.

"Good-morrow, day. I'm home again," said she, softly. She felt so happy at the thought of being in her own bed. Suddenly, she folded her hands and said:

"I thank Thee, Lord! Now I know how it must be to wake in heaven and feel as if home were reached at last, to have all your loved ones with you, to know that parting's at an end, and that all will remain together forever. Now we'll live happily, in kindness and in righteousness. Grant us all good health, and put all evil away from us."

She closed her eyes and indulged in retrospection. Last night the grandmother had beckoned her to follow her into the little grassy garden back of the house. When they reached there, her mother had said: "Look up to those stars and tell me: Can you still kiss your husband and your child, with pure lips? If-God forbid-it be otherwise-"

"Mother!" Walpurga had cried. "Mother, I can. I raise my hand and call God to bear me witness, I am just as I was when I left home."

Said the mother: "That makes me happy. Now I'm content to die."

"No, mother; let's live together in happiness for many years to come."

"I'm content. And now let me give you a piece of advice; and mind what I tell you. You've been out in the wide world for nearly a year. You've been riding about in carriages, while I've been here in the cottage and garden, taking care of your child. But, for all that, my thoughts went out into the world, and far beyond, where coach and four never get to. Now listen to me and obey me."

"Yes, mother; with all my heart."

"Then mind what I tell you. Give yourself time to get used to things again, and don't ask for anything out of reason. You can't expect your child to love you yet. You've been away from it so long that it doesn't know you, and has become estranged. And so you must expect to find it with everything else. Your husband's been alone for nearly a year; his lot has been much harder than yours."

Here they were interrupted. Hansei called from the window and asked them what they were doing out there so late, in the dark.

"And now go to sleep," said the mother. "I've had your bed aired these three days. Sleep well. Goodnight."

The mother led her daughter by the hand as if she were a little child, and when they had passed the threshold, she fell upon Walpurga's neck and hugged and kissed her in the dark.

Walpurga had closed her eyes, and, in thought, recalled all that had happened during the preceding night. Everything seemed double, just as with the stars that are reflected in the lake at night, making it seem as if there were two skies, one above and one in the waters below.

At the thought of the lake, Walpurga arose, quietly dressed herself, bent over her child and husband for a moment, softly opened the door, left the room, and went out of the house. She passed through the garden. The air was filled with the fragrance of the elder-bushes in the hedge The finch on the cherry-tree warbled merrily, and she would fain have called out to him: "Be quiet; wake no one till I return."

She passed on. From the reedy banks of the lake, where the water-ousel and the reed-sparrow were chirping their song, there flew up a flock of wild ducks, twittering while on the wing.

The sun rose, and the whole lake shone as if a softly undulating golden mantle had been spread over it.

Walpurga looked about her in all directions, and then, undressing herself in a trice, jumped into the lake. She dived and rose again, brushed her hair from her face and plashed about, as happy as if she were a fish at the bottom of the lake. The golden mantle of the lake assumed a purple hue, and Walpurga looked up at the purple sun, and over the glowing lake. "Thus it is," said she, "and thus it's right. I'm here again and yours again, and everything else is put away from me. I've never been away." Under the clustering willows, she hurriedly dressed herself, and felt so happy and cheerful that it cost her an effort to refrain from singing aloud. Blue and green dragon-flies hovered over the water. Swallows were flying over the lake and dipping their bills into the waters, which were gradually acquiring a paler hue, and from yonder forest resounded the cuckoo's note. A stork among the reeds seemed to watch Walpurga while she dressed herself. She noticed the bird rattling its great bill and waved it away. She hurried back to the house. The finch in the cherry-tree was still warbling its morning song, the two cows in the stable were lowing, but everything else about the house was still wrapped in silence. For a long while, Walpurga stood gazing at the flowers on the window-sill, and was delighted with the fragrance of the pinks and the rosemary. She had planted them while still a child, and before she had had a garden of her own. All the earth that she could then call her own, was contained in these flower-pots. Now she was able to buy many a broad field, but who could say whether they would give her as much joy as she now derived from these dingy, broken pots.

It seemed as if the pinks had purposely blossomed, in honor of the return of her who had planted and cared for them. There were scarcely any buds left, but even these few were putting out their little red tongues. Walpurga returned to her pinks again and again, and could not get enough of their fragrance. Suddenly, she laughed to herself at the thought of an old story that her mother had told her about blessed Susanna, who, when hungry and thirsty, could satisfy herself by smelling a flower. "Yes, but that wouldn't satisfy my folks," said she with a smile, and went back into the house.

Mother, husband and child were still asleep. Walpurga sat by the cradle for a little while. Then she went out to the kitchen, and kindled the first fire on her own hearth. Silently she watched at the rising flame, while the sounds of the matin bell of the chapel by the lake fell on her ear. She pressed both hands firmly against her heart, as if to hold fast the happiness with which it was overflowing.

CHAPTER II

"What! at work already?" said Hansei, entering the kitchen, and bearing in his arms the child, whose only garment was its little shirt.

"Good-morning! Good-morning to both of you," exclaimed Walpurga, with joyful voice. Her every tone and every word seemed to say that she could feed and satisfy them all with her love.

"Good-morning, my child!" said she. The baby stretched out its arms toward her, but, when she offered to take it, turned its back on her and laid its head upon Hansei's shoulder.

"Have patience with it; it doesn't know you right yet," said Hansei; "after all, such a young child is just like an animal, and don't know its mother if she's been living away from it."

As if to refute Hansei's humiliating philosophy, the child turned round again, stared at the fire, pursed up its little mouth, and blew just as when one does when blowing the fire.

"Grandmother taught her that," said Hansei. "It can do lots of other clever things. Grandmother never slept so late as she does to-day. She seems to feel that she's no longer obliged to draw the cart all by herself. No one'll grudge it to her. Yes, there never was a better woman in all the wide world, than your mother."

"Never was! isn't she so still?" asked Walpurga, in alarm.

Her mother had been so unutterably happy yesterday. Who knows but what her joy had killed her? They had been so happy that perhaps misfortune must come, for nothing is perfect in this world.

Walpurga trembled with fear while these thoughts flashed through her mind.

"I'll go look after mother," said she, and went to her room.

Hansei followed, carrying the child on his arm. And now, when the mother awoke, she said: "Well, and so they have to awaken me. Am I still a young girl who sleeps late and dreams when the elder-flower is in blossom? Yes, now I remember my dream. I dreamt that I was young again and was a servant at the farm on the other side of the mountains, and that your father came. It was on a Sunday, and he and I went off together to my brother's, in the pitch hut. We were standing by the brook where the elder grows, and father was on the other side, reaching out his hand to me, so that I could jump across, when you woke me. I can feel his hand in mine yet."

"God be praised that you're awake again," interposed Walpurga. The mother smiled and continued:

"And now, Walpurga, I've only one thing to ask of you. If you don't mind doing so, give me a florin or two. I'd like to go home once more, to the place where I was born and was in service, and where my brother lives; and I would like to have a few pence about me, to give to the poor people who are still there."

"Yes, mother; you shall have all you want. We've plenty, thank God."

"I'd like to know," said the mother, "why I dreamt of my home last night."

"That's plain enough," said Hansei. "A few days ago, when the wood-carver from your village was here, they were saying that the owner of the freehold farm there would like to sell his place. But who's got money enough to buy that?"

"You see," said the old woman to Walpurga, "what a heretic and believer in dreams your husband has become. He learned all that from the innkeeper. And now give me the child and hurry out of here. Come, you little chamois-kid, jump about and dance."

She sang to the child, and it stretched forth its arms toward her, just like a bird glad to return to its nest.

Hansei and Walpurga left the room. The child lay beside the grandmother, and the two were quite happy together.

"And now I'll milk the cow," said Hansei.

"You?"

"Yes. Who else? Mother can't do everything."

"No; let me do that now."

Walpurga went out to the stable with her husband; she wanted to relieve him of the task, but it would not do, and Hansei said:

"There's no need of it, either; that'll all soon be different. When you become landlady, we'll have two servants, at least, and they can see to the milking. We'll have room for six cows besides our own, and will be entitled to have as many more on the mountain meadow. Then you can make butter and cheese, and do what you like."

Hansei seemed to be talking to the cow. He did not care to see what sort of a face his wife would make. But now she had, at all events, heard of the matter, and they could talk it over, afterward.

Walpurga was about to reply, when the stable door opened, and a girl entered, carrying a cake on a large platter.

She removed the cloth with which it was covered, and said:

"My master, the landlord of the Chamois, sends this with his kind greetings, and his welcome to the wife."

"You silly thing!" exclaimed Hansei, jumping to his feet, and looking quite oddly with the milk-pail buckled fast to him. "You silly thing! People don't carry cakes into a stable. Take it into the room, and when you get home, give them my best thanks, and tell the innkeeper, our godfather, to honor us with a visit soon-no, we'll come to see him this forenoon; and now you may go."

Walpurga remembered that her mother advised her not to attempt to change things at once. She determined, for the present, to listen to everything, and let affairs go on in their own way, keeping her eyes open in the mean while. Time would show how the land lay.

Hansei went on milking the cows, and Walpurga said nothing.

"One can't always have the world all to one's-self, the way it was down at the lake this morning; but while there's such a bustle about my ears I must keep my own counsel," thought she.

When Hansei had finished milking, and stood there with a pail in each hand, he said:

"What do you think of it?"

"It's splendid milk; and there's lots of it, too."

"No, I mean what do you think of the landlord of the Chamois?"

"It's very polite of him, and I'm much obliged to him for it. We must try to get even with him."

"There's no need of that; we'll have to pay dear enough for the cake. But we're not so stupid, either. You'll soon see, Walpurga, I know which side my bread's buttered on as well as he does. Yes," continued Hansei, "if I'd only had a chance to talk to the king, you'd have soon have found out that Hansei's not the dullest fellow in the world."

"I knew that long ago. I don't need the king to tell me that."

At breakfast, Walpurga was delighted to find that the child would take a few spoonfuls of porridge from her: but it would not go to her, and cried as if its heart would break when she tried to take it.

"Have you counted up all we're worth? Of all the money you sent, not one penny's been taken. That is, I took fifteen florins to buy me a rifle."

"That was right," said Walpurga. And with all her confidence in him, she resolved that she would not hand Hansei the money that Irma had given her on the day she left the palace. She knew not why, but she felt a dread of the gold that had come to her in so strange a manner. She had not yet looked at it herself. Besides, she felt that it might be well to keep something in reserve for a rainy day. It might be better if all were not displayed at once. She promised to reckon it all up before noon, and expressed her regret that she had no closet in which to pack away all the pretty things she had brought with her in the chest.

"I wouldn't unpack at all, if I were you," said Hansei. "You might as well wait till we have our inn. You'll find enough chests and trunks there."

Walpurga made no answer. Hansei looked at her curiously, but she remained silent.

"Why don't you say something about the matter?" he inquired at last.

"Because you haven't told me about it right. Come now, what do you really mean?"

Hansei informed her that every one said the most sensible thing he could do would be to buy out the landlord of the Chamois. There couldn't be a better hostess in the world than Walpurga, and they would have a larger custom than any house in the land. They could alter the sign-that would be a clever stroke and would draw more than anything else. It should no longer be "The Chamois," but the "The King's Nurse," or "The Prince's Nurse," instead. There was a painter thereabouts, who would make a new sign, representing Walpurga with the prince in her arms. People would be drawn together from all parts of the neighborhood; there wouldn't be tables and chairs enough, and money would pour in on them from all sides. The bargain was a fair one; the innkeeper had named a reasonable price. "Every one says so," said Hansei, "and now what have you to say? for it's for you to decide."

"I don't care for what the people say," began Walpurga, "but tell me, frankly, have you concluded the purchase? If you have, I've nothing to say. I wouldn't have you break your word nor disgrace yourself, for all the world. You're the husband and your word must be kept."

"That's right; if only every one could have heard that."

"What need you care whether they hear it or not?"

"Why, the stupid people think that you rule everything, because the money comes from you. To be frank with you, the bargain isn't concluded; it all depends upon your consent."

"And if I were to say 'no,' would you be angry? Answer me; why are you silent now?"

"Well, it would grieve me to the heart if you did."

"I don't say 'no,'" answered his wife, soothingly. "But there's one thing we'd better have an understanding about, at once. I never want to hear another word as to where the money comes from. You were alone all that time; you've had to suffer for it, as well as I, and, take my word for it, I shan't forget it. But, as I told you before, I don't say 'no.' We're husband and wife and will talk over and settle everything together. If the money's to bring discord, I'd rather throw the whole of it into the lake and myself in after it."

Walpurga wept, and Hansei, with choking voice, said: "For God's sake, don't weep. I feel as if my heart would break when you cry. I wouldn't have you cry, no, not for ten inns. Oh Lord! to cry on the very first morning! Depend on it nothing shall be done, unless you're perfectly satisfied."

Walpurga held out her hand to him, and, with the other, wiped away the tears which had relieved her overflowing heart. They heard visitors approaching. Walpurga hurried to the bedroom, for she would have no one see that she had been weeping. While in the room, she put the gold that Irma had given her into a pillow-case, and then hid it. One piece of the money had dropped on the floor. She picked it up and looked at the image of the king stamped upon it. "Such a king's head goes everywhere," said she. "If he could only be everywhere in thought, so as to set everything to rights. But that's more than any man can do. God alone can do that-How are they getting on in the palace? What will become of them all? Is it only a day since I left there?"

Lost in reverie, Walpurga remained in the room for a long while. At last, with a deep sigh, she awakened to the fact that, in this world, none can afford to give all his thoughts to others. It was now her duty to take care of herself. Various neighbors and friends dropped in to welcome Walpurga. Hansei, who was all impatience, said that she had just gone to her room and would return in a little while. At last Walpurga came, radiant with joy and health. They all expressed themselves delighted to see her looking so well, spoke of the excellent reputation she enjoyed, and assured her that they took as much pleasure in her good fortune as if it were their own.

Walpurga thanked them heartily. The great cake which the innkeeper had sent was soon eaten up, for she offered some of it to every visitor.

"How goes it with old Zenza?" asked Walpurga.

"Just to think how good she is; she even remembers the old torment. Yes, your kindness was thrown away on her and her offspring," said several voices. She was soon informed that Zenza, with her son and Black Esther, had left the neighborhood. No one knew where they had gone, but the root-hut on the Windenreuthe now stood empty.

Nor did troops of beggars from the village and the neighboring country fail to present themselves. It must have been quickly noised about that Walpurga had returned, bringing a whole chestful of gold with her.

Walpurga was astonished to learn how many relations she had in the neighborhood. Many claimed relationship with her father, but were unable to state exactly in what degree, and some of the beggars, who disputed each other's claims, were soon involved in quarrels with each other. Walpurga dispensed modest gifts to all of them. They left in an ill-humor. What they had received had hardly been worth the trouble of going for it, and the highways and byways resounded with imprecations launched against Walpurga, who, they said, had become proud and stingy. But there were soon fresh troops of beggars. It was like scattering wheat among sparrows; more were constantly coming.

"Take your whip and drive the whole pack of beggars away," suddenly cried a loud voice from the road.

It was the innkeeper, accompanied by his two dogs Dachsel and Wachsel, who added their voices to that of their master, until at last a beggar gave one of the dogs a kick that sent him off yelping. The innkeeper now swore more violently than before, but Walpurga went out and, in quite a determined tone, requested him not to interfere, and then doubled her gifts to all of them. She thus escaped a confidential and patronizing familiarity on the part of the innkeeper. She was, as yet, uncertain how she ought to behave toward him. He was evidently Hansei's seducer. If she were to show herself angry at him at the start, it might lead to much vexation and would destroy all her influence. On the other hand, she found it difficult to force herself to greet him in a friendly manner.

When he had entered the room, he asked Hansei:

"Have you told her everything?"

"Of course."

"And is she agreed?"

"She says she'll be satisfied with anything I do."

Walpurga came into the room, and with the words, "Welcome, and many congratulations to the hostess of the Chamois," the innkeeper extended his hand to her.

"Thanks for the first; but, before I accept the second, my husband must be landlord of the Chamois."

"Heigho!" exclaimed the innkeeper, "how clever! how studied! how dignified and polite! Look here, Hansei! haven't I always told you that you've got a wife who might be a queen?"

"And why not, if my husband were a king?"

The innkeeper's fist descended on the table, and he laughed so heartily at this clever sally, that his two dogs began to bark and thus accompanied his laughter with their applause. He showed the other visitors that it would not do to weary their hosts. He left soon afterward, the rest of the company going with him.

CHAPTER III

"And for your mother I'll build a snug room looking toward the garden, where she can take her comfort. I always knew it before, but it wasn't till you were away, that I found out what a treasure she is to us. If the Lord only lets us keep her with us for many a year to come. Yes, your mother shall have the best room in the house."

Thus spake Hansei, with gleeful countenance. Walpurga inquired: "Where do you mean to build?"

Hansei looked around as if to express his surprise at her asking such a question. He had yielded so far as to promise that nothing should be done without his wife's consent. He thought that this was all that could in reason be expected of him, and that it was best to finish up the business at once.

With great self-command, he said:

"Why, at our inn, to be sure. I shan't do anything to this tumble-down cottage. But I've already told them that they mustn't disturb the nut-tree. You'll be surprised when you see how full it is. We shall get three measures of nuts this year, and a nut year is a good one for boys."

Walpurga clapped her hand to his mouth and, with downcast eyes, said: "You're a dear, good fellow: but, believe me, I know you better than you do yourself. I'm glad that you're much sharper than you used to. be. I often used to tell you not to be so bashful and forever keeping in the background. You've so much common sense; more, indeed, than all the rest of them. If you could only have been behind the door, when I told the queen about you; and she promised me faithfully that she'll come to see us when she visits the mountains next year."

Hansei complacently swallowed the praise that his wife bestowed upon him, and kept on smiling to himself for some time afterward.

Husband and wife praised and extolled each other-a custom more honored in the breach than the observance, at least among peasants, who would feel ashamed if they knew of it. Their coming together, after so long a separation, seemed like a new wooing and wedding. The question of the purchase of the inn prevented them, however, from fully realizing this, and even threatened to imperil their domestic happiness.

"So you're agreed that we'll be host and hostess of the Chamois?" inquired Hansei.

"I've told you already that we'd talk it over; and so you think you'll make a good landlord?"

"Not so good a landlord as you will a landlady. That's what everybody says; and the landlady's always the chief point. You'd be the best landlady, for you can earn your bread with your tongue, just as the parson does; and that'll help us to get a penny or two more for our wine and everything else. You've got a way of looking right into people's hearts, and can give and take, and that's the best sign that you're made to be a landlady."

Hansei did not understand how Walpurga could still hesitate. The highest ideal of the young mountaineer is to be an innkeeper; to supply every one with meat and drink, and to live by the profits of it; to give feasts and, at the same time, be the merriest one at them; to receive money while others spend it; to have his house the rendezvous of all, no matter how varied their pursuits and interests; to be the helper and adviser of every one; the man with whom all keep on good terms, who knows all that is going on, all about bargains and prices, and who, like the lord of the manor in the olden time, receives a profit whenever cow, or farm, or house change hands. And besides, what others eat and drink tickles his palate, too, and he doesn't grow thin upon it. And then, like the parson, he would derive profit from baptisms, marriages and funerals; to say nothing of the strangers who would come during the summer and would be obliged to pay tribute to the landlord, because the mountains are so high and the lake so deep, and because he allows them to see it all. Yes, an inn is like a great lake-all the little streams that flow from the different mountain rills concentrate there.