Part 64 (1/2)
Hansei smiled his thanks for the compliment.
”But I want to ask you about something.”
”What is it?”
”Look here. You're so much--how shall I say it?--so much readier with your mouth, and more mannerly than I am, and if I have to go to the capital and stand up before the king and queen and all the grand gentlemen, why--why--why, look here, whenever I think of it, even now, it chokes me, and my opinion is that you'd better go along as my mouthpiece and say everything properly. One doesn't have such a chance more than once in a lifetime, and it won't do to forget anything.”
”That's a clever thought of yours,” said the innkeeper.
”You shan't do it for nothing and the journey shan't cost you a groschen.”
”No, I can't go with you. At court, it won't do to say: 'This is my child's G.o.dfather, my comrade, and he's to come in, too, and speak for me.' The one who has the audience is the only one who's allowed to speak. If you want to have a little fun, and your wife's agreed, I might go as Walpurga's husband--that would do.”
”No,” cried Hansei, ”I won't do any such thing, and my wife wouldn't, either. That won't do at all.”
”Well, my dear fellow, all that remains is to go and speak for yourself.”
Hansei was sad. He felt as if thrust out of doors. He had not been brought up and schooled for such things as talking to the king and queen and their courtiers, and was afraid of what he might do to them if they were to laugh at and ridicule him, for he wouldn't stand that.
He would allow no one to make sport of him, in his wife's presence, for he was the husband and she only the wife.
”Don't be so faint-hearted--a man like you--” said the innkeeper consolingly, while Hansei rubbed his forehead as if to make another head out of his own. ”Just pretend I was the king. What would you say?”
”You speak first.”
”All right.” The innkeeper placed himself in position, put his hand in the breast of his coat, balanced himself on one foot, threw his head back, and said gravely:
”Ah, and so you're the husband of--ah, what's her name--of Walpurga?”
”Yes, she's my wife.”
”Have you been a soldier?”
”No, by your leave.”
”You needn't say 'by your leave,' but you must add 'Your Majesty,' and always as short as possible. The high folk never have any time to spare; they're always in a hurry and everything is counted out to the very minute. But what's the use of worrying ourselves already? We'd better settle our little business now. You buy my house and fields.
I'll let you have them cheap, and then when the king asks how it goes with you, you can answer: 'Your Majesty, it would go very well with me; but I still owe three thousand florins on my house and farm and they trouble me greatly.' And when you say that, you'll see that the king will give you the three thousand florins at once. But if you didn't owe it, you couldn't say it. I know you. You're an honest fellow and can't tell a lie, and you know you might just as well say four thousand, or five thousand--it's all the same--and you'll have some money over to build with. But there's no need of that, and so you can lay in a stock of wine instead.”
”Yes, yes, you're right, but I think we'll make it a sham sale, for I oughtn't do it without my wife's consent. The money really comes from her, and I don't even know whether she's willing to have the inn. We'll just make it a sham sale, and, if the king gives me the money and my wife's agreed, it'll be all right.”
The host had, before that, flattered Hansei on account of his cleverness, but now, when there was real occasion for his doing so, held his peace. After a pause, he said: ”While the clever fellow makes up his mind, the fool has time to make up his. I'll think about it.”
They returned to the inn-parlor. Hansei felt ill at ease and soon went home. On the way, old Zenza greeted him. He made believe that he neither saw nor heard her, and hurried on. How glad he was that he had not become wicked, and how would he have felt now, if he had allowed himself to be tempted. Nothing would have been left him but to drown himself in the lake before Walpurga's return.
When he reached home, he said to himself: ”I can still enter here with a good conscience and, G.o.d be praised, I can bid her welcome with a good conscience.” After he got into bed, he kept on repeating the words: ”G.o.d be praised,” to himself, until he at last fell asleep. When he awoke, the first thing he said was: ”Good-morning, Walpurga.” He addressed his words to the empty air, but he felt as if she must hear him, as if she were at home already, for she had sent so good a messenger in advance. The letter was like a postillion playing welcome melodies. Hansei lay there dreaming, with his eyes wide open, until late in the day. But the day was both a good and an evil one. He had promised his comrades to go out hunting with them. All at once, it occurred to him that it was time to give up such sport. He would gladly have remained at home, but feared the talk of the innkeeper and, though the hills were far away, he felt as if he could distinctly hear the innkeeper telling his comrades: ”Ha! Ha! His wife's coming home, and she's the master, and Hansei will have to lie down as she bids him.” He fancied that he heard his laughing comrades walking about in the woods and calling out: ”Lie down, Hansei; lie down,” as if he were a dog.
An advocate at the provincial court,--for Hansei now had such distinguished companions--was also with the hunting party, and would laugh and jeer more than any of them. And then, to add to the fun, the innkeeper would tell a fine story about the letter. Thank G.o.d, he hadn't had a chance to read it. That would have been too bad. If I only hadn't mentioned it; but I'm too stupid and can't keep a thing to myself. If the innkeeper knew nothing of the letter, I could turn back without feeling ashamed and without minding their jeers. But my mind's made up. I shan't go with them again. I used to get along by myself, and I will again, when she comes back. We'll need no one, then. Hansei was busy thinking, that morning. He looked back upon how he had been living all this time. He felt so homesick about his wife at first, that he could not remain in the house and was unable to eat, drink sleep, or work. So he went to the inn, where they wished him joy because his wife had brought him such good luck, and this had pleased him; and when others stopped talking about it, he would renew the subject; and the innkeeper would take him along to fairs, target-shootings and pleasure-parties. One could not help but admit it was all very pleasant and entertaining, and the folks would say: ”There goes Hansei, whose wife is the crown prince's nurse.” Wherever he went they showed him great respect, and it's very pleasant to be received with respect wherever you go. Before allowing him to sit down, the hostess would always wipe off the chair with her ap.r.o.n, and considered it a pleasure to do so. At last, a happy thought occurred to him, and he still held fast to it. He would be the very man to keep an inn, and his wife would be the best hostess from one end of the land to the other. She would know how to talk to the people; and, after all, what is there pleasanter in the world than keeping an inn?
Hansei was so long in getting up that the grandmother came to the door and asked: ”Is anything the matter? Are you sick?”
”Oh no, G.o.d forbid. I'm coming directly,” replied Hansei. He soon came and, in a kindly tone, said: ”Good-morning. Is the child hearty?”