Berthold Auerbach - Joseph in the Snow, and The Clockmaker. In Three Volumes. Vol. I.

"My husband wished to go home with him, but he firmly declined this.

"'I must learn to pass along the street alone with this stain of shame. I have been too proud. My head is bowed down till the hour when I descend into the grave. A thousand thanks, Herr Pastor. May God reward you!'

"The man whose gait had been hitherto so proud and erect, now crept home a miserable object. When he was gone my husband related to me the frightful scene he had witnessed. Those present, however, told me afterwards that my husband had shown the most unexampled patience and gentleness towards David, who was in a state of raging fury, exclaiming frantically: 'I am like Job. Oh God! strike me dumb, in order that I may no longer curse myself and the whole world – but there is no justice, none in heaven, and none on earth.'

"My husband at length succeeded in pacifying him, but when David was at last gone, I never saw my husband so worn out and exhausted as on that occasion.

"Leegart kept her promise, and was godmother to little Joseph; and his father, Adam Röttmann, was also present at his baptism.

"Adam had a fine life of it at home, for daring to go to the village, and from that time he was watched, and imprisoned like a malefactor, the old Röttmännin having complaisant spies every where in her pay, for she does not grudge money for her own purposes.

"Schilder-David had always been a regular church goer, but after the unwished for birth of his grandson he was two months without going to church; when he heard the bells ringing for divine service, he never failed to lament afresh over his dishonour, which prevented him being able to go to church; but when no one was looking, he liked to carry his grandchild about the room. The boy seemed to have won all his love; he had the child constantly in his arms, and watched over him like a mother. On Sundays and holidays he was to be seen for hours beside the garden hedge yonder; grandfather and grandson passing into the fields, and standing watching the waterfall; indeed the old man gave up smoking to please the child, whereas formerly he never moved without a pipe in his mouth; and when the boy could run alone, he was his constant companion, and used to lead him by the hand. If the boy is playing with other children and sees his grandfather, he runs away from all his games, and cannot be prevailed on to leave his grandfather's side. Indeed, if a child could be so easily spoilt, David would have ruined his grandson by his vanity, for his only pleasure in life is hearing praise of the boy; he is constantly repeating all the wise sayings of little Joseph, and boasting of how cleverly the boy can talk. Although David is very conscientious, still he is not at all aware how many things he invents for the child which he never uttered, and then he usually winds up by saying, 'Wait till the boy is twenty years older, and then the whole country will talk of my Joseph, and all he knows.'

"I lately heard an instance of the strange ideas of this singular boy. On the same day, a child died in this neighbourhood, and one was born; and little Joseph said: 'Grandfather, isn't it true that when we are born, we fall asleep in Heaven, and awake on earth; and when we die, we fall asleep on earth, and awake in Heaven?'

"Little Joseph is also generally present when his grandfather is talking with his neighbours, so in this way he hears of all the various events and quarrels in the village, and knows all its secret history."

"Why do you say nothing of Martina?" interrupted Edward.

"There is very little to relate about her; she lives a quiet but busy life; ready to lend her aid to any family in sorrow or in need; she talks very little, and is devoted with the most tender love to her father, and he repays her by the love he shows towards little Joseph."

"And the father of the boy, Adam? what of him?"

"He also lives very retired, and, as I told you, he is almost kept a prisoner at home by his parents. He makes no resistance, and seems to think he has made all the reparation in his power, by uniformly declaring that, if he is not allowed to marry Martina, he will never marry at all. The parents anxiously strive to induce Martina to give him up. Very tempting offers have been made to her, and very respectable wooers have come forward, whom old Röttmann has offered to provide with a good sum of money, but she will not for a moment listen to such proposals, and her invariable answer is, 'I could easily get a good husband, but my Joseph can get no other father than Adam, even if he wished it.' A cousin of Martina's, a shoemaker, who is very well off, and a bachelor, appears resolved not to marry until he is quite sure that Martina will not have him. He is called in the village Häspele, and indeed I do not know his real name. On festival nights he helps the girls to wind off the yarn that they have spun, on hasps, and therefore he has got the nickname of Häspele. He is a goodnatured creature, and every year consecutively, plays the part of the carnival Merryandrew. Wherever he goes, the whole year through, people expect him to play the buffoon, which he is quite willing to do; his appearance and manners are so droll, that it is scarcely possible to know when he is in jest, or when in earnest; particularly as he has a very red nose, which looks just as if it was painted. He is sincerely attached to Martina, who has also a great regard for him, but only the kind of liking that all the other girls in the village have; she will never marry him; indeed, no one thinks that any one would marry Häspele. – God be praised!" said the Pastorin, breaking off her story, "my husband must be by this time under shelter of the Röttmanns' roof, if no accident has occurred – and God forbid there should! It would be the most precious Christmas boon to me, the most cheering commemoration of this holy season, if my husband could soften the Röttmännin's hard heart; her husband, Speidel-Röttmann, would soon come round then: in that case I think there is little doubt, that we should remain here, and gladly too. For it was the sad story of Martina and Adam which at last turned the scale, and made my husband resolve to quit this parish. These hard hearted Röttmänner are never at rest, and have at last contrived that everything should be prepared tomorrow for the betrothal of Adam with Tony, the daughter of the Forest Miller. She lately had a young stepmother placed over her, and is resolved to leave home, no matter whither. She is the only girl of respectable family who would accept Adam. The Forest Miller and Röttmann, these two families are the most highly respected; or what is the same thing nearly, the richest, in the whole district. I must say that, for my part, I could not bear to see Adam go to church with the Forest Miller's Tony. It is hard on my husband to stand in his pulpit, and to pour out his inmost heart before his congregation, and to preach faith, and piety, and goodness, and to know, that there are people sitting even in the best pews in the church, whom he can't help seeing, and to whom all he says appears but empty words.

"Listen! the watchman is calling twelve. Otto is certainly arrived by this time, and I feel sure he will do good. Come, let us go to rest also."

The whole night through, Martina continued as restless as if she knew by intuition that, at this very time, a kind and honest heart had revived the sad story of her life. She was full of impatience, and felt as if she must rush out into the world, in order suddenly to change the whole course of her life – as if it were in her power to accomplish this! The cocks crowed more loudly, and occasionally a cow was heard lowing, and a dog barking. Surely day would soon dawn now.

Martina rose, and lighted the stove, and made a good fire on the hearth besides. She was anxious that the soup for breakfast should be particularly good today, for the sempstress, Leegart, was to arrive early, as little Joseph was to get a new green jacket of Manchester cloth. A slate was lying on the table, on which little Joseph had on the previous evening drawn a gigantic figure of a man, formidable to be seen, and yet the child had said "Look! that is my father." Martina could not help thinking this strange, as she rubbed out the figure. She wished she could as easily efface from the child's memory what she had told him the night before when he was going to sleep, about his father, and that he was to come this very day; that was probably why the child during the night had called out three times, "Is it morning yet?" Martina gazed long at the blazing fire, and half unconsciously sung: —