The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries: Masterpieces of German Literature Vol. 19
General
The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries: Masterpieces of German Literature Vol. 19
German literature -- 19th century -- Translations into English; German literature -- 20th century -- Translations into English
The weaver shrugged his shoulders and said "Do as you like--but a man
that won't work must'nt expect any supper. At four o'clock there'll be
bread and cider, if you've done your sawing--otherwise nothing more
till the soup at night."
[Illustration: A HUMAN LOAD]
Franz Wilhelm Voigt
Bread and cider, thought Hürlin, and was confronted with a very serious
problem. In the end he went out and picked up the saw again; but he
shuddered at the thought of working in the hot midday hours, and he
let the wood lie where it was. He went out in the street, found a
cigar-stump on the pavement, put it in his mouth, and slowly covered
the fifty paces to the bend in the road. There he stopped to take
breath, sat down by the roadside on the fine warm turf, looked out over
the many roofs and down to the market-place, catching a glimpse at the
bottom of the valley of his old factory, and dedicated this place as
the first of the Sun-Brothers--the place to which afterward so many of
his comrades and successors have come to lounge away their summer
afternoons, and often mornings and evenings as well.
The gentle, beneficent contemplation of an old age free from cares and
troubles, which he had promised himself in the poorhouse, and which
that morning had faded under the pressure of hard work like a fair
mirage, now returned gradually to him. His heart soothed by the feeling
of a pensioner assured for the rest of his days from anxiety, hunger,
and homelessness, he sat at his ease on the turf, feeling the pleasing
warmth of the sun on his withered skin. He gazed over the scene of his
former activities and misfortunes, and waited without impatience till
some one should come who would give him a light for his cigar-stump.
Shrill hammering from a workshop, the distant ring of the anvil in a
smithy, the low rumbling of a far-away wagon came up to his heights
with a little dust from the road and thin smoke from chimneys of all
sizes, to show him that down in the town people were bravely toiling
and sweating, while Karl Hürlin sat peacefully untroubled on his throne
at a dignified distance from it all.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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