Ilka on the Hill-Top and Other Stories | Page 3

cheeks habitual devotion to the national beverage. He was apparently a youth of the sort that Nature is constantly turning out by the thousand--mere weaker copies of progenitors, who by an unpropitious marriage have enfeebled instead of strengthening the type. Circumstances might have made anything of him in a small way; for, as his countenance indicated, he had no very pronounced proclivities, either good or bad. He had spent his boyhood in a gymnasium, where he had had greater success in trading jack-knives than in grappling with Cicero. He had made two futile attempts to enter the Berlin University, and had settled down to the conviction that he had mistaken his calling, as his tastes were military rather than scholarly; but, as he was too old to rectify this mistake, he had chosen to go to the Tyrol in search of pleasure rather than to the Military Academy in search of distinction.
At the mouth of the great ravine of Dornauberg the travellers paused and dismounted. Mr. Hahn called the guide, who was following behind with a horse laden with baggage, and with his assistance a choice repast, consisting of all manner of cold curiosities, was served on a large flat rock. The senior Hahn fell to work with a will and made no pretence of being interested in the sombre magnificence of the Dornauberg, while Fritz found time for an occasional exclamation of rapture, flavored with caviar, Rhine wine, and pate de foie gras.
"_Ach, Gott_, Fritz, what stuff you can talk!" grumbled his father, sipping his Johannisberger with the air of a connoisseur. "When I was of your age, Fritz, I had--hush, what is that?"
Mr. Hahn put down his glass with such an energy that half of the precious contents was spilled.
"_Ach, du lieber Gott_," he cried a moment later. "Wie wunderschon!"
From a mighty cliff overhanging the road, about a hundred feet distant, came a long yodling call, peculiar to the Tyrol, sung in a superb ringing baritone. It soared over the mountain peaks and died away somewhere among the Ingent glaciers. And just as the last faint note was expiring, a girl's voice, fresh and clear as a dew-drop, took it up and swelled it and carolled it until, from sheer excess of delight, it broke into a hundred leaping, rolling, and warbling tones, which floated and gambolled away over the highlands, while soft-winged echoes bore them away into the wide distance.
"Father," said Fritz, who was now lying outstretched on a soft Scotch plaid smoking the most fragrant of weeds; "if you can get those two voices to the 'Haute Noblesse,' for the next season it is ten thousand thalers in your pocket; and I shall only charge you ten per cent. for the suggestion."
"Suggestion, you blockhead! Why, the thought flashed through my head the very moment I heard the first note. But hush--there they are again."
From the cliff, sung to the air of a Tyrolese folk-song, came this stanza:
Tell me, Ilka on the hill-top, While the Alpine breezes blow, Are thy golden locks as golden As they were a year ago? (Yodle) Hohli-ohli-ohli-ho! Hohli-ohli-ohli-ho! Hohlio-oh!
The effect of the yodle, in which both the baritone of the cliff and the Alpine soprano united, was so melodious that Mr. Hahn sprang to his feet and swore an ecstatic oath, while Fritz, from sheer admiring abstraction, almost stuck the lighted end of his cigar into his mouth. The soprano answered:
Tell me, Hansel in the valley, While the merry cuckoos crow, Is thy bristly beard as bristly As it was a year ago? Hohli-ohli-ohli-ho! Hohli-ohli-ohli-ho! Hohli-oh!
The yodling refrain this time was arch, gay--full of mocking laughter and mirth. Then the responsive singing continued:
_Hansel_: Tell me, Ilka on the hill-top, While the crimson glaciers glow, Are thine eyes as blue and beaming As they were a year ago? _Both_: Hohli-ohli, etc.
_Ilka_: Hansel, Hansel in the valley I will tell you true; If mine eyes are blue and beaming, What is that, I pray, to you? _Both_: Hohli-ohli, etc.
_Hansel_: Tell me, Ilka on the hill-top, While the blushing roses blow, Are thy lips as sweet for kissing As they were a year ago? _Both_: Hohli-ohli, etc.
_Ilka_: Naughty Hansel in the valley, Naughty Hansel, tell me true, If my lips are sweet for kissing, What is that, I pray, to you? _Both_: Hohli-ohli, etc.
_Hansel_: Tell me, Ilka on the hill-top, While the rivers seaward flow, Is thy heart as true and loving As it was a year ago? _Both_: Hohli-ohli, etc.
_Ilka_: Dearest Hansel in the valley, I will tell you, tell you true. Yes, my heart is ever loving, True and loving unto you! _Both_: Hohli-ohli-ohli-ho! Hohli-ohli-ohli-ho! Hohli-oh!
For a few moments their united voices seemed still to be quivering in the air, then to be borne softly away by the echoes into the cool distance