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Updated: June 3, 2025
Moritz Hallheimer, the horse trader, stopped with his wagon at the smithy. He was still in the habit of pausing, when he passed that way, and he thought a great deal of Stephen Fausch, because he was a skilful workman as well as a strange sort of man. The horse and wagon, as well as Hallheimer himself bore the traces of a long journey.
"How's that?" asked Simmen innocently. "His boy, Franz?" The trader pricked up his ears. "Franz? Does he call him Franz now the boy?" asked he. The host begged him to tell what it all meant. So then Hallheimer told Cain's story, all about his life and about his name. "So so," said Simmen. "Base born is he then, the boy?" and the matter seemed to make him thoughtful.
"I may as well show you this," said he. In the box lay an object carefully wrapped in cloth and cotton wool. Hallheimer unpacked it and handed it to the smith. "A Roman bronze," said he, "I got it in Milan from an old junk man." Stephen took the little figure, a boy running a race, a work most delicately and perfectly formed. He placed it upright on the palm of his broad, fire-scorched hand.
"They'll refuse to name the child that," said he. "They'll have to," answered Stephen. "Did you pick up anything among the Italians this time?" he asked. And without ceremony he reached in under the oilcloth cover that was spread over the trader's wagon. Hallheimer leaned back from his seat into the wagon and took out a little box without any cover from under the oilcloth.
I wish you joy!" she called out. Since the smith behaved as if he saw and heard nothing, her embarrassment increased; she went dejectedly back into the house. Stephen laid down the file with which he had been scraping the horse's hoof, and slowly turned to the trader. "Did you hear what the mid-wife said?" he asked. Moritz Hallheimer felt in his pocket and took out a little goldpiece.
One evening in early summer, Moritz Hallheimer arrived from Waltheim. He was sitting in his small open wagon, driving his brown trotting horse without any whip. On both sides and at the back of the wagon were tied six horses that he had for sale. Their hoofs and legs were white with dust, for they had made a long journey.
While the smith was still busy shoeing the trader's horse, a piece of work which he did without any help, an agonizing cry was heard through the closed windows of his house. Then a second and a third. "What's that?" asked Hallheimer. "She is in labor," growled Stephen. Thereupon the trader, thinking to make himself agreeable, tried to say something fitting.
Every time Hallheimer came near the man he had to wonder at him, and because he wondered at him, he kept on stopping to see him and but but, he was going to have the baby christened Cain Presently Stephen gave the statuette back. "Thank you for showing me that," said he.
Hallheimer spent the night at the tavern, and seemed to be possessed to talk about the smith. He listened to what one and another in the house had to say about Stephen Fausch, and told the landlord's wife and the maid, who brought him his supper, and the working men, with whom he presently sat in the lower room, the story of Cain's name, and why such a name was given him.
His voice was quiet and almost deeper than usual, and yet one seemed to hear his quickened breathing. "Only see the position, the head, the youthful brow, the chest, just look Hallheimer !" "This one pleases you too, does it?" asked the trader. His glance rested on the heavy, grimy man, who stood bending forward, with a look of devotion on his dark, almost ugly face. Wasn't he a strange fellow!
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