Joseph in the Snow, and The Clockmaker. In Three Volumes. Vol. II.

"So that is Lenz? A good looking youth – an agreeable countenance – just what I had imagined him to be."

"Oh yes! – he is a very worthy young man, only rather too soft hearted. When he is passing along there, I know that two eyes from a new house are watching him, and would fain allure him in; and those eyes are Bertha's."

"So they understand each other, do they?" said the Techniker, his white forehead colouring to the roots of his hair.

"No; I never said anything of the kind. I dare say she would be very glad to marry him, for he has a nice property, and she has nothing but some fine Leghorn hats, and stockings in holes."

The landlord's daughter, or Lion-Annele, as she was called, inwardly rejoiced. "So! I have put salt enough in his soup!" And this pleasant thought restored her good humour.

The Techniker said that he was going out to take another walk.

"Where are you going?"

"Up yonder, towards the Spannreute."

"It is a very fine view from there, but as steep as the side of a house."

The Techniker went away, and Annele ran down into the garden behind the house and looked after him. He did, indeed, ascend the hill for a while, but he soon turned and went rapidly down the valley towards the Doctor's house.

"Go to the devil!" said Annele, in a rage. "From me you shall never more receive one civil word!"

CHAPTER VIII.

HAPPINESS DAWNS, AND A NEW MOTHER SPEAKS

"He is not at home," cried out Don Bastian's wife to Lenz, as he was crossing the meadow; "probably he is gone to your house. Did you not meet him?"

"No. Is his room locked?"

"No."

"Then I will sit down there for a little."

Lenz went into the familiar room. But as he opened the door he almost sank to the ground. His mother was standing opposite, smiling on him! He quickly, however, recovered from this startled feeling, and inwardly thanked his friend for having depicted so closely that dear, good, loving face, before time had effaced it from his memory. Yes, just so had she looked at him in life! "Pilgrim is, and always will be, my best friend. As he could not be with me he was engaged in doing me a favour; yes, the greatest favour he could have done me."

Lenz gazed long and mournfully at the beloved features. His eyes were swimming in tears, but still he continued to look at the picture. "So long as I have the use of my eyes I can now always see you, but I shall never hear you again. Oh! that I could but hear your voice once more! Oh! that we could but recall the voice of the dead!" He could scarcely prevail on himself to leave the room. It seemed so strange to leave his mother thus alone, looking at him as he went out, and no eyes meeting hers…

He did not go away till darkness set in, so that he could no longer see; and on his way he said to himself – "Now it is time that lamentation should cease. I can cherish my grief within my own heart, but the world shall not say that I don't bear it like a man." He heard the sound of music as he passed the Doctor's house. The windows were open, and a man was singing foreign songs in a fine baritone voice: it was not a voice belonging to the village. Who can it be? Whoever it is, he sings well.

He heard the stranger say, "Now, Mademoiselle Bertha, I hope you will sing me something."

"No, Herr Starr, I cannot just now; we must soon go to supper, and we can sing a duett afterwards. Look through this music in the mean time."

This allusion to supper, and the resolution he had formed to enjoy life again, seemed to awaken a good appetite in Lenz, and he forthwith determined to go to the "Golden Lion;" so he went towards the village with a quick and firm step.

"Oh, Lenz, good evening! How good of you to think of your friends, even in your sorrow!" said the landlady. "I mentioned your name only a few minutes since, and if you had been here today, you would have heard that all those who have been going in and out during the day, were talking of you. I am sure your cheeks must have been burning! Yes, my good Lenz, you will meet with your reward even in this world, for your admirable conduct to your excellent mother. And you know that your mother and I were always the best of friends; though it is true we did not see much of each other, for she disliked leaving her own house, and so did I. Will you have a pint of new wine or old? I advise the new, for it is particularly good and not so heating. You look red and flushed: to be sure, after losing such a mother, it is but natural. I don't say it is not, but – ;" and the good woman waved her hand, as if emotion choked her voice.

At last, after placing the glass and bottle on the table, she resumed: – "What can we do? – we are all mortal. Your mother was seventy five years old – a full sheaf of years, indeed; and very possibly I may be called away tomorrow in my turn, just like your mother. With God's help, I, too, will leave a good name to my children. No one, indeed, can be compared with your mother. But may I give you a piece of advice? – I mean it well, believe me."

"Yes, yes – I am always glad to get good advice."

"I only wished to say, that I know you are tender hearted, but you must not allow yourself to be overwhelmed with grief. You don't take this amiss, I hope?"

"Certainly not. What is there that I could take amiss in it? On the contrary, I did not know till now, how many true friends my mother had, and that they intend to continue their friendship to her son."

"Oh! you deserve this for your own sake, for you are – "

"Good day to you, Lenz!"

The landlady's flattering speech was cut short suddenly by a clear young voice, and a pretty, plump hand was offered to him, and the face corresponded with the hand. It was Annele, who brought a lamp into the room, which lighted it up brightly; and, turning to the landlady, she said – "Mother, why did not you let me know that Lenz was here?"

"Surely, I may talk to a young man in the twilight just as well as you," answered the mother, with a significant smile.

The jest did not seem to please Lenz: and Annele went on to say – "My good Lenz, you should have seen how I cried both yesterday and to-day about your mother. I am still trembling in every limb. Such persons should not die; and when we think that she is no longer here to go on doing good, it is truly heart breaking. I can just imagine you in your own home. You look into every corner – you feel as if the door must open; it cannot be – she could not be so cruel – she cannot be gone for ever – she must come in soon. Good heavens, Lenz! all day long I said to myself – Poor dear Lenz! if I could only bear part of his burden, I would so gladly take a share of it. You were expected here without fail this forenoon to dinner. Your uncle expected you; and, though he is usually so particular as to dinner being served as the clock strikes, he said to-day – 'Wait a bit, Annele – put off dinner a few minutes, Lenz is certain to come – surely he won't remain all alone at home.' And Pilgrim too made sure that you would go to him, and dine with him. You know Pilgrim is always with us, and just like a brother to me. In him you have, indeed, a good and true friend. Your uncle had a small table all to himself, and he made me sit down beside him, and talk to him. He is a man who likes his joke, but as clever as Old Nick himself. Well, remember that you must dine here tomorrow. What do you like best?"

"I have no great appetite for anything. I should like best of all, to be able to sleep for seven whole days – to sleep on and on continually, and know nothing of myself all the time."

"You will feel differently by and by. – I am coming in a moment!" said Annele, to some waggoners who had just seated themselves at another table. She brought them their dinner, and then returned to stand behind Lenz; and while she answered the other guests, she continued to hold her hand on the back of Lenz's chair, which gave him a strange sensation, as if a stream of electricity penetrated his whole frame. Now, however, seeing others eat, reminded him of his own hunger; and Annele went off to the kitchen and back again like a flash of lightning, and covered the table with a fine white cloth, and placed the dishes so neatly on the table, and said so heartily, "May God bless your meal!" that Lenz could not fail to enjoy his dinner.

Certainly few girls can be so active and neat as Annele. It is a pity that she is so addicted to making fools of her admirers: she is so quick in repartee, and has a surprising knack of introducing any subject she likes, and carrying on a conversation in a lively manner.

Lenz had finished his first pint of wine, and Annele quickly placed another before him, and poured it into his glass.

"I believe you don't smoke?" said she.

"I do smoke sometimes, but I don't care much about it,"

"I will bring you one of my father's cigars – our guests never get them." She brought a cigar and a match, and held a light for Lenz.

At this moment the landlord of the "Lion" came in – a tall, stout, massive figure, most respectable in appearance; for he had thin snow white hair and a small black velvet cap on his head, just like a clergyman: moreover, he wore silver spectacles with large round glasses; he used his spectacles only for reading, so they were usually pushed back on his forehead. Placidity and benevolence seemed impressed on his brow: he was, moreover, calm and sedate, and majestically self possessed, and was considered by his neighbours a very shrewd, sensible man. To be sure he said very little, but a man must have a good deal of intelligence who had prospered like the landlord of the "Lion." His face was rather red, and inspired considerable deference; his mouth alone, which usually looked as if he were eating something good, was not so awe inspiring as the rest of his appearance. He was a serious and silent man, as if he wished, by his silence, to counterbalance the incessant tongue of his wife, and, indeed, sometimes that of his daughter likewise. When his wife talked too much, or with levity, he occasionally shook his head gravely, as much as to say, "A man with my principles cannot approve of that;" and the landlord was a man of strict principles: this was known far and wide; and he was the best in his trade, which was that of what is here called a Packer – he bought clocks from the clockmakers, and sent them to all parts of the world.

"Good evening, Lenz!" said the landlord, in a sonorous voice, as if in these few words a vast deal was included; and when Lenz respectfully rose he gave him his hand, and said, "Don't rise or be on ceremony, remember you are in an inn." Then he nodded, as much as to say – "I have a high respect for you, and you are as sure of all proper condolence on my part, as if you held a threefold security for it." Then he went to his table and read the newspapers. Annele fetched her knitting, and seated herself beside Lenz, saying, politely – "With your permission!" She spoke much and cleverly, and was thought as good as she was clever. She seems both, and no one knows better how to make her game. When Lenz at last paid his score, she said: "I must say it vexes me to receive your money, I would far rather that you had considered yourself our guest. Now, good night! and don't grieve your heart out. I only wish I could comfort you. By the bye, I had almost forgotten to ask you when your great musical clock – which is supposed to be the finest that was ever made in this country – goes to Russia?"

"I may receive a letter any day, desiring it to be sent off."

"Will you let my mother and me come up to see it and hear it before it goes?"

"I shall be highly honoured. Pray come whenever you choose."

"Now, good night! sleep sound, and remember me to Franzl, and tell her that if she wants anything, she is to come to us for it."

"Thank you very much – I won't fail to tell her."

It was a good quarter of an hour's walk to Lenz's house, and a steep hill all the way. Today he was soon at home, however. He did not know why, but when he was once more alone in his room, he became very sorrowful. He gazed long out into the summer night – he did not know what he was thinking about. Here nothing is seen or heard of the world of human beings; the only object visible in the distance, on a far away hill, is a solitary cottage, where a blacksmith lives – a light sparkles up through the windows, but soon disappears. Those men who have no grief in their hearts can sleep.

Not far from the house of the smith, a sawmill is heard through the stillness of the night, busily revolving from a current of air. The stars are shining brightly over the dark line of the forest, and on the spot where the moon has gone down behind the hills, a pale blue halo is visible, and the fleecy clouds in the sky are gently illuminated.

Lenz supported his burning forehead on his hands: his pulses were beating – the world seems going round with him. No doubt the new wine is the cause of these sensations. "I ought not to have drunk wine at night. What a clever, good girl Annele is! Don't be a fool – What is she to you? – 'Good night! – Sleep sound.'" He repeated her words gently, and indeed he did sleep soundly all night.

CHAPTER IX.

A PARLEY WITH FRIENDS

The journeymen and the apprentice, whom Lenz had sent home to their parents during his domestic troubles, were already busy in the workshop when Lenz awoke in the morning. It had never before happened that they were before their master at their work. Indeed, when Lenz opened the window the sun was already high in the heavens, and five or six clocks that were in the room, struck seven at the same moment. It seemed to Lenz as if his wish had been fulfilled, that he might sleep for a whole week. Between yesterday and today, weeks indeed seemed to have passed. The time appeared so long to Lenz, because such unwonted feelings had entered his heart.

Franzl brought him his breakfast, sat down uninvited beside him, and asked, "What shall I dress for your dinner today?"

"For me? Nothing. I don't intend to dine at home. Get what you like for yourself. Only think, Franzl, that kind Pilgrim – "

"Yes; he was here yesterday," interrupted Franzl, "and waited for you a long time."

"Did he? and I was at his house. What do you think, Franzl? the kindhearted fellow painted a portrait of my mother yesterday, secretly; you will be surprised to see how like life she looks: one might almost fancy she must begin to speak."

"I knew that he was doing it, for he made me send him, privately, your mother's Sunday jacket, and cap, and neckhandkerchief. You have locked up her string of garnets with other things, of which I know nothing. It is no affair of mine: I have no wish to know everything; but when I do know a thing, and it is to be kept secret, you might cut me in two, and I would not say a syllable. Has any one ferreted out of me that I knew what Pilgrim was doing? Did I say a single word to you to account for his not coming here? You may entrust me with anything."

As, however, Lenz did not entrust her with anything, she asked: "Where are you going today? and where were you last night?"

Lenz looked at her with surprise, and made no answer.

"Probably you were with your uncle Petrowitsch?" continued Franzl.

Lenz shook his head, but vouchsafed no other reply, and Franzl smoothed their mutual difficulty by saying: "I have no more time to spare; I must go to the garden to cut beans for our dinner. I have engaged a charwoman to help me a little; for we must collect our potatoes to-day. You approve of this, don't you?"

"Yes, yes – do everything just as you think best."

Lenz went to his workshop, but his head today seemed in considerable confusion. He could not please himself in the choice of his tools, and he even threw aside, pettishly, his father's file, which he had hitherto considered such a treasure.

The great clock played the music of the "Magic Flute."

"Who set these works again in motion?" asked Lenz quickly, in surprise.

"I did," said the apprentice.

Lenz said nothing. The usual routine must be resumed. The world does not stand still because a heart has ceased to beat for ever, or because a mourner would fain be still for ever, too. Lenz continued to work assiduously. The journeyman mentioned that a young artificer in Freiberg had come home from his travels, and that it was his intention to erect a manufactory of clocks at his own expense, and to settle in this vicinity.

"I might sell my whole stock to him," thought Lenz, "and then I could see with my own eyes, at last, how the world looks." But this idea of leaving home only recurred to his mind as a remembrance of something that he had wished once on a time, but long ago. He no longer felt any inward impulse in the matter; and precisely because his uncle had spread a report of his intention to travel, in order to constrain him to do so, he felt perverse and unwilling to go. He once more took up his father's file and looked at it intently, as if to say – "During his whole life, the man who guided this file, with the exception of a short absence in his early youth, remained stationary on this spot, and lived happily. To be sure – he married young, which is a different thing."

Usually Lenz sent his apprentice to the Foundry on the other side of the hill, but to-day he went himself. When he returned, he did not sit long at his work. It would be very wrong not to go to see Pilgrim. Before noon he went down the hill, through the village, and across the meadow to Pilgrim. His worthy comrade was seated at his easel, painting. He rose – run his two hands through his long straight sandy hair, and gave Lenz his right hand; who now told him what joy the portrait had caused him, and how kind and thoughtful he considered his friend in giving him so agreeable a surprise.

"Pooh!" said Pilgrim, carelessly plunging both hands into his wide pockets. "I benefit myself by it. It is so desperately tiresome, year after year, to paint our primitive village; the church, with its mitre for a church tower, and so large a hole that a dial-plate might go into it; and the mower with his scythe stands there always on the same spot everlastingly; and the woman with the child going to meet him never reaches him; the child stretches out its hands, but it never joins its father; and the booby of a man stands there with his back to them, and I have no notion what kind of face he has – and yet hundreds and hundreds of times, I have been obliged to paint this confounded landscape of verdigris hue. So it is: the world will always have the same thing over and over again. I do believe I could paint the thing blindfold, and yet I must go at it again and again. Now I have pleased myself by painting your mother, though I no longer take portraits, for I have no fancy for any of the faces round here, and I would not be so spiteful towards generations yet unborn, as to force them to look at such physiognomies. Your uncle is right in positively refusing to be painted. Not long ago, when a travelling artist applied to him, he said – 'No, no, or I shall probably be hung up in some pawnbroker's shop, at some distant day, along with Napoleon and old Fritz.' That man has most singular, quaint ideas!"

"What have you to do with my uncle just now? You painted my mother's picture for me, I know."

"Certainly, if you choose to accept of it Come, place yourself here. I am not quite satisfied with the eyes – I cannot catch the right expression. You have exactly your mother's eyes; so sit down there – so – just there. Now sit still, and think of something pleasant, or of giving away something. It was famous in you to become security for Faller, Think of that, and then you will have your mother's look that warmed the heart. Don't smile. But she was so good, so sincere, so – so – . Now, now I have it. Don't move an eyelash. – Now I can't paint any more when you are crying."

"My eyes overflowed," said Lenz, in an apologetic tone, "for I could not help thinking that my mother's eyes – "

"Never mind! – I have finished. I know now what to do. Come, let us be done working – besides, it is noon already. You will dine with me, I hope?"

"No – don't take it amiss; but I must dine with uncle Petrowitsch.

"I am never angry with you. Now tell me your plans."

Lenz explained – that he had half a mind to go from home for a couple of years; and he implored his friend to fulfil their former project, which they had been obliged to renounce, and to accompany him. Perhaps they might now conquer fortune in the same way they had hoped then.

"It won't do; – don't go," said Pilgrim, disapprovingly. "Rely upon it, Lenz, that neither you nor I are born to great riches, and so much the better, probably, for us. My host, Don Bastian, is a proper man of the world, who can gain money: the fellow has been half through the world, and knows no more of it than a cow does of the Catechism. Wherever he arrived, or walked, or stood, his sole thought was – 'How is money to be got here? – how can I best save or cheat?' And he is no worse than the rest of the world. The Spanish peasants are just as cunning and as stupid as the German ones, and their chief glory is to fleece their neighbours. When Don Bastian came home, the only thing he had acquired was his money, and see how profitably he has laid it out – a man like that is sure to prosper."

"And why should not we?"

"Those who take pleasure in things that gold cannot buy, do not require money. See! all the superfluous clinking sounds I hear proceed from my guitar, and it is enough for me. A few days ago I heard Don Bastian's youngest boy say the Ten Commandments, and a very sagacious thought occurred to me – 'What is the first Commandment?' – 'Thou shalt have none other gods but me.' Now, every man can have but one god. You and I love our professions. You are happy when you have finished a work of which the mechanism is perfect; and I too, in the same way – though it often goes sadly against the grain with me to paint that one everlasting village, with the same everlasting girl, and the same woman and child – but still I am glad when it is done; and when I am painting it I am as merry as a bird – do you see? – as that goldfinch sitting on the roof of the church. And he who takes pleasure in what he does, and throws his whole heart and soul into it, cannot possibly spare time to think of how to become rich, and to speculate, and to overreach others. 'Thou shalt have none other gods but me' – that is a wise command. In fact, the other god is generally the Devil, and you may see the truth of that by your uncle Petrowitsch."

"Come and live with me," was the only answer that Lenz made to his friend. "I will build a couple of rooms for you upstairs."

"You mean well and kindly, but it would not do. Lenz, you are a singular man. You are a born husband and father of a family: you must marry, and already I rejoice at the thoughts of telling your children stories of my travels. And when I become old, and can no longer earn my bread, then I shall be only too thankful if you will take me into your house, and cram me with good things till I die. But now keep your eyes open, and remember I shall not be offended; on the contrary, it is my advice, that you depreciate me before your uncle, who hates me; and then, perhaps, he will leave you something in his will. You have quite talent enough to accept a legacy. I have a remarkable talent in that line myself; but unluckily all my relations are poor, or at least rich only in children. I am the only one of the family who has anything to leave, so you see I am a rich uncle like Petrowitsch."

His friend cheered Lenz, just as a passing sunny shower at that moment refreshed all nature. They waited till the rain was over, and then they went together to the "Lion," at the door of which they parted, for Pilgrim said he did not wish to go into the room where Petrowitsch was, along with Lenz. A carriage was standing before the inn, and the landlord accompanied a young man to the door, giving him two fingers in token of farewell, and touching his cap.

The young man looked up, and waved his hand to the wife and daughter in the room above, desiring the driver to drive on, and to wait for him at the Doctor's house.

When he passed the two friends, he bowed and took off his cap.

"Do you know who that is?" asked Pilgrim.

"No."

"Nor I either," said Pilgrim. "Who is that stranger?" said he to the Landlord.

"The brother of my son-in-law."