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

The Doctor's eldest daughter said – "Petrowitsch is fond of music, and whoever likes music must have a good heart." Lenz nodded approvingly, and Annele smiled sweetly. The Landlady could not stand this. She had turned the conversation on such a fruitful subject, that she could not permit others to snatch it from her; so she, too, praised Petrowitsch's cleverness, and hinted that she was his confidant on most points; whence it was pretty plainly to be seen that she was very clever herself, so thoroughly to understand such a superior person, for it was not every one that was capable of doing so. Annele, too, had a good word to say, and praised Petrowitsch for his neatness, and always wearing such fine linen, and making so many pleasant jokes; even Büble came in for a good morsel from this rich banquet of praise. Annele described Petrowitsch as the most devoted friend of her family, – indeed, shortly they made him out to be a perfect saint, and only wanting a pair of wings to become an angel altogether. At last the visit came to an end; the Schoolmaster accompanied the Doctor; Lenz followed the Doctor as he went out, and said —

"Herr Doctor, I have a question to put to you, but you must not inquire why I ask it."

"What is it, pray?"

"I should like to know what kind of plant Edelweiss is."

"Do you know it, Amanda?" said the Doctor.

Amanda, colouring, said, "It is an Alpine plant which grows in snowy regions; in fact it springs up under the snow; but I never saw it growing."

"I should think not, child," answered the Doctor, smiling; "bold Alpine hunters and shepherds alone venture to gather this strange plant on the spot where it grows, and it is considered a sign of a bold spirit to secure it. It is a singular, fine, and delicately formed plant, with very little sap, and therefore more easily preserved, like our native Immortelle; the flower is edged with white velvety leaves, and the stalk is also covered with white down. The first time you come to see me, Lenz, I can show you a specimen of the little plant; its Latin name is Leontopodium Alpinum, which is called in Germany Löwenfuss (Lionfoot). I don't know whence its German name is derived, unless I can find it in some book; but at all events it is a prettier one than the Latin denomination."

Lenz thanked the Doctor, who went away with his family.

When they were all fairly gone, the Landlady stayed in the kitchen with Franzl, and could not say enough in praise of the neatness and regularity, and orderly state in which everything there was kept. "But, indeed, you are now in the place of a mother in this house," said she, with one of her magpie cackles (as Pilgrim called the worthy woman's laugh); "you well deserve that Lenz should have a high opinion of you, and entrust you with all his keys and belongings, and have no secret hid from you."

"Indeed, he has none almost – only one."

"Really! is it possible? May I ask what it is?"

"I don't quite know myself: when he came home from the funeral, he was rummaging in the next room in a press, of which his mother always kept the key herself, and when I called out to him, he shut the door in my face; and after searching for some time, he locked up every thing again, and when he leaves the house he always tries the lock of the press, to see whether it is fast. He is not at all mistrustful naturally."

The Landlady inwardly chuckled and gave a little sharp laugh: "All right, no doubt the old woman has hoarded up a stocking full of gold; who knows how much? Come to see me," said the Landlady in a condescending manner. "I hope you will come whenever you like, and if you want to borrow anything, I shall never forgive you so long as I live, if you go to any other house but mine for it. Your brother often arrives at our door with his cart of shingles; can I give him any message from you?"

"Yes! I think he might sometimes come here to look after me."

"Rely upon my telling him so; and if he has not time I will send for you. Many Kunslingers come to us, – they are sensible people, – at least I like to talk to them best of all. If the Kunslingers were only rich, they would be famed far and near. They often speak of you, and are pleased when I tell them how highly you are respected here."

The Landlady drew breath; Franzl stood looking at her, and would gladly have lent her some of her own breath, but she had scarcely any left; she laid her hand on her heart, to show her agitation, for speak she could not: but what has happened all of a sudden in the kitchen? It seems as if merry Kunslinger faces were laughing from all the crockery, and the handsome shining copper kettle, and pans, had become trumpets, and playing loudly, and the funnels puffing and blowing, and the pretty white china coffeepot sticking its arm in its side, dancing like the Bürgermeister's wife – Franzl's godmother. Heavens! it tumbles! but Franzl luckily caught the obstreporous coffeepot before it fell.

The Landlady rose, and concluded by saying, "Now, God be with you, Franzl! It does one good to have a chat with a good old friend once more. I am far more at my ease with you here, than in the other room with the Doctor, and his upsetting young ladies, who can do nothing but play the piano, and give themselves airs. Good bye, Franzl!"

The musical clock in the next room never played more or sweeter melodies, than at this moment sounded in Franzl's heart; she could have sung and danced from joy – she stared at the fire and laughed, and then she again looked out of the kitchen window after the Landlady. "What an admirable woman that is, – the most looked up to in the whole country, and yet she said herself, that I was her good old friend!"

When Franzl laid the cloth for dinner in the next room, she looked once more into the glass, like a girl just come home from a ball; she wished to see how Franzl looked – the Landlady's good old friend! She could not swallow a morsel of the comfortable dinner she had prepared; her appetite was satisfied – more than satisfied – for she had swallowed the fat Landlady whole.

CHAPTER XII.

A GOOD ESCORT, AND THOUGHTS OF THE FUTURE

"It is all ready now," said Lenz aloud, though he was alone in the room. "May you arrive safe!" He had been engaged in unscrewing the work, as it was to be brought down into the valley in different pieces, and the large framework to be carried on a handbarrow by men, for there was no carriage road to Lenz's house. The two enemies, Pilgrim and Petrowitsch, met beside the waggon in the valley, beside which Lenz was standing, busily engaged in packing securely the different parts of the instrument.

On one side of the waggon Petrowitsch was saying – "I know the man who has purchased your musical clock, he is one of my best friends in Odessa, and a most worthy respectable person. If you had any sense, you would go too, and exhibit the instrument in Odessa; and then you would be sure to get at least seven new orders.

"I have already got a fresh one," said Lenz.

On the other side of the waggon. Pilgrim said – "Lenz, let us escort the 'Magic Flute' part of the way, and we can return in good time this evening."

"I should like it very much, for I feel sure I can't work any more today."

When the two friends were walking along behind the waggon, as they passed the "Lion" Inn, Annele looked out of the window and called out "Good luck!"

The two friends thanked her.

In passing the Doctor's house, they were even more gratified, for a maid came out, and running up to the waggon laid a wreath on the packing case.

"Who sends that?" asked Pilgrim, for Lenz was too surprised to speak.

"The young ladies," said the maid, returning to the house.

The two friends looked up at the window and bowed; no one, however, was to be seen, but when they had gone on a few steps, they heard the music of the "Magic Flute" played in the Doctor's house.

"What excellent people they are at the Doctor's!" said Pilgrim. "I never feel more perplexed than when I ask myself, Which of them is the best? The one I like the most is the old grandmother; the whole district should put up a petition to the Almighty to preserve her life. Your mother is now dead, and if the Doctor's wife were to die also, then the whole of the good old fashioned world would be dead – who still know how to observe good old household customs and ways. But her granddaughters are also excellent girls, and I don't doubt that Amanda will one day be as admirable as her grandmother."

Lenz said nothing, and the whole way to the town he was equally silent. When, however, they had arrived there, and, the waggon having proceeded on its journey, the two friends were drinking their wine together, Lenz became more cheerful and talkative, and said he now felt as if life had revived within him.

"You really ought to marry," was again Pilgrim's admonition. "You have two classes to choose from: either a thoroughly well educated person, like one of the Doctor's daughters – you could marry one of them if you chose, and I advise you to propose for Amanda. It is a pity that she can't sing like Bertha, but she has the best heart in the world, and will honour you if you honour her, and she will esteem your talents."

Lenz looked into the glass, and Pilgrim continued —

"Or else you must make up your mind to be satisfied with an honest farmer's daughter – I mean the bailiffs Kathrine. Franzl is right, she would jump over hedge and ditch after you; she would be sparing and frugal, and you would have fine healthy children – seven sons strong enough to uproot the old firs in the wood of the Landlord of the 'Lion;' and you would become a man of substance too; but you must not in that case expect your wife to understand anything of your vocation, or of the many ideas you have in your head. You have the choice, but choose you must. When you have made up your mind, let me know, and send me to the family. I feel quite proud already at the thoughts of my dignity as matchmaker; I will even put on a white neckcloth for the occasion if necessary. Can I give you a more striking proof of my wish to serve you?"

Lenz still continued to look at himself in the glass. Pilgrim had excluded Annele from the possibility of his choice. After a long pause Lenz said, "I should like to be in a large town just for once; I should so enjoy hearing music played by a whole orchestra, and to hear the same piece played five or six times over, then I feel I could arrange it quite differently: it always seems to me as if there were certain tones wanting, that I can never produce. They may praise me as much as they like, but I can tell you that the pieces I set have not the right sound, very far from it; I know it is so, and yet I can't alter the tone. There is something squeaking, and dry, and hard, in the instrument, like a dumb man who has been taught to speak; it is something like our speech, but yet it is different. If I could only succeed in getting this tone. I know what it should be – I hear it, but I can't produce it."

"Yes, yes, I feel just the same; I imagine that there is a style of drawing and colour that I must aim at. I am always in hopes that I shall seize the idea, and hold it fast. But I shall die in obscurity without ever having succeeded. This is doomed to be our fate – both yours and mine. Come, let us finish our wine and go home."

They went along together in a cheerful mood, this fine autumnal evening, singing all kinds of melodies together, and when they were tired of singing they whistled duets. Pilgrim took leave of Lenz at his own house. Lenz, however, seeing lights in the "Lion," and hearing the sound of loud voices, went in.

"I am so glad that you have come again to see us," said Annele, stretching out her hand to him. "I could not help thinking that you must feel it very solitary at home, now that your work is gone; almost as bad as the day you lost your poor mother."

"Oh! not quite so bad as that, though something of the same kind; but, Annele, people may praise my musical clock as much as they like, but I know it should be very different. I don't wish to praise myself, but this I will say, that I understand how to listen to music, and really to understand that, is no small merit."

Annele looked at him in surprise, and thought: "To know how to listen to music; what knowledge does that require? any one can do that who has ears, if they do not put cotton into them." She, however, had a suspicion that Lenz meant something more; she knew well, from long experience, that people often begin with some very opposite subject when they have something to communicate which they are full of; she therefore cast a sympathising glance at Lenz, saying, "Yes, indeed; it is no small merit."

"You understand then what I mean?" cried Lenz with enthusiasm.

"Yes; but I don't exactly know how to express it."

"That is precisely my case. When I come to this point I get puzzled. I never learned the science of music, I can neither play on the violin nor on the piano; but when I hear the notes, I seem to know at once what the composer meant. I cannot express music, but I can listen to it."

"That is a capital expression," said Annele joyfully. "I shall never forget that phrase so long as I live; to express music and to listen to it are two different things; it is easy to learn from you, for though I feel just so myself, I could not explain it as you do."

Lenz drank in the good wine, the good words, and the good looks of Annele at the same time, and then continued, "Mozart especially I seem to hear without losing a note, and I think I hear him correctly. Oh! if I could only have given him my hand once while he was alive! but I think I should have died of grief when he died, if he had lived in my day; but I should like to serve him even now that he is in Heaven; and I often think it is better that I can't play on any instrument, for I should never have learned to express music as I can feel it. Hearing is a gift of nature, for which I have to thank God. My grandfather, too, had great knowledge of music. If I had not played in harmony, with my sense of hearing and feeling, it would certainly have grated distractingly on my nerves."

"It is just the same with me," interrupted Annele. "I like to listen to music, but I have no skill; and besides, when there is so much to do in the house I have no time to myself, so there is no chance of my improving. I have entirely given up the piano; my father is very angry with me for it, for he spared no money, and made all his children learn music, but I think if you can't do a thing really well it is better to let it alone altogether; and then for people like myself, who know how to hear music though not to speak it, we have you and the instruments you make. If I were master in this house, I would buy your best organ from you, and not let any more go to Russia: I would have it in the public room, where it would amuse all the guests, and you would in this way receive plenty of orders. Since I was up at your house, no matter where I go, I have always ringing in my ears that pretty melody with the bells, from the 'Magic Flute.'"

A pretty melody sounded in Lenz's ears also. He tried to explain to Annele that a person who had no true feeling for music, might indeed place the pegs in the instrument in the same order in which the notes were written; but that was not all; no, not even when attending to change of time as it was marked: where feeling does not exist, the instrument will never be anything better than a barrel-organ.

A person playing of his own accord makes the Piano slower and the Forte quicker; and a similar effect must be obtained by the mechanism of the instrument, but those shades in the time must be delicately managed. Though the forte should be well marked, the instrument having so much stress on it already, in the fortissimo a reinforcement of power should be given.

Annele listened to him with a very intelligent face, and at last said: "I am very much obliged to you for giving me all these details. If some people knew that you had been telling me all this, they might be jealous."

At these words Lenz passed his hands across his eyes, and said: "Annele, may I venture to ask you a question?"

"Yes, I would tell you anything."

"Don't take it amiss; but is it true that you are as good as betrothed to the Techniker?"

"Thank you for asking me that in a straightforward way. There, you have my hand as a pledge that there is not a word of truth in it; – there is nothing between us."

Lenz held her hand fast, and said: "May I ask you one thing more?"

"Ask whatever you choose, you shall have an honest answer."

"Tell me why your manner is so different to me when Pilgrim is present? have you and he had any quarrel?"

"May this be poison that I am drinking if I don't tell you the truth," said Annele, taking up Lenz's glass and sipping out of it; though Lenz assured her that there was no need of such strong asseverations – he could not bear them.

She continued: "If all men were like you, no asseverations would be necessary. Pilgrim and I are constantly teasing and tormenting each other, but he does not know me thoroughly; and when you are here I cannot bear all these silly jokes, and mountebank ways: but now you must promise me one thing: if there is anything you want to know about me, ask no one but myself; give me your hand on it."

They clasped each other's hands, and Annele continued in a sorrowful tone: "I am the daughter of the landlord of an inn; I am not so well off as most girls: they are not obliged to receive any one who chooses to come in, and to speak to them and answer them; so I often say sharp things, but I am not always what I appear – I may tell you that, and I do tell it to you."

"I never should have thought that; I never could have believed that any sorrowful thought had ever crossed your mind; I always supposed that all day long you were as merry as a bird."

"Yes, indeed, I would much rather be merry," answered Annele, her face quickly changing; "I don't like sad music either. How pretty and gay that air was from the 'Magic Flute'! it almost made one dance."

The conversation now turned again on the subject of music, and the instrument that had today left the village. Lenz liked to talk about it, and mentioned his having giving it a convoy part of the way. He would gladly have called out to all packers, waggoners, and sailors – "Be cautious with it! it is a pity you can't hear what it contains."

Never till this evening had Lenz been the last remaining guest in the inn; but he felt no inclination to rise and go home: the large clock in the room struck loudly, and in a warning tone, its weights rolling down angrily, but Lenz did not hear them. The Landlord walked up and down the room with creaking boots, but Lenz took no notice of them. It had never yet occurred that any one should act as if the Landlord was not in the room. He struck his repeater loudly, but Lenz did not appear to notice it; at last – the Landlord is not a man to stand on ceremony with any one – he spoke out: "Lenz, if you choose to stay here all night, I will have a room prepared for you."

Lenz started, and gave Annele his hand; he would gladly have done the same to the Landlord, but that is a liberty no man ventures to take, unless that potentate first offers his. Lenz walked home in silence, and buried in thought.

CHAPTER XIII.

LION, FOX, AND MAGPIE

In the first winter months, as well as in those of early spring, no spot in the whole country was so beautiful as the Morgenhalde. Old Lenz was quite right; the mornings sun shone on it during half the day, and stoves were not much required. In the small garden behind the house, flowers were still blooming, when everywhere else no more were to be seen; and they sprung up there, too, when every other place was barren. This garden, however, was as much sheltered as a room, and, which is very rare in this country, a sweet-chesnut tree stood here, to which, however, the squirrels and woodpeckers in the neighbouring wood paid many unwelcome visits. The garden was sheltered by the house on one side, without being deprived by it, however, of the sun, after ten o'clock; and the large wood, which clothed the steep hill behind the house, seemed particularly to rejoice in the garden, two of its finest firs standing at the entrance.

If there had been many people who liked walking in the cold early winter months, they would certainly have crossed the meadow, gone through the wood, and taken the path to Lenz's house, and then returned by the crest of the mountain. There was, however, only one habitual pedestrian in the village, or rather we may say two, namely, Petrowitsch and his dog Büble. Every day before dinner, Petrowitsch ensured a good appetite by following the path along the meadow, past the house, and over the hill.

Büble took double and triple exercise, by jumping backwards and forwards over all the little stony channels on the hill side, leading down to the valley from Lenz's house. These channels were at present dry, but in spring and summer they served to carry off the rushing mountain springs to the valley beneath. Petrowitsch was always on the best terms with his dog, and in his fits of good humour he used to call him "my son." Petrowitsch had returned home from foreign parts a wealthy man; of course his riches were estimated in the country at threefold their real value, but what he really did possess made him very independent. That longing which never leaves the Swabians and the sons of the mountains to return to their homes, had also brought Petrowitsch back to his native country, where he lived a very pleasant life in his own fashion. His most stirring time was, however, at Midsummer, when merchants assembled from every part of the world, and in the "Lion" might be heard Spanish, Italian, English, Russian, and Dutch, in fact every European language; and amid all these foreign tongues, good, wholesome, old fashioned German, in the dialect of the Black Forest, spoken by the very same men who could speak every other language. Petrowitsch at such times was much sought after. Though usually leaving the "Lion Inn" at a particular hour, at such times as these he sometimes remained there for days, and even nights; and when the fair was over he was left alone, and occupied himself, especially with regard to those who were bound for the Lower Donau, where he had long resided, by guessing how far they had proceeded on their journey.

Petrowitsch kept the whole country in a state of excitement, for though he did not say so himself, still it was pretty well known that he intended to found a hospital for the district. There was a stove in every room of the large house he had built, which seemed to denote (and he neither said "Yes" or "No" when it was pointed out to him) that he intended to found a hospital for sick labourers.

Lenz, his only heir, was not less excited than the others, for it seemed naturally a settled point, that he should inherit the greatest part of his uncle's property. Lenz, however, never reckoned on it. He showed his uncle the proper respect due to him; still he had spirit enough to provide for himself. He made his apprentice keep his uncle's favourite walk in good order, but neither he nor Petrowitsch ever exchanged a word on the subject. Every forenoon, when Lenz's geese and hens made a commotion, and a dog barked, it was the signal of uncle Petrowitsch's approach. Lenz nodded through the window, where he always sat working; his uncle nodded in return and passed on. Lenz did not go to his uncle's house, nor did his uncle come to him.

One day Petrowitsch stood still before Lenz's window, and Büble seemed to guess his master's thoughts, for though in general he only chased Lenz's poultry as far as the garden, and was satisfied when they flew cackling behind the hedge, and returned content to his master; still, on this particular occasion, he chased the hens into the garden as far as the house, where they took refuge with Franzl. Petrowitsch scolded his dog angrily, and passed on, saying to himself, "Lenz must come to me, why should I trouble myself about him? best let him alone. When any man begins to feel an interest in another, all peace is at an end; for then it is perpetually – Will he do this? will he do that. None of that for me! Heaven be praised: I care for no man living." The thought now recurred to him, that he had heard something about the wood.

On the day before the Landlady of the "Lion" had sat down beside him, and after having talked on various matters she suddenly began to congratulate Petrowitsch on taking his quiet walk every day; it kept him in good health, and in this way he might live to be a hundred; in fact he looked as if he would. She honestly hoped he might, he had worked hard enough, and deserved rest and prosperity now. Petrowitsch was shrewd enough to know that there was more than met the ear in all this; he thought, and probably he was right, that the Landlady was so particularly civil to him, because she had designs on his nephew; but she did not say a word of this. She resumed the subject of his daily walk, and said it would be an excellent plan if Petrowitsch would purchase the fine Spannreuter wood at the Morgenhalde, from her husband; he was by no means anxious to part with it, in fact she did not know whether he could be persuaded to sell it at all, but she would like to be the means of procuring for Petrowitsch, the great pleasure of walking in his own wood, which would certainly be much more satisfactory.