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

CHAPTER VII.
THE CIVILITIES OF A LANDLORD'S PRETTY DAUGHTER

A young man was seated alone at a well covered table in the large inn of the "Lion," and eating with that good appetite which is sure to fall to the share of a youth of twenty, after having roamed for a whole day through the valley and over the hills. Sometimes he cast an observant glance at the silver knives and forks: they are of the good old fashioned sort, when people did not grudge a little solid silver, though it brought no interest for their money. The young man – it is the Techniker, with whom we were in company yesterday at the Doctor's – lights a cigar, and smooths his thick light-brown beard with a small pocket brush; his face has strong lines, and his light brown hair, curls round a well-developed prominent forehead; his blue eyes are deep set, and have an expression of hearty cordiality; and his cheeks are full and fresh coloured.

A cool evening breeze blows in through the open oriel window, quickly dispersing the clouds of tobacco smoke.

"So you are smoking already, Herr Starr? – I suppose you don't want anything more to eat?" said a neatly dressed girl who entered the room at that moment. She wore a white apron and an embroidered stomacher; her figure was slender, flexible, and agile; her face full and oval, and her complexion bright; her brown fawnlike eyes had a shrewd expression; and three massive brown glossy plaits formed a crown on her head. It was Annele, the landlord's daughter.

The girl went on in a pleasant flow of words, saying – "You must make the best of it. We had no idea that you would dine at so late an hour."

"Everything is as good as possible. Sit down beside me for a few minutes, sister-in-law."

"I will, the moment I have cleared away everything. I cannot sit down in peace when everything is in such disorder."

"Yes, with you, everything must be as neat and tidy as yourself."

"Thank you for the compliment. I am glad you did not expend them all at the Doctor's."

"Now do return soon, for I have got much to tell you."

The young man continued alone for some time, and then the landlord's daughter came and seated herself opposite to him, with her knitting, and said, "Now tell me what you have got to say."

The young man told her, that he had this day accompanied the Doctor in his professional visits to hill and valley, and he could not sufficiently admire the deep insight he had acquired into the nature of the inhabitants. Their lives were, indeed, as the Doctor said, industrious and pious, and yet without any bigotry. "We were in three or four inns too today," said he. "Usually, when you enter a village inn, on a summer afternoon, you are sure to find a dissipated looking man, lolling at his ease on a bench behind the table, half asleep beside his glass of vapid beer or brandy; and the scamp of a fellow glares at the new arrival, and brags, and blusters, and abuses the world in general, in a confused manner. I have often seen this – but never here."

"Yes," said Annele, "our Doctor, who is also a magistrate, is very severe against drunkards, and we never give them anything to drink here."

The Techniker described the Doctor's disposition with great enthusiasm. Wherever he appeared the day seemed brighter, and even in the huts of poverty, his cordial sympathy brought consolation; and the confidence his nature inspired, and that breathed in every word he uttered, brought fresh courage everywhere.

Annele seemed rather embarrassed by this glowing description; and she only said, while pressing her knitting needles against her lips, "Yes, indeed, the Doctor is a true friend to his fellowcreatures."

"He is your friend, certainly, for he spoke very kindly of you."

"Really? But he only ventures to do so in the mountain paths: he dare not speak well of me at home. His wife and daughters would not allow him; and yet I except the wife, for she is truly kindhearted."

"And not the others? I should have thought – "

"I say nothing against any of them. I have no cause to speak ill of the people. God be praised! I don't need to obtain praise for myself by abusing others – 'to get profit at other people's expense,' as Lenz's mother used to say, till it passed into a proverb. Hundreds of people are in the habit of going in and out of this house: they can proclaim in the streets, if they like, what we do, and an inn is an open house. We are not like many people who receive a guest for a few days only, and make the house clean and neat, and are all amiability to each other till the visit is over, and afterwards all is confusion and filth, and every one anxious to scratch out each other's eyes; and yet, when any one is passing the house, they can begin to play and sing, or seat themselves by the window with their work in their hand, and look amiable. I don't wish, however, to say a word against any one; I only wish to give you a hint that you had better not go so often up yonder. Forgive my interference, but you being the brother of my sister's husband makes me feel interested in you."

"I am very much obliged to you for your kindness."

"Where can my father be?" said the landlord's daughter, blushing.

"By the bye, where is your father?"

"He went out on particular business: he may come home at any minute. If he would only give up business altogether! Why should he continue such a life of toil? But he cannot live without it; and he always says – 'Those who give up business very soon die.' Cares, and anxieties, and business, and occupation keep a man fresh and lively; and indeed I cannot understand how any one, with the use of their limbs, can sit down in the morning to play the piano, or wander about the house idle, singing silly tunes. To be always busy, and active, and stirring – that is the way to be healthy and happy. If, indeed, we reckon up what we women earn in money, it is certainly not much; but to know how to manage a house is worth something, too."

"Indeed it is," said the Techniker. "There is a vast amount of persevering industry in this country. Most of the clockmakers here actually work fourteen hours a-day. This is highly to their credit."

The girl looked at him in surprise. What on earth does he mean by always referring to the stupid clockmakers? Does he not understand, or does he not choose to understand, what I am aiming at?

A pause ensued, till the Techniker again asked – "Where is your mother?"

"She is in the garden gathering her crop of beans, which cannot be delayed. Come with me, and we will join her."

"No; let us stay where we are. Now, sister-in-law, as I venture to call you, is not the Doctor's eldest daughter, Amanda, an excellent, accomplished girl?"

"She! – Why should she not be excellent? She is old enough to be wise; and no one sees how crooked she is, for her dresses are so well made by a good milliner in the town."

Annele bit her lips when she had said this. She thought – "How stupid of me to say such a thing! As he has named Amanda, no doubt it is Bertha he fancies: it must be so." Breaking off, therefore, suddenly, she continued – "But Bertha is charming – "

"Yes, indeed, a most pleasing girl," interrupted the Techniker.

One of Annele's knittingneedles fell under the table, and he picked it up. The young man seemed to have repented having spoken out so freely; for he now said – "The Doctor was telling me yesterday all about Pilgrim."

"What is there to tell? The Doctor can make something out of nothing."

"Who is Petrowitsch? They tell me you know most about him."

"Not more than everyone knows. He dines here every forenoon, and pays his score regularly. He is a singular, crabbed old fellow – very rich and very hard. He was many, many years in foreign parts, and cares for no man living. There is only one thing in the world which gives him pleasure, and that is the avenue of cherry trees which line the valley towards the town. Formerly rows of pollards stood there, and Petrowitsch – "

"Why is he called Petrowitsch?"

"His real name is Peter; but, as he was so long in Servia, they will call him here Petrowitsch."

"Go on, and tell me about the avenue of cherry trees."

"Petrowitsch was in the habit of walking about with a knife in his hand, and pruning the superfluous branches off the trees; and one day the farm servant informed against him for destroying the trees. So he caused a whole avenue of new cherry trees to be planted at his own expense, and for the last six years he has pulled the unripe fruit, that the trees might not be injured by thieves, and they have made a fine growth; but he feels no interest in any man. See! there goes Lenz – his only brother's son, and he has never got from him as much as would go on the point of a needle."

"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.