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

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.

Petrowitsch thanked her for her singularly delicate attention, but finally said he was quite as well pleased to walk in woods belonging to other people; in fact, on the contrary, at present he had no cause for irritation when he met people stealing the wood, and nothing was more unwholesome before dinner than irritation.

The Landlady smiled significantly, saying, "If any one had a clever idea in their head, Petrowitsch was sure to be still more clever."

He thanked her again, and both were as sweet as possible to each other, far sweeter in fact, than the pieces of sugar that Petrowitsch, had pocketed from the coffee he had after dinner.

It now occurred to Petrowitsch, that the wood would be a very suitable purchase for Lenz, if he could manage to buy it through a third person, for the Landlord would be sure to set a high price on it to himself. This was what he wanted to say to him; an intention which he however gave up, because, as we have seen, he wished to follow the noble principle of caring for no one but himself. His taking any trouble at all on the subject was too much.

He found the hill much steeper to climb than usual; for in going up a hill people should not have their thoughts occupied, but only think of breathing freely. Büble was busy scratching out a mole, although he was sure of a comfortable well dressed dinner very soon, but his master called out to him, "Here! you stupid fellow! what business have you with a mole? Let it burrow as much as it chooses;" and when the dog was trotting by his side he said, "Back!" The dog slunk behind his master, and in the same way the latter cast behind him all intrusive thoughts; he was resolved to banish them altogether, and not disturb the peaceful routine of his life.

Petrowitsch found the family at the "Lion" rather disturbed. The wife had told her husband that she had offered the wood at the Morgenhalde to Petrowitsch, and that he would have nothing to do with it.

The Landlord was furious at this overhasty confidential communication, and ended by saying, "Petrowitsch will no doubt now spread a report that I am in want of money."

"But you said that you were in want of money," said his wife snappishly.

"If it were so, I don't want your interference; only I don't wish to sell any of my securities at the present rate of exchange;" cried the Landlord in an unusually loud voice, just as Petrowitsch came into the room. The latter secretly chuckled, and thought to himself, "You talk so loudly and so pompously that I feel sure you are in want of money!"

Just as they were sitting down to table, the postman brought several letters, and some registered ones among them; the Landlord signed the receipt for these, but did not open the letters, saying in a loud voice as he seated himself at dinner, what indeed he frequently had said before: "I never read my letters before dinner, for whether agreeable or disagreeable, they are equally bad for digestion. Railway scrip shall never disturb me."

There was, however, a malicious scoffer at another table, who was not taken in by this superior wisdom, and who thought – "A steam-engine is driving round and round you for all that, in spite of your indifference;" and this scoffer was, of course, Petrowitsch.

After dinner, Pilgrim passed the table repeatedly at which Petrowitsch was seated, and several times stood opposite to it: four eyes stared at him with amazement. Büble, who was perched on his master's knee, fixed his eyes on him suspiciously and growled, for he had a perception that some service was to be claimed from his master, and Petrowitsch glanced up repeatedly from his newspaper: "What does the man want – has he a wood, too, that he wishes to sell?"

Pilgrim ran his fingers restlessly through his long thin hair, but this did not help him any nearer to Petrowitsch, who at this moment rose, paid his score, and went away. Pilgrim hurried after him into the street, saying, "Herr Lenz! pray allow me a couple of words."

"Good day, – that is exactly a couple of words."

"Herr Lenz! I want nothing for myself; but I consider it my duty to – "

"Your duty is nothing to me."

"But it does concern you, Herr Lenz. Just imagine that another person is telling you what I am about to say; it is right you should know it."

"I am not at all curious."

"Briefly, – it concerns your nephew, Lenz."

"Really? I suspected as much."

"But more than that; you may secure his happiness for life."

"Each man must secure his own."

"It will only cost you a visit to the Doctor."

"Is Lenz ill?"

"No! the case is shortly this. He must marry, and he wishes to do so; and the best wife for him is the Doctor's Amanda. I have reflected on the matter in every point of view. It seems difficult to persuade him to pluck up courage to go himself. He also thinks – he did not say so, but I know it – that he is not rich enough; but if his uncle would only make the proposal for him, and at the same time promise – "

"Really? I thought that was the point you were coming to. If my brother's son wants a wife and chooses one, he may get one himself; I am an old bachelor, and know nothing of such affairs."

"If his friends do nothing in the matter, Amanda will marry some one else. I know an apothecary who admires her extremely."

"And a very fitting wife she would be for him; but I am not Lenz's keeper."

"And suppose your nephew is taken in by a far less eligible person?"

"That is his own affair."

"Herr Lenz! I don't believe that you are so hard as you pretend."

"I pretend nothing. Good morning, Herr Pilgrim!"

He walked away, and left Pilgrim boiling over with rage; at last, however, he went home to rub colours for the following day, which he hoped might be brighter, for this afternoon was dark and dismal.

CHAPTER XIV.
PRESSES AND EYES ARE OPENED

"Welcome, Franzl! So we have you here at last? We hoped to have seen you sooner." Thus was Franzl received by the Landlady, when she came into the public room.

"I beg your pardon, but did not you send for me? My brother I understood was here?" said Franzl in a hesitating voice.

The Landlady knew nothing of it. Her brother had certainly been here, but had been gone a long time. She had indeed told her errandboy to mention this to Franzl the first opportunity, but not particularly today.

Franzl apologised, and wished to return home immediately, for she felt as if she were an intruder; this seemed to satisfy the Landlady. She did not wish the simple creature to perceive what was going on, and thought that Franzl should feel herself highly honoured if she bestowed a few minutes on her. It was far better that she should give them a thousand thanks, than that they should owe her one. As Franzl was actually here, the Landlady insisted on her coming into the back parlour, to wait there for a little, till the busy lady could find time to come to her. Franzl did not venture to take a chair, but stood respectfully at the door, staring up at the huge presses that reached the ceiling.

At last the Landlady came and said, smoothing her gown: "So, now I have made all right, and I can have a nice quiet hour's chat with an old friend. What is more precious in the world, no matter how rich one may be?"

Franzl felt herself highly honoured. She was desired to sit down beside the Landlady, close to her in fact, on the sofa, and a maid brought in coffee and pastry.

Franzl simpered as in duty bound, and indeed far more than there was the slightest occasion for, and tried her best to pour all the cream that the Landlady wished to give her into her hostess's cup, till the latter said, "I shall be really quite angry if you stand on such ceremony."

At the second cup, Franzl had to tell how matters were going on up at the Morgenhalde, and she declared – that Lenz worked as hard as if he had no bread in the house, and yet they had stores of everything; he seldom left the house except to go to Faller's, whom he was assisting to furnish his house, for the purchase of which he had become security; that he had given Faller a bed and bedding, and sent his mother's Sunday dress to Faller's mother. If he did not soon get some one to take the keys from him, he would give away everything; but he was most frugal, and even parsimonious, where he was himself concerned. "He neither smokes nor drinks; he neither takes snuff nor gambles; he requires very little for himself;" said Franzl to his honour.

After the Landlady had once more sufficiently sung the praises of the Kunslingers, who know everything, she said cursorily: – "Do you know, my good Franzl, it is said that your master – or rather I should say your son, for he is more like your son than your master – intends to marry the Doctors daughter; I mean the one who is always sorting herbs. Is there anything in it?"

"I think there is."

"Really?"

"That is, I don't think it well can be; but Pilgrim has been talking to him about it, but Lenz does not seem to care, and I believe they are at two about it."

"So! well, I am not sorry. I always say that Lenz knows what he wishes. It would be much better if he did as you wish, and married the Bailiff's Kathrine."

"There! you see," exclaimed Franzl triumphantly, smiling into the air and nodding, as if Lenz was standing before her. "Do you see? the prudent, experienced Landlady of the 'Lion' also says that I am right. There! and yet you always will have it that she was too uncouth for you, and that nothing could be made of her. I will tell him, however, that you also advise him to marry her; that will help me on. I have been long looking out for some one to give me a lift in this business."

"No, Franzl; God forbid! You are not to say one word from me, when you go home; indeed he is quite right; Kathrine is not fit for so well educated a man; he deserves a superior wife."

"Yes, it's very well talking, but where is he to find one?"

"Good day, Franzl!" said Annele, coming in suddenly. "It is very pleasant to see you here again – sit still. To look at you, one would think you were the wife of some rich farmer, and you might well be, you are such a good manager. Drink your coffee, or it will get cold. Is it sweet enough?"

"Oh! more than enough;" and Annele's words were like a loaf of sugar in the cup.

"I should like to stay with you, and to hear some of your pleasant talk, but I must go back into the public room, for one of us must be there. Come back soon, and then I will sit with you."

"Oh! what a dear, good girl that is!" exclaimed Franzl when Annele left the room. "You have heaven on earth in this house."

"We have our cares also. She is our last remaining child, and we often wish we could see her well provided for."

Franzl opened her eyes very wide, then smiled in shy surprise, but she did not venture to say a word.

The Landlady laughed and rattled her cup, and Franzl thought it her duty to laugh also. She knows what is proper when you go to drink coffee with a friend; indeed, the natives of Kunslingen, be they where they will, are sure to fall on their feet. The Landlady, however, did not try to enlighten Franzl further, clever as she was, and she had her reasons for that.

"Tell me, Franzl, have you any fancy for looking at fine linen?"

"Nothing in the world that I like so much. If I were rich I would have at least seven chests full of linen. Do you know the wife of the balancemaker at Kunslingen? she has …"

"There, just look!" said the Landlady, throwing open the doors of a huge press, where everything was heaped up to the top by dozens, tied up with blue, green, and red silk ribbons.

"Is this all for the use of your inn?" asked Franzl, when she had taken breath after all her exclamations of admiration.

"Heaven forbid! This is part of the dowry of my Annele; from their seventh year I have laid by a stock like this, for each of my three daughters. You never can tell with girls how soon such things may be wanted, and then I should have no occasion to apply either to the weaver, or the sempstress. I should like, however, if the trousseau of one daughter at all events should remain in this village, and that we should keep one child near us. My children are all, thank God! doing well, and more than well, but to see with your own eyes is better than hearing."

To Franzl all this was like a sudden revelation; the press with all its linen danced before her eyes, and the blue, red, green, and yellow ribbons, seemed to melt into one bright rainbow. "May I venture to say something? if I am indiscreet I beg your pardon a thousand times over. How would it do? May I speak plainly? If – my Lenz …?"

"I say nothing, for I am the mother, and my child is here, and can answer for herself – do you understand? I think – I scarcely know – but – "

"Oh! that is enough; more than enough! Good heavens! I must fly home! I carried him in my arms when he was a baby, I must carry him here again forthwith; but such news will make him jump over seven hedges, and houses. I am simple and stupid; don't be offended with me."

"How? you simple? You have a way of getting at one's most secret thoughts. You might put seven councillors to shame; but now, Franzl, we are quite alone and confidential together, like two good old friends; I have not said a word, you found it out for yourself. My husband naturally looks higher; but I am resolved to have one child in this place, if God will! I tell you fairly, that I cannot be insincere or deny my meaning. I shall not forget your hint."

"That is enough. I will show that we Kunslingers deserve our reputation."

"But, how do you intend to set about it?"

"How? I will snatch his tools from his hand, and pack him off instantly. He must come here this very day: but you must encourage him, for he is rather shy with strangers."

The Landlady tried to quiet the excited Franzl, who first stood up, and then sat down again; at one moment raising her hands to heaven, and the next clasping them devoutly. She desired Franzl to show her good sense, by not betraying that Annele's mother was well disposed towards him. She also gave her other cunning directions, especially as to speaking ill of other girls; that is, to warn Lenz against them; and scarcely to mention Annele's name; for, concluded the Landlady, such a proposal must be received with proper coyness, and there is a proverb: "No man ought to point at a flash of lightning."

Franzl every instant said she was going, and yet she never went. At last she had the handle of the door in her hand, and took a last fond look at the large press, and her glance said: – "You will soon come to us;" and, nodding to all the furniture, "all this is ours, and it is I who have got it for Lenz;" and she went home as if all the linen had become sails, and wafted her across the hills in the sharp harvest wind.

Annele, however, said to her mother in the bar: – "Mother, what on earth do you mean by gossiping with that stupid old cow? If anything ever comes of the affair, must we pay court to that old woman? or if we don't, have her crying out about ingratitude! And what's the great hurry after all?"

"Don't pretend to know nothing. It is good and necessary to dispose of you."

"I am not pretending, and I do know nothing; formerly you would not hear of Lenz; why do you want him now?"

The mother looked straight in Annele's face; did the forward minx really guess nothing? she only said: – "Now it is very different, Lenz is alone, and has a well stocked house. I could not have given you over to a mother-in-law." The Landlady left the room, and thought; – "If you play false with me, I will play false with you, too."

At the Morgenhalde, Franzl went about in a perpetual giggle, while with smiling lips she disparaged every girl in the neighbourhood, especially the Doctor's daughters and Kathrine; she did not name Annele at all, but gave dark mysterious hints about mountains of fine linen, and people well to do in the world. Lenz almost thought that solitude was beginning to turn the old woman's brain; she, however, did her work steadily, and was more cheerful than ever, and he was himself in much better spirits at his own occupation, and was a long time without once going near the village.