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

"I got home at last.

"When I entered the valley, I felt as if the hills rose to come to meet me.

"I drove through several villages – so and so lived there. I no longer knew the names of the places, but when I had passed them I remembered the names. I came into our own village. It was a fine summer evening – the people had been haymaking, and the bells were ringing: it was as if I all of a sudden heard voices once more, that I no longer believed to be in the world. I had heard many bells during the forty-two years I had been in other lands, but no tones so sweet as these. I took off my hat involuntarily; but when the air of my own home blew round my head, it revived and refreshed me – there seemed a welcome home in it. I can't tell you how I felt: I thought my grey hairs must become young again. I recognised very few of the people I met on the road; but I knew you, Doctor, at once, for you were so like your father. Not a soul recognised me. I stopped at the 'Lion,' and asked – 'Is Lorenz of the Morgenhalde at home?' 'At home! What do you mean? He has been dead for seven years.'"

"It was as if a flash of lightning had struck me to the earth. I repressed my feelings, however; indeed no one ever did know at any time what was really passing within me.

"I went to my room, and, late at night, out into the village, where a hundred things renewed my home feelings. I went to my parents' house – all was still there. I half resolved to leave the place again before day dawned. What could I do here? and no one had known me. But I did not go for all that.

"Soon people came from all quarters, holding out their hands in the hope that I would enrich them. But here, Doctor, one day, when I had nothing better to do, I fed the sparrows on my window sill; and after that, the importunate beggars came, as if possessed of an evil spirit, every morning to the same spot; and the noise they made drove me nearly distracted, but I could no longer succeed in driving them away. It is easy to encourage others, but not so easy to get rid of them. I gave up asking after any one, for whenever I inquired I heard of nothing but misfortunes and death. Those whom I met, I was happy to see – those whom I did not meet, I made no mention of. All came crowding to see me, except my sister-in-law and her young prince. My sister-in-law said: 'My brother-in-law knows where his parents' house stands – we shall not run after him.' The first time I saw young Lenz I was not at all taken with him, for he had no look of our family, but was the image of his mother. Now when I looked round the village, and the whole country, I could have torn out my grey hairs at ever having come home. Everything seemed stunted, and dwarfed, and gone to ruin. And where are the old jolly times – the old spirit and fan? All gone! The young people were a worthless set. Was I not obliged to pull the unripe cherries from the trees in my avenue that their young stems might not be destroyed? My singing nephew was always sitting at home, while I had seen the world. Nothing hurt me; but every rough breeze or rough word hurt him, and made him ill. Once only I had a better opinion of him, and thought – He will yet brighten your life.' If he had married your daughter Amanda, I would either have gone to live with the young people, or they might have lived with me. My property would have come into your family; and that I should have liked, for to your father I owe the foundation of my prosperity – if it be prosperity. That confounded Pilgrim guessed my thoughts, and wished to make me the medium to propose this scheme; but I refused at once. I never will do anything for any one – never! I persuade no one to any course of action, nor can any one persuade me. Each one must live for himself; and this is the principal point I wish to impress upon you – that I never will give away one single kreuzer. I would rather throw my money into the sea. Now I have talked long enough. I am quite tired and overheated."

"How did the water taste from the well by the church, for which you had longed so much?" asked the Doctor.

"Bad, very bad – so cold and hard that I could not drink it."

The Doctor laid hold of this admission to endeavour to show Petrowitsch that the world, like the water in the well, had neither changed nor become worse; but that his stomach was no longer young, and his eyes and thoughts also had grown older. He said to Petrowitsch that it was but natural, that so much in contact with the world and with strangers, he should have become inured to all weathers, and indifferent to harsh words; but that it was also indispensable for the establishment of domestic industry and frugality, that some men should stay at home and work assiduously; and especially those who made musical works, ought to have a degree of acuteness of perception amounting to sensitiveness: at the same time he showed him that he was, in reality, himself as soft-hearted as his nephew.

He placed before him, in most emphatic language, that it was his duty to help Lenz; but Petrowitsch was once more the hard, inflexible, old man: and concluded by these words: – "I stick to what I said. I meddle with no man, and wish no man to meddle with me. I will do nothing. Not another word, Doctor, for I cannot stand it."

And so it ended. As a messenger now came from Ibrahim, Petrowitsch left the house with the Doctor. When they parted the Doctor went on to the Morgenhalde. He was obliged to draw his cloak round him, for there was a strong, but singularly soft wind blowing.

CHAPTER XXXI.
ANNELE THAWS ALSO, BUT FREEZES AGAIN

While Lenz was journeying through the country in the deepest inward grief, Annele was alone at home with her thoughts. She was alone, – sadly alone, – for Lenz had not even left her a kind farewell, to keep her company. He had quitted her in silence, and with closed lips. "Pooh! a couple of kind words will soon turn him," thought Annele to herself; and yet she felt unusually nervous to-day, and her cheeks were flushed. She was not accustomed to sit and think; she had passed her life in bustle and excitement, and never once paused to reflect calmly on any subject. Now she had no power to escape from the voice of conscience. Let her occupy herself as she would, and go up and down the house, something followed her close, and seemed to pull her dress, and whisper, "Listen to me!"

She had hushed the little girl to sleep, and the boy was sitting beside the maid, winding the yarn she had spun; and when the girl fell asleep, Annele felt as if some one pressed her down on her chair, so that she could not rise, and that a voice said, "Annele! what are you become now?" The pretty, merry, much loved and praised Annele is sitting in a dark room, in a desolate house, sighing, fretting, and complaining.

"I would gladly submit to all this if I were only liked at home; but all I do, and all I say, is hateful to him; and I do no harm. Am I not frugal and industrious, and ready to work still harder? But up here we are as if in a grave." These thoughts made Annele start up, and as she stood beside her child's cradle, she recalled a dream of the past night. On this occasion she had not dreamt of agreeable drives, or of visiting a pleasant inn; she thought she was standing beside her open grave. She saw it quite distinctly, and the clods of earth from the heap that had been dug out. "A bad omen," said she aloud, and stood long immovable and trembling.

At last she shook off this feeling of depression, and thought, "I will not die yet, I have not yet lived out my life, either at home or here."

She wept in pity for herself, and her thoughts wandered years back, when she had imagined it would be so delightful to live with a husband she loved in solitude, knowing nothing of the busy life of the world, for she was sick of the constant tumult of an inn, where she could not help suspecting, though she did not know it for a fact, that the whole extravagant mode of going on rested on a very tottering foundation. It was the fault of her husband, that she longed for a more profitable business to employ her dormant talents.

"He is like his musical clocks; they play their own melodies, but are incapable of listening to those of others."

In the midst of her depression, she could not resist smiling at this comparison. Her thoughts strayed farther; she would gladly have been submissive to a husband who showed the world that he had courage to be master, but not to one who did nothing all day but stick in pegs.

"But you knew well what he was," whispered conscience.

"Yes; but not exactly," was her answer; "not exactly."

"But has he not a good heart?"

"Yes, towards men in general, but not towards me. No one has ever been domesticated with him, so no one knows how full of odd humours he is, and how wild and strange he can be. But this can go on no longer; as we cannot gain a livelihood by clockmaking, we must by something else."

This was always Annele's grand conclusion, and her thoughts incessantly revolved round this point. She wished to employ her experience as a landlady in a well frequented inn, to which people would flock from far and near; and then, when she had plenty to occupy her, and was daily making money, and had other people to order about, quiet hours and happy days would return.

She went into the next room, and looked at herself in the glass. She dressed herself neatly, for she was no sloven; slippers she never wore, whereas Lenz would often go from one Sunday to the other, without once putting on his boots. While she arranged herself neatly, and for the first time for many weeks past, plaited her long hair into a triple coronet, her scornful looks seemed to say, "I am Annele of the Lion; I will have no more pining and lamenting; I will begin a fresh life, and he must follow my lead."

"Is your mistress at home?" asked some one outside.

"Yes."

There was a knock at the door. Annele looked up in surprise, and the Pastor came in.

"Welcome, Herr Pastor," said Annele, curtseying. "Your visit is meant for me, then, and not for my husband?"

"Yes, for you. I know that your husband is absent, I have never seen you in the village since the misfortunes of your parents, and I thought that perhaps it might be some relief to talk over matters with me."

Annele breathed more freely, for she was afraid the Pastor had been sent by Lenz, or had come of his own accord, to speak to her about him. Annele now lamented the unhappy fate of her parents, and said that she much feared her mother would not long survive the blow.

The Pastor earnestly entreated her, whether her parents were innocent or guilty, not to repine against the will of God, nor to withdraw herself from the world, in anger and vexation. He reminded her of what he had said on her wedding day, of the honour of husband and wife being identical. He added, kindly, that the Landlord of the "Lion" had probably miscalculated his resources, and, however heavily, yet without any evil intentions. "I did not forget," said the Pastor, wishing to give a different turn to the conversation, "that this is the anniversary of your fifth wedding day, so I wished to come and say good morning to you."

Annele thanked him cordially with a smile. But it flashed across her mind, "And Lenz could go away without even saying good morning to me!"

She now told the Pastor, in fluent language, how pleased she was to find that her Pastor should pay her such a compliment. She said much of his goodness, and that the whole village ought daily to pray that God might long spare him to them. Annele evidently wished, by her easy volubility, to lead her visitor to other topics, in order to prevent his discussing her affairs; she was resolved not to allow the Pastor, even in the mildest form, to offer himself as a mediator in their household discord. She screwed up her lips with the same energy that Gregor the postilion displayed, when he was going to play one of his well studied flourishes on the horn.

The Pastor saw this plainly enough. He began to praise Annele on points where she really well deserved praise; that she was at all times so stirring and orderly, and, with all her bantering ways, she had yet invariably been strictly virtuous, and taken charge so admirably of her father's house.

"I am so little accustomed to hear praise now," answered Annele, "that the sound is quite strange to me, and I feel as if I never had been of use during my life, or ever had been good for anything."

The Pastor nodded, though very slightly. The hook was fast in; and just as a physician wins the confidence of an invalid by saying, "You suffer from such and such a pain, you ache here, or you are oppressed there," – and the invalid looks up gladly, thinking, "This man knows my complaint already, and is sure to cure me;" so did the Pastor contrive to describe Annele's sorrows, as if he had experienced them himself.

Annele could no longer resist this sympathy, and Lenz came in for his full share of reproach and blame. "Help us, Herr Pastor!" said she.

"Yes, I can and will; but some one else must help too, and that is yourself."

The worthy man seemed suddenly to become taller, and his voice more powerful, as he reminded Annele of her hardheartedness towards Franzl, and of all the false pride she nourished in her heart. Annele listened with flashing eyes, and when the Pastor reproached her with her transgression against Franzl, she broke loose, as if on some prey for which she had laid in wait.

"So now it is come out, – the sly old woman! the horrid hypocrite! – it was she who had told all these things of her, and exasperated the Pastor, and the whole world, against her." No cat devours a mouse with greater satisfaction, than Annele now clawed and tore at old Franzl. "If I had her only here this minute!" said she repeatedly.

The Pastor let her rage till she was tired, and at last said: "You have exhibited no little temper just now, but I maintain, for all that, you are not really badhearted – in fact, not bad at all."

Annele burst into tears, and deplored her being so altered for the worse. She had become so passionate, which was not her natural disposition; and it all proceeded from her being able to earn nothing. She was not fitted to be the wife of a small clockmaker, and to look after his household. She ought to be a landlady, and if the Pastor would assist her in this project, she faithfully promised him, that she would never again give way to either anger or malice.

The Pastor agreed with her that to be a landlady was her peculiar vocation. She kissed his hand in gratitude. He promised to do what he could to effect this, but exhorted her not to expect a transformation of heart from any outward events. "You are not yet," said he, "sufficiently humbled by grief and misery. Pride is your besetting sin, and causes your unhappiness, and that of others also. God grant that some irrevocable misfortune to your husband, or children, may not eventually be the first thing to convert your heart!"

Annele was seated opposite the mirror, and unconsciously she saw her face reflected in it; it looked as if it was covered with cobwebs, and involuntarily she passed her hand across it, to brush them away.

The Pastor wished to go away, but Annele begged him to stay a little, as she could collect her thoughts better when he was there; she only wished him to remain a short time longer.

The two sat in silence, and nothing was heard but the ticking of the clocks. Annele's lips moved, without uttering any sound.

When the Pastor at length took leave of her, she kissed his hand reverently; and he said, "If you feel in your inmost soul what a privilege it is, and if your heart is humbled – thoroughly humbled, then come to the sacrament tomorrow. May God have you in his holy keeping!"

Annele wished to accompany the Pastor a little way, but he said: "No politeness at present. Be good and humble at heart. 'Judge yourself, that ye be not judged,' says the Apostle Paul. Judge yourself, and search your heart. Accustom yourself to sit quiet sometimes, and to meditate."

The Pastor was gone, and Annele sat in the same place. It was not easy for her to sit idle, and reflection was quite contrary to her nature, but she forced herself to think over what had passed. Her child woke up, and began to scream.

"The Pastor has no children; I cannot sit still any longer, I must pacify the child," said she, taking the little girl out of bed. Deep repentance, however, and new love for Lenz, had awoke within her heart. "We will settle our own affairs," said she, "without the help of either the Pastor or any one else."

It was noon and the sun shone brightly. Annele wrapped up the child well, and went with it before the house. Perhaps Lenz will soon be home, and she will welcome him kindly, and call out the "good morning" he forgot to say when he left her; and she would tell him that all was to go well between them in future. This is the very hour of her wedding five years ago, and this shall be another happy day.

A man was seen climbing the hill: he was not yet near enough to be recognised, but Annele said to the child, "Call, Father!"

The child did so; but when the man came up, it was not Lenz, but Faller. He wore a hat, but he had another in his hand; and, hurrying up to Annele, he called out – "Is Lenz come home?"

"No."

"Good heavens! here is his hat. My brother-in-law found it in the Igelswang, close by the spot where the wood is floated down. If Lenz has made away with himself! In God's name! what has been going on here?"

Annele trembled in every limb, and pressed the child so close to her heart that it began to cry loudly. "You are out of your mind," said she, "and will soon drive me mad also. What do you mean?"

"Is not this his hat?"

"It is," screamed Annele, sinking to the ground with the child. Faller lifted them both up.

"Has he been found? – dead?" asked Annele.

"No, God be praised! – not that. Come into the house – I will carry the child. Be composed – probably he only lost his hat."

Annele tottered into the house. A mist was before her eyes, and she waved her hands vaguely, as if to drive it away. "Was it possible? – Lenz dead? Now, just when her heart was turning again to him? and he has been always faithful to her. It cannot be – it is not so." She sat down in the room, and said – "Why should my Lenz make away with himself? What do you mean by saying such a thing?"

Faller made no answer.

"Can you only speak when no one wishes to hear you?" asked Annele, passionately. "Sit down – sit down," said she, striving to control her feelings, "and tell me what has happened."

As if wishing to punish Annele, by paying no attention to her words, Faller continued standing, though his knees trembled. He glanced at her with a look, so full of sorrow and bitter reproach, that Annele cast down her eyes. "Who could wish to sit down by you?" said he at length. "Where you are, there can be neither rest nor peace."

"I don't want any of your admonitions; you ought to be aware of that by this time. If you know anything of my husband, let me hear it."

Faller now repeated the universal report, that Lenz had been trying to borrow money in all directions, and also to get a certain sum to make good the security he had given, for the purchase of Faller's house. This was, however, no longer necessary, as Don Bastian had paid the purchase-money for him this very day.

When Annele heard that, she started up, and her gestures seemed to say – "So, he has deceived me, and told me downright lies. He is alive: he must be alive – for he must live to expiate his sin; for he declared that he had recalled his security. Only come home, liar and hypocrite!"

Annele left the room, and did not return till Faller was gone. All remorse – all contrition had vanished. Lenz had told her a falsehood, and he should repent it. "These watergruel, goodnatured people are all alike; because they have not the spirit to lay hold of a thing manfully, when necessary, they wish, in their turn, to be handled as tenderly as an egg without a shell; do nothing to me, and I do nothing to any one – refuse me nothing, I refuse nothing to any one, though it brings me to beggary. This is his doctrine! Only come home, pitiful milksop!"

Annele had no food warm at the fire for Lenz when he did come home. There was, however, a warm reception awaiting him!