CHAPTER XVI.
A HEART IS WON.
The Landlord seated himself beside Lenz, and was very fatherly. "You have got the money for your musical work?" asked he, abruptly.
"Yes," answered Lenz.
"You would be wise," began the Landlord again, "if you secured shares in the New Railway Loan: they will become very profitable soon. You have still the money in hard cash, I presume?"
"No; I had eight hundred over, and I lent three thousand gulden in one round sum to my neighbour, the bailiff. He required it to pay his redemption money."
"Really? Have you any good security, and what interest does he pay?"
"I have merely an acknowledgment, and he gives five per cent."
"The bailiff is a solid man, and five per cent. solid also; but, as I said before, if you wish to make money, my advice is at your service."
"I prefer keeping to what I understand; though, of course, I should be quite willing to follow your advice blindfold. I am pretty far advanced already with the new work that you intend to buy from me, and I believe it will be the best I have yet finished."
"Lenz, don't forget that I said nothing positive—an upright man goes no further than——"
"Not another syllable; I can never——"
"As I said, even with one's best friends, a man can never be too clear and precise. I hope there will be one day written on my tombstone, 'Here lies an honest and accurate man.'"
Lenz was quite delighted with the just and equitable character of the worthy Landlord; he was indeed pure gold.
Annele came in, saying, "By your leave," and seated herself at the table with her father and Lenz. In a short time the Landlord rose, and Lenz said: "Annele, you may well be proud of such a father—he is a man of a thousand. It does one good to converse with him; and just because he says little, every word is—what shall I say?—sound grain, unadulterated ore."
"True," said Annele; "and there is nothing more pleasing to a child than to hear her father spoken of in such a manner; and he deserves it, too. To be sure he is often cross and perverse, like all men."
"All men?" asked Lenz.
"Yes, all—I may say it to your face; you are one of the best of them, but I dare say you have your humours also; but we must have patience with them, I suppose."
"That is very good of you, Annele; I must say it pleases me exceedingly to hear you praise me, though I don't deserve it, I know. I can't tell you how often I feel angry with myself; I mismanage many things, and music is so constantly in my head, that I often only hear half what is said, or do half of what I ought to do. I am not so clever as many others, and yet I am not without talent; and I am passionate besides, and many things weigh on my heart that others take lightly enough on their shoulders; so I fear I shall never get the better of such brooding. My mother said to me a thousand times, 'Lenz, with all your goodness, it would not be always easy to live with you, unless a person were both very forbearing, and very fond of you.' And it is a proof of true love, and true patience, when a person can say: 'He is in one of his tantrums, but I know him, and what he really is.' Let me hold your hand—why do you draw it away?"
In the heat of his description of his own shortcomings, Lenz had seized Annele's hand, but he was not aware of it till she snatched it from him.
With a modest, sly glance, Annele said: "We are not alone in the room; there are still people here."
Lenz all at once felt burning hot, and then as cold as ice, and said: "Do not be offended, I did not mean it, and you know I did not, Annele; I never wished to be importunate; I hope you are not angry?"
"Not in the most remote degree. Angry? how can you say such a thing?"
"Then you feel kindly towards me?" and Lenz's face beamed with joy.
"For Heaven's sake," said Annele, leaning forward on the arm of Lenz's chair, "don't go on talking in that manner! What makes you do so? What does it mean? I always thought that I might speak to you like a brother. Alas! I have none."
"And I have no sister, nor, indeed, anyone to care for me."
"Everyone likes you."
"If, however, I have not the one I want to care for me, I have no one."
A long pause ensued, and Annele asked: "Have you heard that the bailiff's Kathrine is betrothed to a young man named Holdersepp, from the other side of the valley? They have just sent to us for the betrothal wine."
"So," said Lenz, "when I came out of church I saw her standing with some one. She will make a good farmer's wife; I wish her all happiness. Tell me, Annele, were you in church at the wedding today?"
"Yes, and I saw you there: your conduct to Faller must help you on the road to heaven."
"I should win it easily in that case. The Pastor did preach admirably; everyone present might profit by it, married and single. The Holy Scriptures are like music,—out of the hundreds and hundreds who listen, not one deprives his neighbour of any share of it—each one has it entire for himself."
"And I can tell you that I like to listen to you almost better than to our Pastor; with you everything seems to have a firm and clear foundation. I can't quite explain what I mean:—I often think it is a sad pity that you are only a clockmaker."
"Only a clockmaker! I rejoice at being one, for it is a fine calling. I could preach a sermon on that text. The whole world is a clock, wound up by God from all Eternity. There the stars revolve, and run their appointed course. Pilgrim once said that there was no clock in Paradise; certainly not, but from the hour when men were forced to work, they were obliged to divide the time; and just imagine what it would be to us if we no longer knew the different hours; we should be like children or lunatics."
"You can expound everything so well; I had never thought of that before."
This remark inspired Lenz with fresh eloquence.
"I am devoted to clockmaking; and if I cannot succeed with my musical timepieces, I can at least make the common clocks of the Black Forest: a sure mode of getting money. I can always have recourse to that. I earn much more by the musical instruments, but I cannot trust to them for a livelihood, for I can only make them when they are bespoke, and I might some fine day discover that I had nothing, for lovers of music are not to be met with every day,—and when I do leave my common clocks for my musical ones, I feel so happy that——"
"Your heart jumps for joy,—you feel as if a blessing rested on your labours."
"Oh! Annele, how clever and loveable you are! If I only knew——"
"Knew what—what then?"
There was so much warmth and tenderness in these simple words, that Lenz, flushed with emotion, stammered,—
"I cannot say it—if you don't know it I cannot say; Annele, I feel——"
"My children, all the people in the room are staring at you. What are you saying to each other?" said the Landlady, suddenly coming up to them. "Lenz, if you have anything confidential to say to Annele, I place entire trust in you, for you are a high principled man; I will put lights into the back parlour, and you can talk together there at your ease."
"Oh, no, mother!" exclaimed Annele, trembling, but the Landlady went hastily out of the room, and Annele hurried after her. Lenz sat still—the whole room seemed to go round with him; at last he rose and slipped out; the back parlour door was open, and he was alone now with Annele. She hid her face with her hands.
"Look at me," said he; "Annele! Now may I speak out? You see, Annele, I am a plain man—a very plain man, but—" putting his hand on his heart, he could scarcely go on, "if you really think that I am worthy of you, you could make me very happy."
"You are more worthy than any man in the whole world—you are only too good; you have no idea of the wickedness of the world."
"The world is not all evil, as you are in it. Now, tell me, is it also your wish, your honest wish?—Will you stand by me, and be my helper in joy and sorrow, and be good, and industrious,—and will you be my mother, my wife, and my all? Say yes—and I will be yours for life and death!"
"Yes—a thousand times, yes!" She sank into his arms.
"Mother, dear mother!" cried Lenz. The Landlady came in. "Forgive me," said he, "for my presumption!"
"You have nothing but good to expect from me," said the Landlady; "but, children, I have one thing to beg of you. Annele can tell you who always spoke well of you, and always said, 'Lenz is sure to do well, for his mother's blessing rests on his head.' But I entreat of you to keep quiet; you don't know my husband as I do. All his children are wound round his heartstrings, and he is always vexed when one is taken from him. God be praised! if this event comes to pass; we shall have one child in our native place, and not estranged from us like the others." At these words the Landlady wept bitterly, but continued, after violently blowing her nose. "My husband must know nothing of it just at present. Let me, my children, prepare him for it by degrees, and I know well how to do it, and when you ought to make your proposals to him in due form; don't return to this house till then, and bring your uncle with you, for it is only proper that you should pay him the respect, to ask him to represent your father. Hitherto, my children have always entered families of note; we are accustomed to observe the same forms as the gentry. Lenz, God has given me no son of my own, and I must honestly say I am rejoiced that you are to become my son. I have a great regard for my other sons-in-law, but they are too genteel and too high for me. Now go, Lenz, for my husband may come in at any moment, and then who knows what might happen?—but stop, take this: give it to him, Annele." She opened the double doors of the huge press, and gave Annele a gold coin, saying, "Look! this is what your godfather, our worthy minister, placed in your cradle—an ancient coin; so it is quite suitable for the purpose: but, no—you must first give her a pledge."
"I have nothing—but yes, I have. There, Annele! that is my watch, made by my deceased father in Switzerland, and he gave it to my mother; and on our marriage day, please God, I will give you something else of my mother's, which will please you. There, take the watch; hear how it ticks,—it has lain on my heart for many years. I only wish I could take out my heart, and entrust it to your faithful hands."
They mutually exchanged pledges; the Landlady, who must always put in her word, declared: "Yes! a heart and a watch are like each other, and love is the watchkey." She smiled at her own cleverness—as no one else did so. She rummaged in the press, and said—"See! here is the first frock Annele wore, and her first shoe." Lenz begged he might have them; she gave them to him, and began again. "But now, Lenz! you really must go; I can't allow you to stay a moment longer. Go through the kitchen,—there is my hand as a pledge. Good night, Lenz!"
"May Annele go with me a little way?"
"No! I cannot permit it; you must not be displeased, but that is just what I am—I mean very strict. I have brought up three daughters, and no one can say a word against one of them; that is my pride. If it be God's will you may see enough of each other yet, with our sanction and knowledge."
"Goodnight, Lenz!"
"Good night, Annele!"
"Once more—good night!"
"Good night, my precious treasure!"
"Good-bye, dear Lenz I sleep sound!"
"And you, too, a thousand times!"
"Now, come along; you have said 'good night' often enough!" said the mother laughing.
When Lenz was in the street, the whole world seemed turning round with him, and the stars in the sky dancing, "Annele, the daughter of the Landlord of the 'Lion' is mine!" He hurried home,—he must tell it without delay to Franzl, for she had praised Annele so highly. "Oh! how she will rejoice! If I could shout it out from house to house—" But when he had got to the top of the hill, and was close to his own house, he checked himself, saying—"No! I must not tell it to Franzl; not till it is all settled, or it would not long remain a secret: but I must tell it to somebody." He retraced his steps, and stood for some time opposite the "Lion" Inn. "Now, I stand here as a stranger; but tomorrow I hope to be at home there." At last he tore himself away, and proceeded to Pilgrim's house.
CHAPTER XVII.
A FRIEND'S OPINION.
"Heaven be praised he is at home! I see lights in his room, and he is playing the guitar. Oh! my good Pilgrim! my dear Pilgrim! God keep me in life and health, and prevent me dying from joy! Oh! that my dearest mother had only lived to see this hour!"
Pilgrim sang and played loud, so he did not hear his friend coming upstairs. Lenz opened the door, and spreading his arms, exclaimed—"Rejoice with me, brother of my heart—I am so happy."
"What is it?"
"I am betrothed."
"To whom?"
"How can you ask? To her,—the most charming creature; and prudent, and clever as the day! Oh! Annele!"
"What Annele—Annele of the 'Lion'?"
"So you are surprised that she should accept me! I know I am not worthy of her, but I will try to deserve her. God is my witness that I will do my best; I will lay my head under her feet, and——" Lenz looking up at his mother's picture, said, "Good mother! dear loving mother! rejoice in the seventh heavens, for your son is happy."
He could not say another word, for tears choked his voice, and he knelt before the picture. Pilgrim went up to him, and placed his hand on his shoulder.
"Forgive me, dear Pilgrim," said Lenz. "I had resolved to be such a strong iron man! I am to have a wife who well deserves a strong-minded husband; but on this day I feel quite overcome—but for this day only. On the way here I thought to myself, I wish some one would come and impose on me a severe task—I don't know what—but something—something that I might put my whole heart in, and, however difficult, I would accomplish it. I will show that I deserve the happiness God has sent me.
"Be quiet, do be quiet; other men besides you have got wives, and there is no occasion to turn the world upside down on that account."
"Oh! if my mother had only lived to see this day!"
"If your mother had lived, Annele would not have accepted you. You did not please her till you were quite alone, and without any mother."
"Don't say that; how highly she honoured my mother!"
"She finds it easy enough to do that, as she is no longer in the world, and I tell you that you are only in the world for Annele, since you have no mother."
"You have not once even wished me joy yet."
"I wish you joy—I wish you much joy."
"Why do you say that twice over—why twice?"
"Oh! it only chanced so."
"No! you meant something by it"
"It is true, I did. I will tell you what it was tomorrow, but not today."
"Why tomorrow? I must hear it now, you must tell me now."
"Remember you are now in a state of intoxication; how can I speak soberly to you?"
"I am not intoxicated, I am perfectly sober."
"Very well, then tell me how has this been so quickly brought about?"
"I don't myself very well know; it came on me like an inspiration from heaven, and now it is plain enough to me, that for a long time past I have thought of nothing else."
"I suspected as much, but I did think you would do nothing without me."
"Nor will I; you must go with me tomorrow, to propose in due form on my behalf to her father."
"So! I am glad of that, for then I hope the affair will soon be at an end."
"What! do you wish to drive me crazy?"
"No need for that; as yet she is neither your betrothed, nor your wife, So I may speak freely. Lenz, it would be an indiscretion were you now to draw back, but only an indiscretion; but if you marry Annele, you will do wrong during your whole life. Lenz, she is no wife for you."
"You do not know her. You always teaze each other; but I know her inmost heart, and I know her to be thoroughly good and amiable."
"I don't know her, do you say? and yet I have eaten at least a bushel of salt with these people. I will tell you exactly how it is. Annele and her mother are very much alike, and for this very reason they can't bear each other, however loving they may appear before the world. All their talk is nothing but flimsy music. People eat and drink better when they have music; not a note proceeds from their hearts,—they have no hearts. I never could have believed that there were such people in the world, but it is so; they can talk away glibly about kindness, love, and pity, and even sometimes of religion, and of their Fatherland,—but all these are mere words; they have no serious thoughts, they don't care for these things, and firmly believe that all men are accustomed to converse in that manner; but the facts themselves never trouble them in the slightest degree. Annele herself has not a spark of real feeling, and I maintain that a person who has no heart can have no understanding, nor be capable of entering into the feelings of another, of sharing their joys and their sorrows, or yielding to their wishes. Annele, like her mother, has the knack of listening to others, and then cleverly repeating their words; and she has also a peculiar talent for depreciating and harshly censuring her neighbour, but in such a way that it is difficult to discern whether she is praising or blaming. Father, mother, and daughter, make a fine trio of frivolous music; Annele plays the first violin, the old woman the second, and the pompous old Landlord, the great bass; still I must say he is the best of the family. It is a well known fact, that it is only female bees that can sting—and how they can sting to be sure! The Landlord talks well of everyone, and can't bear to hear his wife and daughter abuse people—for no occupation is more grateful to them, than blighting the good name of any girl or married woman. The mother does so with a kind of hypocritical compassion, but Annele likes to sport with slander, as a cat does with a mouse. The burden of their song is always to show that they are best and cleverest, and they think this redounds to their credit.
"I have often reflected in what the most cruel barbarity in this world consists, and I feel convinced it is in malignity towards others, and yet it often assumes a very polite mask. Oh, Lenz! you don't know the key in which that house is set, and no knowledge of music will help you to know it. There is nothing there but scoffing and lies."
"Pilgrim, what a man must you be yourself! For the last eight years, you have daily frequented the house of the very people of whom you are speaking so harshly; you have eaten with them at the same table, and have been the best friends with them. What can I think of you?"
"That I go to an inn, and eat and drink and pay ready money. I pay my score every day, and then have no more to do with them."
"I cannot understand a person doing that."
"I believe you. I have paid dear enough for it, however; I would much rather be like you. It is no treat to know men as they really are. There are some, however, who——"
"I suppose you consider yourself one of the good."
"Not altogether; but I expected that you would fly out at me. I must bear it. Abuse me, do with me what you will, hack off my hand; I will beg my bread, and at least know that I have saved a friend. Give up Annele! I implore you to do so! You have not yet made your proposals to the Landlord of the 'Lion;' you are not yet bound."
"These are your worldly subterfuges! I am not so clever as you, and I have never mixed with the world like you, but I know what is right. I betrothed myself to Annele in her mother's presence, and I will keep my word. God grant I may get her from her father! And, now I say to you for the last time, I did not ask your advice, and I know well what I am doing."
"Hear me, Lenz. I shall only be too glad if I have been in error: but, no! My dear Lenz, for God's sake listen to me; it is still time. You cannot say that I ever tried to dissuade you from marrying."
"No, you never did."
"You are just the man to be a good husband, but I was a fool not to say to you sooner, that you ought to marry one of the Doctor's daughters."
"Do you think I would have gone to them and said:—'My guardian, Pilgrim, desires his compliments, and bids me say that he thinks I ought to marry one of you: Amanda, if possible.' No, no; these young ladies are too high and refined for me."
"They are, indeed, refined; while Annele only pretends to be so. The fact is, you were shy with the Doctor's daughters, but not with Annele; you could go into the 'Lion,' without anyone asking you why you came there. Oh! I see it all! Annele talked to you about your sorrow, for she can talk on any subject, and that softened your heart. Annele wears a leather pocket in every one of her gowns, and her heart is nothing but leather, where she has always small coin ready to give every guest his change in full."
"You are committing a sin, a great sin!" said Lenz, his lip quivering from anger and grief; and to prove to Pilgrim how cruelly unjust he was towards Annele, he related to him how kindly and touchingly Annele had spoken to him, both about the death of his mother, and at the time when he sent away his clock; he had cherished every word like a revelation.
"My own money! my own coin!" cried Pilgrim. "She has plundered a beggar! What a confounded, stupid idiot I have been! Every syllable she said to you she picked up from my lips. I was such a fool as to say these very words before her, from time to time. I well deserve it all! but how could I possibly guess that she was to entrap you with my words? Oh! my poor coins!"
The two friends remained silent for a time. Pilgrim bit his lips till they bled, and Lenz shook his head incredulously; at last Pilgrim resumed the discussion by saying:—"Do you know Annele's principal reason for accepting you? Not from your tall figure nor your good heart; not for your property either! No, these are all very secondary considerations. Her real motive is to prevent one of the Doctor's daughters getting you. 'Aha! you shan't get him, but I shall!' Believe me, Annele is a creature that you cannot judge of; you cannot believe that there are people who have no real delight or happiness, unless their enjoyment makes some one else miserable; or unless they can triumph in the thought that they are envied for their riches, their beauty, or their good fortune. I never knew there were such people in the world till I knew Annele. My Lenz, don't you try to know anything further of her, for she will make you miserable. Why do you look so strangely at me, and never say a word? Attack me, do what you will, say what you choose to me, only give up Annele, for she is poison! I implore of you to renounce her. One very important point, too, I quite forgot: think of it, and God grant that you may not think of it too late; I do not wish to be a prophet of evil, but Annele will never live to be old."
"Ha, ha! I suppose you intend now to make out that she has bad health: her face is like the rose and the lily blended."
"That is not what I meant; but something very different: remember your mother; was there ever any one who was so pleasant to look at? because her kind heart was seen in her face; kindness for everyone, and her love for you, and anxiety about you: that makes an old face charming, and it does one's heart good to look at it. As for Annele, when she can no longer plait her hair in a coronet, and has lost her fresh complexion, and cannot show her white teeth when she laughs, what will remain? She has nothing to grow old on; she has no soul, she has only plausible speeches; no good heart, no good sense; all she can do is to scoff at others; when she is an old woman, she will be nothing but the devil's grandmother!"
Lenz pressed his teeth violently against his lips, and at last said:—"You have said enough; far too much, indeed! Not another word! But I must exact one thing from you, which is, that you are not to speak of her in such a way except to me, and even to me this day for the last time, and to no one else; no one! I love my Annele, and—and—you also; you may say what you will in your jealousy. I no longer wish that you should go with me when I make my offer. Fortunately these four walls alone have heard what has passed. Good night, Pilgrim!"
"Good night, Lenz!"
CHAPTER XVIII.
A REBUFF AND A BETROTHAL.
When Lenz was gone, Pilgrim sat for a long time alone, staring at the lamp and twisting his moustaches. He was vexed with himself, he had said all he wanted, but he had said too much, and consequently failed in his object. He could not recall it, for it was all true; but what good had he done? He paced his room restlessly, and then sat down again and fixed his eyes on the light. What a strange world this is! How seldom a man attains his original object in life! We cannot believe this when we are young, and we think the old grumbling and morose, and at last we become just the same ourselves, and find that we must submit to this patchwork existence: no use complaining, we must not expect to have all we wish.
Pilgrim could not help recalling distant memories of his hidden life. When he left his native home ten years ago, he felt as if he had courage to conquer the whole world, and was inspired with a sensation of tranquil happiness. He had said nothing, he had made no sign, he had received no pledge, and yet he had no doubts nor difficulties in his mind. He loved the fair, slender Amanda, the Doctor's daughter, and she had deigned to regard him, as a princess would have done. She had condescended merely to glance down on him like a goddess; he helped her in holiday time to affix labels to the foreign plants, on which he had himself written the names distinctly, copied out of a book. She treated the poor forsaken boy like a good and benevolent spirit, and even when he grew to manhood, she often asked him to assist her in her garden; she was always equally amiable and kind in manner, and her every glance was treasured by Pilgrim. And when the day of his leaving home arrived, when he was passing the Doctor's garden, she held out her hand to him over the hedge, saying:—"I have a whole collection of remembrances of you in the flower labels, on which you wrote all the names. When you find these plants in the course of your travels, in their native soil, you will often think of our garden, and our house, where everyone feels an interest in you. Farewell! and return to us soon!"
Farewell! and return soon! These were words that went with the traveller over hill and dale, across the ocean and to foreign lands, and many an echo repeated the name of Amanda, with unconscious gladness in the air.
Pilgrim wished to become rich, to be a great artist, and thus one day to aspire to Amanda. He came home poor, and in tatters. Many received him with unfeeling derision, but Amanda said—she was grown taller and less slender, but her brown eyes still sparkled with kindness:—"Pilgrim, be thankful that you have not lost your health, and don't be downhearted, but keep up your spirits."
And he did keep up his spirits. From that time he accustomed himself to love her, and to admire her, in the same way that he did the stately old limetree in his neighbour's garden, or the stars in heaven. No one ever heard a word, or saw the slightest indication of his love, not even Amanda herself; and, like the legend of certain precious gems which shine in the night like the sun, so did his secret passion for Amanda, light up the life of Pilgrim. Often he did not see her for weeks, and when he did see her, his manner was as calm as if he had met a stranger. One thought, however, constantly occupied him; that of whose home she was to brighten. He wished to leave the world without her ever having divined what she had been to him; but he hoped to see her happy. Lenz was the only man to whom he could willingly give her up, for they were worthy of each other, and he wished to nurse their children, and to amuse them by his whole stock of jests. Now this hope was gone for ever, and Pilgrim firmly believed that Lenz stood on the brink of an abyss.
So he sat absorbed in a painful reverie, shaking his head from time to time mournfully, till he put out the lamp, saying:—"I never was of use to myself, so what chance have I to be of use to others?"
In the meanwhile Lenz was on his way homewards. He walked slowly. He was so weary, that he was forced to rest on a heap of stones beside the road. When he reached the "Lion" inn all was dark, and no star was shining, for the sky was covered with heavy clouds. Lenz stood still, and he felt as if the house must fall on him and crush him.
He went home: Franzl was asleep: he awoke her; he must positively have one human being to rejoice with him; Pilgrim seemed to have strewed ashes on all his glad hopes.
Franzl was delighted with the news she heard, and Lenz could not help smiling when Franzl, as a proof that she knew what love was,—alas! she knew it only too well!—related, for the hundredth time at least, her "unhappy love," as she always called it. She invariably began by tears and ended by scolding; and she was well entitled to both.
"How pretty and fresh our home was then, in the valley yonder! He was our neighbour's son, and honest, and industrious, and handsome. No one now-a-days is half so handsome. People may be offended with me if they like, but so it is;—but he—I cannot name his name, though everyone knows, all the same, that he was called Anton Striegler. He was resolved to go to travel, and so he went off to foreign parts with merchandise; and by the brookside he took leave of me, and said, 'Franzl,' said he, 'so long as that brook runs, I will be faithful and true at heart to you; and be you the same to me.' He could say all these fine words, and write them down too; that is the way with these false men; I could never have believed it. In the course of four years, I got seventeen letters from him—from France, England, and Spain. The letter from England cost me at the time a crown dollar, for it came at the moment when Napoleon did not choose us to receive either foreign letters, or coffee; so our Pastor said the letter had come round by Constantinople and Austria, but at all events it cost a whole crown dollar. For a long, long time after, I never got one. I waited fourteen years, then I heard that he had married a black woman, in Spain. I never wanted to hear any more of the bad man, and none could be worse. And then I took out of my drawer the fine letters, the fine lying letters that he had written to me, and I burned them all, my love going off with them in smoke, up the chimney."
Franzl always finished her tale of woe with these heroic words. On this occasion she had a good listener,—there could not be a better; he had but one fault, which was that, in fact, he did not hear one word she said; he only looked intently at her, and thought of Annele. At last Franzl, through gratitude, began to talk of her. "Yes, yes, I will take care to tell Annele what an excellent creature you are, and how kind you have always been to me. Don't look so grave and gloomy,—you ought to be so merry. I know well—oh, heavens! but too well—that when we have just secured such great happiness, we seem quite upset by it God be praised! you are in luck;—you can stay quietly at home together, and can say good morning, and good night, to each other every day that God gives you. Now I must say good night! It is very late."
It was past midnight when at length Lenz went to rest, and he fell asleep with a "Good night, Annele! good night, you dear creature!"
He had strange sensations in the morning. He remembered what he had dreamt. His dream placed him on the top of the high rock on the crest of the hill behind his house, and he was always lifting his foot, and trying to soar into the air.
"What nonsense to allow myself to be plagued by a mere dream!" So he tried to forget it, and, quickly effacing it from his memory, he looked at Annele's coin.
A messenger presently arrived from the Landlady, to say that Lenz was to come there at eleven o'clock. Lenz dressed himself in his Sunday suit, and hurried to his uncle Petrowitsch.
After he had repeatedly rung at the bell, and was at last admitted, his uncle came towards him, looking considerably disturbed.
"What brings you here at this early hour?"
"Uncle, you are my father's brother."
"Yes; and when I left the country I left everything to your father. All that I possess, I earned for myself."
"I don't want any money from you, but to represent my father for me."
"How? what?"
"Uncle, Annele of the 'Lion' and I are attached to each other, truly attached; and Annele's mother knows about it, and has given her consent; and I am to propose for her to-day, at eleven o'clock, in due form to her father, according to custom; and I wish you to go with me, as you are my father's brother."
"So?" said Petrowitsch, cramming a large piece of white sugar into his mouth, and walking up and down the carpeted room.
"Really?" said he, after a few turns. "You will get a sharp, quick wife, and I must say you show considerable nerve. I never should have imagined that you had sufficient courage, to take such a wife."
"Why courage? What has that to do with it?"
"Nothing bad; but I had no idea you were so vain as to try for such a wife."
"Vain? What vanity is there in it?"
Petrowitsch smiled, and made no reply.
Lenz continued: "You know her, uncle. She is prudent and frugal, and her family most respectable."
"That is not what I mean. It is vanity on your part to imagine that you can supply to a girl of twenty two the place of the numerous guests that swarm in the Inn, all complimenting her and flattering her. It is vanity in you to wish to secure for yourself alone, a woman who can conduct a large inn. A prudent man takes no wife who will make him spend half his substance, if he wishes to please her. And to rule such a woman is no trifle. It is far more difficult than to drive four wild horses on the steppes."
"I don't intend to rule her."
"Perhaps! But one of the two must be: to rule or to be ruled. I must say, however, that she is good tempered: only, indeed, towards those who praise her, or are submissive to her will. She is the only good one in the house. Both the old people are hypocrites in their various ways; the woman with her incessant talk, the man with his few words. Every step the Landlord takes has a solid sound: 'Here comes a honest man.' When he takes up his knife and fork, 'This is the way an honest man eats;' when he looks out of the window, 'This is the way an honest man looks:' and I would stake my life that neither his boots, nor his knife and fork are paid for."
"It is very painful, uncle, to hear you say such things."
"I should think it was."
"I only wished to ask you, from proper respect, whether you would take the place of a father, and go with me to make my proposals?"
"It does not suit me. You are of age. You never asked my opinion beforehand."
"Do not be displeased with me for asking you now."
"Oh, not at all! Stop!" cried Petrowitsch, as Lenz was about to withdraw. "One word; only one word!"
Lenz turned round, and Petrowitsch, for the first time in his life, laid his hand on his nephew's shoulder, who seemed moved by this action, and still more by the words Petrowitsch uttered with considerable emotion.
"I should like not to have lived entirely in vain for those who belong to me. I will give you what many men would have given their lives to have had, if given to them in time—good advice. Lenz, when a man is overheated and excited, he must not venture to drink, for he may cause his death; and he who dashes the glass out of his hand does him a service. There is, however, a different kind of excitement, when a man must equally avoid drinking; that is, doing anything which is to affect the whole course of his life. He may thus also incur death—a low, lingering sickness. You ought not to decide on any marriage at present, even if you had not chosen Annele. You are overheated; pause till you have recovered your breath, and six months hence talk over the matter with yourself. Let me go to the Landlord, and break off the affair for you. They may abuse me as much as they like—I don't care. Will you take my advice, and put an end to the thing? If not, you will bring on a chronic disease, which no doctor can ever cure."
"I am betrothed. It is too late now for advice," answered Lenz.
The cold perspiration stood on his forehead when he left his uncle's house.
"But this is only the way of old bachelors—their hearts get hard. Pilgrim and my uncle are very much alike. One thing is diverting! Pilgrim thinks the father the only honest one among them, and my uncle says the same of Annele. I suppose the third person I speak to on the subject, will tell me the old woman is the best of the lot. They may one and all go to the deuce! I need no one to back me; I am quite man enough to act for myself. I must put an end to every one interfering in this manner with my concerns. An hour hence I hope to be accepted as a member of a highly considered family."
An hour had not elapsed when Lenz was accepted. Pilgrim's speeches, and those of his uncle, had no influence over him; but that was their own fault. When he went straight to Annele's father, unshaken by all remonstrances, to ask for Annele's hand, he hoped inwardly that she would be aware of this, and thank him for having stood firm in spite of every dissuasion.
Annele held her muslin apron to her eyes with one hand, and clasped Lenz's hand with the other, when pledges were exchanged. The Landlord walked up and down the room, his new boots creaking loudly. The Landlady imagined that she was shedding real tears, and exclaimed: "Good heavens! must I give my last child away? When I go to rest, or when I rise in the morning, I shall feel utterly helpless. Where is my Annele? But one thing I distinctly say now, I won't hear of the marriage for a year to come. We don't need to tell you, Lenz, that you are dear to us, when we are bestowing our last child on you! Oh, if your mother had only lived to see this day! But she will rejoice over it in heaven!"
These words were so touching, that Lenz shed tears. If the Landlord's boots involuntarily creaked as an accompaniment to his wife's speech, they now creaked louder and quicker than ever. At last the Landlord's boots were silent, and his lips began.
"Enough for the present. Let us be men, Lenz;—compose yourself;—quite right. Now tell me what portion you expect with your wife."
"I never asked about her portion; she is your child, and you will do all you can. I am not rich, my profession is my chief source of income, but I have my parents to thank, for having provided against any evil day. There is no lack: we can have our daily bread, and to spare."
"Well said, and to the point,—just what I like. Now as to the marriage contract, what do you intend to do?"
"I can give no opinion on the subject: the law of the land will decide that."
"Yes, but I must have a particular settlement. You see a widow loses half her original value, and money must make up for that. Now if you die without children of your own—"
"Father!" cried Annele, "if you mean to say such things, let me leave the room, for I really cannot stay and listen to them."
The Landlord, however proceeded coolly: "Don't be so affected. Just like you women! 'Oh, pray don't talk of money!' Ah! bah! You shrink from it, just as if a frog were crawling about your feet. But if there was no money, you would wish for it often enough. God be praised! you never in your life knew what it was to be without it, and I hope you never may. So as to the survivor—"
"I will not listen to you. Is this like the happiness of a betrothal, to talk of such things?" said Annele, indignantly.
"Your father is right," said her mother, gently. "Show your good sense, and hold your tongue. These matters will soon be settled, and then you can be as merry as you please."
"My Annele is right," said Lenz, in an unusually loud, firm tone; "we shall marry according to the law of the land, and so not another word on the subject. Come, Annele! What! to talk of dying just now! At this moment we only think of living. Don't take it amiss, father and mother. We are all agreed, and every minute now is worth a million."
So saying, he ran down into the garden, holding Annele's hand clasped in his.
"A singular young man!" said the Landlord, looking after him: "but so it is. All musical geniuses have their whims. A moment ago he was sobbing like a child, and now he is singing like a lark; but he is an excellent creature, and when I win my Brazilian lawsuit, or gain the chief prize in the lottery, Lenz shall be paid a handsome marriage portion."
With this admirable and satisfactory project, the Landlord went creaking about the public room, receiving with dignity the congratulations of friends and strangers. He said little, but insinuated that a wealthy connection was of no great importance to him. "If the man is only healthy and high principled, that is my chief object;" and every one nodded approvingly. Great wisdom may be contained in few words.