THE WORLD STEPS IN.
"Good morning, Lenz!--so you slept well?--you are still like a child,
who sleeps sound after crying till he is worn out," said Faller, in his
deep hollow bass voice, next morning. And Lenz replied--"Ah, my friend!
to wake, and wake again, and to remember the events of yesterday, is
only fresh misery! But I must take courage, I will first of all prepare
the security for you: take it to the mayor before he rides out, and
remember me to him. By the bye, it has just occurred to me that I
dreamt of him. Go to Pilgrim, too, if you have time, and tell him I am
waiting at home for him. May good luck attend you! I am so glad that
you will now have a roof of your own."
Faller went with the security into the valley, and Lenz began his work;
but he first wound up one of the clocks, and it played a hymn. He
nodded in unison, while filing a wheel. "That clock plays well: it was
her favourite air--my mother's," thought Lenz. The large clock, in a
beautifully carved walnut-wood case, as tall as a clothes press, was
called "The Magic Flute," for its principal piece was the overture to
that opera of Mozart's, besides five other airs: it was already sold to
a well-frequented tea-garden near Odessa. A small clock stood beside
it, and Lenz was working at a third. He worked unremittingly till noon.
He was very hungry, but when he sat down to table alone, all hunger
seemed to leave him.
He begged the old maid to sit down with him. She affected great shyness
and modesty; however she allowed her scruples at last to be overcome,
and when the soup was finished, she even volunteered the remark--"I
really see no reason why you should marry."
"Who says that I have any thoughts of marrying?"
"My opinion is that if you do marry you ought to marry the beadle's
daughter, Kathrine: she is come of good people, and has a great respect
for you--she can talk of nothing but you. Such a wife would be worth
having. It would be a bad business if you got a wife to whom you would
have to play second fiddle. Girls, now-a-days, are so stylish in their
ideas, and think of nothing but dress and vanity."
"I have no thoughts of marriage, especially at this moment."
"And you are right: it is not at all necessary--you will never better
yourself, believe me. And I know how you have been coddled all your
life, and I will take care to manage every thing so that you may almost
think your mother is still in the world. Tell me, don't you find the
beans good? I learned how to dress them from your mother--they are the
very same. She understood everything, from the greatest thing to the
least. You shall see how well pleased you will be while we live
together--as happy as the day is long."
"But, Franzl," said Lenz, "I don't think I shall be long as I am."
"Really? Have you any one in your eye already? Look there!--People had
agreed that Lenz had nothing in his head but his mother and his clocks!
I only hope she comes of a good family. As I told you, Kathrine would
be a wife for Saturdays and Sundays; she can work both in the house and
in the fields; and her spinning is so first-rate, that I do believe she
could spin the very straw off the roof. She thinks more of you than any
one, and all that you do and say is sacred in her eyes. She always
says--'All that Lenz does is right,' even when it appears otherwise,
like his working yesterday;' and she will have a nice little nest egg
of money, and a property besides from her mother, which will be an
ample provision for one of your children."
"Franzl, there is no question of marriage at all. I have some idea--I
have not yet quite made up my mind--of selling, or letting all my
property, and going to foreign parts."
Franzl stared at Lenz in dismay, pausing halfway in lifting the spoon
out of the plate to her mouth. Lenz continued--"I will take care to
provide for you, Franzl--you shall never know want; but I have never
yet seen the world, and I should like to do so, and to see and learn
something, and perhaps I may improve in my own calling; and who
knows----"
"I have no right to give an opinion," interrupted Franzl, "I am only a
foolish woman, though every one knows that we Kunslingers are far from
being jackasses. What do I know of the world! but this I do know, that
I have not served seven and twenty years in this house without some
profit. I came to this house when you were only four years old: you
were the youngest child, and the pet of all the family. As for your
brothers and sisters--now lying under the green turf;----however, don't
let us talk about them just now. I have been seven and twenty years
with your mother. I cannot say that I am as clever as she was--for who
could you find, far or near, of whom we could say that? But we shall
see her no more till the world is at an end. And how often she
said--'Franzl,' said she, 'men rush out into the world just as if in
other lands, beyond the Rhine or across the seas, Fortune ran about the
streets welcoming all comers--"Good morning, Hans, Michel, and
Christoph; I am so glad to see you," said Fortune to Hans, Michel, and
Christoph.' 'My good Franzl,' said your mother, 'he who can't get on at
home, will do just as little elsewhere; and wherever you go you will
find plenty of men; and if it was to rain gold they would take good
care to snap it up, and not wait for strangers to come and take their
share; and after all, what great good fortune do you get by going out
into the world? No one can do more than eat, and drink, and sleep.
Franzl,' said she, 'my Lenz, too,'--forgive me, but it was your mother
said so--I don't say it of myself,--'my Lenz also has got some silly
nonsense in his head about travel; but where could he be better off
than at home; and he is not a man to strive with the wide world.' A man
must be a pirate like Petrowitsch, an audacious, niggardly, miserly,
hardhearted creature to get on in the world. But, to tell the truth,
she said nothing of the kind, for she never said an ill word of any
one; but I think it and I say it--and she often appealed to my good
feelings, saying--'Franzl, if my Lenz were to leave home, he would give
away the shirt off his back if he saw some poor creature in want of
one: he is so tenderhearted, that any one who chooses can impose upon
him. Franzl,' said she, 'when I am no longer in the world, and this
longing for travel again comes across him, Franzl,' said she, 'cling to
his coat-tails, and don't let him go;' only, good gracious! I can't
possibly do that--how could I? But I must say my say, and I will, for
she charged me to look after you. Just look round you: here you have a
comfortable house and the best of food--you are respected and loved;
and if you go out into the world, who knows anything about you?--who
knows that you are Lenz of the Morgenhalde? And when you have no
shelter, and must lie all night in the woods, how often would you
think--'Bless me! to think that I had once a house, and seven
feather-beds, and plenty of good crockery, and a small cask of good
wine in the cellar.' By the bye, shall I fetch you a pint of it now?
just wait, I'll bring it in a minute. Those who are sad should drink
wine. A thousand times have I heard your mother say--'Wine cheers the
heart, and brings another train of thought.'"
Franzl hurried out of the room, and soon returned from the cellar with
a pint of wine. Lenz insisted on her having a glass herself. He poured
it out himself for her, and made his glass ring against hers. She only
put it to her lips coyly; but when she cleared the table, she did not
forget to take the glass of wine with her to the kitchen.
Lenz again worked hard till evening. Whether it was the wine or some
other cause, he was very restless at his work, and often on the point
of laying aside his tools to go out and visit some one; but again he
thought that it was better he should not leave the house, as no doubt
some of his kind friends would come to comfort him in his solitude, and
he wished they should find him at home. No one came, however, but the
Proebler. He was much attached to Lenz; for he was one of the few who
did not turn him into ridicule, and scoff at him for refusing to sell
any of his ingenious devices--he only pawned them until he could no
longer redeem them; and it was said that the landlord of the "Lion,"
who carried on a brisk trade as a _packer_ (which in this district
means a wholesale dealer and agent), and had an extensive business,
made a good profit out of Proebler, who had pledged his chief works to
him.
Lenz always listened with serious attention to old Proebler, even when
he told him that he was constructing no less a piece of mechanism than
the _perpetuum mobile_; and, in order to complete it, there was nothing
wanting but forty two diamonds, on which the works must revolve.
On this occasion, however, Proebler did not come on account of any new
discovery, nor to discuss the _perpetuum mobile_; but when Lenz had
taken the usual pinch of snuff from his box, he proposed himself as his
negociator, if he wished to marry. He brought forward a whole array of
marriageable girls, those of the Doctor included; and concluded by
saying--"All houses are open to you--but you are shy. Tell me honestly
whither your thoughts turn, and I will take care that you are met half
way."
Lenz scarcely made any answer, and Proebler went away. That he should be
supposed to aspire to one of the Doctor's daughters, occupied Lenz for
some time. They were three excellent and charming girls. The eldest was
very prudent, and considerate beyond her years; and the second played
the piano and sung admirably. How often had Lenz stood opposite the
house listening to her! Music was, in fact, his sole passion, and his
eager longing for it was like that of a thirsty man for a clear spring
of water. How would it be if he could get a wife who could play the
piano? He would ask her to play over to him all the airs that he put in
his musical timepieces, and then they would sound very differently. But
after all, a wife from so superior a family would not be very fitting
for him; for it was not likely that, when she could play the piano, she
could undertake the management of the house, the garden, and the
stables, as all clockmakers' wives must do;--besides, he will wait
patiently yet awhile. When twilight began to fall, Lenz dressed and
went down into the valley. "All houses will be open to you," Proebler
had said. All houses? That was saying a great deal; in fact, so much
that it meant nothing. To feel at home in entering a house, its
inhabitants must go on calmly with their various pursuits; you must
form so entirely a part of the family, that neither look nor gesture
asks,--"Why do you come here?--what do you want?--what is the matter?"
If you are not quite at home, then the house is not really open to you
at any moment; and as Lenz's thoughts travel from house to house in the
village for a couple of miles round, he knows he will be joyfully
welcomed by all--but he is nowhere really at home; and yet he has one
friend with whom he is thoroughly at home, just as much so as in his
own room. The painter Pilgrim wished to go home with him yesterday
after the funeral, but as his uncle Petrowitsch joined him, Pilgrim
remained behind, for Petrowitsch had a hearty contempt for Pilgrim,
because he was a poor devil--and Pilgrim had an equally hearty contempt
for Petrowitsch because he was a rich devil--so Lenz resolved to go to
see Pilgrim.
Pilgrim lodged far up the valley, with Don Bastian, as Pilgrim called
him. He had been originally a clockmaker, who had acquired a
considerable sum of money during a twelve years' residence in Spain.
After his return to his native country he purchased a farm, resumed his
peasant's dress, and retained nothing of his Spanish journey except his
money, and a few Spanish phrases which he brought forth ostentatiously
from time to time, especially in summer, when those who had wandered
from their homes again returned to their own district.