HAPPINESS DAWNS, AND A NEW MOTHER SPEAKS.
"He is not at home," cried out Don Bastian's wife to Lenz, as he was
crossing the meadow; "probably he is gone to your house. Did you not
meet him?"
"No. Is his room locked?"
"No."
"Then I will sit down there for a little."
Lenz went into the familiar room. But as he opened the door he almost
sank to the ground. His mother was standing opposite, smiling on him!
He quickly, however, recovered from this startled feeling, and inwardly
thanked his friend for having depicted so closely that dear, good,
loving face, before time had effaced it from his memory. Yes, just so
had she looked at him in life! "Pilgrim is, and always will be, my best
friend. As he could not be with me he was engaged in doing me a favour;
yes, the greatest favour he could have done me."
Lenz gazed long and mournfully at the beloved features. His eyes were
swimming in tears, but still he continued to look at the picture. "So
long as I have the use of my eyes I can now always see you, but I shall
never hear you again. Oh! that I could but hear your voice once more!
Oh! that we could but recall the voice of the dead!" He could scarcely
prevail on himself to leave the room. It seemed so strange to leave his
mother thus alone, looking at him as he went out, and no eyes meeting
hers....
He did not go away till darkness set in, so that he could no longer
see; and on his way he said to himself--"Now it is time that
lamentation should cease. I can cherish my grief within my own heart,
but the world shall not say that I don't bear it like a man." He heard
the sound of music as he passed the Doctor's house. The windows were
open, and a man was singing foreign songs in a fine baritone voice: it
was not a voice belonging to the village. Who can it be? Whoever it is,
he sings well.
He heard the stranger say, "Now, Mademoiselle Bertha, I hope you will
sing me something."
"No, Herr Starr, I cannot just now; we must soon go to supper, and we
can sing a duett afterwards. Look through this music in the mean time."
This allusion to supper, and the resolution he had formed to enjoy life
again, seemed to awaken a good appetite in Lenz, and he forthwith
determined to go to the "Golden Lion;" so he went towards the village
with a quick and firm step.
"Oh, Lenz, good evening! How good of you to think of your friends, even
in your sorrow!" said the landlady. "I mentioned your name only a few
minutes since, and if you had been here today, you would have heard
that all those who have been going in and out during the day, were
talking of you. I am sure your cheeks must have been burning! Yes, my
good Lenz, you will meet with your reward even in this world, for your
admirable conduct to your excellent mother. And you know that your
mother and I were always the best of friends; though it is true we did
not see much of each other, for she disliked leaving her own house, and
so did I. Will you have a pint of new wine or old? I advise the new,
for it is particularly good and not so heating. You look red and
flushed: to be sure, after losing such a mother, it is but natural. I
don't say it is not, but----;" and the good woman waved her hand, as if
emotion choked her voice.
At last, after placing the glass and bottle on the table, she
resumed:--"What can we do?--we are all mortal. Your mother was seventy
five years old--a full sheaf of years, indeed; and very possibly I may
be called away tomorrow in my turn, just like your mother. With God's
help, I, too, will leave a good name to my children. No one, indeed,
can be compared with your mother. But may I give you a piece of
advice?--I mean it well, believe me."
"Yes, yes--I am always glad to get good advice."
"I only wished to say, that I know you are tender hearted, but you must
not allow yourself to be overwhelmed with grief. You don't take this
amiss, I hope?"
"Certainly not. What is there that I could take amiss in it? On the
contrary, I did not know till now, how many true friends my mother had,
and that they intend to continue their friendship to her son."
"Oh! you deserve this for your own sake, for you are----"
"Good day to you, Lenz!"
The landlady's flattering speech was cut short suddenly by a clear
young voice, and a pretty, plump hand was offered to him, and the face
corresponded with the hand. It was Annele, who brought a lamp into the
room, which lighted it up brightly; and, turning to the landlady, she
said--"Mother, why did not you let me know that Lenz was here?"
"Surely, I may talk to a young man in the twilight just as well as
you," answered the mother, with a significant smile.
The jest did not seem to please Lenz: and Annele went on to say--"My
good Lenz, you should have seen how I cried both yesterday and to-day
about your mother. I am still trembling in every limb. Such persons
should not die; and when we think that she is no longer here to go on
doing good, it is truly heart breaking. I can just imagine you in your
own home. You look into every corner--you feel as if the door must
open; it cannot be--she could not be so cruel--she cannot be gone for
ever--she must come in soon. Good heavens, Lenz! all day long I said to
myself--Poor dear Lenz! if I could only bear part of his burden, I
would so gladly take a share of it. You were expected here without fail
this forenoon to dinner. Your uncle expected you; and, though he is
usually so particular as to dinner being served as the clock strikes,
he said to-day--'Wait a bit, Annele--put off dinner a few minutes, Lenz
is certain to come--surely he won't remain all alone at home.' And
Pilgrim too made sure that you would go to him, and dine with him. You
know Pilgrim is always with us, and just like a brother to me. In him
you have, indeed, a good and true friend. Your uncle had a small table
all to himself, and he made me sit down beside him, and talk to him. He
is a man who likes his joke, but as clever as Old Nick himself. Well,
remember that you must dine here tomorrow. What do you like best?"
"I have no great appetite for anything. I should like best of all, to
be able to sleep for seven whole days--to sleep on and on continually,
and know nothing of myself all the time."
"You will feel differently by and by.--I am coming in a moment!" said
Annele, to some waggoners who had just seated themselves at another
table. She brought them their dinner, and then returned to stand behind
Lenz; and while she answered the other guests, she continued to hold
her hand on the back of Lenz's chair, which gave him a strange
sensation, as if a stream of electricity penetrated his whole frame.
Now, however, seeing others eat, reminded him of his own hunger; and
Annele went off to the kitchen and back again like a flash of
lightning, and covered the table with a fine white cloth, and placed
the dishes so neatly on the table, and said so heartily, "May God bless
your meal!" that Lenz could not fail to enjoy his dinner.
Certainly few girls can be so active and neat as Annele. It is a pity
that she is so addicted to making fools of her admirers: she is so
quick in repartee, and has a surprising knack of introducing any
subject she likes, and carrying on a conversation in a lively manner.
Lenz had finished his first pint of wine, and Annele quickly placed
another before him, and poured it into his glass.
"I believe you don't smoke?" said she.
"I do smoke sometimes, but I don't care much about it,"
"I will bring you one of my father's cigars--our guests never get
them." She brought a cigar and a match, and held a light for Lenz.
At this moment the landlord of the "Lion" came in--a tall, stout,
massive figure, most respectable in appearance; for he had thin snow
white hair and a small black velvet cap on his head, just like a
clergyman: moreover, he wore silver spectacles with large round
glasses; he used his spectacles only for reading, so they were usually
pushed back on his forehead. Placidity and benevolence seemed impressed
on his brow: he was, moreover, calm and sedate, and majestically self
possessed, and was considered by his neighbours a very shrewd, sensible
man. To be sure he said very little, but a man must have a good deal of
intelligence who had prospered like the landlord of the "Lion." His
face was rather red, and inspired considerable deference; his mouth
alone, which usually looked as if he were eating something good, was
not so awe inspiring as the rest of his appearance. He was a serious
and silent man, as if he wished, by his silence, to counterbalance the
incessant tongue of his wife, and, indeed, sometimes that of his
daughter likewise. When his wife talked too much, or with levity, he
occasionally shook his head gravely, as much as to say, "A man with my
principles cannot approve of that;" and the landlord was a man of
strict principles: this was known far and wide; and he was the best in
his trade, which was that of what is here called a Packer--he bought
clocks from the clockmakers, and sent them to all parts of the world.
"Good evening, Lenz!" said the landlord, in a sonorous voice, as if in
these few words a vast deal was included; and when Lenz respectfully
rose he gave him his hand, and said, "Don't rise or be on ceremony,
remember you are in an inn." Then he nodded, as much as to say--"I have
a high respect for you, and you are as sure of all proper condolence on
my part, as if you held a threefold security for it." Then he went to
his table and read the newspapers. Annele fetched her knitting, and
seated herself beside Lenz, saying, politely--"With your permission!"
She spoke much and cleverly, and was thought as good as she was clever.
She seems both, and no one knows better how to make her game. When Lenz
at last paid his score, she said: "I must say it vexes me to receive
your money, I would far rather that you had considered yourself our
guest. Now, good night! and don't grieve your heart out. I only wish I
could comfort you. By the bye, I had almost forgotten to ask you when
your great musical clock--which is supposed to be the finest that was
ever made in this country--goes to Russia?"
"I may receive a letter any day, desiring it to be sent off."
"Will you let my mother and me come up to see it and hear it before it
goes?"
"I shall be highly honoured. Pray come whenever you choose."
"Now, good night! sleep sound, and remember me to Franzl, and tell her
that if she wants anything, she is to come to us for it."
"Thank you very much--I won't fail to tell her."
It was a good quarter of an hour's walk to Lenz's house, and a steep
hill all the way. Today he was soon at home, however. He did not know
why, but when he was once more alone in his room, he became very
sorrowful. He gazed long out into the summer night--he did not know
what he was thinking about. Here nothing is seen or heard of the world
of human beings; the only object visible in the distance, on a far away
hill, is a solitary cottage, where a blacksmith lives--a light sparkles
up through the windows, but soon disappears. Those men who have no
grief in their hearts can sleep.
Not far from the house of the smith, a sawmill is heard through the
stillness of the night, busily revolving from a current of air. The
stars are shining brightly over the dark line of the forest, and on the
spot where the moon has gone down behind the hills, a pale blue halo is
visible, and the fleecy clouds in the sky are gently illuminated.
Lenz supported his burning forehead on his hands: his pulses were
beating--the world seems going round with him. No doubt the new wine is
the cause of these sensations. "I ought not to have drunk wine at
night. What a clever, good girl Annele is! Don't be a fool--What is she
to you?--'Good night!--Sleep sound.'" He repeated her words gently, and
indeed he did sleep soundly all night.