A DINNER WITH PETROWITSCH.
Petrowitsch was not yet arrived. In the mean time Lenz seated himself
at his uncle's table, and conversed with the family and Pilgrim.
Annele was unusually sparing of her words today; indeed, when Lenz
offered her his hand when he came in, she affected to be too busy to
take it. No doubt her hand is promised, and she can no longer give it
to any one, even in common courtesy. And yet she does not look much
like a bride.
Uncle Petrowitsch now arrived; at least his dog appeared as his
precursor--a mongrel, between a _dachs_ and a terrier.
"Good day, Lenz!" said his uncle, rather crabbedly. "I expected you
yesterday. Did you forget that I had invited you?"
"Indeed I did. I must confess that it quite went out of my head."
"At such a time it is allowable to forget, otherwise nothing is so
inexcusable in a man of business as want of memory. During all my life
I never either forgot anything, or lost anything--I never threw away a
pin, or mislaid a pocket handkerchief A man ought always to make use of
his seven senses. Now let us go to dinner."
Annele brought in the soup--the uncle filled two plates out of
the tureen, and then said to Lenz, "You may take the remainder."
Petrowitsch then took a newspaper out of his pocket, that he called for
at the Post-office every day himself, and cut its leaves. While the
soup was cooling, and after placing his tobacco bag and his meerschaum
pipe on the paper, he began his dinner.
"You see," said he, after the soup, crumbling a quantity of bread into
a plate for some one who had not yet appeared--"you see this is the way
in which I like to live. If you dine at an inn, you are sure to have a
clean cloth every day; and when my score is paid, day after day, then I
am my own master." When the meat was put on the table, Petrowitsch cut
a slice for Lenz with his own hands, then one for himself, and another
for the unknown friend. He must have been on very intimate terms with
him, for he put his finger into the plate, shook his head, and added
some cold water to the meat. Now the friend came to light. "Come,
Bueble!" said Petrowitsch to his dog. "Gently, gently!--don't be in a
hurry, Bueble!--take it quietly." He put the plate on the floor, and the
dog ate his food comfortably till he had finished the last morsel, when
he looked up at his master gratefully, licking his lips and wagging his
tail.
From this moment Bueble only got little bits. Petrowitsch said very
little, and after dinner, when he had lighted his pipe and glanced over
the newspaper, Lenz asked: "Uncle, why did you spread a report that I
was about to leave the country?"
Petrowitsch puffed away at his pipe for some minutes placidly, blowing
away the smoke; then he called Bueble, who jumped on his knee, and
patted him; at last he said--"Why do you find fault with me for saying
so? You told me yourself that you wished to make up for the idleness of
your youth, and to visit other countries."
"I don't remember saying that."
"I don't reproach you with your supineness--you were not your own
master; but it would be well worth your while to travel now--you would
learn a good deal. I don't force you to go--indeed I can't."
Lenz allowed himself to be persuaded by his uncle's bold assertion,
that he had really told him he wished to travel, and begged him not to
take it amiss that he had forgotten he had ever said so.
"Lenz, bring your chair a little nearer," whispered Petrowitsch
confidentially; "no one need hear what we are talking about. Listen! if
you will take my advice, don't marry at all."
"There is little chance of my thinking of such a thing at this moment,
uncle."
"Young people like you never know what they would be at--there can be
no doubt of that. Now, Lenz, take example by me. I am one of the
happiest men in the world. I have just been six weeks at Baden-Baden,
and now I return to enjoy myself here; and wherever I go, I am my own
master, and the world must serve me; and there are no girls in these
days worth a farthing: those who are simple and good bore a man to
death--those who are shrewd and clever, require constant amusement and
excitement--all day long, at every meal, they must have some fresh
diversion. And then you hear them say, day after day--'Goodness! how
tiresome it is to manage a house--you men know nothing of such toil.'
And then, in addition to all this, comes the plague of screaming
babies, and relations, and school fees, and taxes."
"If the whole world thought like you, uncle, the human race would come
to an end in a hundred years," said Lenz.
"Pooh! they would never die out," said old Petrowitsch, laughing, and
filling his pipe with tobacco, pressing it down with a china stopper of
antique shape. "Look, there goes Annele!" Lenz involuntarily started,
he scarcely knew why; but his uncle continued, coolly--"No doubt, she
is a vastly knowing little thing, always on the alert, and I call her
my court jester. The kings of old were wise, for they kept jesters,
whose office it was to make them laugh during meals. That is very
healthy, and assists digestion. Annele is my court fool, and never
fails to make me laugh."
When Lenz looked round. Pilgrim was gone. He seemed, indeed, resolved
that his friend should disown him before Petrowitsch. Lenz, however,
made a point of saying to his uncle, that he was a true friend of
Pilgrim's, and intended always to be so.
The uncle said he was right, and commended his nephew; and Lenz was
quite surprised when Petrowitsch even began to praise Pilgrim; adding,
that he was something like himself, in some points, for he also
disliked matrimony, and had a poor opinion of the female sex.
Bueble now became very fidgety, and began to whine.
"Silence!" said Petrowitsch, angrily. "Have patience--we are going home
immediately to take a nap. Down, down, Bueble! Are you coming with me,
Lenz?"
Lenz accompanied his uncle to his house--a large handsome building, in
which no one lived but himself. The door opened of itself as if by
magic, for the maid was obliged to be on the watch, and to open the
door before her master had time to knock.
Lenz said--"Good bye!" to his uncle, who thanked him, yawning.
The young man was glad when he was again seated at his work the same
afternoon. The house, which had seemed so desolate that he thought he
could not possibly continue to live in it, now appeared to him once
more like home--no real rest or peace is to be found in amusement
elsewhere--a man is only really happy at home. He looked for a place to
hang up his mother's picture; the best was just above his father's
file, for there she could look down on him as he worked, and he could
often look up at her.
"Mind you have the room tidy!" said Lenz to Franzl, who, with just
indignation, replied--"It is always tidy!" Lenz did not choose to say
that he had his own reasons for wishing it to be in particularly good
order, for every hour he expected a visit from Annele and her mother,
to see and hear his large clock, before it went forth into the
wide world. Then he was resolved to ask her, in a straightforward
manner--the straight way is always the best--whether the report about
her and the Techniker had any foundation. He cannot tell, indeed, what
gives him any right to ask such a question; but he feels that he must
do so, and then he can talk to her in his own way, just as he may
choose. Day after day passed and Annele did not come; and Lenz often
went past the "Lion," but without going in, or even looking up at the
window.