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.