ANNELE THAWS ALSO, BUT FREEZES AGAIN.
While Lenz was journeying through the country in the deepest
inward grief, Annele was alone at home with her thoughts. She was
alone,--sadly alone,--for Lenz had not even left her a kind farewell,
to keep her company. He had quitted her in silence, and with closed
lips. "Pooh! a couple of kind words will soon turn him," thought Annele
to herself; and yet she felt unusually nervous to-day, and her cheeks
were flushed. She was not accustomed to sit and think; she had passed
her life in bustle and excitement, and never once paused to reflect
calmly on any subject. Now she had no power to escape from the voice of
conscience. Let her occupy herself as she would, and go up and down the
house, something followed her close, and seemed to pull her dress, and
whisper, "Listen to me!"
She had hushed the little girl to sleep, and the boy was sitting beside
the maid, winding the yarn she had spun; and when the girl fell asleep,
Annele felt as if some one pressed her down on her chair, so that she
could not rise, and that a voice said, "Annele! what are you become
now?" The pretty, merry, much loved and praised Annele is sitting in a
dark room, in a desolate house, sighing, fretting, and complaining.
"I would gladly submit to all this if I were only liked at home; but
all I do, and all I say, is hateful to him; and I do no harm. Am I not
frugal and industrious, and ready to work still harder? But up here we
are as if in a grave." These thoughts made Annele start up, and as she
stood beside her child's cradle, she recalled a dream of the past
night. On this occasion she had not dreamt of agreeable drives, or of
visiting a pleasant inn; she thought she was standing beside her open
grave. She saw it quite distinctly, and the clods of earth from the
heap that had been dug out. "A bad omen," said she aloud, and stood
long immovable and trembling.
At last she shook off this feeling of depression, and thought, "I will
not die yet, I have not yet lived out my life, either at home or here."
She wept in pity for herself, and her thoughts wandered years back,
when she had imagined it would be so delightful to live with a husband
she loved in solitude, knowing nothing of the busy life of the world,
for she was sick of the constant tumult of an inn, where she could not
help suspecting, though she did not know it for a fact, that the whole
extravagant mode of going on rested on a very tottering foundation. It
was the fault of her husband, that she longed for a more profitable
business to employ her dormant talents.
"He is like his musical clocks; they play their own melodies, but are
incapable of listening to those of others."
In the midst of her depression, she could not resist smiling at this
comparison. Her thoughts strayed farther; she would gladly have been
submissive to a husband who showed the world that he had courage to be
master, but not to one who did nothing all day but stick in pegs.
"But you knew well what he was," whispered conscience.
"Yes; but not exactly," was her answer; "not exactly."
"But has he not a good heart?"
"Yes, towards men in general, but not towards me. No one has ever been
domesticated with him, so no one knows how full of odd humours he is,
and how wild and strange he can be. But this can go on no longer; as we
cannot gain a livelihood by clockmaking, we must by something else."
This was always Annele's grand conclusion, and her thoughts incessantly
revolved round this point. She wished to employ her experience as a
landlady in a well frequented inn, to which people would flock from far
and near; and then, when she had plenty to occupy her, and was daily
making money, and had other people to order about, quiet hours and
happy days would return.
She went into the next room, and looked at herself in the glass. She
dressed herself neatly, for she was no sloven; slippers she never wore,
whereas Lenz would often go from one Sunday to the other, without once
putting on his boots. While she arranged herself neatly, and for the
first time for many weeks past, plaited her long hair into a triple
coronet, her scornful looks seemed to say, "I am Annele of the Lion; I
will have no more pining and lamenting; I will begin a fresh life, and
he must follow my lead."
"Is your mistress at home?" asked some one outside.
"Yes."
There was a knock at the door. Annele looked up in surprise, and the
Pastor came in.
"Welcome, Herr Pastor," said Annele, curtseying. "Your visit is meant
for me, then, and not for my husband?"
"Yes, for you. I know that your husband is absent, I have never seen
you in the village since the misfortunes of your parents, and I thought
that perhaps it might be some relief to talk over matters with me."
Annele breathed more freely, for she was afraid the Pastor had been
sent by Lenz, or had come of his own accord, to speak to her about him.
Annele now lamented the unhappy fate of her parents, and said that she
much feared her mother would not long survive the blow.
The Pastor earnestly entreated her, whether her parents were innocent
or guilty, not to repine against the will of God, nor to withdraw
herself from the world, in anger and vexation. He reminded her of what
he had said on her wedding day, of the honour of husband and wife being
identical. He added, kindly, that the Landlord of the "Lion" had
probably miscalculated his resources, and, however heavily, yet without
any evil intentions. "I did not forget," said the Pastor, wishing to
give a different turn to the conversation, "that this is the
anniversary of your fifth wedding day, so I wished to come and say good
morning to you."
Annele thanked him cordially with a smile. But it flashed across her
mind, "And Lenz could go away without even saying good morning to me!"
She now told the Pastor, in fluent language, how pleased she was to
find that her Pastor should pay her such a compliment. She said much of
his goodness, and that the whole village ought daily to pray that God
might long spare him to them. Annele evidently wished, by her easy
volubility, to lead her visitor to other topics, in order to prevent
his discussing her affairs; she was resolved not to allow the Pastor,
even in the mildest form, to offer himself as a mediator in their
household discord. She screwed up her lips with the same energy that
Gregor the postilion displayed, when he was going to play one of his
well studied flourishes on the horn.
The Pastor saw this plainly enough. He began to praise Annele on points
where she really well deserved praise; that she was at all times so
stirring and orderly, and, with all her bantering ways, she had yet
invariably been strictly virtuous, and taken charge so admirably of her
father's house.
"I am so little accustomed to hear praise now," answered Annele, "that
the sound is quite strange to me, and I feel as if I never had been of
use during my life, or ever had been good for anything."
The Pastor nodded, though very slightly. The hook was fast in; and just
as a physician wins the confidence of an invalid by saying, "You
suffer from such and such a pain, you ache here, or you are oppressed
there,"--and the invalid looks up gladly, thinking, "This man knows my
complaint already, and is sure to cure me;" so did the Pastor contrive
to describe Annele's sorrows, as if he had experienced them himself.
Annele could no longer resist this sympathy, and Lenz came in for his
full share of reproach and blame. "Help us, Herr Pastor!" said she.
"Yes, I can and will; but some one else must help too, and that is
yourself."
The worthy man seemed suddenly to become taller, and his voice more
powerful, as he reminded Annele of her hardheartedness towards Franzl,
and of all the false pride she nourished in her heart. Annele listened
with flashing eyes, and when the Pastor reproached her with her
transgression against Franzl, she broke loose, as if on some prey for
which she had laid in wait.
"So now it is come out,--the sly old woman! the horrid hypocrite!--it
was she who had told all these things of her, and exasperated the
Pastor, and the whole world, against her." No cat devours a mouse with
greater satisfaction, than Annele now clawed and tore at old Franzl.
"If I had her only here this minute!" said she repeatedly.
The Pastor let her rage till she was tired, and at last said: "You have
exhibited no little temper just now, but I maintain, for all that, you
are not really badhearted--in fact, not bad at all."
Annele burst into tears, and deplored her being so altered for the
worse. She had become so passionate, which was not her natural
disposition; and it all proceeded from her being able to earn nothing.
She was not fitted to be the wife of a small clockmaker, and to look
after his household. She ought to be a landlady, and if the Pastor
would assist her in this project, she faithfully promised him, that she
would never again give way to either anger or malice.
The Pastor agreed with her that to be a landlady was her peculiar
vocation. She kissed his hand in gratitude. He promised to do what he
could to effect this, but exhorted her not to expect a transformation
of heart from any outward events. "You are not yet," said he,
"sufficiently humbled by grief and misery. Pride is your besetting sin,
and causes your unhappiness, and that of others also. God grant that
some irrevocable misfortune to your husband, or children, may not
eventually be the first thing to convert your heart!"
Annele was seated opposite the mirror, and unconsciously she saw her
face reflected in it; it looked as if it was covered with cobwebs, and
involuntarily she passed her hand across it, to brush them away.
The Pastor wished to go away, but Annele begged him to stay a little,
as she could collect her thoughts better when he was there; she only
wished him to remain a short time longer.
The two sat in silence, and nothing was heard but the ticking of the
clocks. Annele's lips moved, without uttering any sound.
When the Pastor at length took leave of her, she kissed his hand
reverently; and he said, "If you feel in your inmost soul what a
privilege it is, and if your heart is humbled--thoroughly humbled, then
come to the sacrament tomorrow. May God have you in his holy keeping!"
Annele wished to accompany the Pastor a little way, but he said: "No
politeness at present. Be good and humble at heart. 'Judge yourself,
that ye be not judged,' says the Apostle Paul. Judge yourself, and
search your heart. Accustom yourself to sit quiet sometimes, and to
meditate."
The Pastor was gone, and Annele sat in the same place. It was not easy
for her to sit idle, and reflection was quite contrary to her nature,
but she forced herself to think over what had passed. Her child woke
up, and began to scream.
"The Pastor has no children; I cannot sit still any longer, I must
pacify the child," said she, taking the little girl out of bed. Deep
repentance, however, and new love for Lenz, had awoke within her heart.
"We will settle our own affairs," said she, "without the help of either
the Pastor or any one else."
It was noon and the sun shone brightly. Annele wrapped up the child
well, and went with it before the house. Perhaps Lenz will soon be
home, and she will welcome him kindly, and call out the "good morning"
he forgot to say when he left her; and she would tell him that all was
to go well between them in future. This is the very hour of her wedding
five years ago, and this shall be another happy day.
A man was seen climbing the hill: he was not yet near enough to be
recognised, but Annele said to the child, "Call, Father!"
The child did so; but when the man came up, it was not Lenz, but
Faller. He wore a hat, but he had another in his hand; and, hurrying up
to Annele, he called out--"Is Lenz come home?"
"No."
"Good heavens! here is his hat. My brother-in-law found it in the
Igelswang, close by the spot where the wood is floated down. If Lenz
has made away with himself! In God's name! what has been going on
here?"
Annele trembled in every limb, and pressed the child so close to her
heart that it began to cry loudly. "You are out of your mind," said
she, "and will soon drive me mad also. What do you mean?"
"Is not this his hat?"
"It is," screamed Annele, sinking to the ground with the child. Faller
lifted them both up.
"Has he been found?--dead?" asked Annele.
"No, God be praised!--not that. Come into the house--I will carry the
child. Be composed--probably he only lost his hat."
Annele tottered into the house. A mist was before her eyes, and
she waved her hands vaguely, as if to drive it away. "Was it
possible?--Lenz dead? Now, just when her heart was turning again to
him? and he has been always faithful to her. It cannot be--it is not
so." She sat down in the room, and said--"Why should my Lenz make away
with himself? What do you mean by saying such a thing?"
Faller made no answer.
"Can you only speak when no one wishes to hear you?" asked Annele,
passionately. "Sit down--sit down," said she, striving to control her
feelings, "and tell me what has happened."
As if wishing to punish Annele, by paying no attention to her words,
Faller continued standing, though his knees trembled. He glanced at her
with a look, so full of sorrow and bitter reproach, that Annele cast
down her eyes. "Who could wish to sit down by you?" said he at length.
"Where you are, there can be neither rest nor peace."
"I don't want any of your admonitions; you ought to be aware of that by
this time. If you know anything of my husband, let me hear it."
Faller now repeated the universal report, that Lenz had been trying to
borrow money in all directions, and also to get a certain sum to make
good the security he had given, for the purchase of Faller's house.
This was, however, no longer necessary, as Don Bastian had paid the
purchase-money for him this very day.
When Annele heard that, she started up, and her gestures seemed to
say--"So, he has deceived me, and told me downright lies. He is alive:
he must be alive--for he must live to expiate his sin; for he declared
that he had recalled his security. Only come home, liar and hypocrite!"
Annele left the room, and did not return till Faller was gone. All
remorse--all contrition had vanished. Lenz had told her a falsehood,
and he should repent it. "These watergruel, goodnatured people are all
alike; because they have not the spirit to lay hold of a thing
manfully, when necessary, they wish, in their turn, to be handled as
tenderly as an egg without a shell; do nothing to me, and I do nothing
to any one--refuse me nothing, I refuse nothing to any one, though it
brings me to beggary. This is his doctrine! Only come home, pitiful
milksop!"
Annele had no food warm at the fire for Lenz when he did come home.
There was, however, a warm reception awaiting him!