EACH BEFORE HIS OWN DOOR.
The cool evening following the excessive heat of the day had tempted
the villagers out of doors. Some families sat on the bench before their
houses, but more were gathered about the stone railing of the bridge,
always a favorite place of evening resort for rest or social chat after
the day's work. Thence can be seen the passing on both sides, while the
babbling of the brook provokes conversation. Various woods were lying
seasoning in the water below. The clocks were less likely to warp or
shrink when the wood of which they were made had been thoroughly
drained of its juices. But the people on the bridge understood the
process of seasoning in all its branches. The subject of their talk
now, even as late in the day as this, was the morning's funeral, which
naturally led to a discussion of young Lenz and the necessity of his
making a speedy marriage. The women were lavish of their praises of
him, not a few of their encomiums being meant as hints to the men that
they might profitably follow his example, since virtue, when seen, was
so readily appreciated. The men, however, pronounced him a good sort of
fellow enough, only too soft-hearted. The young girls, with the
exception of those who had declared lovers, said nothing; especially as
the suggestion had been started that Lenz was to marry one of the
doctor's daughters. Some even asserted that it was a settled thing, and
would be publicly announced as soon as the proper time of mourning was
over. Suddenly, no one knew how or where it originated, the report
circulated from house to house, and among the persons on the bridge,
that Lenz had spent that day, the very day of his mother's funeral, in
uninterrupted work. The women lamented that avarice should mar a
character in other respects so good. The men, on the other hand, tried
to excuse him. But the conversation soon turned upon the weather and
the course of events,--both fruitful subjects, as nothing can be
foretold of either. They were none the less comfortably discussed,
however, till it was time to bid good night, and leave the stars in
heaven and the affairs of the world to go on their appointed courses.
But the pleasantest resting-place of all was the doctor's pretty
garden, further down the valley, whence a wonderful fragrance arose on
the evening air. And yet not wonderful either, for the garden was
stocked with all manner of medicinal plants in full blossom, the doctor
being a mixer of drugs as well as physician. He was a native of the
village, the son of a clockmaker. His wife came from the capital, but
had made herself so completely at home in her husband's native valley,
that her mother-in-law, the old mayoress, as she was called, who lived
with them, used to say she must have led a previous existence as a
child of the Black Forest, so naturally did she adopt its customs. The
doctor, like his father before him, was mayor of the village. He had
four children. The only son, contrary to general expectation, did not
learn a profession, but preferred to study the science of clock-making,
and, at the time of our story, was absent in French Switzerland. The
three daughters were the most aristocratic ladies in the place, at the
same time that they were unsurpassed in industry by any of their
humbler neighbors. Amanda, the eldest, acted as her father's assistant,
besides having the charge of the garden. Bertha and Minna took an
active part in the housekeeping, and occupied their leisure in plaiting
those fine straw braids that are sent to Italy and come to us in the
shape of Leghorn hats.
This evening, the family in the garden had a visitor,--a young
machinist, called in the village, for convenience, the engineer. His
two brothers married daughters of the landlord of the Lion. One of them
was a rich wood-merchant in the next county town, the other the owner
of one of the most frequented bathing establishments in the lower Black
Forest, as well as of a considerable private estate. It was said that
the engineer was to marry the landlord's only remaining daughter,
Annele.
"You speak well, Mr. Storr," the doctor was saying, in a voice whose
tones showed him to be hale and hearty. "We must not rejoice in the
beauties of mountain and valley, and take no thought for the people who
inhabit them. There is too much of the superficial, restless spirit of
change in the world of to-day. For my part, I have no desire to rove;
my own narrow sphere contents me, body and mind. I have even had to
give up my old hobby of botanizing, or, rather, I have voluntarily
given it up, in order to devote more time to the study of humanity. In
the general division of labor, every one should take what best suits
his capacities. That is a lesson my country-people will not learn, and
our native industry suffers in consequence."
"May I ask you to explain yourself more particularly?"
"The thing is very simple. Our clock-making, like all our home
pursuits, is the natural result of the unproductiveness of our soil,
and the indivisibility of our large, entailed estates. Younger sons,
and all whose whole capital consists in their industry, must make the
most of that, if they would earn a living. Hence that natural aptitude
for work, that strict, unresting carefulness, that are common among us.
Our forests supply the best wood for machinery and cases, and as long
as our wooden clocks found a good market, a manufacturer, with the help
of his wife and children to paint the dial-plate, could make an entire
clock in his own house. But now that metal clocks have been introduced,
and have, in a measure, supplanted the wooden ones, a division of labor
has become necessary. There is a strong competition in France, in
America, and especially in Saxony. We must give up pendulums, and take
to springs. These changes cannot be effected without the help of some
general and binding association among the workmen. The stone-cutters,
in old times, used to form themselves into a guild, presided over by a
chosen head, and that is what is wanted here. The workmen, scattered
about on the mountains, must enter into a league with one another, and
work into each other's hands. The difficulty is to bring about such a
league among our people. In Switzerland a watch passes through a
hundred and twenty hands before it is finished. But the very
perseverance of the good people here, which is undoubtedly a virtue,
makes them unwilling to adopt new ways. Only by unexampled frugality
and application could our home manufactures have been carried on as
long as they have. You would hardly believe what a morbid sensitiveness
our people have contracted by their constant and close confinement at
their work. They have to be handled as tenderly as their own clocks,
which an awkward touch will break."
"It seems to me," answered the young man, "that the first thing wanted
now is a better case for your clocks, that they may become more of a
parlor ornament."
"I quite agree with you," said Bertha, the second daughter. "I spent a
year with my aunt in the capital, and, wherever I visited, I found one
of my compatriots, a Black Forest clock, like Cinderella, in the
kitchen. In the best room, resplendent with gold and alabaster, was
sure to be a French mantel-clock, never wound up, or never right if it
was, while my compatriot in the kitchen was always going, and always
exact."
"Cinderella needs to be metamorphosed," said the young man; "but she
must keep her virtues, and tell the truth, when she gets into the best
parlor."
The doctor did not let the conversation follow the turn the young
people had given it; but entered into further explanations of the
peculiarities of his country-people. A tolerably long residence abroad
enabled him to judge them impartially, while yet he had lived years
enough at home to know and appreciate their good qualities. He spoke
High German, but with a decided provincial accent.
"Good evening to you all," cried a passer-by.
"Ah, is it you, Pilgrim? Wait a minute," cried the doctor. "How is
Lenz?" he asked, as the passer-by stopped at the garden gate.
"I have not seen him since the funeral. I am just from the Lion, where
I was fool enough to get into a quarrel about him."
"How was that?"
"They were talking about his having been at work all day to-day, and
finding fault with him for it, and calling him a miser. Lenz a miser!
Nonsense!"
"You should not let it disturb you. You and I know, and so do many
others, that Lenz is a good fellow, above all such reproaches. Was not
Petrovitsch with him to-day?"
"No. I thought he would be, and therefore did not go myself. Doctor, I
wanted to ask if you would have time to come to my house to-morrow for
a moment. I should like to show you what I have been doing."
"Certainly I will come."
"Good night to you all."
"Good night, Pilgrim; pleasant dreams."
"Send me back my songs to-morrow," cried Bertha, as he was going.
"I will bring them," returned Pilgrim; and soon after they heard his
clear musical whistle in the distance.
"That is a remarkable man," said the doctor. "He is a case-painter, and
an intimate friend of Lenz, whose mother was buried this morning. He is
quite a hidden genius, and has rather a remarkable history."
"Pray, let me hear it."
"Some other time, when we are by ourselves."
"No, we should like to hear it again," exclaimed his wife and
daughters, and the doctor began as follows.