Lenz said nothing. The usual routine must be resumed. The world does not stand still because a heart has ceased to beat for ever, or because a mourner would fain be still for ever, too. Lenz continued to work a.s.siduously. The journeyman mentioned that a young artificer in Freiberg had come home from his travels, and that it was his intention to erect a manufactory of clocks at his own expense, and to settle in this vicinity.

"I might sell my whole stock to him," thought Lenz, "and then I could see with my own eyes, at last, how the world looks." But this idea of leaving home only recurred to his mind as a remembrance of something that he had wished once on a time, but long ago. He no longer felt any inward impulse in the matter; and precisely because his uncle had spread a report of his intention to travel, in order to constrain him to do so, he felt perverse and unwilling to go. He once more took up his father's file and looked at it intently, as if to say--"During his whole life, the man who guided this file, with the exception of a short absence in his early youth, remained stationary on this spot, and lived happily. To be sure---- he married young, which is a different thing."

Usually Lenz sent his apprentice to the Foundry on the other side of the hill, but to-day he went himself. When he returned, he did not sit long at his work. It would be very wrong not to go to see Pilgrim.

Before noon he went down the hill, through the village, and across the meadow to Pilgrim. His worthy comrade was seated at his easel, painting. He rose--run his two hands through his long straight sandy hair, and gave Lenz his right hand; who now told him what joy the portrait had caused him, and how kind and thoughtful he considered his friend in giving him so agreeable a surprise.

"Pooh!" said Pilgrim, carelessly plunging both hands into his wide pockets. "I benefit myself by it. It is so desperately tiresome, year after year, to paint our primitive village; the church, with its mitre for a church tower, and so large a hole that a dial-plate might go into it; and the mower with his scythe stands there always on the same spot everlastingly; and the woman with the child going to meet him never reaches him; the child stretches out its hands, but it never joins its father; and the b.o.o.by of a man stands there with his back to them, and I have no notion what kind of face he has--and yet hundreds and hundreds of times, I have been obliged to paint this confounded landscape of verdigris hue. So it is: the world will always have the same thing over and over again. I do believe I could paint the thing blindfold, and yet I must go at it again and again. Now I have pleased myself by painting your mother, though I no longer take portraits, for I have no fancy for any of the faces round here, and I would not be so spiteful towards generations yet unborn, as to force them to look at such physiognomies. Your uncle is right in positively refusing to be painted. Not long ago, when a travelling artist applied to him, he said--'No, no, or I shall probably be hung up in some p.a.w.nbroker's shop, at some distant day, along with Napoleon and old Fritz.' That man has most singular, quaint ideas!"

"What have you to do with my uncle just now? You painted my mother's picture for me, I know."

"Certainly, if you choose to accept of it Come, place yourself here. I am not quite satisfied with the eyes--I cannot catch the right expression. You have exactly your mother's eyes; so sit down there--so--just there. Now sit still, and think of something pleasant, or of giving away something. It was famous in you to become security for Faller, Think of that, and then you will have your mother's look that warmed the heart. Don't smile. But she was so good, so sincere, so--so----. Now, now I have it. Don't move an eyelash.--Now I can't paint any more when you are crying."

"My eyes overflowed," said Lenz, in an apologetic tone, "for I could not help thinking that my mother's eyes----"

"Never mind!--I have finished. I know now what to do. Come, let us be done working--besides, it is noon already. You will dine with me, I hope?"

"No--don't take it amiss; but I must dine with uncle Petrowitsch.

"I am never angry with you. Now tell me your plans."

Lenz explained--that he had half a mind to go from home for a couple of years; and he implored his friend to fulfil their former project, which they had been obliged to renounce, and to accompany him. Perhaps they might now conquer fortune in the same way they had hoped then.

"It won't do;--don't go," said Pilgrim, disapprovingly. "Rely upon it, Lenz, that neither you nor I are born to great riches, and so much the better, probably, for us. My host, Don Bastian, is a proper man of the world, who can gain money: the fellow has been half through the world, and knows no more of it than a cow does of the Catechism. Wherever he arrived, or walked, or stood, his sole thought was--'How is money to be got here?--how can I best save or cheat?' And he is no worse than the rest of the world. The Spanish peasants are just as cunning and as stupid as the German ones, and their chief glory is to fleece their neighbours. When Don Bastian came home, the only thing he had acquired was his money, and see how profitably he has laid it out--a man like that is sure to prosper."

"And why should not we?"

"Those who take pleasure in things that gold cannot buy, do not require money. See! all the superfluous clinking sounds I hear proceed from my guitar, and it is enough for me. A few days ago I heard Don Bastian's youngest boy say the Ten Commandments, and a very sagacious thought occurred to me--'What is the first Commandment?'--'Thou shalt have none other G.o.ds but me.' Now, every man can have but one G.o.d. You and I love our professions. You are happy when you have finished a work of which the mechanism is perfect; and I too, in the same way--though it often goes sadly against the grain with me to paint that one everlasting village, with the same everlasting girl, and the same woman and child--but still I am glad when it is done; and when I am painting it I am as merry as a bird--do you see?--as that goldfinch sitting on the roof of the church. And he who takes pleasure in what he does, and throws his whole heart and soul into it, cannot possibly spare time to think of how to become rich, and to speculate, and to overreach others.

'Thou shalt have none other G.o.ds but me'--that is a wise command. In fact, the other G.o.d is generally the Devil, and you may see the truth of that by your uncle Petrowitsch."

"Come and live with me," was the only answer that Lenz made to his friend. "I will build a couple of rooms for you upstairs."

"You mean well and kindly, but it would not do. Lenz, you are a singular man. You are a born husband and father of a family: you must marry, and already I rejoice at the thoughts of telling your children stories of my travels. And when I become old, and can no longer earn my bread, then I shall be only too thankful if you will take me into your house, and cram me with good things till I die. But now keep your eyes open, and remember I shall not be offended; on the contrary, it is my advice, that you depreciate me before your uncle, who hates me; and then, perhaps, he will leave you something in his will. You have quite talent enough to accept a legacy. I have a remarkable talent in that line myself; but unluckily all my relations are poor, or at least rich only in children. I am the only one of the family who has anything to leave, so you see I am a rich uncle like Petrowitsch."

His friend cheered Lenz, just as a pa.s.sing sunny shower at that moment refreshed all nature. They waited till the rain was over, and then they went together to the "Lion," at the door of which they parted, for Pilgrim said he did not wish to go into the room where Petrowitsch was, along with Lenz. A carriage was standing before the inn, and the landlord accompanied a young man to the door, giving him two fingers in token of farewell, and touching his cap.

The young man looked up, and waved his hand to the wife and daughter in the room above, desiring the driver to drive on, and to wait for him at the Doctor's house.

When he pa.s.sed the two friends, he bowed and took off his cap.

"Do you know who that is?" asked Pilgrim.

"No."

"Nor I either," said Pilgrim. "Who is that stranger?" said he to the Landlord.

"The brother of my son-in-law."

"Oh, oh!" whispered Pilgrim to Lenz. "Now I remember--he is one of Annele's admirers."

Lenz went hurriedly upstairs. Pilgrim did not see the expression of his face.

CHAPTER X.

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 quant.i.ty 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, Buble!" said Petrowitsch to his dog. "Gently, gently!--don't be in a hurry, Buble!--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 Buble 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 Buble, 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 a.s.sertion, 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 amus.e.m.e.nt 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 a.s.sists 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 s.e.x.