Kitabı oku: «Edelweiss: A Story», sayfa 7

CHAPTER XIII.
LION, FOX, AND MAGPIE

In the early winter, as in the early spring, the Morgenhalde was the pleasantest place in the whole country. Old Lenz was right in saying that the morning sun lay on his house and meadow all day long. But little fire was needed half the day. Flowers blossomed in the garden behind the house long after they had disappeared everywhere else, and put out their leaves again in the spring, when everything else was bare. This garden was as sheltered as a room, and in it grew, what was rare in those parts, a chestnut-tree, which attracted many an unwelcome squirrel and nutpecker from the neighboring forest. The house protected the garden on one side without keeping from it the sun after ten o'clock; and the mighty forest which covered the upper part of the steep mountain seemed to take special pleasure in both house and garden, and had stationed two of its tallest pines as sentinels at the gate.

Had there been many promenaders in the town, they certainly, in these first chilly winter months, would have often taken the path up the meadow, past Lenz's house into the wood, and returned along the mountain ridge. But there was only one promenader, or rather there were only two, in the town, – Petrovitsch and his dog Bubby. Every day before dinner Petrovitsch got up an appetite by walking through the meadow, past the house, and over the ridge of the mountain. Bubby doubled and trebled the distance by leaping back and forth across the gullies which to the right of Lenz's house the water had channelled down into the valley. The gullies were dry at this season, but served in spring and summer to carry off the rushing water. Petrovitsch was very loving towards his dog, and in moments of special affection would call him Sonny. The old man had come home rich from his foreign journeyings. His neighbors naturally estimated his property at three times its actual value, but it was really considerable. The longing for home which the inhabitants of the mountains and of Upper Germany never outgrow had brought him, in his old age, back to his native valley, where he lived, after his fashion, a contented life. His happiest time was in midsummer, when the merchants from all quarters of the world assembled at the Lion, and all the tongues of the earth were spoken there, – Spanish, Italian, English, Russian, and Dutch, – while in the midst of them, from the very same men, would be heard good Black Forest German. Then was Petrovitsch a person of consequence, and great was his pride at being able to show off his knowledge of Spanish and Russian. Whereas in ordinary times he always left the Lion punctually at an appointed hour, then he would spend whole days there, staying sometimes even into the night. And when the market was over he stayed behind, and amused himself with calculating how far on their way such and such merchants were who had gone to the Lower Danube.

Petrovitsch kept the whole country in suspense. It was generally understood, though he had not said so, that he meant to found a great charitable institution for the neighborhood. Every room of the great house he had built for himself had a stove in it, signifying, according to the common report, which he neither denied nor confirmed, that he designed the building as a home for invalid workmen. Lenz, his only heir, was left in uncertainty also; for it was naturally taken for granted that a considerable part of the fortune would be left to him. Lenz himself, however, counted not much upon it. He paid his uncle all proper respect, but was man enough to take care of himself. He bade his apprentice keep always in good order the path where his uncle liked to walk, without any reference having been made to the attention on either side. The cackling of Lenz's hens and geese, and the barking of a dog, were the signal every noon of his uncle's approach. He nodded to him through the window where he sat at work. His uncle returned the greeting and passed on. Neither ever entered the house of the other.

One day the old man remained standing before the window. Bubby seemed to guess his thoughts; for whereas he was usually contented with driving Lenz's geese, cackling, behind the garden fence, and then returning in triumph to his master, to-day he pursued them through the garden and even into the house, where, however, they found a sufficient protector in Franzl. Petrovitsch administered a stern rebuke to his dog, and went on, thinking to himself, It is Lenz's place to come to me, there is no use in my troubling myself about him. As soon as a man begins to trouble himself about his neighbors there is an end of his comfort. He has to keep wondering whether they will do this or whether they will do that. I desire to be thankful I have nobody's business to mind but my own. But still he could not help questioning, What is this matter about the forest? Yesterday at dinner the landlady had taken a seat by him, and, after talking of a variety of subjects, had quite unexpectedly launched forth into praises of Petrovitsch's habit of taking a daily walk. It kept him in good health, she said; he might live to be a hundred, in fact had every appearance of it. She heartily wished he might; he had had a hard time in life and deserved some amends for it. Petrovitsch was wise enough to know that there was something behind this unwonted friendliness. He attributed it, perhaps not unjustly, to her having designs upon his nephew. She said nothing about that, however, but once more turned the conversation upon his daily walk, and said what a good thing it would be for him to buy of her husband the beautiful Spannreuter forest by the Morgenhalde. To be sure he would be sorry to sell it; indeed, she did not know whether he would consent to sell at all, but she should like to give Petrovitsch the gratification of walking every day in his own wood. Petrovitsch thanked her for her exceedingly delicate attention, but ended the matter by saying he liked quite as well to walk in another man's forest; in fact, rather better, because then it did not vex him to see persons stealing the wood, and to lose one's temper before dinner was bad for the digestion. The landlady smiled intelligently, and replied that no one could have a bright idea without Petrovitsch's having a brighter. Petrovitsch again made his acknowledgments, and the two were as sweet to each other as possible, much sweeter than the lump of sugar that Petrovitsch pocketed from dessert.

The thought passed through the old man's mind that the forest would be a good purchase for Lenz to make, he furnishing the means; for the landlord would ask him too high a price for it. That was what he wanted to tell his nephew, when he remembered his noble principle of not troubling himself about other men's concerns, and he desisted. He had done too much already in busying his head in the matter. He noticed that the ascent was more difficult to-day than usual; so much for thinking when you are going up a mountain; you should do nothing but breathe. "Here, you stupid fellow!" he called to Bubby, who was grubbing after a mole when a good cooked dinner was preparing for him; "what is a mole to you? let him dig!" The dog obeyed, and walked close at his master's side. "Back!" ordered Petrovitsch again, and with the dog put all unnecessary thoughts behind him. He would know nothing; his tranquillity must be undisturbed.

The old man found the family at the Lion out of temper. The landlord was in great wrath at hearing from his wife that she had offered the forest to Petrovitsch, who had refused it. "Now the report will get abroad that I am in want of money," he complained.

"Well, you said you wanted money," retorted his wife, pouting.

"I don't need you to do my business for me. I shall sell no paper at the exchange to-day!" he exclaimed in an unusually loud tone just as Petrovitsch was entering. The old man gave a knowing smile and thought to himself, You would not boast so loud if you were not in want of money. Just as dinner was ready, the post-boy brought in a number of letters, some marked "Important." The landlord signed a receipt, but sat down to table without opening them, loudly repeating what he had often said before, "I read no letters before dinner. Whether they are good or bad they spoil one's appetite. I am not going to have my comfort disturbed by the railroads."

A wicked scoffer, sitting at another table, refused the due tribute of admiration to this piece of wisdom, and profanely thought, There is a locomotive running about in your body, put as good a face on the matter as you will. This scoffer, it is needless to say, was Petrovitsch.

After dinner Pilgrim walked several times past Petrovitsch's table with the evident desire of stopping at it. Four eyes looked at him wonderingly. Bubby, sitting in his master's lap, stared and growled as if he scented a beggar, while Petrovitsch's occasional glance up from his paper said plainly: What is he after? He has not a forest to sell too, – has he? None, certainly, but the one on his head, if he does not owe for that.

Pilgrim frequently passed his hand through his long lank hair, but found thereby no approach to Petrovitsch, who, so far from encouraging him, got up now, paid his score, and departed. Pilgrim hurried after him. "A couple of words with you, if you please, Mr. Lenz," he said, when he overtook him in the street.

"Good day; that is just a couple of words."

"I want nothing for myself, Mr. Lenz; but I consider it my duty-"

"Your duties are nothing to me."

"Imagine that some one else is speaking my words. So that you hear them, the rest is nothing."

"I am not curious."

"It concerns your nephew Lenz."

"I knew that."

"Yet more; you may make his happiness for life."

"Every man must make that for himself."

"It would only cost you a walk to the doctor's."

"Is Lenz ill?"

"No. The state of the case is this: he ought to marry and wants to marry. Now the best wife for him is the doctor's daughter Amanda, as I am convinced, after thinking the matter over on all sides. But he lacks the necessary courage. He thinks, too, – he has not told me so, but I am sure of it, – that he is not rich enough. Now, if the uncle makes the proposal, and thereby promises-"

"So? I knew it would come to that. If my brother's son wants a wife, let him get her himself. I am an old bachelor, and don't understand such things."

"If his friends do not exert themselves, Amanda will marry some one else. I know that an apothecary is paying his addresses to her."

"Good! she would be just the wife for him. I am not the disposer of the world."

"But if your nephew should foolishly get into trouble in some other quarter?"

"He must get out the best way he can."

"Mr. Lenz, you are not as hard-hearted as you set up for being."

"I am not setting at all, I am going. Good day, Mr. Pilgrim." And go he did. Pilgrim drew his breath hard as he looked after him, but presently turned homeward. In this gloomy weather, with no ray of sunshine, he could at least be grinding his colors for brighter days.

CHAPTER XIV.
PRESSES AND EYES ARE OPENED

"Good day, Franzl! So you let us have a look at you at last! That is right; I am glad to see you." Thus was Franzl greeted by the landlady, as she entered the public room.

"I beg your pardon," stammered Franzl; "did you not send for me? My brother was said to be here."

The landlady knew nothing of any message having been sent. The brother had been there, indeed, but had left a long while ago. She had given the servant orders to notify Franzl when occasion offered, but knew nothing about today.

Franzl begged pardon for intruding, and was anxious to go back at once, feeling herself quite out of place. This mood suited the landlady exactly. The stupid servant-woman must suspect nothing, but esteem herself highly favored by having a few moments devoted to her. It was better to put her a thousand thanks in debt than owe her one. Franzl must stay, since she had come, and must wait a few minutes in the family sitting-room until the busy mistress was at leisure. The poor woman did not venture to sit down, but remained standing at the door, staring at the great clothes-presses that reached up to the ceiling.

"At last I have despatched everything," said the landlady, entering, and smoothing her gown; "and now I will have a good hour with an old friend, – the best possession in the world, after all."

Franzl felt highly flattered. She was made to sit down by the landlady, close to her on the sofa, while a servant-maid handed coffee and cakes. She put on all the airs of modesty that the occasion required, perhaps a few more; such as insisting upon turning into the landlady's cup the cream the latter had already poured into hers, until the hostess was obliged to tell her she should be angry if she stood so much upon ceremony.

At the second cup, Franzl began to tell how things looked on the Morgenhalde. Lenz worked as hard, she said, as if there was not a crumb of bread in the house, and yet there were abundant stores of all kinds. He scarcely ever went from home, except to see Faller, whose house he was helping to fit up. He had signed a security for the purchase of the house in the first place, and now he had contributed a bed, besides giving the old woman his mother's Sunday clothes. If some one did not come soon, and take his keys, he would give away everything he owned. But for himself he was as economical as could be. He neither smoked nor took snuff, nor drank, nor played; he spent nothing at all on himself, concluded Franzl, approvingly.

After the landlady had again bestowed fitting commendations on the Knuslingers, who knew everything, she added incidentally: "Only think, Franzl, of this report that your young master is to marry the doctor's botanical daughter! Is there any truth in it?"

"Yes, indeed."

"So?"

"That is, I mean, there is no truth at all in it. Pilgrim tried to persuade him to, but he would not; and I believe there has been a quarrel in consequence."

"So? That is a different matter. I always said that Lenz knew his own mind. He would do far better to follow your advice and marry the bailiff's Katharine."

"Do you hear that?" said Franzl, triumphantly, smiling and nodding her head as if Lenz were standing before her. "Do you hear that? The wise landlady of the Lion agrees with me. And here you thought she would be too rough for you; that nothing could be made of her. I will tell him you advise him to marry Katharine. That will be a help to me. I have been wishing to find some one on my side."

"No, Franzl; God forbid! You must not speak a word of me at home. Besides, he is quite right; Katharine would not be suitable for a man so refined as he. He should have a superior woman, one above the common run."

"Yes; but where is such a one to be found?"

"Good day, Franzl," said Annele, suddenly entering. "I am glad to see you once more in our house. Don't get up. You look, as you sit there, like the well-to-do mistress of some great farm, and you know as much as if you were. But finish your coffee; it is growing cold. Is it sweet enough?"

"Oh, too sweet!"

Annele's words acted like whole sugar-loaves upon it.

"I wish I could stay and hear you talk, but I must go back to the public room. One of us is needed there. Come again soon, won't you? and let me have something of you."

"Oh, what a dear, dear girl!" exclaimed Franzl in praise of the departing Annele. "She must make you a perfect heaven upon earth."

"We have our cares too. She is our last child; if she were only well provided for!"

Franzl opened her eyes wide, and gave a vacant smile, but did not venture to say a word. The landlady tapped her finger on her nose with her magpie laugh, at which Franzl considered it her duty to laugh too. She knew what were proper manners at a coffee lunch. Put a Knuslinger where you will, he will always do the right thing. The landlady now, with all her cleverness, did not seem to know what the right thing was.

"Do you like to see nice linen, Franzl?"

"O my heart! it is the one thing I delight in. If I were rich, I would have seven chests of the finest linen. The weight-maker's wife in Knuslingen has-"

"See there," said the landlady, opening the folding-doors of a great clothes-press and showing packages of linen in dozens, piled up to the ceiling, each tied with a bright-colored ribbon.

"Is that for the hotel?" asked Franzl, when her first exclamations of admiration were over.

"Heaven forbid! that is my Annele's dowry. As soon as my daughters were seven years old I began to put by their wedding outfit, for you never can tell how suddenly it may be needed. Then it is finished, and there is no further need of weaver or seamstress. I only wish the dowry of one of my daughters might remain in the town. It would be pleasant, too, to keep one child near us. Thank Heaven, all my children are well married, – more than well; but seeing their prosperity is better than hearing of it."

A sudden revelation broke upon Franzl's mind. The press with its wealth of linen danced before her eyes, and the blue, red, green, and yellow ribbons melted together into a rainbow. "O dear landlady, may I speak? I beg a thousand pardons if I am presuming, but-O dear Heaven, where such linen is how much else there must be! How would it do-might I say it? – if my Lenz-?"

"I have nothing to say. I am the mother, and my child is well known; you can easily inquire about her. You understand? I think-I don't know-"

"Oh, that is enough, quite enough! I fly home; I have borne him in my arms, I will bear him again hither. But there will be no need, he will leap over the house-tops. I am but a poor silly thing, dear landlady; don't be angry with me."

"You silly? You can draw one's inmost thoughts out of one. You are wiser than the seven wise men. But look you, Franzl, this is all between ourselves; between two trusty friends. I have said nothing; you have made your own discoveries. My husband naturally looks higher; but I should like to keep one child near me, God willing. I tell you honestly-for I know not how to speak falsely or to take back my word-that I do not reject your proposal."

"That is enough. I will show that we Knuslingers do not bear the name for nothing."

"What do you mean?"

"Ho, ho!" cried Franzl in a decided tone, and putting on a knowing look. "You will soon see. I shall take his tools away from him and drive him out of the house. He must be here this very day. You will help him out, – won't you? for he is shy with strangers."

The landlady soothed the excited Franzl, who in her enthusiasm alternately got up and sat down, raised her hands to heaven and folded them upon her breast. She advised her to show her wisdom by betraying to Lenz in no possible way that Annele's mother favored his cause; and further enjoined upon her, as the best means of success, to throw out warnings against every one else, while Annele's name should be scarcely mentioned. "Such matters should be delicately handled," concluded she. "'You must not point your finger at the lightning,' as the old proverb runs."

Franzl was always going, and never went. When at last she had the handle of the door in her hand, her lingering glance at the great linen-press said as plainly as words: We shall soon have you at our house. To every piece of household goods she nodded: You are ours now, and it is I who make you so. Then home she went in the keen autumn wind, as if every sheet and tablecloth had become a sail to waft her up the mountain.

"Mother," said Annele from behind the sideboard, "why do you tow that stupid old cow into the house? If anything comes of it, we shall have to pay court to her or else she will be crying out against our ingratitude. What is your great hurry?"

"Don't make believe you are ignorant of how matters stand. It is necessary and right that you should be soon provided for."

"I am not making believe, for I really know nothing. A little while ago you would not hear of Lenz; why have you changed your mind?"

The mother looked at her in amazement. Could the girl be really ignorant of their household affairs?

"Circumstances have changed," she answered, simply; "Lenz is alone now, and has a well-furnished house. I would never give you to a mother-in-law." Be false with me, she thought, as she left the room, and I will be false to you.

At the Morgenhalde Franzl went about with a smile on her face. Smilingly she abused all the girls of the village; the doctor's daughters, the bailiff's Katharine, every one but Annele. Her she did not mention, but threw out misterious hints about mountains of linen and persons who were of the right sort. Lenz thought the old woman's loneliness was beginning to affect her mind. She went quietly about her duties, however, and was merrier than ever. Lenz, too, grew daily more contented over his work, and a long time passed without his going into the town.