Joseph in the Snow, and The Clockmaker. In Three Volumes. Vol. II.. Auerbach Berthold

of food – you are respected and loved; and if you go out into the world, who knows anything about you? – who knows that you are Lenz of the Morgenhalde? And when you have no shelter, and must lie all night in the woods, how often would you think – 'Bless me! to think that I had once a house, and seven feather-beds, and plenty of good crockery, and a small cask of good wine in the cellar.' By the bye, shall I fetch you a pint of it now? just wait, I'll bring it in a minute. Those who are sad should drink wine. A thousand times have I heard your mother say – 'Wine cheers the heart, and brings another train of thought.'"

      Franzl hurried out of the room, and soon returned from the cellar with a pint of wine. Lenz insisted on her having a glass herself. He poured it out himself for her, and made his glass ring against hers. She only put it to her lips coyly; but when she cleared the table, she did not forget to take the glass of wine with her to the kitchen.

      Lenz again worked hard till evening. Whether it was the wine or some other cause, he was very restless at his work, and often on the point of laying aside his tools to go out and visit some one; but again he thought that it was better he should not leave the house, as no doubt some of his kind friends would come to comfort him in his solitude, and he wished they should find him at home. No one came, however, but the Pröbler. He was much attached to Lenz; for he was one of the few who did not turn him into ridicule, and scoff at him for refusing to sell any of his ingenious devices – he only pawned them until he could no longer redeem them; and it was said that the landlord of the "Lion," who carried on a brisk trade as a packer (which in this district means a wholesale dealer and agent), and had an extensive business, made a good profit out of Pröbler, who had pledged his chief works to him.

      Lenz always listened with serious attention to old Pröbler, even when he told him that he was constructing no less a piece of mechanism than the perpetuum mobile; and, in order to complete it, there was nothing wanting but forty two diamonds, on which the works must revolve.

      On this occasion, however, Pröbler did not come on account of any new discovery, nor to discuss the perpetuum mobile; but when Lenz had taken the usual pinch of snuff from his box, he proposed himself as his negociator, if he wished to marry. He brought forward a whole array of marriageable girls, those of the Doctor included; and concluded by saying – "All houses are open to you – but you are shy. Tell me honestly whither your thoughts turn, and I will take care that you are met half way."

      Lenz scarcely made any answer, and Pröbler went away. That he should be supposed to aspire to one of the Doctor's daughters, occupied Lenz for some time. They were three excellent and charming girls. The eldest was very prudent, and considerate beyond her years; and the second played the piano and sung admirably. How often had Lenz stood opposite the house listening to her! Music was, in fact, his sole passion, and his eager longing for it was like that of a thirsty man for a clear spring of water. How would it be if he could get a wife who could play the piano? He would ask her to play over to him all the airs that he put in his musical timepieces, and then they would sound very differently. But after all, a wife from so superior a family would not be very fitting for him; for it was not likely that, when she could play the piano, she could undertake the management of the house, the garden, and the stables, as all clockmakers' wives must do; – besides, he will wait patiently yet awhile. When twilight began to fall, Lenz dressed and went down into the valley. "All houses will be open to you," Pröbler had said. All houses? That was saying a great deal; in fact, so much that it meant nothing. To feel at home in entering a house, its inhabitants must go on calmly with their various pursuits; you must form so entirely a part of the family, that neither look nor gesture asks, – "Why do you come here? – what do you want? – what is the matter?" If you are not quite at home, then the house is not really open to you at any moment; and as Lenz's thoughts travel from house to house in the village for a couple of miles round, he knows he will be joyfully welcomed by all – but he is nowhere really at home; and yet he has one friend with whom he is thoroughly at home, just as much so as in his own room. The painter Pilgrim wished to go home with him yesterday after the funeral, but as his uncle Petrowitsch joined him, Pilgrim remained behind, for Petrowitsch had a hearty contempt for Pilgrim, because he was a poor devil – and Pilgrim had an equally hearty contempt for Petrowitsch because he was a rich devil – so Lenz resolved to go to see Pilgrim.

      Pilgrim lodged far up the valley, with Don Bastian, as Pilgrim called him. He had been originally a clockmaker, who had acquired a considerable sum of money during a twelve years' residence in Spain. After his return to his native country he purchased a farm, resumed his peasant's dress, and retained nothing of his Spanish journey except his money, and a few Spanish phrases which he brought forth ostentatiously from time to time, especially in summer, when those who had wandered from their homes again returned to their own district.