Joseph in the Snow, and The Clockmaker. In Three Volumes. Vol. III.

"Come and sit down here, Lenz, and let the world outside become bankrupt, and turn into a mass of snow; it's not worth plaguing one's self about it. Here let us sit till the last day. I want nothing more, I care for nothing more, and when I have nothing more, I will sell the coat off my back and spend the money in good liquor, and then go out and lie down in the snow, and so save all funeral expenses. Look here, my friends! You have in this man an example of the shabbiness of the world. If a man is better conducted than others, he is sure to be ruined. Drink away, Lenz! See! this was once the best and most honest man in the world, and yet, how has it used him? His own father-in-law plundered him, fleecing him in the most shameless way, and causing his very house to be exposed and defenceless in the depth of winter. Oh! Lenz, once on a time I was honest too, but I don't even try to be so now – I am done with it for ever."

Lenz's heart sunk within him, at hearing himself quoted as the most striking example of a man completely ruined; he little thought ever to have won such a reputation as that. He strove to persuade Pröbler that it was no use first to yield to evil courses, and then to exclaim: – "See, world, what you have made me! Don't you repent it?" He endeavoured to point out to Pröbler, that no one has any right to expect the world to do for you, what you ought to do for yourself. A man must preserve his self respect was the idea uppermost in Lenz at this moment, but Pröbler would not listen to him; he took a knife from his pocket, and another from the table, and thrust them both into Lenz's hand, saying wildly: —

"There you have got both knives; I can do you no harm, I don't want to do you any harm: say it out at once, if I am not now a wretched ragamuffin, and if I should not have been good for something if I had a helping hand in the world. Your father-in-law – may the devil weigh him one day, fairly, ounce by ounce in his scale! – has smeared his creaking boots with my life's blood, and a fine polish it made! Say it out – what am I?"

Lenz, of course, acknowledged that Pröbler would have been a master mind if he had kept the straight path. Pröbler struck the table with his clenched fist from joy. Lenz had considerable difficulty in preventing his embracing him.

"I don't want any other funeral sermon, Lenz has preached mine; and now say no more, let us drink away as hard as we can."

Pröbler continued to talk wildly, though sometimes a clear thought flashed through his wandering brain. It was not easy to ascertain whether it was truth or a mere delusion, that he had lost his small savings set aside against the evil day, through the Landlord's ruin, or whether it was the sale of the mysterious work, for which he had expected a patent, that had reduced him to this state of desperation.

Lenz felt quite faint and oppressed by the close atmosphere of the room, and the clamour, and tumult, and his hair stood on end when he saw before his eyes, a living example of the degradation to which a man can sink, who has lost self respect, and whose only resource is to forget himself if possible.

"Your mother had a good saying," said Pröbler – "Did I tell you that this is Lenz of the Morgenhalde? – Yes! Your mother! 'It is better to go barefooted than to wear torn boots,' she always said. Do you know what that means? I have another saying however – 'When the horse is taken to the knacker's yard, his shoes are first pulled off.' A tavern – that is an iron shoe! Wine here!" cried Pröbler, throwing a dollar on the table.

This mention of his mother's name, and her being alluded to at all, even in so strange a way, seemed a warning to Lenz, as if her eye had been sternly fixed on him.

He rose, in spite of Pröbler clinging to his arm. He wished to take Pröbler home with him, but he could not get him to move from the spot, so Lenz requested the landlord not to allow the old man to leave the house tonight, and to give him no more to drink.

When Lenz closed the door behind him, Pröbler threw his snuff box after him, shouting out: —

"I shall never want it again."

Panting for breath, as if he had just escaped from a hot, stifling covering, Lenz went on his way in the open air. Twilight was beginning to fell, the kingfisher was singing on the frozen stream below, the crows were flying towards the woods; a roedeer came out of the wood and stood still, looking fixedly at Lenz till he came quite close, when he sprang hurriedly back into the thicket, and his traces could be followed a long way by the snow that fell from the branches of the young firs.

Lenz stood still several times to listen, for he thought he heard his name shouted out behind him; perhaps Pröbler was following him; he answered in a loud voice, which was caught up by the echo; he retraced his steps a considerable way, but he saw and heard nothing; then he went straight forwards; the trees and the hills seemed to come to meet him, and he saw a female figure on his path, which looked like his mother. If she could see him as he now is!

The old woman who met him nodded kindly, and said he must take good care to be out of the valley before nightfall, for there were black channels visible in the snow, and avalanches were not unfrequent round here, and people were swallowed up in a moment, before they could look round.

The voice of the woman sounded strangely in his ears; it was as if his mother had really spoken – and a good hearted warning it was.

Lenz made a solemn vow, deep, deep, in his heart. He was anxious not to return home quite empty handed, so he went to the nearest town to his brother-in-law, the timber merchant, and was so fortunate as to find him at home. It was difficult for Lenz to explain his purpose, for his brother-in-law either was angry, or affected to be so. He reproached Lenz for not having advised his father-in-law better, and taken the business out of his hands. Lenz was the chief cause of the old man's ruin.

Whether the timber merchant were really displeased or pretended to be so, there is no better mode, at all events, of refusing assistance. Lenz implored him with uplifted hands to help him, or he must be utterly ruined. The brother-in-law shrugged his shoulders, and said Lenz had better apply to his rich uncle Petrowitsch.

CHAPTER XXIX.
ANOTHER WORLD

"Good evening, Herr Lenz!" called out some one to the unhappy wanderer; Lenz started – who could call him "Herr" Lenz?

A sledge stopped, the Techniker threw back the furs from his face, and said: —

"There is plenty of room, let me give you a lift."

He got down, took off a fur cloak, and said: —

"Put this on, and wrap yourself well up in it, for you are heated from walking; I will take the horse's blankets, which will be quite sufficient for me."

Resistance was no use. Lenz took his place beside the Techniker, enveloped in the fur cloak, and the horses stepped out merrily; it was a most comfortable sledge, and the bells rung out cheerily; it was almost like flying through the night air, and now, in his poverty and abandonment, Lenz thought: —

"Annele was perfectly right I ought at this moment to have been driving my own carriage."

The thought made him still more sad; it was as if some malicious spirit had disposed every circumstance today, to place before Lenz's eyes the fact that his life had failed in its aim, and thus to awaken evil passions within him.

The Techniker was very conversable, and said especially what pleasure it gave him that Pilgrim was so intimate with them. Pilgrim had a remarkable sense of colour, but was deficient in correct drawing; he had himself studied in the academy for a year, but he had seen very soon that he had little real talent, and that a more practical profession was better suited to him. Now he was resuming his drawing in his leisure hours; Pilgrim helped him in the proper tone of colour, and he repaid this by instructing the latter in drawing; they hoped mutually to improve each other, and at this moment they were more particularly occupied in making new patterns for joiners, turners, and carvers in wood; they had also made various sketches for the dials of clocks, which would, no doubt, be most welcome and useful to the clockmakers. Pilgrim had considerable imagination, and seemed quite delighted that his old favourite project was really likely to be carried into effect.

Lenz listened to all this as if in a dream. How can this be? are there still men in the world who can occupy themselves with such things, and rejoice in mutually improving each other? Lenz said very little, but the drive did him good. To be carried along so luxuriously, is certainly better than plodding wearily along hill and valley.

For the first time in his life Lenz felt something like envy. He was obliged to get out at the Doctor's house, but the kind family there insisted on his coming into the house.

How comfortable it all seemed! Are there really then such pretty, quiet houses in the world, where it is so warm and cheerful, and where blooming hyacinths exhale their fragrance at the window? and the inhabitants are so kind and peaceful, for it is evident that no passionate or loud words are heard here; and to see them all sitting together with their faithful, honest hearts, imparts more warmth than the best stove.

Lenz must drink some tea. Amanda gave him a cup, and said: – "I am so glad to have you among us again. How is Annele? If I thought your wife would like to see me, I should be glad to pay her a visit."

"Since five o'clock this morning – it seems to me eight days – I have not been at home; I believe Annele is quite well, and I will let you know when to come to us." After Lenz had said this, he looked round the room as if seeking some one. And who knows what thoughts passed through his soul?

How different would it have been if he had married one of these girls! Pilgrim had positively assured him that he would not have been rejected. He would then have been sitting here as one of the family, with a position in the world – and what a position! and his wife would have honoured and esteemed him, and all the good people here would have been his relations.

Lenz nearly choked on the first mouthful of tea he swallowed. The old lady – the Doctor's mother – who was eating her gruel at the tea-table, had always been very fond of Lenz. She made him sit down beside her, and as she was deaf, he was obliged to speak loud. She had been the companion of his mother, and liked to relate anecdotes of her, and how gay they had been together in their youthful days, especially in their sledging parties during the carnival, which are now quite out of date. Marie in those days used to be full of fun and frolic. The old lady inquired, too, after Franzl, and Lenz mentioned having seen her this very day – of course he made no allusion to her offer of money – and also of Kathrine's kindness to Franzl, and her wish to adopt a child. He related all this very pleasantly. All present listened to him quietly and attentively, and it seemed quite surprising to Lenz to relate anything without either being flatly contradicted, or hearing at all events, "What's all that to me?"

The good old grandmother begged him to come often, and to bring his wife with him. "Your wife is a clever, good woman; remember me to her and the children." Lenz felt it so strange to hear all this, and to be obliged to accept it thankfully. The old lady spoke so cordially, that there could be no doubt she meant what she said. It was evident that in this family nothing but good was spoken of any one, and that was the reason the old lady heard only pleasant things of her neighbours.

"Just as you came in," said the grandmother, "we were speaking of your father, and also of my dear deceased husband. A clock merchant from Prussia has just been here, and he said the clocks are not so neatly finished, as in the days when your father and my husband worked together; they don't keep time so exactly: but I replied on the contrary, all honour to the dead! but the present clocks go certainly quite as well as in the old time, but men were not so exact in those days as they are now, that is the reason. Am I not right, Lenz? You are an honest man: say, am I right or wrong?"

Lenz pronounced her to be perfectly right, and said how particularly good and fair it was on her part, not to allow the good old times to be praised at the cost of the new.

The Techniker attributed the extreme and strict accuracy of modern days, to railroads and telegraphs.

Now that the conversation had become more general, the Doctor took Lenz aside, and said: "Lenz, you will not, I hope, be offended with what I am about to say." Lenz shrunk from him. Is the Doctor, too, going to speak to him about the state of his family? He could scarcely stammer forth: "What do you mean?"

"I only wished to say, if it was not disagreeable to you, and I think you would perhaps not object to it – but what is the use of a long preface? I wish you to enter the clock manufactory of my son and my son-in-law, in the capacity of overseer. You will be of great use to them, and in time they propose giving you a certain share in the business, in addition to your salary."

This was like a hand from Heaven stretched forth to succour him. Lenz replied in feverish haste: "Yes, indeed, I can and will gladly accept. the offer. But, Herr Doctor, you are aware that I sought by every means in thy power, to induce all the clockmakers in our district, to enter into an association. So many things have occupied me lately, that the affair has gone quite out of my head. I should not like to enter the manufactory, unless both your sons were to agree that their establishment should also belong to the association, perhaps one day become its property."

"That is quite our own idea."

"Very well, then. I have only one favour to ask. Do not mention it till I – " Lenz stopped short.

"Well! till when?"

"Till I have spoken to my wife about it; she has her peculiarities."

"I know her of old, but she is sensible, when her pride does not interfere. But we ought to respect her proper pride."

Lenz looked down; the Doctor was giving him a deserved lesson, and with a good motive as well as in a kind manner. That is the right way to speak; then advice is useful and acceptable.

His thoughts, however, speedily returned to the manufactory, and he said: "Herr Doctor, may I take the liberty of asking one more question?"

"Certainly; don't be so ceremonious."

"Which of our masters, hereabouts, are also to be included?"

"We have not yet spoken to any one – but, by the bye, we wish Pröbler to be one of our people, though, of course, in a subordinate situation, not like you; for he has a considerable talent for invention, and has made various discoveries, that may be made practically useful. It is to be hoped that the poor old man may prosper in his old age, for he is becoming most eccentric, indeed, almost crazy, since his secret, for which he expected a patent, was sold by auction at the 'Lion.'"

Lenz was silent for a time, and then he related where he had found Pröbler, and concluded by saying: "I have still another request to make, Herr Doctor. I cannot speak to my uncle. You are the first man in this country, and he who could refuse you anything can have no heart or feeling. Herr Doctor, do speak to my uncle, and beg him to help me. I scarcely think – the more I reflect on the matter – that my wife will allow me to enter the manufactory, and you said yourself that we must respect her proper pride."

"Certainly, I will go to your uncle forthwith; will you wait for me here, or go with me into the village?"

"I will go with you."

They all wished Lenz cordially good night; shaking hands kindly with him, and the old grandmother laid her left hand on his head as if blessing him, when she gave him her right hand.

Lenz went along with the Doctor; as they passed Pilgrim's house they heard him whistling, and playing on his guitar. This faithful friend felt deep sympathy at heart for Lenz's misfortunes, but to sympathise with any one, is after all a very different thing from being involved yourself in difficulty; a man's own life claims its rights.

Where the path went up the hill, Lenz left the Doctor, who only said: "Wait at home, I will come to you later. How wonderfully close it is this evening! I am sure we are going to have a rapid thaw."

"I sought aid far away, and after all it seems I am to find it at home. There are still good men in the world, far better than yourself," said Lenz to himself, as he went up the hill towards home.

CHAPTER XXX.
THE THAW EXTENDS EVEN TO PETROWITSCH, BUT HE FREEZES AGAIN

"I know why you are come," said Petrowitsch, when the Doctor entered; "but sit down." He drew in a chair for him near the stove, where in front there was a bright fire blazing, and behind a well heated stove.

"Now, what do I want, prophet?" said the Doctor, summoning up all his wits.

"Money! you want money for my nephew!"

"You are only half a prophet, for I want a kindly heart also."

"Money, money, is the chief object. I will, however, at once say, I am not one of those who charitably lift up a drunken man lying on the road, and if he has broken his leg tell him he has only himself to blame. I say this to you, because you are one of the few people whom I respect in the world."

"Thank you for your good opinion; but a skilful physician must try to heal injuries, whether deserved or undeserved."

"You are a doctor, and yet you have the same malady as the whole country, indeed every one of our race."

The Doctor expressed his surprise at seeing him under so novel an aspect. He had always, hitherto, thought that his misanthropy proceeded from mere love of ease and indolence, but now he saw it was grounded on a system.

"Will you sit an hour with me? This is my seventieth birthday."

"I wish you joy!"

"Thank you."

Petrowitsch sent his maid to Ibrahim, to say that he could not join him, to play their usual game, for an hour; then he sat down beside the Doctor, and said: "I feel myself today in a humour to be communicative. I care nothing at all for what the world thinks of me; this log of wood that I am now laying on the fire, cannot care less who burns it."

"It would interest me very much, however, if you would relate to me how you have hardened into such a block of petrified wood."

Petrowitsch laughed, and the Doctor, though he knew how anxiously Lenz was expecting him, hoped, by seeing deeper into the rugged old man's character, to be able to bend him to his wishes. His plan was, that Petrowitsch should advance a certain sum, to enable Lenz to enter the manufactory as a junior partner.

"You were eight years old when I left home to travel," began Petrowitsch, "and so you know nothing of me."

"Oh, yes, I do! many wild pranks were related of the – "

"The little Goatherd? That name has been the plague of my life. I was two and twenty years in foreign parts, at sea and on land, in every possible degree of heat and cold that man or dog ever endured, and that name followed me like a dog, and I was fool enough not to give it a kick, and so get rid of it for ever.

"We were three brothers, and had no sisters. Our father was a proud man when we three came, but in those days children were not so kindly treated as now, and I think it was better; it made us independent, and a single word, good or bad, made more impression than a hundred now. My brother Lorenz, who was called by our family name Lenz at home, the father of the present Lenz, was the eldest, and I the youngest. Our second brother, Mathes, was a very handsome young man; he was carried off by that great butcher of mankind, Napoleon, and was killed in Spain. I have been on the battlefield where he fell. There is a high hill, and a mass of soldiers lie buried there, so what chance of finding out a brother among them! But what's the use of telling you that? Not long after Mathes had become a soldier, my brother Lenz went to Switzerland for a few months, and took me with him. Who so happy as I? My brother was a quiet, thoughtful man; every one must admit that. He was like a first-rate clock – exact and punctual, – but stern, very stern. I was a wild, unruly lad, good for nothing, nor had I any notion of sitting in a workshop. What did my brother do? He took me to a fair for hiring servants at St. Gall, which took place every year. The great Swiss farmers hire their shepherd lads from Swabia.

"As I was standing beside my brother in the marketplace, a stout, bluff Appenzel farmer came up, and stood opposite us, his feet well apart, leaning on a stick, and said to my brother, 'What is the price of the lad?'

"I gave the saucy answer, 'A log of Swiss impudence, six feet broad, and six feet high.'

"The stout farmer laughed, and said to my brother: 'The boy is no fool. I like him, and we can arrange the terms together.'

"Lorenz and the farmer came to an agreement, and the only speech my brother made me at parting was, 'If you come home before the winter you shall be well flogged.'

"I was a goatherd for a whole summer. It was a pleasant enough life, and I was constantly singing; but often the words rang in my ears 'What is the price of the lad?' and I felt as if I had been sold like Joseph in Egypt. Like him, my brother sold me, but I never became a great man.

"I returned home when winter came. I was not well used at home, but then I did not deserve to be so. In the spring I said to my father, 'Give me a hundred gulden's worth of clocks, and I will take them about the country to sell.' 'You are more likely to get a hundred boxes on the ear,' said my brother Lorenz, on hearing this.

"At that time the whole business had devolved on him, and the household also. Our father was in bad health, and our mother did not venture to interfere. In those days women were not so much thought of as now, and I think on that very account they were better off, and their husbands too. I then contrived to persuade a pedlar to take me with him, to carry his clocks. I was almost bent double with fatigue, and often suffered miserably from hunger, and yet never could escape from my tyrant. I was as much under the yoke as any carthorse, but the latter is not allowed to starve, because its value would be gone. I sometimes thought of robbing my master, and running away, but then again, as a penance for my wicked thoughts, I would determine to stay with my tormentor.

"In spite of all I remained both honest and healthy. I must relate one circumstance here, because it is connected with my subsequent history, and cost me dear. I went to Spain with Anton Striegler. We were in a large village about twenty miles from Valencia; it was a fine summer afternoon, and we were sitting outside a posada, as an inn is called in Spain, chatting to each other. A handsome young man, with large black eyes, was passing; but, on hearing us talking, he stood still all of a sudden, and begun throwing up his arms as if he were mad. I gave Striegler a push to look at him, when the lad rushed up to us, and seized Striegler's hand. 'What were you speaking?' asked he, in Spanish. 'That is no one's business,' said Striegler, also in Spanish. 'What language was it?' asked the Spaniard again. 'German,' said Striegler. The young man grasped the holy effigy he wore round his neck, and kissed it as if he would devour it, and at last he told us that his father at home spoke that language, and begged us to come with him. On our way he related to us, that his father came to this village more than forty years ago, that he was a German, and had married here. For some weeks past he had been lying dangerously ill, and for several days he had been speaking in a language none of them understood, and his father could no longer understand his wife, or children, or grandchildren. It was quite heartbreaking. We went into the house, where we found an old man, with snow white hair and long beard, calling out, 'Get me a bunch of rosemary;' and then he sung, 'And plant it on my grave!' I shuddered on seeing and hearing this, but Striegler went up boldly to him, saying, 'How are you, fellow countryman?' Never, if I live a hundred years, can I forget the expression of the old man's eyes on hearing these words; they were wide open and fixed, and he first stretched out his hands, and then crossed them over his breast, as if he were pressing the precious words to his heart. Striegler spoke again, and the old man gave very rational answers, sometimes rather confused, but on the whole quite intelligible. He was originally from Hesse, but had taken the name of Caballero, and was naturalised in Spain. For fifty years he had spoken nothing but Spanish, and now at the point of death, he could not speak a single word of Spanish – it all seemed blown away into the air; and I believe, though I am not so sure of this, that he no longer even understood a syllable of Spanish. The whole family were most thankful that we could interpret what the old man said.

"Striegler profited by being so much considered in the village, and did a good turn of business there; and in the meanwhile I sat with the old man, and the best time I ever had was when I travelled with Striegler. I got plenty to eat and drink; the people fed me up as if it were to benefit the old man. He did not die, after all, and we went away in three days; but scarcely were we a couple of miles on our road, when the son came riding after us, to say that his father was calling for us in such distress that we must go back. We did so, and heard him talking German, but we could not understand what he wanted, and exclaiming, 'Now I am going home!' he died."

Petrowitsch here made a pause, and then continued: – "The whole affair made a considerable impression on my mind; I did not know how deep till long after.

"Striegler subsequently returned to Spain, and, I heard, married one of Caballero's daughters. When we were in France I met your father, Herr Doctor, who soon saw that I was far from being the good for nothing fellow I had been called. He furnished me with means to enable me to trade on my own behalf. I had learned to save and to starve for the benefit of others; now I did so to some purpose for my own benefit. I repaid your father his money punctually, and he entrusted me with more goods. I have been half round the world. I can speak five languages, but whenever I heard a word of German, especially the Black Forest dialect, it made my heart beat with joy. I had one great fault, I never could overcome the love of home. It glided after me, and by my side, as if it had been a spirit; and at many a jovial drinking-match in foreign lands the wine tasted to me as if some one had spilt salt in it."

Petrowitsch again paused, and poked the fire till it crackled and blazed up brightly; and, passing his hand over his wrinkled face, he began again thus: – "I pass over ten years. By that time my fortune was made, and I was living in Odessa. That is a splendid city; all nations seem at home in it, and I have a friend still there whom I can never forget. There are also villages in the vicinity, Lustdorf, and Kleinliebenthal, and various others, where numbers of Germans live, not from our country, but chiefly from Wurtemberg. I received proposals from home on every side, but I remained with your father to the day of his death. I had then realized a very pretty sum, and might have driven in my carriage, but I preferred going on foot through all Russia. I never knew what fatigue meant. Look at my arm even now! every muscle is like steel; but thirty years ago! – it was very different then.

"I established myself in Moscow, where I stayed four years. I ought not to say established myself, for I was never fairly settled or at rest in one place, I never, even for an hour, made myself at home anywhere, and that helped me to save and to make money. I met plenty of my countrymen, and I helped many. More than one, who has since prospered in the world, owes his fortune to me. I asked them what was going on at home. My father was dead, my mother dead also, and my brother married. I asked if any of them had ever enquired for me; the people, however, could not give me much information on that point. My brother said I would be sure to come home a beggar. And do you know what hurt my feelings most of all? – to hear all my countrymen still call me the Goatherd. My brother was to blame, for my being obliged to bear this degrading nickname all my life. I had all sorts of ideas in my head, and thought of sending him a couple of thousand gulden, and writing along with the money – 'The Goatherd sends you this for the hundred boxes on the ear, for which he is still in your debt; and for all the kindness you have shown him, and all the care you have taken of him.' I often resolved to do this, but somehow I never did. I could no longer remain in Moscow. I wished to go home; but instead of going home I went to Tiflis, and stayed there eleven years; and as I began to grow older, I thought – 'You must now act quite differently: you must go home, and take a whole sackful of gold with you; and all the people in the place shall see it except your brother, and you will not say one word to him.' And all this brooding over the matter, led me at last to be firmly convinced that he had persecuted and neglected me, and that he would have been glad if I had died. I was determined that he should be punished for this. I almost hated him, and often thought many evil things about him; and yet I could not get rid of his image, nor prevent myself from dwelling on it. Besides, I had always a longing for home, greater than I can describe. No water in the world was so good as that of the well near the church at home; and on summer evenings, how sweet the air was – quite like balsam! I would have given a thousand gulden to any one who could have brought me a roomful of air from home. These were ideas that passed through my brain thousands of times. And then I rejoiced in the thought how all the men in the upper and lower villages would flock together and say – 'That is Peter,' or Petrowitsch, as they used to call me; and they should all be feasted for three days, and eat and drink as much as they liked. And in the large meadow before our house I would place long tables, and all should come who chose to come; all – all might have a place there except my brother. And yet, in the midst of this rancour, I felt that he was the only man in the world I really loved; but I was unwilling to own this to myself. Every successive year I said – 'At the very next settlement I will go.' But I could never tear myself away; for in such a business as mine, where all you touch turns to gold, you have not the heart to leave it. I became old and grey by degrees – I scarcely know how. Then I was seized with illness – very severe illness. I remember nothing of what occurred during several weeks; but when I was recovering they told me that when I was delirious, I spoke in a language that no one could understand, except the doctor, who knew a word or two here and there, and said it was German, but he scarcely comprehended me. I had often called out 'Cain!' and said, 'What is the price of the lad?' Then I thought of old Caballero, whom I had seen in Valencia on his deathbed. Suppose you were one day to lie and thirst for water, as he did, and no man to know a word you were saying! Now my resolution was finally taken. Home, home, home! I soon got well, for I have a good constitution: I had settled my plans, and no obstacle should prevent my going home. If my brother creeps to me humbly, and says, 'I have not behaved well to you,' then I will stay with him till I die. How long may that be? What is all the world to us, when we have not those near and dear to us? On the journey – for at last I had actually started – I was just like a child who runs gaily home after escaping into the wood. I was often obliged to remember how old I was, and the hatred of my brother began to plague me again, and such a feeling is like an ever open wound.