to repair the clocks they may meet with, as well as those they dispose of. So Pilgrim learned clockmaking regularly. When, however, he had mastered what was absolutely indispensable, the project of the journey was all settled. Pilgrim had all sorts of plans in his head. At one time, his intention was to earn so much money in his travels, that he might enter the academy for painting as a pupil; then he proposed becoming an artist at once during his journey; and at last his grand purpose was to bring home a large sack of money, and to spend it freely among his own people; for, in fact, he had a great contempt for money, in so far as he was himself concerned. Moreover, at that time there was some love affair in his head. Greece – Athens, were the objects of his travels; and when he even named Athens, his eyes sparkled, and his cheeks flushed bright red. 'Athens!' said he often, 'does not the very sound of that name seem to transport us into lofty halls, where we ascend marble stairs?' He fancied that if he were to breathe this classical atmosphere, he would become another man, and, above all, a great artist. Of course I endeavoured to cure him of such wild delusions; and I so far succeeded, that he promised me to occupy himself solely in making money, and his other plans could be fulfilled hereafter. Old Lenz and I became his securities, for the value of the goods that he was to take with him. He set out alone on the journey, for Lenz, by our advice, stayed at home. 'I am like the river in the Black Forest which runs into the Black Sea!' said Pilgrim often. He hoped to introduce our forest clocks into the East and into Greece, where they had not hitherto met with the same success as in northern lands, and in the New World, It is very amusing to hear Pilgrim relate his progress through various countries, and through cities and villages, all hung round with Black Forest clocks, making them strike in the streets, while he eagerly looked round on every side. But this was his great fault: he was too anxious to see everything – customs, manners, fine buildings, beautiful landscapes; and this is a disadvantage to a merchant. The works in a clock never vary, even when carried over sea and land, and just as little do our countrymen, who are to be seen wandering in every zone, change their natures. To earn, and to save, and to live economically until they return home with a well-filled purse, when they can make up for their privations, – these are the fixed purposes of their hearts, and they care little how the world goes on around them. This is both prudent and necessary – it is impossible to carry different objects in the head at the same time."
"Did Pilgrim really arrive in Athens at last?"
"Not a doubt of it; and he often told me that the Crusaders, when they first saw Jerusalem, could not have felt more piety and enthusiasm than he did, when he gazed for the first time at Athens. He rubbed his eyes, and could scarcely believe that he really saw Athens, where marble statues were to welcome and greet him. He went along the streets sounding his clocks, but he did not succeed in selling a single clock in Athens. He suffered great privations, and was at last only too glad when he got employment. But what employment it was! For fourteen long days, under the blue Grecian sky, he was engaged in painting the railing of a public-garden green, within sight of the Acropolis!"
"What is the Acropolis?" asked Bertha.
"Explain the word to her, Herr Starr," said the Doctor.
The Techniker described, in a lively manner, the former glories of this grand Athenian citadel, and the few fragments that still remain. He promised on his return, to bring a sketch of it with him, and then begged the Doctor to go on with his story.
"I have not much more to tell," resumed the Doctor. "Pilgrim contrived to realize sufficient, by the sale of the clocks, to prevent his being a burden on the parish. It required no little courage to return home even poorer than he went, and to be the derision of his neighbours; but as his artistic nature feels the most thorough contempt for purse-pride, as he calls it, he always seems quite contented and at his ease, and pays no attention to the jeers and gibes of his companions. He arrived naturally, first of all, at the Morgenhalde. The family there were all seated at dinner, and were in the act of saying grace, when Lenz uttered such a cry, that his mother often said if she were to hear it again it would be her death. The two friends embraced eagerly. Pilgrim was soon as merry as ever, and said that he had best luck at home, for he had arrived just as dinner was ready, and no one would make him so welcome as the parents and their son at the Morgenhalde. Old Lenz wished Pilgrim to live in his house altogether, but he is unusually jealous of his independence. He erected a neat workshop near us, at Don Bastian's. At first he took great trouble to introduce new patterns of clock dials. He has a very good idea of colour, but his drawing is sadly defective: his chief mistake, however, was endeavouring to alter the original form of our Black Forest dials – a square with an arch above. When he discovered that he made no progress with his novelties, he resumed making the old fashioned timepieces to order, and is now always cheerful and good humoured. You must know that different countries have peculiar tastes in the dials of clocks. France likes bright colours, and the dial painted all over; North Germany, Scandinavia, and England prefer more simple lines, something architectural, triangular figures, columns, or at most a wreath; America likes no ornamental painting, nothing but a wooden clock case with more or less carving, and the weights resting on pulleys at the sides of the clock – these are called American clocks; Hungary and Russia approve of painted fronts or a landscape. The style of decoration that art would sanction as beautiful has seldom good sale; on the contrary, spirals and flourishes are generally most admired. If you could combine that style with the embellishment of our native clocks, you would find Pilgrim quick at executing a design; and you might, perhaps, thus give a fresh impulse to his life."
"I beg you will make me acquainted with the man."
"Certainly – you may accompany me tomorrow – you heard him invite me; but you must come quite early, and then you can cross the hills with me. I will show you some beautiful points of view, and many good honest men."
The Techniker wished them a cordial good night, and the Doctor went into the house with his family.
The moon shone bright in the sky – the flowers emitted their fragrance for themselves alone – and the stars gazed down on them. All was still around, save here and there, when, in passing a house, a clock was heard to strike.
CHAPTER VI.
THE WORLD STEPS IN
"Good morning, Lenz! – so you slept well? – you are still like a child, who sleeps sound after crying till he is worn out," said Faller, in his deep hollow bass voice, next morning. And Lenz replied – "Ah, my friend! to wake, and wake again, and to remember the events of yesterday, is only fresh misery! But I must take courage, I will first of all prepare the security for you: take it to the mayor before he rides out, and remember me to him. By the bye, it has just occurred to me that I dreamt of him. Go to Pilgrim, too, if you have time, and tell him I am waiting at home for him. May good luck attend you! I am so glad that you will now have a roof of your own."
Faller went with the security into the valley, and Lenz began his work; but he first wound up one of the clocks, and it played a hymn. He nodded in unison, while filing a wheel. "That clock plays well: it was her favourite air – my mother's," thought Lenz. The large clock, in a beautifully carved walnut-wood case, as tall as a clothes press, was called "The Magic Flute," for its principal piece was the overture to that opera of Mozart's, besides five other airs: it was already sold to a well-frequented tea-garden near Odessa. A small clock stood beside it, and Lenz was working at a third. He worked unremittingly till noon. He was very hungry, but when he sat down to table alone, all hunger seemed to leave him.
He begged the old maid to sit down with him. She affected great shyness and modesty; however she allowed her scruples at last to be overcome, and when the soup was finished, she even volunteered the remark – "I really see no reason why you should marry."
"Who says that I have any thoughts of marrying?"
"My opinion is that if you do marry you ought to marry the beadle's daughter, Kathrine: she is come of good people, and has a great respect for you – she can talk of nothing but you. Such a wife would be worth having. It
