CHAPTER XIX.
FIRST VISIT TO A NEW HOUSE.
The first person who came to wish Annele joy was Faller. She, indeed, looked down with considerable condescension on the poor creature; but his humility pleased her; and Faller could not make a sufficient number of apologies for coming so soon, but he had no rest till he came, for he was attached with all his heart to Lenz, for whom he would give his life.
"I am glad that my bridegroom has such good friends, but every man can provide for himself in this world, be he whom he may."
Faller did not perceive this last hit at him, or affected not to do so, and began enthusiastically to depict the excellence of Lenz's heart. Tears stood in his eyes, and he ended by saying:—"Annele, he has a heart like an angel!—like that of a newly born child. For God's sake never be harsh to him, or you would sin against God. Never forget that you have a husband to whom every sharp word is like a stab from a knife. He is not passionate, but his feelings are very sensitive. Do not take amiss my telling you this—I do so from the best of motives. I would gladly serve him if I could, and I don't know how. You are indeed favoured by God to be chosen by such a man; but go gently to work with him—very gently and kindly."
"Have you done at last?" asked Annele, her eyes flashing; "or have you got anything more to say?"
"No; I have finished."
"Now I will say something to you in return. You have been so forward and impertinent, that you deserve to have the door shut in your face. What do you mean?—how dare you speak in such a manner to me?—who asked you to interfere?—how can you suspect me of being hard? But it is lucky, very lucky that I know this so soon; now I see what sort of beggars hang about my Lenz. But I will soon make a clean sweep of the whole lot. The day when you could wheedle him by your hypocrisy and fine words is at an end. I make you a present of the wine you have drunk. Now go along, I will, however, repeat to my Lenz what you have presumed to say to me, and it shall be stored up against you."
In vain did Faller protest his innocence of all evil intentions: he begged pardon, and conjured her to listen to him; but it was all no use. Annele showed him the door—so at last he left her, and Annele did not vouchsafe him even a parting glance.
Soon after Faller came Franzl, beaming with joy. The mother took her forthwith into the back parlour. Franzl had been rejoicing that she had managed this affair, and thought she could now die happy; but it proved, to her consternation, that she had ascribed to herself much more merit than she deserved, and now she got none at all. The Landlady soon made her feel her mistake by saying—"Well, Franzl, what do you think about this? You had nothing to do with the affair, and I quite as little. The young people were sharper than we were. You and I were talking a few days ago as to what might come to pass, and all the time behind our backs they had settled everything. I could have believed this of Annele, but not of Lenz. But it is better so; and as God has willed it, let us thank him for his goodness."
Franzl stood with her mouth and eyes wide open, but she was obliged to go home without a scrap of praise or anything else, and Annele scarcely condescended to notice her.—Then Pilgrim came.
Annele behaved in a very different manner to Pilgrim than she had done to Faller. She knew that he did not like her; but before he had said a single word she thanked him for his warm sympathy, and Pilgrim treated the whole affair in a good-humoured and facetious manner, hinting that no man was to be trusted, or Lenz would not have kept the matter so close. He thought he thus saved his conscience, and yet did not disturb what was now a settled thing.
But the toughest wood to saw through, yet remained: this was Petrowitsch; and the father resolved to be present. When Petrowitsch came as usual to dinner, he affected to know nothing. The Landlord communicated the fact to him officially, and said that Lenz was expected every minute to dinner. Annele was very childlike and submissive to the old man, and seemed almost as if she intended to throw herself on her knees to ask his blessing. He stretched out his hand kindly to her. The Landlady, too, wished to get hold of his hand, but she only succeeded in grasping two fingers of his left hand. Lenz was glad when he came, to find all going on so smoothly. He was only vexed that Pilgrim, who had spoken so much against them all, should be seated at the same table; but Pilgrim seemed quite unconcerned, so Lenz was soon the same.
The sky looked down sourly on Lenz's betrothal: it rained incessantly for several days following. The rain kept trickling on like one of those incessant talkers who chatter without ceasing. Lenz was of course constantly at the "Lion" Inn, where everything was so comfortable, and every one as well cared for as in his own house. One day, when there were sixteen different tables in the large public room, Lenz told Annele it was like a well frequented marketplace.
"You are witty," said she. "I must tell my father that—it will amuse him."
"Don't do that. What I say to you, I don't intend to go farther."
Lenz was overflowing with happiness. He went backwards and forwards along the distant, and almost impassable road, just as if he had been passing from one room to another. He was often congratulated on his way by different people; and many said—"Don't think us impertinent, but we never believed that Annele would stay in this village. It was always said she would marry a landlord in Baden-Baden, or the Techniker. You may laugh, but you have fallen on your feet."
Lenz was not at all offended by being considered inferior to Annele; on the contrary, he was proud that she was so modest in her views as to choose him. When Lenz was sitting in the back parlour with Annele and her mother, and the old man sometimes came in, uttering some pious sentiment in his deep, sonorous voice, Lenz would say—"How grateful I ought to be to the good Lord, who has given me parents again! and such parents too! I seem to have come into the world a second time. I can scarcely realize that I am actually at home in the 'Lion' Inn, when I remember what I thought when, as a child, I saw the upper storey built, and plate glass in all the windows! I am sure the Palace at Carlsruhe cannot be finer, we children used to say to each other. And I was standing by when the Golden Lion itself was hung up. I little thought, then, that the day would come when I should be quite at home in such a palace! It is hard that my mother did not live to see it!"
The two women were touched by these words, although Annele did not leave off counting the stitches in a pair of slippers that she had begun to work for Lenz. Neither of them spoke for some little time, till the mother said—"Yes! besides, what first-rate connections you will have in my other two sons-in-law. I told you already that I love and respect them, but differently from you, I have known you from the time you were a child, and I feel towards you as if you had been my own flesh and blood. But you have seen them, and know what well bred, genteel young men they both are—and men of business, into the bargain. Many a one would be glad, if they had as much capital as they make in a single year."
After a pause, however, Annele said—"If that tiresome rain would only cease, then, Lenz, we would go out driving together at once."
"I should, indeed, enjoy being with you alone under God's spacious sky. The house seems too confined for my sense of happiness. Annele, we would drive to the town."
"Wherever you like."
Presently Lenz said again:—"I am very glad my 'Magic Flute' was so safely packed, for I should so grieve if it was injured."
"That is very needless anxiety," said the mother. "The thing is now sold, and of course the purchaser runs all risks."
"No, mother, that's not at all the case. I understand my Lenz better. He is attached to a work that cost him so much anxiety, and he would have been glad never to have parted with it. If one has passed days and nights, month after month, engrossed with one object, it would be very distressing to know that it was injured."
"Yes, dear Annele; you are indeed my own!" cried Lenz, joyfully. How well and thoroughly this excellent girl understood his feelings and explained them!
The mother chided them playfully:—"It's no good talking to you lovers; anyone who is not in love, is sure to be wrong in your eyes." She went in and out, for Lenz had begged that, at all events at first, Annele might be released from her attendance in the public room. "I am not jealous," said he, "far from it; but I should like to intercept every look you cast on others, for they all belong to me, and me only."
One afternoon the rain ceased for an hour. Lenz did not desist from urging Annele, till she consented to go with him to his own house. "I feel as if everything there was expecting you. All the stores, and presses, and china, and other things that you will like to see."
Annele resisted for some time, and at last said—"My mother must go too."
The old lady was very speedily equipped. They went through the village. Every one greeted them. They had scarcely gone a hundred steps when Annele complained—"What a horrid footpath, Lenz—it is so heavy and deep. You must repair it thoroughly. But I'll tell you what would be better: you must make a carriage road, so that people may be able to drive up to our door."
"That would be difficult," answered Lenz: "it would cost a large sum of money, and I should have to buy the ground. Do you see? Up there from the hazel hedge the meadow is my own, and I require no carriage road for my business. You know well, Annele dear, that I would do anything to please you, but I cannot do that."
Annele was silent and walked on. The mother, however, whispered to Lenz—"What's the good of discussing things? You ought to have said—'Oh yes, dear Annele! I will see about it'—or something of that kind, and afterwards you could have done just as you liked. She is a mere child, and that is the way to manage children. If you are shrewd, you can manage her perfectly; but you must not make too much of a thing, and snap up every word. Let the subject drop for a few days, and don't renew it immediately; don't promise rashly, if you are not sure about a thing: she will either think it over alone, or more probably forget it. She is but a child."
Lenz looked at her disapprovingly, and said, "Annele is no child; she is capable of discussing any subject, and she understands everything."
"Oh! you think so, of course," said the mother, shrugging her shoulders.
When they were half way across the meadow Annele exclaimed again: "Good heavens! I had no idea it was so far, or so steep! what a distance it is! it will be an age before we get there!"
"I can't make the distance shorter," said Lenz, in a displeased, dry tone.
Annele turned, and looked at him inquisitively.
He continued, stammering, "I am sure that, for all that, you will be rather glad that the distance is so far. Remember, that shows how large our meadow must be. I could keep three cows on it, if it were not so much trouble."
Annele smiled in a forced manner. At last they arrived at the house. Annele panted for breath, and complained that she was sadly overheated.
"Welcome home, in God's name," said Lenz, seizing her hand as she crossed the threshold.
She looked at him kindly, and suddenly said, "You are really a kind soul, and take everything with good humour!"
Lenz was pleased, and what a happy woman Franzl was. First the mother gave her her hand, and then Annele did the same. And both praised up to the skies the kitchen, the parlour, and the whole house, as so clean and neatly arranged.
The mother stood with Franzl below, while Lenz took Annele all over the house, and showed her the seven beds, and their stock of bedding, and two large feather beds besides, which could make at least three more. He opened trunks, and chests, in which stores of fine white linen were closely packed, and said, "Now Annele, what do you think of these? You are a little surprised, I should think? Can any one see a prettier sight?"
"Yes, it is all very orderly and nice. But I don't say anything of my sister Therese's stock of linen; for, of course, when there are often a hundred guests there at a time, come to drink the waters, a vast quantity of linen is required,—it forms part of their business. But you should really see the presses of Babet's mother-in-law; these would appear very scanty beside hers."
Lenz looked very much annoyed, and said, "Annele, don't say such things, even in jest."
"I am not jesting—I am quite in earnest. I am not in the least surprised, for I have seen both finer and better linen, and in far greater quantities too. Do show some sense: you surely can't expect me to be in ecstasies with what is just neat and tidy, and no more. I have seen a good deal more of the world than you, remember that."
"No doubt! It may be so," said Lenz, with trembling lips.
Annele stroked his face laughingly, and said, "My good Lenz, what need you care whether I am lost in admiration or not? Your mother made a good provision, a very fair one indeed, considering her position in life. No one can say otherwise. But, dear Lenz, I do not marry you for your property; I like you for your own sake,—that is the chief point."
This speech was both sweet and bitter, but the bitter seemed to Lenz to predominate, and he felt as if gall had touched his lips.
They returned to the sitting-room, where Franzl had prepared a plentiful repast. Annele said she had no appetite; but when Lenz said, "That won't do at all, you must eat something the first time you come to my house," she at last consented to take a crust of bread.
Lenz was obliged to silence Franzl repeatedly, as she thought she could not sufficiently praise him. "You must have done something very good in the world, to get such a husband," said she to Annele.
"And he must have done the same," said the mother, looking at Annele. Probably she meant maliciously to insinuate, that Lenz was fully as fortunate as her daughter.
"Come here, Annele, and sit down beside me," said Lenz; "you often said you would like to see how I put together a musical timepiece. I kept this one on purpose to show it to you the first time you came here. Now I will place it properly, and then it will play of itself. It is a beautiful melody of Spohr's. I can sing it to you, but it is far, far finer than I can show you by my singing."
He sung the air from "Faust," "Love is a tender flower." Then Annele sat down by him, and he began to place the different pegs skilfully, according to the music before him, taking them out of their case, just as printers do types, and placing them with quickness and dexterity.
Annele was full of admiration, and Lenz continued to work on gaily; but he begged her not to speak, for he was obliged to give his attention to the metronome which he had set going.
The mother knew that it would be hard work for Annele to sit quiet, and to look on silently. She therefore said, with a gracious smile, "Every one knows how clever you are, Lenz; but we must now go home, it is near our dinner hour, and we expect some strangers. It is quite enough that you began the work while we were here."
Annele rose, and Lenz ceased working.
Franzl kept watching Annele's hands, and also those of the Landlady, and when either placed them in their pockets she became agitated, and hid her hands quickly behind her back, to show that she would not accept any present. She must be persuaded by gentle force to take anything. "Now it is sure to come,—a gold chain, or a handsome ring, or perhaps a hundred new dollars. Who knows?—such people give handsomely."
But they gave neither handsomely nor shabbily—indeed, scarcely their hand in farewell; and Franzl went into the kitchen, and snatching up one of her largest and most favourite old pipkins, she held it up in the air, and would gladly have hurled it at the heads of those saucy, ungrateful women, but she could not bear to destroy her old favourite. "Did ever any one hear of such a thing?—not to bring her even an apron! Poor, poor Lenz! you have fallen into the hands of a fine shabby set! Heaven be praised that I had nothing to do with it! I should be very grieved to have any profit from such an affair,—every farthing would burn me!"
Lenz escorted his bride and his mother-in-law beyond the boundary of his meadow, and then returned home, after arranging that, if the next day was fine, they were to drive together to sister Babet's.
Lenz had a good deal to prepare, besides giving instructions to his workpeople.
His feelings were strange when he was once more alone, and two hours had scarcely elapsed when he wished to go down to see Annele. He felt anxious and nervous, he did not know why. Annele alone could, and would, drive away these nervous sensations. He stayed at home, however; and when, before going to rest, he again closed the chests that had remained open, he felt as if he were about to hear something, he knew not what. There lay the webs prepared by his mother, moistened by her lips, and spun by her fingers. Strange! but he almost seemed to feel as if a spirit were gliding by his side, and a mournful voice breathing out of the open chests.
Franzl, in the mean time, was in her room, sitting bolt upright in bed. She was muttering all kinds of imprecations against Annele and her mother; but then prayed to God to let her recall her words, and to consider them unsaid, as every evil wish that was realised on Annele, affected Lenz also.
CHAPTER XX.
A FIRST DRIVE.
On the morning after, the long wished for day arrived. The sun shone down gladly on the earth below, and Lenz felt gladdened also. He immediately sent off his apprentice to Annele, to beg her to be ready, for he would be with her in the course of an hour. And within that time, dressed in his best attire, he was on his way to the "Lion."
Annele, however, was not yet dressed, though at his earnest and repeated entreaty, she gave him one hand through the door of her room. She would not let him see her, but handed him out red ribbons and cockades, to give to the servant to put on the harness and the whip. At last—at last she appeared, so smartly dressed!
"Is the carriage ready?" was her first word.
"No."
"Why did you not see that it was ready? Tell Gregor to put on his postilion's livery, and take his horn with him."
"Oh, no! don't! Why should he do that?"
"We are to show ourselves to everybody, we have no leave to ask of any one, and every one must look round as we pass."
At last they got in. When they passed the Doctor's house, Annele said to Gregor: "Blow now! blow loud! The Doctor's daughters are sure to look out, and they shall see that we are driving out together. I declare! not a living creature to be seen, and the window in the corner room shut. They are there sure enough, however. They are bursting with rage inside there, and they must take some notice of us, in spite of themselves, for I know that the old grandmother is quite sure to ask, 'Who is blowing that horn?' I should like to be behind the door to hear them all discussing us."
"Annele, you are in a strange mood to-day!"
"Why not? I think you so goodlooking today. People are right in saying that you have such honest bright eyes. I really did not know till today that you were so goodlooking."
Lenz's face beamed with delight, which made him look still handsomer. "I ought to get a new fashionable set of clothes, don't you think so?" said Lenz.
"No, remain as you are. You look more solid and respectable as you are."
"It does not only look so, but it is really so."
"Yes, indeed it is so. But pray don't speak as if every word were a prong in a watchwheel."
"You are right."
They drove through the next village, and Annele again desired Gregor to blow his horn with all his might! "Look! look! there is Ernestine, the grocer's wife. She is a cousin of mine, and was long a servant in our house, and then married a tailor, who afterwards became a grocer. She can't bear me; she will be so spiteful that her green face will turn blue, when she sees us drive past without our calling on her. Ah, ha! there she comes to the window. Oh, yes! stare out your pig eyes, and gape till you show your long teeth. Yes, it is Lenz and I,—look well at my bridegroom! Much good may it do you!" They drove on.
"Now, does that give you any pleasure, Annele?" asked Lenz.
"Why not? We ought to be spiteful to spiteful people, and kind to the good. Both are right."
"Perhaps; but I can't be so."
"You ought to be glad, then that you have got me. They shall all creep into a mousehole before us, and be glad if we only look at them."
When they arrived in the town Annele gave her bridegroom fresh directions for his deportment:—"If my brother-in-law's brother is there, be sure you are very stiff to him. He would be glad to play you a trick, for he is very malicious, because I did not take him; but I did not care about him. And if my sister begins complaining, take it coolly; you need not try to comfort her, it does no good, and is not required. She has lots of money, and yet does nothing but grumble and complain; her health is very bad. Our family in general are healthy enough, you may see that by me."
The sister could not receive the betrothed couple at all, for she was confined to bed by illness, and neither the husband nor the brother-in-law were at home. They had both gone down the Rhine with a large raft.
"I suppose you would like to stay with your sister, for I have some business in the town."
"May I not go with you?"
"No; I have something to get for you."
"I had far better go with you in that case, for you men never know how to choose."
"No, no; you must not be with me," insisted Lenz. He took a large-sized packet out of the carriage and went with it into the town; for Babet's house was down by the river, close to a large wood yard.
Without Annele having observed it, Lenz brought back what he had taken with him, only rather larger in bulk, and put it into the carriage.
"What have you bought for me?" asked Annele.
"I will give it to you when we get home."
Annele was not a little provoked that she could not show the handsome present to her sister; but she had already perceived that there were points on which Lenz went his own way, and was not to be persuaded out of it.
They had refreshments in the inn, and Annele told Lenz that the son of the landlord, a superior young man, who had now a large hotel in Baden-Baden, had wished to marry her, but she would not have him.
"There was no need to tell me that," said Lenz. "I am quite jealous enough already of past days; but not of the future: here is my hand on that. I know you. It pains me to think that others should ever have raised their eyes to you. Let bygones be bygones; and let us commence life afresh."
A pleasant, warm smile lit up Annele's face at these words, as if a certain reflection of Lenz's kindness and simplicity beamed on her, and she was gentle and loving in her manner.
She could not express this, according to her ideas, better than by saying:—"Lenz, there is no need for you to buy me a bridal gift; you don't require to do what others do: I know you; there is something more precious than gold chains." Tears stood in her eyes as she said this, and Lenz never had been happier than at this moment.
The church clock was striking five; when they set off home in the carriage.
"My deceased father made that clock, and Faller helped him," said Lenz. "Stop! it is lucky that it struck me: Faller says that you were offended by some incautious expression of his; he will not tell me what it was. Do not be angry with him, he is often awkward and abrupt, a precise soldier, but an excellent man."
"Possibly; but, Lenz, you have a vast deal too many burrs sticking to you; you must shake them off."
"I will never give up my friends."
"I don't wish you to do so; God forbid! I only meant that you should not act so that everyone can come and persuade you to anything."
"There you are right; that is my failing; remind me of it as often as you like, that I may cure myself by degrees."
Just as Lenz had said this in a humble manner, Annele suddenly stood up in the carriage.
"What is it? what is the matter?" asked Lenz.
"Nothing, nothing at all; I don't know why I stood up. I mean I am not comfortably seated; now I am more at ease. It is very agreeable to drive in our carriage, is it not?"
"Yes, very; it is as easy as an armchair, and yet you can see round you in all directions. It is so pleasant to drive, and it is the first time I ever was in a carriage of my own; for your father's seems mine also."
"Certainly."
The first excursion of the betrothed couple had not been quite so amusing as they had expected, but still both brought home with them much that was pleasant. Annele said very little, and it was evident that something unusual was occupying her mind.
It was still bright daylight when they arrived at home. Lenz assisted Annele out of the carriage, and let her go in first by herself. He then took out the parcel he had so carefully wrapped up, and when he was in the house he called Annele into the back parlour.
There the mystery was unravelled by these words:—"Annele, I here present you with the nearest and dearest object I possess on earth; my excellent friend Pilgrim gave it to me, and now it shall be yours."
Annele gazed intently at the portrait, for which Lenz had secretly ordered a frame in the town.
"Ah! I see you cannot speak, because my mother is looking at you!"
"So that is your mother? It is certainly her gown, and her cap and handkerchief, but as for your mother herself? No, it might just as well be old Annelise the carpenter's wife, or Faller's wife; indeed, I think it is very like the latter. What makes you look so pale all of a sudden? as if every drop of blood had left your cheeks? My good Lenz, would you have me tell an untruth? I am sure you would not; and how can you help it? Pilgrim never could do a thing well in his life. He has no talent for anything, except for painting his everlasting church towers."
"When I heard you speak, I felt as if my mother had died a second time," said Lenz.
"Don't be so melancholy all of a sudden," said Annele more graciously. "I will show all respect for the portrait, and hang it up over my bed. Come, you are no longer sad? You have been so loveable to-day, and really now, when I look again at the picture, I think it does remind me of your mother."
Just as Lenz first became as hot as fire, and then as cold as ice, so could Annele influence him as she chose, making him at one moment feel the happiest of men, and the next giving him deadly offence.
And thus it went on for weeks and months; but the prevailing feeling, however, was happiness, for Annele showed a degree of gentleness that no one had ever suspected she possessed. Even Pilgrim came one day to Lenz and said:—"Some men are happy when they see how wise they have been; I rejoice that I have been a fool."
"Really? on what subject?"
"No one can understand a young girl's disposition. I do think that in Annele's character, there is something that can make you entirely happy. It is, perhaps, fortunate that she is not so tender hearted as you."
"I thank you, Pilgrim; I am truly glad that you think so," cried Lenz, and the two friends grasped each other's hands affectionately.
CHAPTER XXI.
A GAY WEDDING,—AND A HARD NUT TO CRACK.
Lenz of the Morgenhalde is going to be married to Annele of the "Golden Lion!" This report quickly spread through the whole valley, and far beyond it, and often in the same house first Annele was discussed and then Lenz, for their names were not yet coupled together till after the wedding, when Annele of the "Golden Lion" will be called Lenz Annele.
There had been deep snow, and now the sky had cleared up, bringing genuine bright sledging weather, and from every hill and valley bells and cracking of whips resounded, and a hundred sledges at least were standing before the door of the "Golden Lion" on the wedding morning; every stall had its share of strange company, and many a solitary cow could not comprehend how it came to pass, that a pair of such handsome horses should suddenly come to pay her a visit. To be sure a cow passing the winter in retirement, is not likely to know what is going on in the world, but men know all about it; an event is about to take place of no small importance in the village, and even bedridden old women never rest till they are dressed, and able to sit at the window, though they live far from the highroad, so that they can see nothing, and can only catch distant sounds of the bells on the horses' necks, and the cracking of whips.
Ernestine, the grocer's wife, had been helping for several days before the wedding in the "Lion." She would not show any symptoms of displeasure at not being particularly visited or invited; the head of the family was celebrating a feast, and all its branches must rally round their chief.
Ernestine had left her children in a neighbour's house; her husband in the mean time was to keep house, attend to the shop, and dress his food, as best he could: when the "Golden Lion" sends forth a summons no one can stand on their rights.
Ernestine knew every nook and corner of the house, and gave everyone what they wanted in a moment; she had unlimited authority both in kitchen and cellar, and exulted in her own importance. On the wedding morning Annele dressed herself, for she had no particular friend to assist her.
Lenz would have preferred, from his retiring disposition, to have had a very quiet wedding; but Annele was right in saying:—"I am quite aware of what you would have preferred; but it is our duty to our neighbours to provide some pleasure for them also, and we have only one wedding day in our lives. Year after year we have plague enough from these people, let us give them an opportunity of showing their gratitude to us. There are very few weddings during the year in the whole country that we do not attend, and take gifts with us. Two thousand gulden would not cover what we have laid out on such occasions. It is but fair that the neighbours should give in their turn. I don't want to gain by my wedding; I shall be quite satisfied if we get back the half of what we sent in this way."
And in truth the marriage gifts were very valuable, both in money and in money's worth. They were not satisfied with one day, but the marriage feast continued during two whole days; one day for friends and relations, and the other for strangers.
On the wedding morning Pilgrim arrived with his hair well oiled, and a bunch of rosemary tied with a ribbon in the button hole of his coat, and he said:—"I bring you no wedding present."
"You have already given me enough: the portrait of my mother."
"Oh! that does not count; I know very well what I ought to do, but I cannot. No, Lenz. I have given myself something, however, on the occasion of your marriage. See here! with this paper I am like Siegfried, whom you and I have read of: I have now a skin of callous horn, which nothing can pierce."
"What is it?"
"It is a bond which secures to me a hundred gulden annually, from the age of sixty; and till then I shall manage to get through; and then, when I can no longer live alone, you must give me an attic in your house, and a warm corner behind your stove, where I can play with your grandchildren, and make drawings for them, which they are sure to be pleased with. It cost me a good deal to make the first payment, and no wonder, for though I can gain my livelihood, I have nothing to spare. So I hit upon a good plan: for a whole year I gave up my breakfast,—the Landlord of the 'Lion,' I think, suspected that my dinner and breakfast were combined,—and in this way I contrived to get the money. I intend to give up my dinner presently. It would be a very good idea, in this way by degrees to close gently all the shutters,—and then, good night, world!"
While talking thus, he was assisting Lenz to dress in an entirely new suit of clothes. Lenz thanked his friend for telling him his scheme, and reminded him that all the members of the annuity society formed one family, with the sole exception of not wishing each other joy on their birthday, and that not from any negligence or ill will, but merely because they were not acquainted with each other.
Pilgrim had in his head all the statistics of the Annuity Society, and he began detailing them, to prevent Lenz giving way to emotion.
When Lenz was dressed in his bridal attire, Petrowitsch came of his own accord to act as best man. He said, with a mysterious face—"You will get no marriage present from me, Lenz; you know why; but it shall be made up to you some day." With this bait, and hint that Lenz was to be his chief heir,—which, however, he never said plainly—Petrowitsch became, of course, the most highly considered person at the marriage festivities. This was just what he liked; to sit in the place of honour, with all the others flocking round him, and yet to have the agreeable consciousness, "I have the keys of my house in my pocket, and my fireproof money-box safe at home." This was quite characteristic of the man. Two such festive days were a grand break, in the midst of the monotony of the winter season.
The Landlord of the "Lion" carried his apostolic head even higher than usual on this occasion, and stroked with dignity his newly shaved chin.
Music, and firing, and shouting, resounded in the bright wintry morning, as the wedding party were going to church, which could not contain all the curious and sympathizing crowd. There was, besides, as great a collection of people round the church door, as within the sacred building. The Pastor gave an appropriate exhortation, not resembling a public store of uniforms for recruits, supposed to fit all chance comers, but made to measure. He spoke most impressively on family respectability, and on the honour of the husband and the wife being identical. Children inherit the good name of their parents, but when they turn out badly, the parents are free from blame in the sight of God and man,—they did their best, they could do no more. The children of disreputable parents may attain respectability by their own efforts,—they have their life before them. The brother shares the honour of his brother, but he can leave him, and pursue his own path. But the honour of married people is different: here they are, in the purest sense of the word, one flesh; here harmony is a mutual object. When the one aspires to honour at the cost of the other, nothing can ensue but discord, disunion, and death. It is a holy and wise ordinance that the woman, though she preserves her baptismal name, receives a new family name from her husband. She adopts the man's name, and the man's honour. The Pastor commended the good qualities of the couple now standing before the altar, though Lenz came in for the largest share of praise; but Annele too had a fair portion; and he reminded them that no man living had any cause to be proud of his good qualities; that the slow and the quick should mutually esteem and regard each other; that marriage was not only according to the law of the land—a mere community of temporal goods,—but still more according to the law of God—a community of spiritual good, where mine and thine cease, and where every possession is called ours, and not only ours, but as belonging to the world at large, and, above all, to God.
Under cover of generalities, and yet easily applicable to the young couple, the Pastor gave utterance to the anxious wish of their mutual friends, that two persons so unlike in disposition, and in worldly occupations, might live henceforth in peaceful and happy union together.
Pilgrim, who was sitting with the singers in the gallery, nodded to the leader of the choir, who nodded back significantly. Faller did not once look up; he pressed his hand to his eyes, and thought, "It was thus I spoke myself to Annele; who knows what she would say to our Pastor, if she dared speak! But I pray thee, good Lord! who once performed so many miracles on this earth, do this one more,—implant good thoughts in her heart, and place good words on her lips, for my excellent Lenz, the most admirable—"
No voice sounded louder than that of Faller when he joined in the hymn, after the ceremony was over. The leader of the choir made him a sign to moderate his deep bass voice, for the tenor was very weak, and Lenz's voice was wanting; but Faller utterly refused to suppress his tones, which fairly overpowered both the organ and his fellow-singers, in the hymn, "Oh Lord, bless this bond!"
When the wedding was over, the women who were so fortunate as to see and hear the ceremony, had plenty to talk about when they left the church. Never before had the bridegroom been heard sobbing audibly; no man had ever done such a thing till now. To be sure, the Pastor had spoken in a most touching way, especially when he had alluded to Lenz's mother, and implored her blessing, which had caused Lenz to sob so violently that they really thought he must have fallen down, and all present had cried along with him; indeed, those who were talking of it had cried too; they had come to attend the marriage, and had a right to have a share of all that was going, whether it was crying or rejoicing. The men said to the strangers present—"No other village can have a more admirable Pastor than ours! His words come out so smoothly and glibly, and not stiff or precise; just as if he wished to discuss the matter quietly with us all. Oh, yes! our Pastor! few like him!"
Neither men nor women made any allusion, however, to the matter of the exhortation.
When Lenz left the church, escorted on one side by Petrowitsch, and on the other by the Landlord, Faller's mother came up to him, and said, "I have done what I intended—your mother's clothes have been in the church, and she could not have prayed from her heart for you more earnestly than I did."
Lenz could not answer, for the Landlord reproved the old woman for being the first to speak to the bridegroom,—although he condemned the foolish superstition, that saw an evil omen in being addressed by an old woman first; but, however, he called forward a handsome young lad to give Lenz his hand first.
From this moment, however, all was gaiety and merriment. It was not easy to believe that any one present had shed a single tear.
Lenz now shook hands with his sisters-in-law, and then with their husbands, in the back parlour. The Doctor, too, and his daughters came,—and very kind it was in them to come,—one after another came in and went out, wishing the young couple joy; while Annele sat in a chair, with a white handkerchief pressed to her eyes; and Lenz said, "I could not help crying so much, but you know for all that how happy I am; and we will remember to keep our honour one and the same, and, with the help of God, we shall preserve it entire. And when I see what a family you connect me with, I can never forget it. And, please God! these shall be the last tears we ever shed together. Take off your gloves, dear Annele, I have none."
Annele shook her head, but said nothing.
Dinner! dinner! dinner! was called out three times, and certainly people seemed to eat threefold. There was only one person who complained, "I can't eat, I cant swallow a single mouthful; it is a sad pity when there are so many good things before me; but I can't!" and this was Franzl.
Even before every one had dined, dancing had begun in the room above, and the bride and bridegroom went backwards and forwards from the dancing room to the dinner table.
"It is too bad in the Techniker to come to my wedding," said Annele to Lenz, on the stairs. "No one invited him; pray don't speak to him."
"Oh, never mind him! I wish to see no one dissatisfied to-day," said Lenz, kindly. "I am only vexed that Faller is not here. I sent a messenger to him, but I see he is not come."
Pilgrim danced the first dance with Annele, who said to him, "You are a first-rate dancer."
"But not a first-rate painter, you think?"
"I never said so."
"At all events, you won't be painted by me; and yet I had rather a fancy to-day to take your portrait. Besides, I don't think you would be easy to take: you are pretty so long as you are talking, but when you are silent there is something in your face I don't like. I can't say what it is."
"If you could only paint as well as you can chatter!"
"Well! well! you shall never be painted by me!
"I have no wish to go down to posterity painted by you," said Annele, who soon recovered her good humour.
The bridal pair were summoned to the lower room, where the most respectable of the connexions had assembled round Petrowitsch. They wished him to declare distinctly what sum he intended to bequeath to Lenz. Don Bastian, Pilgrim's cunning landlord, was the principal speaker. He had a good opportunity of larding his shabby wedding gift with another man's bacon, and he drove Petrowitsch into such a corner, that he could scarcely slip through his fingers. The blacksmith, who valued himself on being Lenz's only neighbour,—he lived about a mile from him, but his house was the only one to be seen from the Morgenhalde,—had been a schoolfellow of Petrowitsch, and knew how to put him into good humour, by recalling old times.
The Landlady thought that the presence of the young couple might do good, so she had sent for them. When they joined the circle, Petrowitsch, who was by this time at his wit's end, said—"Here is Lenz; he knows what my intentions are. In our family we don't send the public crier about to announce our affairs. You know, Lenz, how we stand, don't you?"
"Certainly, uncle," said Lenz.
"Now, I am not going to say one word more on the subject!" cried Petrowitsch, impatiently starting up. He was in mortal fear lest any one, his old schoolfellow the blacksmith especially, should discover that this was his sixty-fifth birthday, in which case he would no doubt have been congratulated on all sides, and been obliged to pay for their good wishes by making some settlement on his nephew. He pushed his way through the circle out of the room. Büble, who followed closely at his heels, howled loudly, having received a hearty kick from some invisible foot.
Lenz looked after his retreating uncle, rather disconcerted, for he felt he had not perhaps acted very prudently in helping him out of his dilemma. Petrowitsch might possibly have been induced to say something decided, and now all hope of such a thing was at an end.
But Lenz soon dismissed all such thoughts from his mind, and was as gay as possible the whole evening. Those relations who lived at a distance had already gone away. It was now time for Lenz and Annele to go home, as it is customary for a bridal pair to arrive in their own house before midnight; and Lenz said, "Annele, you were quite right; how vexed I am now that there is no carriage road to our home. Be sure you wrap yourself well up."
"You will see many a time yet that I am right in most things," said Annele.
Pilgrim had arranged the procession very artistically. The musicians went in front, and two torchbearers behind the young couple; and a number of children brought up the rear, carrying the handsomest of the wedding presents,—china, glass, trays and goblets,—and burning pine torches. When they began to ascend the hill the procession became less orderly, for they were obliged to go one by one. Lenz said to Annele, "Go on in front; I like you to take precedence in everything."
At last they reached Lenz's house at the top of the hill. The bridal gifts were delivered up, the musicians played a merry dance, and three loud shouts were given in honour of the happy pair. Then the music was heard dying away down the hill into the valley.
"We are in heaven, and know that men on earth below are rejoicing over us," said Lenz.
"I had no idea that you could talk in this way," said Annele. "How hushed and quiet it seems here all at once!"
"Wait a minute; I can welcome you with melody, and, Heaven be praised I it is for you and me alone." He wound up a large musical clock, and it played Beethoven's "Calm of the ocean!" It continued to play for long and long, and all was still in the house.