A MORNING GIFT.
"I wish we had another wedding-feast to-day, don't you, darling
Annele."
"No; why do you wish that?"
"Because my agitation yesterday destroyed great part of my pleasure in
our wedding gaieties; but today I feel in such a happy mood; I feel as
if I were invited to a wedding."
"You are a strange creature!" said Annele, with a smile.
"I must not forget, however," said Lenz, starting up, "that I have
something to give you. Wait a moment."
He went to the next room, and remained there some time.
"What is he going to give me? No doubt it occurred to him that it is
customary to present one's bride with a nice gold chain, or earrings.
But then he ought to have done that yesterday: why today?" Annele had
plenty of time to think it over. At last Lenz came back, and said--"At
last I have found it; I had mislaid it. Here is my beloved mother's
garnet necklace; they are good old fashioned stones, and they will look
so well round your pretty throat. Come! try it on."
"No, Lenz; garnets are quite old fashioned; I can't wear them; besides,
they scratch my throat. As I can't wear them, I will exchange them at
some jeweller's."
"No, you must not do that."
"Just as you choose. But what can be your objection? What have you
there besides?"
"What I would give to no living creature but you. It belonged to my
poor mother. It is of no value, but still it has a charm attached to
it."
"Well, show me this wonder."
"Here it is; look at it."
"What is it?"
"This is Edelweiss, a little plant that grows under the snow. Read what
my mother wrote on the paper in which it is folded."
"I can't read it, the writing is so bad."
Lenz winced at this remark, though Annele only followed the custom of
the country in calling an indistinct hand bad writing. She continued:
"Read it to me yourself."
Lenz read aloud:--"This is a plant of Edelweiss, which grew on one of
the highest mountains in Switzerland, under the snow. My husband found
it himself, and thought of me when he saw it, so he brought it home
with him from his wanderings, and gave it to me on our wedding day. I
wish it to be placed in my hand when I am laid in the earth. If,
however, this is overlooked or forgotten, my son is to give it to his
wife the day after their marriage; and, so long as she preserves it
carefully, it will bring a blessing with it, though it has no magic
properties. This plant is named Edelweiss.--MARIE LENZIN."
When Lenz had finished reading the paper he said:--"Does it not go to
your heart to hear the dead thus speak? Don't be agitated, but be gay
and happy. She liked every one to be gay and happy, and was always
cheerful herself, though she had known so much sorrow."
Annele smiled, and laid the plant, wrapped in paper, beside the row of
garnets.
The young people talked to each other so long, that at last a message
came from the "Golden Lion," that they were to make haste, as a great
many guests had arrived.
Franzl made a very awkward lady's maid. Lenz was obliged to go himself
first to the "Lion," to send one of the maids there to Annele. He said,
also, that he would take the opportunity to go to Faller's, and press
him to come to the "Lion" to-day. He must positively come, and Annele
must be kind to him, and forget if he had said anything disagreeable.
Annele said: "Yes, yes; only go along, and send me Margaret as quick as
you can; or Ernestine, which would be still better."
At last Annele appeared in her parents' house. The mother rushed up to
her, and hugged her, as if she had not seen her for a whole year, and
Annele was as gentle and respectful, as if she had never said one cross
word to her mother in all her life.
In the back parlour, however, when she and her mother were alone,
Annele said that Lenz had given her, a bridal present, an old string of
garnets, and a withered plant; and she really could not bear to show
herself among all her friends without a gold chain. "He is a skinflint;
a poor stingy bit of a clockmaker!" said Annele, indignantly.
The mother showed her good sense--and if that had been the only white
lie she ever uttered she would have been snow white when she got to
heaven--by saying: "Annele, he is certainly not covetous; he never
asked a question about your marriage portion, never gave a hint on the
subject; and he is far from stupid, believe me. He is, in fact, rather
too shrewd. Last night a travelling jeweller from Pforzheim came here
with a large, well filled box. I saw at once that Lenz had desired him
to come. He will choose for you what takes his fancy most." The mother
knew that Annele did not believe this invention of hers, and Annele
knew that her mother did not consider her such a fool as to credit such
a fable. They both affected, however, to believe that they were
mutually truthful, and the result was very happy.
Lenz was absent for some little time. He was standing beside Ernestine
on the dark steps of the cellar. Presently he returned, and, exactly as
her mother had predicted, he brought Annele a gold chain from the
pedlar, who was in the house. To allow her to choose for herself--to
say, "My darling, what do you like best?"--never occurred to him, in
spite of many hints; so he did not receive many thanks for his dilatory
present.
Annele, however, was soon as lively and gay as was expected. A
landlord's daughter must always be merry and good-humoured, and
anything that occurs in the back parlour of the family, does not extend
to the public room.
If there had been numbers of carriages yesterday, there was a vast
number more to-day, for all the innkeepers far and near arrived, with
ringing bells round the necks of their handsome well fed horses. On
such an occasion, it is but proper that people should show who they
are, and what they have. The various landlords, and their wives and
daughters, went about as proud of their possessions, as if they had
brought their houses on their backs. Every glance seemed to say, "At
home I have everything just the same, and, though I may not be as rich
as the Landlord of the 'Golden Lion,' still I have every reason to be
satisfied."
There were fine greetings, and friendly speeches, and thanks
innumerable for handsome presents!--"Oh! that is really too much! No!
this is far too handsome! No one but the Landlady of the 'Bear' would
ever have thought of such a thing!" And then--"No one has so much taste
as the Landlady of the 'Eagle.'--And the Landlady of the 'Angel'--I do
hope we may one day act as handsomely, though we can scarcely hope to
equal this!" It was truly marvellous, to hear the many hundred clever
little speeches Annele made. Lenz was sometimes standing beside her,
but he could not bring out a single word. Those who did not know him,
thought him shy and simple; but he had a great aversion to this giving
and accepting of presents, and all the fine speeches it entailed.
It was now the turn of the poor clockmakers, tributaries of the
Landlord, whom he kept well under his thumb, and whose work he bought,
to send off to distant countries. Annele took no notice of them, but
they addressed Lenz respectfully, and expressed their great
satisfaction that a clockmaker had now become the son-in-law of the
Landlord of the "Lion." Many hoped, on this account, to get better
terms from the Landlord, and others asked Lenz direct if he intended to
give up his business, and to become a partner in the Inn. They smiled
when Lenz declared he meant to remain just what he always had been.
When these poor people, who even by their daily labour of fourteen
hours, could only manage to live at all by the most extraordinary
frugality and self-denial, and who looked thin and ill,--when even
these worthy people, thought it indispensable to thrust their
half-gulden pieces, and even smaller coin into Lenz's hand, as their
bridal gifts, he felt as if he were handling burning coals. He would
gladly have given back the money to the poor people, but he dared not
offend them. He mentioned this feeling to Annele, when he could succeed
in speaking to her for a moment.
She looked at him in surprise, and said, shaking her head: "My father
is right,--you are no man of business. You can work and gain your
own living, but you don't understand letting others work for your
advantage. You are too fond of asking, 'How does so and so get on?' and
that is no use. We must all drive straight on in this world, and never
stop to inquire who it is that we pass on the road barefooted. But this
is not the moment to lecture you. Oh! here comes the dear Landlady of
the 'Lamb!' Better late than never! Though last, not least! I have been
thinking of you all day, and only a few moments since I said to my
mother: What can have become of that excellent Landlady of the 'Lamb,'
from Edelshof? Half my pleasure would have been destroyed if you had
not come to my wedding-feast! I suppose this is your daughter-in-law?
Where is her husband?"
"He is still below with the horses. We scarcely know how to find stable
room today."
"Yes; I am thankful to say we have many kind friends. On such a day as
this, we find out how full the world is of well wishers and friends.
Lenz, conduct the Landlady of the 'Lamb' to the upper table--I have
kept one of the best seats for her there." And then Annele went on to
welcome others.
It was only a passing hint, but still Lenz did not at all like Annele
reproaching him already with thinking too much about others; and yet he
was obliged inwardly to confess that it was true; and that for this
very reason he was less energetic than his neighbours, and considered
less shrewd than he really was. A single word or animadversion would
dwell in his thoughts for days--he could not help brooding over it. At
this very moment he thought--"Most men are far wiser than I am: they
live for themselves, they clutch what they can get, and never ask how
others fare. I must learn to do this also, and then we shall get on
well together."
Lenz stood for a while absorbed in these thoughts like a stranger, as
if quite unconnected with all the house and rejoicings. Soon, however,
he was moving again among the throng, as the centre point of all,
according to the duty of the bridegroom.
The assemblage was very crowded, and yet it was pleasant to see so many
persons collected together, to rejoice in the good fortune of one happy
couple. They were all so merry, that toward evening, when the guests
wished to drive home, the Landlord had prepared a practical joke,
having ordered Gregor to unfasten, and to hide the poles and shafts of
all the sledges; so the worthy guests could not get away, and were
forced to remain till long after midnight; but they consoled themselves
with one accord, by the fact that the moon rose at midnight. The poor
clockmakers were not detained, but some were anxious to get home, or
they would lose another day's work; others, however, wished to receive
the value of their wedding presents, and sat eating and drinking, as if
they intended to satisfy their appetite for a year to come. Indeed,
from early morning till far on in the night, fresh provisions were
placed on the table--meat, and sausages, and sauerkraut without end.
Faller went about among the guests looking very stiff and awkward, but
was at last relieved by Ernestine coming to assist him in serving the
company. "I only do this for Lenz's sake," said he to himself, and he
would have liked to say this to every person to whom he brought
anything to eat. He scarcely ate or drank himself. When he was close to
Lenz once, he said to him--"I have not brought you any wedding gift; I
could not bear to give you little, and much I have not to give; but I
would gladly give you my life if you required it."
Lenz enjoined on his worthy friend to take care of himself, and said he
had now done enough for others. Just in good time he remembered that he
had intended to invite old Proebler. Faller offered to go and fetch him.
Old Proebler came, but he would not be persuaded to go into the public
room, as he had no Sunday suit; so Lenz gave him a dish heaped up with
meat, enough to last three days at least, and a good bottle of wine
into the bargain. The old man was so surprised, that he almost forgot
to offer his usual pinch of snuff; and all he said was, "I will bring
back the bottle." Lenz said he might keep it, which pleased old Proebler
immensely, and he quickly took himself off.
When Lenz and Annele were on their way home, morning was almost
breaking; and though the moon was up, it was again covered with heavy
clouds. On this occasion they were without either escort or torches.
Annele complained that it was frightfully dark, and that she was so
weary she could scarcely stand. "I ought to have stayed at home
to-night," said she.
"Home?--how do you mean? Your home is up on the hill there."
Annele was silent, and the two walked on together quietly for a time.
"Did you count the money we got today?" said Annele at last.
"No--I can do that at home. I know there must be a good deal, for it is
such a weight. It was lucky that your father lent me one of his empty
purses."
"What do you mean by empty purses? He has plenty full enough," said
Annele quickly.
"I neither inquired about that, nor even once thought about it."
She now pressed forward up the hill, so that Lenz might get home to
count the money. When they arrived he did so, but too slowly according
to her ideas, and she soon showed him that a landlord's daughter knew
better how to set about it. While she was counting, Lenz said:--"I take
a different view of the case. It is just as well that we should have
accepted presents from these poor people: it does them credit in the
eyes of others, and enables them, one and all, to accept assistance
from us in any difficulty without hesitation." Annele looked up at him
in the midst of her reckoning.
Lenz had always his own peculiar reasons for everything. He never
agreed to anything simply because it appeared to be so to others, but
delayed his assent till he was convinced himself of the fact, and then
he was thoroughly converted. Annele said nothing, but kept repeating
the number she had arrived at, for fear of forgetting it. There were
exactly one hundred and twenty gulden collected, deducting four bad
smaller coins. Annele railed violently at those unprincipled men, who
could deceive by giving base money. Lenz tried to pacify her by
saying--"Don't say that--perhaps they were poor men who had nothing
else to give," Annele's eyes flashed, and she replied testily:--"It
appears that you know everything, and that I know nothing."
"I did not in the least mean that. Don't be so hasty."
"I never was ill-tempered in my life, and you are the first person that
ever said so. Ask any one; and indeed you had pretty good proofs this
very day what people think of me."
"Yes, yes! it is surely no use our quarrelling on such a subject."
"I am not quarrelling; and I am sure I don't care what the sum is--if
it were only three farthings, it is all the same to me; but I don't
choose to be snubbed every word I say."
"Now do be less hasty, Franzl will really think we are quarrelling."
"She may think just what she pleases; and it is just as well to tell
you at once, that Franzl can't possibly stay in this house."
"You don't mean, I suppose, that she is to go tonight?"
"Not tonight, but either tomorrow or very soon."
"We will talk about it tomorrow; I am tired, and you said you were
tired also."
"Yes; but when people are unjust to me, and attack me, I no longer feel
tired. I have no idea of giving in."
"I neither attacked you nor wished to attack you. Remember what our
Pastor said:--our honour is the same."
"You need not repeat to me what our Pastor said; and I don't think it
was at all pleasant on his part, to preach as if he were reconciling
two people who had already been at strife."
"God forbid he should ever have cause to do that for us. We shall, I
trust, bear with each other, and live together in faithful love, both
in joy and sorrow, so long as we live, as my mother used to say."
"Yes; let us show the world that we know how to keep house."
"Shall I set the musical timepiece going?"
"No; we have had enough of turmoil today."
END OF VOL. II.
LONDON: PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, STAMFORD STREET,
AND CHARING CROSS.