FOR THE SAKE OF THE CHILD.
Night had followed morning, and morning turned into night, on this day
like the previous one. The worthy Pastor required to exercise all his
quiet self command, not to give way to the most feverish feelings of
distress and anxiety; but just in the same way that he had resisted
allowing the alarm bell to be rung except in the greatest extremity, so
he now restrained his own feelings. He stood long looking out of the
window. In the dead of night the ticking of the pendulum of the church
clock was distinctly heard, and the heart of the anxious Pastor
vibrated in unison with the swinging pendulum. He had learned the
difficult art, in the midst of all the heartfelt sorrow and uneasiness
he so keenly felt, to maintain the most perfect outward composure, and
to subdue every symptom of passion: even the noblest of all--that of
sympathy for others.
While all those who had remained behind in the village forced
themselves to go to work, or sought to divert their thoughts by
conversing with each other, and keeping themselves awake by sharing
their uneasiness, the Pastor sat alone in his room, looking out of the
window, apparently without emotion or noticing any object--and yet his
inward agitation and excitement were great. The villagers, well
acquainted with this habit of his, declared that at such moments the
Pastor preached a silent sermon to himself; the Pastorin, however, had
confided to her father, and to no one else in the world, that on these
occasions the Pastor was composing poems, so tender and so aerial that
solid words were too substantial for them, and he was content to
breathe out his words and thoughts, though he neither wished nor tried
to preserve them, by writing down his conceptions. Thus, when the poor
child was found frozen to death, in the neighbouring village of Wenger,
he had repeated, almost unconsciously, aloud, the words that are now
inscribed on his tomb, and they had no little difficulty in persuading
him to allow them to be written down, and sent to his brother clergyman
at Wenger. Often, however, it was a poem, a deep thought from the
kindred soul of another, or a melody of his favourite master, Mozart,
that the Pastor repeated to himself at such hours, with all sorts of
imaginary variations; and when he had held this silent intercourse with
himself--the Pastorin called this his supernatural existence--he then
went forth into the world, with a kind and consoling word for every one
who needed it, and a degree of holiness an faith, strength and power,
visible to all men. Thus he sat on this evening absorbed in a reverie.
The strokes of the clock were heard striking slowly from the church
tower, proclaiming on hour after another; they go on striking, by day
and by night, in joy or in sorrow--they sound on, and on, and loudly
say: "Another space of time gone for ever--lost in Eternity!"
"We have found him," was the cry he suddenly heard in the streets, as
the sound of a horn rung through the silent night, and the Pastor went
out to welcome back his brother-in-law.
When they were again in the sitting-room, Edward told how Joseph had
been found in the Forest Mill, with Adam's betrothed bride, Tony, He
did not stop to describe minutely the fierce rage of the ungovernable
Roettmaennin, he spoke with enthusiasm of the kind honest sympathy shown
by all the villagers:--
"These men," said he, "possess nothing but their lives, and their sound
limbs, to enable them to struggle on through life, and yet with the
utmost decision and confidence, as if it could not be otherwise, they,
every one, exposed themselves to danger in order to save a lost child;
this proved to me, dear brother, that your heart lived in all these
men--you were at home, and yet they all came with us. I cannot but
think that it must be a severe trial to you to leave such people."
The Pastor answered nothing; neither in assent or dissent, and the
Pastorin asked:--
"So the Forest Miller's Tony has given up Adam? Heaven be praised for
that! She has a pure and true heart, and is sure to do well in the
world. Why did you not bring her with you to the village? I wish you
had brought her here to me, Edward. She stands in great need of some
one to interpose between her and her stepmother, and also the fierce
old Roettmaennin."
Edward did not say a syllable, but he breathed hard; in the mean time
the Paster rejoined:--
"Don't be uneasy about Tony, she is wood of a fine and solid grain, and
we cannot avert from others the consequences of their own actions,
either for good or evil. They who have courage enough to do a deed,
have also courage enough to endure its consequences, and ought to have
it."
Edward looked up more cheerfully, but his cheeks glowed, and his
sister, on seeing this, said:--"You are quite feverish--do go and lie
down, and I will bring you a cup of tea when you are in bed."
Edward was very reluctant to follow this advice, and yet he felt quite
dizzy; he had gone through more than he cared at this moment to
confess. There was a knock at the door:--
"Come in," cried the Pastorin, but as there was an evident hesitation
in doing so, she opened the door herself, and in came Speidel-Roettmann,
Schilder-David and his wife, and, behind them, Adam and Martina.
"Herr Pastor," said Schilder-David, stepping forward, "God has helped
us wonderfully; we hope you will give us further aid, and speedily too,
that all things may be done in order."
"What do you wish me to do?"
"Speak yourself;" and David drew back, jogging Speidel-Roettmann's arm.
"What I want," began the latter, repeatedly stroking his closely
cropped head with his hand, as if wishing to give a token of respect by
pulling off an imaginary hat--"What I want, and I have not a word to
say against it, is that the Herr Pastor should marry Adam to Martina
this afternoon."
"Oh! that is delightful!" exclaimed the Pastorin, while Adam came
forward, holding Martina's hand, and said--
"Yes, Herr Pastor, we earnestly beg you will."
"Yes, we humbly beg it," repeated Martina, in a low voice.
"Gently, gently," said the Pastor, in an authoritative tone, "you two
young people, follow me to my room."
He went first, and the two followed him.
"Sit down," said the Pastor, when they were in his study--then he
continued: "Adam, probably because you are the richest man in all the
country, and can help yourself out of a full purse, without even
thinking. What will it cost? you may imagine that whatever you choose
can be done at once; you are proud of your strength, because you can
knock down a horse, or kill a wolf with your stick: do you suppose that
you are, therefore, entitled to imagine that where you are concerned,
there are no laws or sacred injunctions, that cannot be abrogated when
you wish it?"--
The Pastor paused, and Adam began--
"Herr Pastor! no one in the world knows me as I really am--neither my
father, nor my mother--no one but my Martina. You, Herr Pastor, do know
something of me; but not everything. What you have just said is very
true; I have been a wild fellow; always ready to hit every man--a word
and a blow; and I fear it is true, that I had not, hitherto, entirely
subdued this wild fellow within me; but, Herr Pastor, he is now down
for ever, and you and my Martina ... only give me some penance to
perform; I will submit cheerfully, for I deserve it. Desire me to hack
off my fingers, that I may become as weak as a child, and I will not
shrink from it."
Adam's emotion was so great that he could not say another word, and the
Pastor resumed--
"The law is, that you must be proclaimed three Sundays following."
"Is it not enough that the perils of my child made my blood run cold in
my veins? Tell me what to do, Herr Pastor, and I will do it."
"Oh! Herr Pastor," entreated Martina; "have we not been punished
severely enough? Have we not repented long enough?"
"No! you conducted yourself very properly during your long trial, but
your sin was no light one. It shall never be said that those who once
set the law at defiance, shall do the same now."
"If we cannot help ourselves, we must submit, I suppose," said Adam.
Martina could not speak for tears. The Pastor let her remain for a time
quiet, and then said:--
"Come with me to the next room."
"Is it all arranged?" asked the Pastorin.
Adam and Martina shook their heads, and Speidel-Roettmann came forward
and said, "Herr Pastor, is it on account of the banns?"
"Yes, yes," answered Adam.
"If that is all," said Speidel-Roettmann with an air of importance,
"Herr Pastor, I am willing to pay the fine it will cost."
"Truly, if rich farmers could smooth all obstacles with their money,
there would be little difficulty for them in this world; but, Master
Roettmann, there are some things which even your ten horses could not
move from the spot. Has your wife given her consent?"
"Haespele declares she has," interrupted Edward. "He will be here
presently."
Adam hurried away and brought Haespele back with him; he came in a great
fright, and when the Pastor appealed to his conscience to say whether
the Roettmaennin had really given her consent, he said at length, after
biting his lips till the blood came, "No, she did not."
"Very well then," said the Pastor; "I will on my own responsibility
undertake to marry you, even without the Roettmaennin's consent; but now
I have something to say to you. Neither your pride, Adam, nor your
humility--and I believe in your sincerity, and hope I shall have reason
to do so henceforth--nor your swaggering, Speidel-Roettmann, as to
paying the fine, but----"
"For the sake of little Joseph," the Pastorin could not help saying:
"you give in on account of the boy. He is a precocious child. What
would he think, if he heard that the banns of his parents were only
published now? What battles he would have with his companions, and who
knows what poisonous drops might fall into his heart, and what evil
might be produced by them hereafter?"
"Exactly so," said the Pastor; "the child is now asleep, and utterly
unconscious of all the perplexities and disorders of this wicked world;
he has been in danger of death, and miraculously saved in search of his
father, who proved himself a weak person, in spite of his strength; and
his grandfather, who hitherto believed that everything could be
purchased with money. So for little Joseph's sake I will marry you this
night."
Martina rushed up to the Pastor, and knelt down and kissed his hand;
Adam would evidently have gladly done the same, but in spite of his
humility he could not quite bring himself to kneel yet; he only laid
his hand on Martina's head, as if to testify that she was kneeling for
him also.
All was still in the room, and the Pastor ended by saying, "We shall
see each other again in church," and then went into his study. The
Parsonage soon resumed its usual quiet aspect, but even before the
wedding party left it, the news ran like wildfire from house to house
in the village. "Adam and Martina are to be married to-night. Leegart
said they would beforehand."