YOUNG HEARTS AFTER A WEDDING.
Lenz sat at home and worked untiringly. By great good fortune the
weight-maker of Knuslingen had found a purchaser for the smaller work,
which was nearly finished. He worked at its completion with real
pleasure, and at the same time set things in train for beginning the
new clock that the landlord had as good as ordered. He often thought,
as he sat working so happily: What need have I of marrying? In fact, I
ought not to marry. My head and heart are so full of my art, there is
no room left in them for wife and children.
Pilgrim had resumed his former pet project of devising some new
patterns of clock-cases, and devoted all his evenings to it, as he
could not spare the time from his working-hours. Thus the friends met
but seldom, especially as Lenz no longer went to the rehearsals of the
Liederkranz.
Faller's marriage at length induced him to come down into the village.
The good fellow gave the author of his happiness no peace until he
consented, in spite of his mourning, to go to the church. The services
at the house were very quiet, with neither guests nor music; for, as
the bridegroom said, he would wait and invite his guests when he had
some money, and music he could make for himself.
At the house Lenz had to submit to the warmest praises and thanks for
all he had done. "If you are married soon," said the old dame,--"as God
grant you may be,--I will wear your mother's clothes to church. I am
not ashamed to wear them; on the contrary, it is an honor, as every one
tells me."
"And I have a good bed," said Faller, his deep voice sounding almost
ludicrous with emotion. "O Lenz, I hardly pray for myself to-day; I
pray the Lord God for you. May he keep you from danger; but, if you
ever do fall into great peril, may I be the one to rescue you! I long
to turn round to the congregation in church and say, 'Behold, by God's
help I stand here; but he helped me through my friend, on whom and on
whose parents in heaven I pray the Lord's blessing.' You must be happy
yourself, Lenz, for you have made a whole household happy."
The strong, resolute Faller fell to twirling his formidable mustache;
he could say no more. Lenz was almost more an object of respect at the
house than the young couple themselves, and was relieved when the party
adjourned to the church.
The Liederkranz was there, and sang beautifully, though perceptibly
weakened by the absence of the two best voices, Faller's and Lenz's.
The whole village--certainly all the women, married and single--were
present at the wedding. The married were glad to hear the solemn
service read again, and the unmarried tried to imagine how it would
seem when their turn came, as they hoped it soon would. The matrons
wept, while the maidens cast curious glances about the church. If Lenz
had looked up, he would have found himself the centre of many eyes. He
separated from the bridal party after the ceremony and took his lonely
way homeward. At the churchyard gate stood Katharine, the bailiff's
daughter, with a nice-looking young man, dressed like one of the
peasants from the neighboring valley. She greeted Lenz as he passed,
and blushed under his earnest gaze. The next moment he raised his hat
politely to the doctor's eldest daughters, who were picking their way
through the wet streets, showing their pretty laced boots.
"We thought you had gone on a journey," said Bertha, the bolder of the
two sisters.
"No, I have been all the time at home," answered Lenz.
"So have we," retorted Bertha. Lenz was silent.
"Are you engaged upon any new work?" asked Amanda.
"On a new and an old one too. Our work never ceases."
"Is not such constant labor a severe strain upon you?" Amanda asked
again.
"Oh no; I don't know what I should do without it."
"You clockmakers," said Bertha, archly, "are like your clocks, always
wound up."
"And you are a key to wind us up," replied Lenz, inconsiderately. It
was not what he had meant to say; but the right words would not come.
"I am glad you pay her back in her own coin, Mr. Lenz," said Amanda.
"Our ways part here; we must say good by."
"Perhaps Mr. Lenz is going in our direction," ventured Bertha. "Were
you not going to Pilgrim's?"
Lenz felt his heart beat. He wanted to say yes; he wanted to say he was
going to Pilgrim's; but involuntarily, almost in fear and trembling, he
said, "No, I am going home. Good by!"
"Good by!"
Lenz breathed hard as he went up the hill. He would turn back; who
knows what might come of it? He could still overtake them; they were at
the Lion by this time; now they must be at the churchyard wall. But all
the while he kept steadily on, and, reaching home with a beating heart,
fled as for safety into the house. Fled? from what? He knew not what.
He was not himself to-day; he was uneasy and dissatisfied as he had
never been before.
In the evening he changed his dress and went into the village, meaning
to call on Pilgrim or the doctor, who had long ago invited him. Pilgrim
was not at home, and he stood long at the doctor's door without daring
to pull the bell. He walked up and down before the house, hoping that
perhaps the doctor would come out, recognize him, and invite him in;
but neither he nor any of his family appeared. Don Bastian came down
the road. Like a thief who hears the pursuer on his track, Lenz fled to
the village. There he felt easier, and rejoiced to see a house door
standing open. In the Lion he would find refuge. At least one quiet
place was left in the world,--a place where there were chairs to sit
down on, and tables to eat at, and persons who did not make his heart
beat as if it would burst his bosom, but were calm and quiet; and here
comes the calmest and quietest of them all and gives him a kindly
welcome.