A GREAT WEDDING WHICH LEAVES A BITTER TASTE BEHIND.
Lenz of the Morgenhalde is to be married! This is the wedding day of
Annele of the Lion! Through the whole valley and far beyond its limits
this was the one subject of conversation. The same household talked at
one time of Annele only, and then only of Lenz. Their names had not yet
been joined together. Not till the wedding was fairly over would Annele
of the Lion be called Annele Lenz.
The day was clear after a heavy fall of snow, and the sleighing
excellent. The jingling of bells and cracking of whips sounded from
every hill and valley. At least a hundred sleighs stood before the Lion
inn on the wedding morning. Strange horses were quartered in every
stall. Many a solitary cow was startled by a visit from a span of noble
horses. It is not for the like of a poor cow, shut up in her solitary
winter quarters, to know what is going on in the world; that privilege
is reserved for men. Such an event was indeed seldom witnessed in the
village. Even the sick old grandmothers who lived on side streets,
where they could see nothing and hear nothing but the whips and the
sleigh-bells, insisted on being dressed and set up at the window.
Ernestine, the shopkeeper's wife, had been at the Lion for days
beforehand helping on the preparations. This was no time to be
sensitive at not having been visited or specially invited. The great
house entertains, and the vassals must come of themselves.
Ernestine had left her children in charge of a neighbor and her husband
to see to the house, tend the shop, and do his own cooking while she
was away. When the Lion calls, no other duties must be regarded.
She knew all the arrangements of the house, and could put her hand on
whatever was wanted. She presided over kitchen and cellar, enjoying her
importance. The dressing of Annele, too, on the wedding morning, fell
to her share, as there was no more intimate friend to claim the right.
The Lion showed that day what a wide circle of friends and patrons it
had. The whole first-floor, running the entire width of the house, was
turned into a single hall. The partition walls, which were nothing but
boards, were taken down, so that the space was now really a great
market-place with a fire in it.
Lenz would naturally have preferred a quiet wedding, but Annele was
quite right in arranging otherwise. "I know what you would like," she
said; "but we have no right to deprive our acquaintances of their good
time. Besides, we are only married once in a lifetime. These people
give us trouble enough the year through, we ought to let them have a
chance to show their gratitude. Where is there a wedding anywhere about
that we don't carry presents? Two thousand florins is the least we have
spent in that way. Now let them give us a share. I ask no favors, only
to be paid back a portion of what is owed us."
The wedding presents were, indeed, rich and abundant, both in money and
in money's worth. Two days had to be given up to the marriage
festivities,--one for neighbors and relations, the second for more
distant acquaintances.
Pilgrim appeared at Lenz's house, on the wedding morning, with
well-sleeked hair, and a bunch of rosemary in his button-hole. "I bring
you no wedding present," he said.
"My mother's picture was present enough."
"That counts for nothing. I cannot do what I very well know custom
requires of me on such an occasion. The truth is, Lenz, I have made
myself a present on your wedding day. Do you see this paper? It makes
me like the Siegfried we used to read about. I am proof against all the
thrusts of fortune, with this hard shell about me."
"What is the paper?"
"It is an annuity. From my sixtieth year I begin to receive a hundred
florins annually, till which time I shall manage to scratch through.
When I am no longer able to live alone, you must fit up a little room
for me in your house,--a warm corner behind the stove, where I can play
with your grandchildren, and draw them pictures that to their eyes at
least will seem beautiful. I had to work hard to pay the first
instalment. My painting, stupidly enough, just gets me a living, with
not a copper over. So for the last year I have done without my
breakfast. The landlord noticed that I took my breakfast and dinner
together. In that way I saved up enough. By and by I shall get used to
doing without my dinner, and so on, by degrees, till I learn to do
without anything. It would be fine to put up the shutters one after
another, and with the last one, bid the world good night."
All the while he was talking, he had been helping Lenz on with his new
clothes,--spic and span new from head to foot. He thanked his friend
for making him, too, a family man; for, as he pleasantly explained, the
annuitants were members of the same household, only they did not keep
one another's birthdays. The omission proceeded from no ill will, but
simply from their not being acquainted. Pilgrim had all the statistics
of the matter at his tongue's end, and reeled them off for Lenz's
entertainment, for the sake of warding off any unnecessary excitement
or emotion on his friend's part.
When Lenz's toilet was made, came Petrovitsch, of his own free-will, to
escort him to the wedding. "You get no wedding present from me, Lenz,"
he said, with an expression of mystery and cunning on his face; "you
know the reason. You will have it in good time." By thus holding out
the hope that Lenz should be his heir, though he made no actual
promise, Petrovitsch secured for himself the place of chief importance
at the wedding festivities. He liked to be the central figure, with all
revolving about him, and enjoy the consciousness of having his keys in
his pocket, and his fire-proof safe at home. That was a pleasure after
his own heart. Two such merry days made a pleasant break, too, in the
winter's monotony.
Mine host wore his apostle's cap somewhat higher than usual to-day, and
was radiant with dignity as he walked to and fro, stroking his freshly
shaven chin.
The clear cold winter air rang with music and firing and shouting as
the bridal party walked to the church. The building could not hold
the numbers that interest and curiosity had brought together. As many
stood outside the church as in it. The minister preached a special
sermon,--not one taken from a book, that would suit one case as well as
another, but one adapted to this particular occasion. He laid great
stress upon the sanctity of the home, the mutual dignity of man and
wife. A child naturally inherits the virtues of its parents; but if he
turns out badly, the parents are justified before God and man if they
can say, We did our duty; the rest was not in our hands. A child of
depraved parents may work his way up to honor and respect; his life is
his own. The brother shares a brother's honorable name, but he may also
cut himself adrift from it. Not so with the honor of man and wife. They
are, in the truest sense, one flesh. Here should be perfect sympathy, a
single end and aim. Where either seeks his own advancement at the
expense of the other, there is discord, hell, eternal death. It is by a
righteous ordinance that the wife retains her baptismal name, while
receiving a new family name from her husband. She bears the husband's
name, the husband's honor. The minister praised the good qualities of
the two who now came before the altar. Lenz received the warmest
commendation, but Annele came in for a goodly share. Yet he warned them
not to think too highly of their peculiar merits. The quick and active
must prize and honor the slow; the slow, in the same way, the more
active. He reminded them that marriage was not merely a communion of
worldly goods, according to the laws of the land, but a communion of
spiritual gifts, according to the eternal laws of God; that all mine
and thine should cease, and everything be ours,--and yet not ours, but
the world's and God's.
In general observations, which were yet easy of personal application,
he gave a certain degree of expression to the anxiety felt by many of
those present with regard to the peaceful and perfect union of two
persons so unlike in nature and habits.
Pilgrim, who sat in the gallery among the singers, exchanged winks of
intelligence with the leader of the choir.
Faller kept his face hid in his hands, and did not look up. In the same
strain did I speak to Annele, he thought. Who knows what words she
would give the minister if she dared to speak! May God, who has worked
so many miracles in the world, work but this one more,--plant good
thoughts in her heart and put good words on her lips for Lenz, who is
so good and true!
No voice sounded louder than Faller's in the hymn that followed the
marriage service. The leader signed to him to moderate his bass, as the
tenor was weak without Lenz's support. But Faller was not to be
repressed. His deep, strong voice sounded above the organ and the
voices of all the other singers.
After the ceremony the women who had been so fortunate as to see and
hear had much to tell those outside. They described how the bridegroom
had wept,--harder than any man they ever heard. The minister had been
very touching, to be sure; especially when he called down a blessing
from Lenz's parents Lenz sobbed as if his heart would break, and the
whole congregation wept with him. At the recital the outsiders also
began to weep. They had come to the wedding too, and had as good a
right as the rest to all that went on, both the weeping and the
rejoicing.
"Has any village a curate like ours?" said the men to the visitors from
other parishes. "He speaks out so round and plain, and understands one
as if every secret had been disclosed to him." Neither men nor women
spoke of the personalities of the discourse.
As Lenz, with Petrovitsch on his right hand and the landlord on his
left, was leaving the church, he was addressed by Faller's old mother:
"I have kept my word, and worn your mother's clothes to the church. She
herself could not have prayed for you more fervently than I did."
Lenz's answer was cut short by the landlord scolding the old woman for
being the first to address the bridegroom. Though ridiculing the
superstition that there was bad luck in having the first greeting come
from an old woman, he called up a pretty boy, and made him be the first
to shake hands with Lenz.
From this moment all was merry-making. It was hard to believe that any
eye could have been dimmed by tears.
While Lenz in the little parlor shook hands with his new sisters, and
kissed and embraced his brothers-in-law, and the doctor came with his
daughters,--it was kind of them to come to the wedding,--and one person
after another passed in and out and offered congratulations, Annele sat
still in her chair, holding a fine white handkerchief pressed to her
eyes. "I could not help crying as I did," said Lenz; "you know how
happy I am. From this hour we will hold the one honor between us firm
and true, and, please God, it shall grow with us. I never shall forget
what a family you have brought me into. With God's blessing these shall
be the last tears we are to shed together. But take your gloves off; I
haven't any on."
Annele refused with a shake of her head, but gave no other answer.
Come to table! to table! to table! was called three times, and a
threefold appetite seemed to respond to the summons. Only Franzl kept
complaining that she could not eat, she could not swallow a morsel; it
was a shame when there were so many good things, but she could not.
Dancing began in the upper hall while the lunch was going on below, and
the bridal pair went to and fro between the tables and the dancers.
"It is abominable of the engineer to come to the wedding," said Annele,
as they were going up stairs; "he was not invited. Don't speak a word
to him."
"Never mind him," said Lenz, soothingly. "Let all be happy to-day. I am
only sorry Faller is not here. I sent for him, but he has not come."
Pilgrim danced the first dance with Annele. "You are a capital dancer,"
she said.
"But not so good a painter, you think?"
"I did not say so."
"Then I won't paint your portrait, though I have been thinking of it
to-day. After all, you have not a good face to paint. You are very
pretty when you talk, but when you are still there is a look I cannot
describe."
"Pity you can't use your brush as well as your tongue."
"Very good; you sha'n't have your picture painted by me. Paint--who is
it?--on the wall, and he is sure--?"
"I would not have you paint me for all the world," retorted Annele. She
had soon recovered her good spirits.
The bride and bridegroom were called down into the lower room, where
the chief members of the family, both men and women, were assembled
about Petrovitsch, trying to force him to some decided statement with
regard to the amount of property he would leave Lenz. Don Bastian,
Pilgrim's crafty landlord, was chief speaker. He was anxious to lard
his meagre marriage gift with another man's fat, and had succeeded in
driving Petrovitsch into a narrow corner from which escape seemed
impossible. The smith, who felt himself of importance as being Lenz's
only neighbor,--he lived really half an hour's walk off, but his house
was the only one that could be seen from the Morgenhalde,--had been a
playmate of Petrovitsch in his youth, and was warming his heart with
reminiscences of old times. The landlady thought nothing was wanting
but the presence of the bridal pair, and for that reason had sent for
them. "Good! there is Lenz," cried the hard-pressed Petrovitsch as the
young people entered the circle. "He knows what my intentions are. We
are not accustomed in our family to proclaim such things from the town
clock. You know how we stand towards each other, don't you, Lenz?"
"Certainly, uncle."
"Then I will waste no more words on the matter," he exclaimed, rising
in great trepidation lest the smith or some one else should discover
this was his sixty-fifth birthday, and overwhelm him with
congratulations which he would have to pay for by a handsome note to
Lenz. He pressed his way through the crowd of guests out into the
street. A kick from some invisible foot brought a cry of pain from
Bubby, who was following close behind his master.
Lenz looked after his uncle's retreating figure with some misgivings.
Perhaps he ought not to have thus helped him out of his dilemma. He
might have been brought to the point then, and now the chance was lost.
But Lenz dismissed all such thoughts speedily from his mind, and was
merry and gay till late into the night. The relations who lived at a
distance had already left. It was time for the bridal pair to be
starting, for custom required them to be at home before midnight. "You
were right, Annele," Lenz said when they were in the little parlor
together. "I am sorry there is no carriage-way to our house. Wrap
yourself up warm."
"You will find I am right in a great many things," answered Annele.
Pilgrim had arranged the procession with great skill. First went
the musicians, then the bridal pair, preceded and followed by
two torch-bearers, and, lastly, children carrying the beautiful
presents,--bowls, plates, glasses, and salvers, interspersed with
flaming pine-knots. On reaching the mountain the procession fell into
disorder, as it had to move in single file. "You go in front," said
Lenz to Annele; "I willingly yield precedence to you."
They reached the house at last, the presents were deposited, the
musicians played one more merry dance, three cheers were given, and
then the sound of music died away in the valley.
"We are in heaven, and know there is joy over us on earth," said Lenz.
"I had no idea you could talk so finely," returned Annele. "How still
it is all of a sudden!"
"Wait; I have another musical clock here. Thank Heaven I can make my
own music now, and for only our two selves." He set his instrument
playing Beethoven's "Meerestille." Long it played on by itself, when
all else in the house was still.