Edelweiss: A Story

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.

CHAPTER XXII.

THE MORNING GIFT

"I am glad we celebrate our wedding again today, – aren't you, little wife?" asked Lenz, the next morning.

"No; why are you?"

"My crying spoiled my enjoyment yesterday; this morning, for the first time, I am perfectly happy. To-day will seem like going to a friend's wedding, – won't it?"

"What a strange man you are!" said Annele, smiling.

"Stop!" said Lenz, suddenly starting up. "I must give you something. Wait a minute."

He went into the chamber, and made a long search. What would he bring out? He must have remembered the gold chain and ear-rings that were the bridegroom's usual present. But he should have given them yesterday; why to-day? Annele had plenty of time to wonder before Lenz returned. "Here I have it," he exclaimed, coming back at last. "I had misplaced it. This is my blessed mother's garnet necklace. It is made of good old garnets, and will look beautifully on your dear neck. Come, try it on!"

"No, Lenz, it is too old-fashioned. I cannot wear it. It would scratch my neck too. I really cannot wear it. I will exchange it at the jeweler's.

"That you shall not."

"Just as you like. What else have you there?"

"This is something I can give to no one but yourself. My blessed mother so directed. It has no value in itself, but yet is very wonderful."

"Show me the wonder."

"See!"

"What is it?"

"It is Edelweiss, a little plant that grows under the snow. See what my mother has written there!"

"I cannot read it, it is so badly written; read it for me."

Lenz read aloud: "This is a little plant-Edelweiss-that grew on the highest mountain in Switzerland, under the snow. It was found by my husband, who thought of me as he picked it, brought it home with him, and gave it to me, on our wedding day. I wish it placed in my hand, when I am laid in the ground. Should it, however, be forgotten or overlooked, my son must give it to his wife the morning after their marriage, and, as long as she shall hold it in honor it will bring a blessing. There is no magic in it, however. This plant is called Edelweiss. – MARIE LENZ."

"Does it not go to your heart to hear one so speak to you from the dead? Let it not affect you too much. Be cheerful! She liked to have every one cheerful, and was always so herself, though she had seen much sorrow."

Annele smiled, wrapped the little plant in its paper again, and laid it aside with the garnet necklace.

The young people sat chatting together till a message came from the Lion that they must make haste down, for many visitors had already arrived.

Franzl was such an awkward lady's maid, that Lenz had to go down first, and send up some one from the hotel. He said he should go to Faller's, too, and invite him to the party; he must be there to-day, and Annele must treat him kindly, and forget whatever clumsy thing he might have said.

"Yes, yes," said Annele, "only go quick, and send me up Margaret, or, better still, Ernestine."

She made her appearance at length in her old home, and was warmly welcomed and embraced by her mother, and taken into the little parlor, where she at once began to complain of Lenz's having given her, that morning, an old string of garnets and a dried flower for her wedding present. She could not show herself before all the hotelkeepers' daughters, to say nothing of their wives and sons, without a gold chain. "He is an old skinflint," she exclaimed, "a stupid, petty clockmaker."

"Annele," her mother prudently answered, "he is no miser, for he did not ask a word about your dowry; and neither is he stupid, – rather too clever, if anything. Last night there came a silversmith from Pforzheim with a great box under his arm. Lenz ordered him, you may be sure; so now you can pick out the prettiest chain the jeweller has."

The landlady knew very well that Annele would not believe the falsehood, and Annele knew equally well that her mother did not think her so silly as to be taken in by it, but both acted as if perfectly sincere, and the event decided in their favor. Lenz had been missing for some time, during which interval he was standing with Ernestine on the dark cellar stairs. Presently, sure enough, he came, bringing Annele a gold chain from the silversmith, who was in the house. After all her hints he had not understood that he should have left the choice to her, and so got little thanks for his tardy gift.

Annele, however, soon recovered her good-humor, as became a landlord's daughter. What goes on in the family parlor does not belong in the public room.

If there was no end to the carriages yesterday, there was still less to-day. For now came all the hotel-keepers from far and wide, with their gay bells and handsome, well-fed horses. This was the time to show who one was and what he had. The landlords and their wives and daughters went about as if every back felt the weight of a whole hotel. Every look said: We live just so at home; and if we have not as much money as mine host of the Lion, we are quite satisfied with what we have.

Now began such greetings, such giving of presents, such admiration, such extravagant thanks for the rich gifts! Oh, that is too much! that is too superb! No one but the landlady of the Bear would have thought of that! I should know that was from the landlady of the Eagle! And the landlady of the Angel! I hope to show what we can do some day, but it will never equal this. It was wonderful how many pretty speeches Annele could make. Lenz stood by, and could not say a word. Those who did not know him thought he was dull or simple. But all this mutual giving and thanking did not please him.

Next came the poor clockmakers, whose works the landlord sent off to foreign markets, and who were kept very close under the great man's thumb. Annele paid them no attention, so they addressed themselves chiefly to Lenz expressing a certain pleased satisfaction at a clockmaker's becoming son-in-law of the landlord of the Lion. Many hoped for easier terms now with the landlord; others asked Lenz the plain question whether he meant to give up his profession, and turn merchant and hotel-keeper, and smiled when he assured them he should remain as he was. They also asked him sarcastically, whether, now that he had a rich dealer for his father-in-law, he should want to introduce his standard regulator, and establish the association which was to secure to every workman his full earnings. They made faces of astonishment when Lenz declared that the sooner the association was formed the better he should be pleased, and that he should be one of the first to join it. When these poor fellows, whose poverty you could read in their faces, who with fourteen hours' daily labor could only make out to live by practising an almost incredible economy and self-denial, pressed their half-florin or a sixpenny piece, sometimes only a threepence, into Lenz's hand, it burned him like live coals. He would gladly have returned the gifts, had he not feared to hurt their feelings. When a pause enabled him to get Annele's attention, he told her how he felt. She stared hopelessly at him, and said, shaking her head: "My father is right, you are no business man. You can work and earn your bread, but as for making others work and earn for you, you have no conception of it. You are always asking how this one or that one gets on. That is not the way. You must drive through the world as comfortably as you can, and not ask who has to go barefoot. But you would like to take old Pröbler and your whole swarm of beggars to drive with you. However, I will not read you a lesson now. – Ah, welcome, dear landlady of the Lamb! the later the hour the fairer the guest. I have long been thinking, and a minute ago was saying to my mother, Where can the good landlady of the Lamb at Edelshof be? Half my pleasure would be destroyed if she did not come to honor my wedding. And this is your daughter-in-law? Where is the husband?"

"He is below with the horses. It is hard to find shelter for them to-day."

"Yes; thank Heaven, we have many good friends. Such a day shows how full the world is of them. Lenz, show the landlady of the Lamb to the upper table. I have reserved a seat of honor there for her." And Annele turned away to welcome other guests.

That she should reproach him-reproach him on such a day as this-with thinking too much of others was a cruel sting to Lenz, though he did not let it dwell on his mind. He was forced to own that she was right; that this very weakness of his made him less successful in the world than other men, – made him seem less capable than he really was. The recollection of a word or action would haunt him for days, destroying all his peace. Other men fare better. They live for themselves, and heap together what they get without asking about their fellows. He must learn to do so too, if he would have any position. Lenz stood for a while lost in these thoughts, as forgetful of all the noisy rejoicings about him as if they had no reference to him. But he soon roused himself again to take part in them, – and the chief part, as became the bridegroom.

The house was crowded, and pleasant it was to see so many persons collected together to share in a neighbor's joy. The merriment was so well kept up, that in the evening, when the guests began to think of leaving, the landlord played a trick upon them. He ordered Gregory to take all the poles from the sleighs and hide them. The distinguished guests consequently could not get away, and were obliged to stay till long after midnight. So much the better, they consoled themselves with saying, because now we shall have the moon.

No stratagem was used to detain the petty clockmakers, of whom many were anxious to be at home early, in order not to lose a second working-day. Others, however, wanted to get the full value of their wedding present, and sat and ate continuously, as if they had to lay in a supply for the next year. From morning till late at night fresh dishes were constantly served. The supply of meat and sausages and sour-krout seemed inexhaustible.

Faller moved about among the wedding guests quite stiff and embarrassed till Ernestine set him at ease by tying a great white apron on him and bidding him help her tend table. I only do it for Lenz's sake, he said to himself, and would like to have said to every one he handed refreshments to. For his own part, he ate and drank almost nothing. On getting hold of Lenz for a moment, he said to him: "I have given you no wedding present. Little I will not give, and much I cannot. How gladly would I give the heart out of my body!" Lenz only admonished his faithful comrade to help himself first, and be as merry as he could. Before it was yet too late, he remembered he had meant to invite old Pröbler, and sent Faller in search of him. The old man came, but could not be persuaded to enter the guest-room, having no Sunday clothes; so Lenz gave him a dish of eatables, enough to last three days, and a bottle of good wine into the bargain. Old Pröbler was so surprised he almost forgot to offer his usual pinch of snuff, and could only say, "I will bring back the bottle." "You may keep it," replied Lenz. In high glee the old fellow took himself off.

It was almost morning before Lenz and Annele set out for home. The moon had risen, but was obscured by clouds. They walked up the mountain this time, with neither escort nor torches. Annele complained that it was frightfully dark, and she was ready to drop with fatigue. "I ought to have stayed at home," she said.

"At home? up there is your home."

She made no answer, and the two went on side by side for a time in silence.

"Have you counted the money you received?" she asked, presently.

"No, I can do that at home. There is a good deal, for it is heavy in my hand. Luckily, your father lent me one of his empty money-bags."

"Empty? he has plenty of full ones!" said Annele, with temper.

"I did not ask for those, nor think of them."

As soon as they reached home she insisted on Lenz counting the money at once. But he was so slow she took it into her own hands, and showed that a landlord's daughter was much quicker at figures.

"I have been thinking the matter over," said Lenz, while she was counting. "It is well to accept presents even from the poor. It teaches them self-respect, and makes it easier for them to apply to us for help in their difficulties."

Annele stopped in her counting and stared at him. He had such strange reasons for the commonest things! He would adopt no custom until he could reconcile it with his ideas of right; then he embraced it heartily. Annele said nothing, but her lips kept repeating the number she had in her mind, lest she should forget it.

The money amounted to just one hundred and twenty florins, counting four counterfeit sixpences. Annele was terribly hard on the mean things who would cheat them with such money.

"Don't speak so," remonstrated Lenz; "perhaps they were poor people, who had nothing else."

Her eyes flashed. "You seem to understand everything better than I do. I should think I did not know anything."

"I did not mean so. Be kind, Annele!"

"I never was cross in all my life. You are the first person who ever called me cross. You may ask whom you like. You might have seen to-day what the world thinks of me."

"O, very well; it is not worth disputing about."

"I am not disputing. It makes no difference what it is, if it is only half a farthing. I will not be contradicted so whenever I speak."

"Certainly not; only do be quiet, or Franzl will think we are having a quarrel."

"Franzl may think what she chooses. I tell you now Franzl must go out of this house."

"But not to-day?"

"Not to-day, but to-morrow, or soon."

"Then we will talk about it to-morrow. I am tired, and so are you, you said."

"Yes, but when an injustice is done me it cures all my fatigue; there is no tiring me then."

"I have done you no injustice, and desire to do you none. Remember what the minister said: we have a common honor."

"You need not tell me what the minister said. He ought not to have said it. He preached as if he were trying to make peace."

"Please God, that shall never be necessary. We will be of one mind, and bear joy and sorrow in loving fidelity, as my mother used to say."

"We will show the world that we live honestly together."

"Shall I set the musical clock going?"

"No, we have had enough for to-day."

CHAPTER XXIII.

THE FIRST NAIL IS DRIVEN. – PEACE ON THE HEIGHTS, AND THE FIRST SUNDAY GUEST

The next morning Annele was again on friendly terms with Franzl, and complimenting her good management. "I have never given you anything, Franzl," she said; "would you rather have a gown or some money?"

"Money would please me best."

"Then here are two crowns for you."

Lenz gladly added the same amount when Franzl showed him Annele's present. How thoughtful she is, he said to himself, and how careful always to do just the right thing! It never would have occurred to me to make Franzl a present; and yet only yesterday she was talking of sending her away. "She is a dear, foolish, hasty child," he added aloud. "Just like our young burgomaster's wife at home," interposed Franzl; "who, as the weight-manufacturer's wife once said, always planned for seven visitors when there were but six chairs, so that one had to go bobbing about while the others were seated." Lenz laughed. "We Knuslingers know a thing or two, I assure you. See now how quickly your wife has brought everything to order. Most women would have been three days about it, and have stumbled a dozen times and broken half the things to pieces. Your wife has no left hand. She is right hand all over," – a compliment which much pleased Annele, when Lenz repeated it to her.

She showed now a new accomplishment. Lenz asked her to drive a nail above his father's file. She struck it firmly and squarely on the head at the first blow, and on the nail thus first driven in her new home he made her hang his mother's picture.

"That is good," he said. "If it is not just like her, it has her eyes, and, please God, they shall look down on a fair, good, happy life. We will make it such a life that she may always have pleasure in beholding it."

Only do not make a saint of her, Annele wanted to say, but checked herself.

This was Wednesday of their wedding week, the whole of which was to be kept as a time of holiday. Lenz worked a few hours daily, chiefly for the sake of reminding himself that he had an occupation; he was happier, too, after having worked a couple of hours. The wedding festivities were, of course, lived over again, and very funny it was to see Annele mimic the peculiarities of the different guests. She made you actually see and hear the landlady of the Bear and of the Lamb and of the Eagle, while her imitation of Faller's trick of rubbing his hand over his mustache was so perfect that you could almost fancy a growth of bushy hair above her roguish lip. There was no ill-nature, nothing but harmless fun, in it all. She was thoroughly happy. "O, how beautiful, how good and wholesome it is up here!" she cried, in the morning; "and how still! I never could have believed there was such quiet in the world. Sitting here, as I do, seeing and hearing nothing of what goes on below, and not having to give an answer to anybody, it seems to me I must be sleeping with my eyes open, – and such a pleasant sleep! Down in the village, life is like a mill-wheel; here I am in another world. I can almost hear my heart beat. For the next fourteen days I do not mean to go down into the town. I will wean myself from it altogether; I know I can. The people that live there have no idea how good it is to be out of the world, – out of the hurry and hubbub and stir. O Lenz, you do not know how well off you have been all your life!"

Thus in a hundred different ways did Annele express her delight as she sat in the morning by Lenz's side. "I knew you would like living here," he answered, his face beaming with joy; "and you may be sure I am thankful to God and my parents for having been allowed to pass my life in this place. But, dear little wife, we cannot stay up here a fortnight all by ourselves. Next Sunday, at the farthest, we must go to church, and I think we ought to pass even a little of to-day with our parents."

"As you like. Happily, we cannot take this blessed rest away with us, but shall find it waiting when we come home."

"And you, my mother," interrupted Lenz, looking up at his mother's picture, "you are our angel of rest; your pure eyes say, as they look down upon us, Thank God, children, that it is so with you, and so shall continue your life long."

"It seems impossible I have been here so little while," continued Annele; "I feel as if I had lived here forever. These quiet hours are better than years anywhere else."

"How prettily and cleverly you describe it! Only remember your words, if ever this place should seem too lonely for you. Those who did not believe you could be happy in such a solitude will be surprised."

"Who didn't believe I could be happy? I know, – your Pilgrim, your great artist. He is a pretty fellow. Whoever is not an angel he sets down as a devil. But one thing I tell you, he shall never cross this threshold."

"It was not Pilgrim. Why will you try to find any one now to hate? A hundred times I have heard my mother say, 'We can have no peace of mind if we do not feel kindly towards our fellow-men.' If she had but lived a year longer, that you might have learned of her! Was not that a good saying? You know how it is if you hate any one, or know you have an enemy. I experienced it once, and remember how hard it was. Wherever you go, or whatever you do, you feel an invisible pistol pointed at you. My greatest happiness is, that there is no one in the world whom I hate, and no one, so far as I know, who hates me."