Chapter X: The Wedding

On a clear morning in August there were so many cooking fires burning at the Oberhof that it seemed as if they might be expecting the entire population of all the surrounding towns to dinner. Over the hearth fire, built up to unusual size with great logs and fagots, there was hanging on a notched iron hook the very largest kettle that the household possessed. Six or seven iron pots stood round these fires with their contents boiling and bubbling. In the space before the house, toward the oak grove, there were crackling, if history reports the truth, nine fires, and an equal number, or at the most one less, in the yard near the lindens. Over all these cooking-places jacks or roasters had been erected, on which frying-pans were resting, or on which kettles of no small size were hanging, although none of them could compare in capacity with the one which was doing duty over the hearth fire.

The maids of the Oberhof were briskly hurrying back and forth with skimming-spoons or forks between the various cooking-places. If the guests were to find the food palatable, there could not be any dawdling over the skimming and turning. For in the large kettle over the hearth eight hens lent strength to the soup, and in the other twenty-three or-four pots, kettles, and pans there were boiling or roasting six hams, three turkeys, and five pigs, besides a corresponding number of hens.

While the maids were exerting themselves, the men too were industriously attending to their part of the work. The one with the black eyes was building an immense, long table with stands, blocks, and boards, in the orchard among the flower-beds, having already completed a similar construction in the entrance-hall. The fat, slow one was decorating with green birch twigs the gates of the house, the walls of the entrance-hall, and the doors of the two rooms in which the Pastor and his Sexton had once eaten. He sighed deeply over this delightful green work, and the heat, too, seemed to oppress him greatly. Nevertheless an easier task had fallen to him than to his fellow-partner, the gruff, red-haired man. For the former had only flexible May twigs to deal with, whereas it fell to the latter to decorate the cattle for the festivity. The red-haired man was, accordingly, gilding with gold tinsel the horns of the cows and bullocks, which were standing on one side of the entrance-hall behind their mangers, or else was tying bright-colored bows and tassels around them. This was, in fact, a provoking task, especially for an irascible man. For many of the cows and an occasional bullock would have absolutely nothing to do with the festival, but shook their heads and butted sideways with their horns, as often as the red-haired fellow came anywhere near them with the tinsel and brush. For a long time he suppressed his natural instinct, and merely grumbled softly once in a while when a horn knocked the brush or the tinsel out of his hand. These grumbles, however, scarcely interrupted the general silence in which all the busily occupied people were attending to their work. But when, finally, the pride of the stable, a large white-spotted cow, with which he had been struggling in vain for more than a quarter of an hour, became positively malicious and tried to give the red-haired fellow a dangerous thrust, he lost all patience. Springing aside, he seized that fence-pole with which he had once restrained himself from striking Peter of the Bandkotten, and which happened by chance to be handy, and gave the obstinate beast such a mighty blow on the groins with the heavy end of it that the cow bellowed with pain, her sides began to quiver, and her nostrils to snort.

The slow, fat fellow dropped the twigs which he had in his hand, the first maid looked up from the kettle, and both cried out simultaneously:

"Heaven help us! What are you doing?" "When a worthless brute like this refuses to listen to reason and will not be decent and let itself be gilded, it ought to have its confounded bones smashed!"

He then wrenched the cow's head around and decorated her even more beautifully than her mates. For the animal, having in her pain become more tractable, now stood perfectly still and permitted the rough artist to do anything he wanted to with her.

While the preparations for the wedding were being carried on below in this energetic manner, the Justice was upstairs in the room where he kept the sword of Charles the Great, putting on his best finery. The chief factor in the festive attire which the peasants of that region wear is the number of vests that they put on under their coats. The richer a peasant is, the more vests he wears on extraordinary occasions. The Justice had nine, and all of them were destined by him to be assembled around his body on this day. He kept them hung up in a row on wooden pegs behind a seed-cloth, which partitioned off one part of the room from the other like a curtain. First the under ones of silver-gray or red woolen damask, adorned with flowers, and then the outside ones of brown, yellow and green cloth. These were all adorned with heavy silver buttons.

Behind this seed-cloth the Justice was dressing. He had neatly combed his white hair, and his yellow, freshly-washed face shone forth under it like a rape-field over which the snow has fallen in May. The expression of natural dignity, which was peculiar to these features, was today greatly intensified; he was the father of the bride, and felt it. His movements were even slower and more measured than on the day when he bargained with the horse-dealer. He examined each vest carefully before he removed it from its peg, and then deliberately put them on, one after the other, without over-hurrying himself in the process of buttoning them up.

When the Justice was ready he slowly descended the stairs. In the entrance-hall he surveyed the preparations--the fires, the kettles, the pots, the green twigs, the ribboned and gilded horns of his cattle. He seemed to be satisfied with everything, for several times he nodded his head approvingly. He walked through the entrance-hall to the yard, then toward the side of the oak grove, looked at the fires which were burning there, and gave similar signs of approval, although always with a certain dignity. When the white sand, with which the entire entrance-hall and the space in front of the house was thickly sprinkled, grated and crunched in a lively manner under his feet, this seemed to afford him a special pleasure.

A maid was asked to put a chair for him in front of the house; he sat down there, opposite the oak grove, and, with his legs stretched out in front of him, his hat and cane in his hand, he awaited in sturdy silence the continuation of the proceedings, while the golden sunlight shone brightly down on him.

In the meantime two bridesmaids were adorning the bride in her room. All around her were standing chests and linen bags, gaily painted with flowers, which contained her dowry of cloth, bedding, yarn, linen and flax. Even in the door-way and far out into the hall all the space was occupied. In the midst of all these riches sat the bride in front of a small mirror, very red and serious. The first bridesmaid put on her blue stockings with the red clocks, the second threw over her a skirt of fine black cloth, and on top of this a bodice of the same material and color. Thereupon both occupied themselves with her hair, which was combed back and braided behind into a sort of wheel.

During these preparations the bride never once said a word, while her friends were all the more talkative. They praised her finery, extolled her piled-up treasures, and every now and then a furtive sigh led one to suspect that they would rather have been the adorned than the adorning.

Finally both girls, with solemn mien, came bringing in the bride's crown; for the girls in that region do not wear a wreath on their wedding-day, but a crown of gold and silver tinsel. The merchant who provides their adornment merely rents the crown, and after the wedding-day takes it back. Thus it wanders from one bride's head to another.

The bride lowered her head a little while her friends were putting on the crown, and her face, when she felt the light weight of it on her hair, became, if possible, even redder than before. In her hair, which, strange enough, was black, although she lived among a blond people, the gold and silver tinsel glittered gaily. She straightened herself up, supported by her friends, and the two broad, gold bands which belonged to the crown hung far down her back.

The men were already standing in front of the door ready to carry her dotal belongings down into the entrance-hall. The bridesmaids seized their friend by the hand, and one of them picked up the spinning-wheel, which likewise had a definite function to perform in the coming ceremony. And thus the three girls went slowly down the stairs to the bride's father, while the men seized the chests and bags and started to carry them down into the entrance-hall.

Then the bride, escorted by both bridesmaids, entered the door, holding her head stiff and firm under the quivering gold crown, as if she were afraid of losing the ornament. She offered her hand to her father, and, without looking up, bade him a good morning. The old man, without any show of feeling, replied "Thank you," and assumed his previous posture. The bride sat down at the other side of the door, put her spinning-wheel in front of her and began to spin industriously, an occupation which custom required her to continue until the moment the bridegroom arrived and conducted her to the bridal carriage.

In the distance faint notes of music were heard, which announced the approach of the bridal carriage. But even this sign that the decisive moment was at hand, the moment which separates a child from the parental house and shoves the father into the background so far as his child's dependence is concerned, did not produce any commotion at all among the people, who, like models of old usages, were sitting on either side of the door. The daughter, very red, but with a look of unconcern, spun away unwearyingly; the father looked steadily ahead of him, and neither of them, bride or father, said a word to the other.

The first bridesmaid, in the meanwhile, was out in the orchard gathering a bouquet for the bridegroom. She selected late roses, fire-lilies, orange-yellow starworts--a flower which in that locality they call "The-Longer-the-Prettier" and in other places "The Jesus Flowerlet"--and sage. The bouquet finally grew to such proportions that it could have sufficed for three bridegrooms of high rank--for peasants must always do things on a large scale. But all together it did not smell any too sweet, for the sage emitted a strange odor, and the starworts a positively bad one. On the other hand, neither of them, especially the sage, could be left out, if the bouquet was to possess the traditional completeness. When she had it ready, the girl held it out before her with proud enjoyment, and tied it together with a broad, dark-red ribbon. She then went to take her place beside the bride.