“Here are some flowers that I picked for you,” said George. She took the bouquet which he had been hiding behind his back, and was about to pin it to her jacket, but it was too large, so she carried it in her hand, around which she had wound the rosary. Then they walked on through green meadows and fields, where the grain had been cut and shocked, until they came to Schottwien. Here there was great excitement; it was kermess (a sort of church fair), and the street was filled with vehicles and people in holiday attire. Booths had been built near the church, where all kinds of things were displayed for sale: kerchiefs and pipes, knives and beads of glass or wax, cooking utensils, gingerbread, and toys for the children. George and Tertschka looked admiringly at all these fine things, and George felt tempted to buy a pipe. He had smoked when he was a soldier; later, during his illness, he had to give it up, but now he thought, since he was earning his bread again, and neither drank nor gambled, he could allow himself the luxury.
Tertschka encouraged him when he told her of it, adding that she would go on while he made his purchase. “In the village church,” she said, “there are too many people, but about half an hour farther on is a lonely little church, where I have been before, and wish to go again to-day.” She referred to the church called “Maria Schutz,” at the foot of the Sonnwendstein.
George made his way through groups of hagglers and onlookers, and succeeded in buying a neat little pipe, with a porcelain bowl with gay tassels hanging from it. Suddenly a glittering ornament of yellow glass beads attracted his attention; he could not help thinking how nice it would look around Tertschka’s neck. As the price was not too high, he bought it and put it into his pocket after wrapping it carefully in paper. With the few kreutzers left from his florin he bought a large heart of gingerbread, and some tobacco, and then, happy with all his treasures, he hastened after Tertschka. He showed her first the pipe, which she duly admired. Then he gave her the gingerbread heart; it had a picture on it of another small heart, pierced by an arrow, the whole surrounded by a wreath of flowers. “That is for you!” he said. She looked at it quietly, thanked him, and with a pleased smile put it between the bouquet and the rosary. “I have something else for you,” he continued, drawing the little parcel from his pocket, and showing her the glittering beads. “Oh, how can you spend so much money for me!” she exclaimed, but her face beamed with happy surprise and joy. “I should like to spend everything I have for you,” he said with fervor. “Please put it on now; it will be so becoming to you!” She pushed everything that she was carrying into his hands and then tried to fasten the ornament around her neck, but did not succeed very well. “Let me do it,” he said, and giving everything back to her again he stepped behind her, gently pushed away her braids, and fastened the clasp. “So, that is done!” With a happy smile he looked at her. Then they walked on, and soon reached the little chapel almost hidden under some fine, old linden trees. Here were only a few people worshiping; an old priest was officiating; he read mass in a rather indifferent manner. Tertschka knelt down in one of the last rows of seats, set her flowers and the gingerbread heart in front of her, and then folded her hands in prayer. George remained standing behind her. A strange feeling crept into his heart while in this quiet place, filled with a soft light that fell through the high arched windows; he heard the murmuring of the priest, the bell of the sacristan; his heart bowed in worship, but he could not say a prayer; he only looked steadily at Tertschka, whose lips were moving. The service was short; the priest spoke the blessing, and the worshipers left. Only Tertschka did not move; the sexton grew impatient and jingled his keys; at last she rose, crossed herself, and went to the door, followed by George. Golden sunlight greeted them outdoors, and not far from the chapel a prosperous-looking inn, with a great bunch of fir branches over the door, seemed very inviting. “Are you going home directly,” asked George as Tertschka was turning toward Schottwien again.
“Well, where else could we go?” she answered.
“Over there into the inn. I think we might allow ourselves a treat to-day, Tertschka. Who knows when we may have such a chance again!”
“Well, if you wish it! Only the foreman will bully when I return so late. But you are right, we may never again go out together.”
They walked toward the inn. In front of it, on a small knoll, stood an old beech tree, spreading its gigantic branches over a number of roughly hewn tables and benches. No one was sitting there at the time; everything was quiet; but in the house they seemed very busy. At last the landlord appeared, in snowy-white shirt sleeves, a small velvet cap on his head. He glanced at his rather odd-looking guests; but at George’s order he brought a large glass of wine, bread, and meat, put it on the table where they were sitting, asked for his money, and then hurried back into the house. George pushed the plate toward Tertschka, who cut the meat into small pieces; then they divided the bread and began to eat, Tertschka using the knife, George the fork, for they had been served with one set only. The wine, too, they drank in turns out of the same glass. When they had finished eating, George lighted his pipe and contentedly watched the blue ringlets of smoke as they curled into the sunny air.
“Now, Tertschka,” he said at last, “we never dreamed yesterday morning that so much pleasure was in store for us; did we?”
“No,” she answered, “I never expected that!”
It was almost noontime. Suddenly there came the sound of horns and clarinets from the distance. The innkeeper came rushing out of the house, and called to the servants: “Hurry up, the bridal party is coming, and we have not yet set the tables.” His orders were carried out instantly, and but just in time, for the procession was already in sight, preceded by a noisy crowd of boys and youths from the village. The musicians marched at the head, then followed the bride and groom, and behind them came all the relatives and other invited guests, and, of course, a large crowd of curious onlookers. In a moment the tables were all occupied, and soon eating, drinking, and making merry were in full swing, while the musicians played with great spirit. With what strange sensations the two watched all this gaiety. At first it was the crowd that excited their curiosity, but afterward Tertschka gave all her attention to the bride. She was very handsome, indeed; probably the daughter of a rich peasant. She wore a tight-fitting bodice of black velvet, that showed off her fine figure to great advantage; a chain of pure gold was wound five or six times about her neck, and the myrtle wreath in her blond hair, that fell in two heavy braids over her back, looked like a crown over her proud and rather stern face. The groom was very good looking too; quite contrary to the usual fashion among peasants, he wore a slight mustache, while his green felt hat, ornamented with chamois-beard and eagle’s down, aroused George’s envy. After a time, however, George and Tertschka began to feel oppressed with a sense of loneliness among all these gay people, many of whom looked askance at them, as if to ask: “What business have you here?” Finally Tertschka turned to George: “Let us go away; we don’t belong here! Come, let us sit down near the edge of the woods; we can see everything from there, and listen to the music too!” They went toward the dark pine woods that covered the hill on the other side of a sunny meadow; there they sat down on the slope and listened to the cheerful sound of the music, that drifted across the fields to them in subdued strains. Suddenly it stopped; they saw the people rising from their seats to form a half-circle; then the violins began again. “Oh, the bride and groom are dancing alone,” cried Tertschka. And so it was. In measured time, circling gracefully, the two slender figures danced on the greensward.