CHAPTER VI.
Hawermann never heard of what had happened at the parsonage, but from that day his daughter was even more loving and tender to him than before, as if she had determined that her love should wipe away the scandalous words that had been spoken regarding him. Mrs. Nüssler of course heard all about it from her children, but she had not the heart to trouble her brother by telling him what would so sorely distress him; the clergyman and his wife were silent for the same reason, and also because they hoped that the circumstance would die out of their foster-child's memory, if it were never alluded to; Joseph Nüssler said nothing, and Bräsig held his tongue as far as Hawermann himself was concerned, but he indemnified himself for his silence, and for the sharp attack of gout which came on the day after the scene at the parsonage, by nearly raising the country-side against the Pomuchelskopps, who so little understood how to gain the love and good will of their neighbours, that they soon made themselves as disagreeable in the eyes of those who lived near them as my wife's[8] floors just before Whitsuntide--well-polished and shining as they are at other times.
Pomuchelskopp looked upon his surroundings as a great garden in which he might plant his self-esteem. Whether it gave him shade or flowers he did not care; as long as what was sowed there flourished and grew apace, it mattered not to him what form it took. He had come to Mecklenburg for two reasons: firstly, because he thought the purchase of Gürlitz a good bargain, and secondly, because he had an exalted idea of his future position as justice of the peace. "Henny," he said, "every one has the upper-hand of us here in Pomerania, and the Sheriff is all-powerful, but in Mecklenburg I shall be one of the law-givers. And besides that, I've always heard that if rich men of the middle-class only stick to the aristocracy through thick and thin, they receive a patent of nobility after a time. Only think, Chuck, Mrs. von Pomuchelskopp!--how would you like that? One mustn't crow too small in this world!"--That was a sin of which he never was guilty. He gave up his chief delight of making a great show with his money for fear of having to do it in the company of tenant-farmers and bailiffs, and he addressed old Bräsig coldly and distantly, and paid a visit of ceremony to Bräsig's master, the Count, instead of to his old acquaintance. He put on his blue coat with the brass buttons, and drove to Warnitz in his grand new carriage drawn by four brown horses, and when he got there he was as much out of place as a pig in a Jew's house. As soon as he reached home again he seated himself crossly in the sofa-corner, and flapped at the flies. His wife who was always loving to him when he was in a bad-humour, asked him: "What is the matter with you. Pöking?"--He growled out in reply: "What should be the matter with me? It isn't me, it's those confounded aristocrats who are friendly one moment, and turn a cold shoulder on one the next. He offered me a chair, and then asked me very politely how he could be of service to me--I didn't want his help, I'm better off than he is--but I couldn't think of anything to say at the moment, and the silence grew so frightful that there was nothing for it but to go away."--Notwithstanding this repulse Pomuchelskopp did not crow any lower; he hung on the skirts of the aristocracy as closely as the tail to the sheep, and though he had not a penny to give any of his own people when they were in distress, or to the poor artisans in the town who were often nearly starving, he always had plenty of money for any extravagant young sprig of the nobility who asked him for it; and though he prosecuted any poor man without mercy who ventured to cross one of his corn-fields, yet he gave Bräsig's master, the Count, leave to hunt over his land in harvest-time; and though he treated his clergyman scandalously with regard to the Easter-lamb, he allowed the Count's keepers to shoot a roe-deer at his very door without a word of remonstrance. Yes, Samuel Pomuchelskopp had high aims!
Hawermann kept out of his way, for he was of a quiet disposition and disliked quarrelling, he was contented with his lot, and had plenty to do. He felt like a storm-tossed mariner who had at last reached port, and he had nothing to trouble him but anxiety about his master's affairs.--A short time before he had received a letter with a black seal, and written in an unknown hand, in which the Squire informed him that he had had a slight stroke of paralysis, and had lost the use of his right hand, and that a still greater misfortune than even that had happened to him, his wife had died suddenly, and when apparently quite well. Then he went on to say that his nephew, Frank, might be expected at Pümpelhagen at the Michaelmas term to begin to learn farming, adding: "he wishes to put his own hand to the work, and to learn everything thoroughly, and I think he is right." These were the words the Squire had dictated to his secretary.--A few weeks later Hawermann got another letter in which Mr. von Rambow informed him that he had given up his government appointment in Schwerin, and intended to take up his abode at Pümpelhagen after Easter with his three unmarried daughters, he could not come before that, because he must spend the winter in Schwerin to be near his doctor. He then desired his bailiff to see that the manor-house was put in a thorough state of repair.--Of course, this change made a great difference to Hawermann, even though he had done nothing to make him fear his master's eye, and though he took great interest in all his concerns, yet he could not help thinking that the quiet simple tenour of his life would be changed, and besides--was not this the precursor of a still greater change?
Michaelmas came, and brought with it Frank von Rambow. He was by no means a handsome young man, but he was strong and healthy, and on looking closely at his grave face, one saw that his eyes had a very good-natured expression; the shade of melancholy which was often to be seen on his countenance was perhaps caused by his having lost both his parents in his childhood, and therefore feeling himself alone in the world. He was no genius, but he possessed sound good sense, and had made the most of his opportunities; he had passed through all the classes of the High School with credit, and had been thoroughly prepared for the University, but, above all, he had learnt what would be useful to him all his life long--to work! He might be likened to a young tree that had been grown in a nursery-garden in poor soil, whose stem had matured slowly, but was strong and good, whose top was firm and upright, and whose branches were spread out equally on every side, so that when the time came for it to be planted on other ground, it could stand by itself without artificial support, and the gardener said: "Let it be, it is straight and true to a line, it needs no stake to keep it steady."
Frank von Rambow, whom Hawermann remembered as a three years old child, was now twenty years of age, and had steady principles, views and opinions such as few other young men in the province were possessed of. He had two large estates, which had been completely freed from debt during his long minority. Of course, he could not remember the time when Hawermann was in his father's service, but he had been told how fond of him the bailiff had always been, and when a single-minded, good-hearted man knows that he sees before him one who has carried him in his arms when he was a little child, an involuntary feeling of trust and confidence in the man comes into his heart, and it seems to him as if the intervening years had passed away, and he were a child again, seeing the old sights and dreaming the old dreams.
And Hawermann returned the young man's trust and affection with all his heart. Carefully and patiently he taught his pupil the work he had come to learn, he showed him how to manage matters in byre and field, told him why he did this or that, and tried to make everything easy to him; but he found that his pupil would not have things made too easy for him, that he was determined to learn everything practically, and so he gave him his wish, and said of him what the gardener had said of the tree; "Let him be, he needs neither prop nor support."
A new inmate was soon to join this quiet couple, and bring life and excitement with him, and that was Fred Triddelfitz. As soon as Triddelfitz, the apothecary in Rahnstädt, who was brother-in-law of Mrs. Behrens, heard that Hawermann was teaching a young man farming, he took it into his head that his son Fred, a fine lad of seventeen, should also profit by Hawermann's lessons. "The higher branches of farming are all that I require," said Fred, "for I was twice at Möller's in the dog-days, and helped to lead in the corn there."
Little Mrs. Behrens refused to have anything to do with the arrangement, for she knew her nephew, and did not wish to trouble Hawermann with the charge of him, but her brother-in-law would not leave her in peace till she undertook the business. Hawermann would have gone through fire and water for the clergyman's family, but he could make no promise till he had consulted his master. He therefore wrote to Mr. von Rambow, and told him that young Triddelfitz was only in the third division of the High School, that his head was full of nonsense, but that he was a good-hearted lad all the same; still his principal merit was that he was nephew of the clergyman's wife to whom he, Hawermann, owed so much as the Squire already knew; besides that, the father offered fifteen pounds a year for his son's board. Would Mr. von Rambow allow Fred Triddelfitz to learn farming on his estate on these terms?--The Squire wrote to say that he would not hear of receiving money for the youth's board, that the fifteen pounds was to pay for the teaching he got, and that was Hawermann's business, not his. If Hawermann liked to do it, let him do it in God's name.--It was a great pleasure to Hawermann to be told this, he could now do something, however small, to show his gratitude to Mr. and Mrs. Behrens for the great service they had done him, and so he consented to receive Fred without the payment of any fee.
Fred Triddelfitz arrived. But how did he come? Being the only son of his mother--she had two daughters besides--he was so grandly got up for his new mode of life that he might have passed for a farmer's apprentice, a grain-merchant, a commercial-traveller, a farm-bailiff, a tenant-farmer or a country-gentleman, according to the part he was called upon to play, or as his own fancy dictated. He had kid-boots, and leather-boots, laced-boots, top-boots and high-lows; he had dressing-slippers, dancing-shoes, and shoes that came up well about his instep; he had buttoned leggings, leggings for riding in, and other kinds of leggings; he had evening-coats, linen smock-frocks, tweed-coats, and pilot-jackets, he had greatcoats, waistcoats, and water-proofs, and it would be impossible to mention the names of all the various kinds of trousers and breeches with which he was provided.--This outfit arrived at Pümpelhagen one beautiful morning in a number of huge boxes, together with a feather-bed and an enormous davenport; the carrier at the same time gave the pleasing intelligence that the young gentleman might be expected at any moment, for he was on the road, and his arrival had only been delayed by a slight difference between him and his father's old sorrel-horse which he was riding; the horse refused to go further than Gürlitz parsonage, because he had never before been required to do so. How the battle would end the carrier did not know, for he had left it still undecided, but the young gentleman was coming all the same.
The carrier's information was correct, the young gentleman came; but how did he come? He was dressed as grandly as if he had been the agent of two large estates, and had been asked by his master, the Count, to join his great hunting-party; he had on a green hunting-coat, white leather-breeches, boots with yellow tops, and spurs, and over all he wore a water-proof, not because it looked like rain, no, but because it was a new kind of dress, and he wanted to hear what people said about it. He was riding his father's sorrel-horse, and it was easy to see that they were not on the best of terms with each other. The sorrel had come to a stand in the middle of the large pond in front of the parsonage, and had refused to move to the great terror of little Mrs. Behrens, but at last after a struggle of about ten minutes, Fred got the mastery by the aid of his riding-whip and spurs, and now when he dismounted at Pümpelhagen his new water-proof was coated with mud. The sorrel stood quietly in front of the door of the home-farm at Pümpelhagen, stared straight before him, and asked himself: "Is he a fool, or am I one? I am seventeen years old, and so is he. I am of a reddish brown colour, and so is he. He got his own way to-day, but I'll have mine next time. If he ever attacks me with whip and spur again, I'll just lie down quietly in the pond."
When Fred Triddelfitz entered the room where Hawermann, young Mr. von Rambow, and the housekeeper Mary Möller were seated at dinner the bailiff was startled, for he had never seen his new pupil before. Fred, in his new green hunting-coat, looked exactly like an asparagus stalk that had run to seed, he was so small and thin in the waist that any one could easily have cut him in two with his own riding-whip. It was quite true as the sorrel-horse had said, that he had red hair, his cheek bones were high, his face freckled, and his manner self-confident and bored. Hawermann could not help saying to himself: "Heaven preserve me! Am I to teach this young fellow? It's all up with me now!"--He was roused from his disagreeable reflections by a great shout of laughter from Frank von Rambow in which Mary Möller joined, secretly and holding her table-napkin up to her face to hide that she did so.--Fred, wishing to talk down their laughter, had just begun: "Good morning. Sir, I hope I see you well," when he caught sight of his old school-fellow at Parchen, Frank von Rambow, who was in convulsions of laughter; he looked at him rather sheepishly at first, but after a moment joined heartily in the laugh against himself, and even grave old Hawermann laughed till the tears rolled down his cheeks.--"Why," cried Frank, "whatever induced you to get yourself up so grandly?"--"One should do everything in style!" said Fred, whereupon Mary Möller once more disappeared behind her table-napkin.--"Come, Triddelfitz," said Hawermann, "sit down and have some dinner."--Fred did so, and anyone would have said that the rascal was in luck, he had begun his country life at the best time of the year for food, when geese were in season, and as it was Sunday, a finely browned roast goose was on the table, so that his first experience of a farmer's life might well be a pleasing one to him. He did not spare the goose in any way, and Hawermann thought that, if he sat on horseback as he did at table, if he paid as much attention to the labourers as he did to the goose, if he understood foddering a horse as well as feeding himself, and if he swept everything under his charge as clean as his plate, he might expect him to be a great acquisition to the place.
"Now, Triddelfitz," said Hawermann as soon as dinner was over, "go to your room and change your clothes, and don't forget to wrap up your grand riding-costume carefully for fear the moths should get at it, for you won't want it again during the first two years that you are here. We don't ride here, for all our work can be done on foot, and I do any riding that may be necessary myself, when it is convenient."--Fred soon returned to the parlour wearing good strong leather boots, breeches, and a sort of pilot-jacket made of grass-green cloth.--"That's better," said Hawermann, "now come with me and I will show you what we are doing."--They went out.--Next morning Fred went with seven of the young men and women who worked on the farm, along the Rahnstädt road to open any drains that were blocked up and so let the water run off wherever it had collected in pools--what made this occupation especially unpleasant was that it was a November day, and that a small persistent rain was falling.--"Hang it all!" said Fred Triddelfitz, "I never thought that it would be as bad as this."
One Sunday afternoon, about a fortnight or so after his arrival, Bräsig rode up to the farm. Fred had by this time grown so far accustomed to his position with Hawermann, to his monotonous employment, and to the everlasting rain, that he was able partly to understand his duties as a farming apprentice, and with his customary good nature had begun to pay all sorts of little attentions to everyone about him. So when he saw Bräsig ride up to the door, he ran out to meet him and take his horse; but Bräsig shrieked out: "Keep away from me. Don't touch me. Keep ten feet away from me.--Let Charles Hawermann come out and speak to me."--Hawermann came: "Why don't you dismount, Bräsig?" he asked.--"Don't help me down, Charles--just fetch me a soft chair, so that I may dismount gently and gradually, and then put a sheep-skin mat or something soft beside the chair for me to step upon, for I've got that confounded gout again."--Everything was done as he wished. Foot-stools were laid from the chair to the door, and then he slid slowly and carefully from his saddle, and limped into the parlour. "Why didn't you let me know you were ill, Bräsig, and I'd have gone to see you with pleasure?"--"It wouldn't have been of any use, Charles, I had to crawl out of the hole myself. But I came to tell you that I've given up all hope."--"Of what?"--"Of marrying. I intend to accept the pension that the Count promised me."--"I think that I should do the same in your place, Bräsig."--"Your advice is very good no doubt, Charles, but it is hard for a man of my age to give up the darling wish of a life-time, and go to a water-cure place, for it's there Dr. Strump wants to send me. I don't have Dr. Strump to attend me because I believe that he knows how to cure me, but because he suffers from that wretched gout himself, and when he's sitting beside me talking learnedly about the benefit to be derived from taking Polchicum and Colchicum, I feel comforted by the thought that such a clever man has gout as badly as myself."--"Then you are going to a water-cure establishment?"--"Yes, but not till spring. I've arranged all my plans. I'll just manage as well as I can this winter; in spring I'll try the water-cure, and at the midsummer term I'll retire on my pension, and go to live at the old mill-house at Haunerwiem. I thought at first that I'd go to Rahnstädt, but I shouldn't have a free house there, and I'd have found a leg of mutton now and then too expensive a luxury to be indulged in."--"You're quite right, Bräsig. It's much better for you to remain in the country and near us; indeed I don't know what I should do if I hadn't a sight of your honest old face every few days."--"Oh, you wouldn't miss me much, you have so many people about you, especially these two lads. And that reminds me, there was another thing I wanted to say to you. Old Bröker in Kniep, and Schimmel in Radboom want you to teach their sons fanning. I should consent to take them if I were you, and by adding a room or two to the old farm-house you'd be able to set up quite an aquademy of agriculture."--"You're joking, Bräsig! I've enough to do with the two pupils I have already."--"Do you think so? I hope they are well."--"Yes. You know them both, and I want you to tell me what you think of them."--"I can't give any opinion as yet, I must first see their way of going on. The first thing to teach a young farmer is what a colt is always taught, to lead with the right foot. Look, there's your young nobleman, call him here that I may have a better sight of him."--Hawermann laughed, but agreed to Bräsig's proposal and called Frank von Rambow. "Hm!" said Bräsig, "he walks steadily and not too hurriedly, and doesn't put off time with looking about him, but goes straight to the point. He'll do, Charles. Now for the other!"--"Mr. von Rambow," asked Hawermann when the young man had come up to the window, "where is Triddelfitz?"--"In his room," was the answer.--"Hm!" said Bräsig. "Is he resting?"--"I don't know."--"Tell him to come down," said Hawermann, "and you'd better come back soon yourself, for coffee will be ready immediately."--"Charles," said Bräsig, "you'll see that the apothecary's son is sound asleep this afternoon."--"Never mind if he is, Bräsig, he was up very early this morning giving out the feeds of corn for the horses."--"He oughtn't to do it, Charles, young people get into the habit of sleeping in the afternoon only too easily. Ah, there he is. Send him past the window that I may get a good side view of him!"--"Triddelfitz," cried Hawermann, putting his head out at the window, "go to the stable and tell Joseph Boldten to have a pair of horses ready to drive Mr. Bailiff Bräsig home later in the afternoon."--"Bon," said Fred Triddelfitz, and then he set off at a good swinging pace along the causeway.--"Bless my soul!" exclaimed Bräsig. "What a high action the fellow has! Look at him, did you ever see such loose joints, soft muscles, and thin flanks! You'll have to feed him up for a long time, Charles, before he has what can be called a body. How he's getting over the ground! He's a quick dog that, a regular greyhound, and you'll soon have your hands full with him I wager."--"Ah, Bräsig, he's so young. He'll soon quiet down."--"Quiet? Sleeps after dinner? Says 'bong' when you send him a message? And, look there--yes--he's coming back without ever having been at the stables at all!"--"Didn't you say, Sir, that Joseph Boldten was to drive?"--"Yes," cried Bräsig sharply, "Joseph Boldten is to drive, and is not to forget what he is told.--Don't you see now that I was right, Charles?"--"Oh, Bräsig," said Hawermann, who felt rather cross with Fred for his stupidity, "let him be. We're not all alike. He'll do well enough if he only pays a little more attention to what he is told."
Hawermann seldom lost his temper, when he felt inclined to be cross he struggled against the feeling until he conquered it. In spite of the other ills of life which often filled his heart, such as care and anxiety, he always refused Captain Cross-patch admittance, and if ever he succeeded in making good his entrance, whispering ill-natured remarks and lies in his ear, he showed him the door at once and bid him begone, so that it was not long before he got rid of the intruder on this occasion also, and was able to enjoy a confidential chat with Bräsig which lasted till his friend went home.
CHAPTER VII.
The winter passed without the occurrence of any event of particular interest. Hawermann was accustomed to the monotony of his life, and was perfectly contented with it as far as he himself was concerned; but the young people sometimes found it dull and lonely, especially Frank von Rambow, for Fred Triddelfitz had his aunt at the parsonage, and his dear mother a little further off at Rahnstädt, to say nothing of the housekeeper, Mary Möller, who was close at hand, and who comforted him in his loneliness with many a savoury morsel of spiced goose, or sausage, so that there was soon a secret understanding between them. Sometimes they treated each other like mother and son, for Mary Möller was seven years older than Fred, she was quite four and twenty; sometimes a more tender sentiment was infused into their intercourse, for Mary Möller was only four and twenty, and Fred had always studied novels more diligently than Latin grammar when he was at school; indeed he had been a regular subscriber to the circulating-library, and was therefore quite up to the most approved method of conducting an affair of the kind. Besides that, his father's last words to him when he left home were: Learn everything practically, a piece of advice which Hawermann was also continually dinning into his ears, so he thought a love-affair might be as useful to him as any other branch of knowledge, and--do not misunderstand me, no harm was done--so it was, in providing him with an abundant supply of spiced goose and sausages.
Hawermann therefore had not to find amusement for Fred, but Frank was different, as he knew no one. Hawermann took him to call on Mr. and Mrs. Behrens, and when Christmas came he offered to take him to the parsonage, as Fred was in Rahnstädt with his mother. Frank accepted the invitation. It was splendid weather for sledging, so they drove down to the parsonage, where they found little Mrs. Behrens standing sentry by the parlour door to prevent them going in: "No, Hawermann, no! You mustn't go in there. Mr. von Rambow, may I ask you to go to my pastor's study."--And the moment they entered the study Louisa sprang to her father, kissed him, and told him in a whisper what presents she had prepared, and where she had hidden them, what she was going to do, and who was to act the part of Julklapp[9], so that she had only time for a passing bow to Mr. von Rambow. The clergyman however shook the young man warmly by the hand, and told him how glad he was to see him in his house on this festival day. "But," he added, "we must do as we are bid this evening, my wife is commander-in-chief to-day, and her love of rule is never so strongly developed as on Christmas-eve"--He was right there, for Mrs. Behrens popped her head in at the door every moment to say: "Be patient for one minute. Pray sit still, the bell is just going to ring," and then she rushed through the study with a blue paper parcel hidden under her apron, and next moment she might be heard laughing in the parlour.
At last the bell rang, the door flew open, and--ah!--there was the fir-tree standing on the round table in the centre of the room, and under it were arranged as many plates of apples, nuts, and gingerbread-nuts as there were people in the house, and two extra ones, one for Hawermann, and the other for his pupil. Mrs. Behrens bustled round the table, seized Hawermann and Mr. von Rambow by the hand, and, leading them up to the table, said: "This is your plate, and that is yours. Louisa and my pastor will be able to find their own for themselves," then turning round, she called out: "Come in," and the pastor's man, George, and her own two maids, Rika and Dolly, appeared in the door-way, ready to take their part in the rejoicings of the evening, "Come in, that's your plate with the half-crown stuck in the apple, and those with the red shawls are for the two maids, and the one with the red waistcoat is for George. And Louie ...," she got no further in her speech, for Louisa rushed at her with a cherry-coloured woollen dress in her hand, seized her round the neck, and stopped her mouth with kisses: "Mother, how good of you!" And now I must needs confess with sorrow that little Mrs. Behrens so far forgot herself as to tell a fib, not in words, but by nodding and winking at her pastor; so Louisa sprang to her foster-father, and exclaimed: "It was you who gave it me!" but Mr. Behrens shook his head, and replied that he was innocent of the charge. Then she threw her arms round her own father's neck, saying: "It was you, it was you." But the good old bailiff confessed with a sad smile that he had had nothing to do with it, and there were tears in his eyes, when after having stroked her hair fondly, he took her by the hand and led her to Mrs. Behrens, saying: "This is the person you have to thank, Louie," but the clergyman's wife was too busy at that moment at least to listen to thanks, for she called her husband to come and try on his new dressing-gown to see how it fitted him, and asked whether it was not lucky that she had fixed upon a new dressing-gown for his present, instead of the pair of trousers she had at first thought of. And as the dressing-gown fitted beautifully and was very becoming, she went back a few steps, and looked at her husband in the same way as a child, who has put her new doll in the sofa-corner that she may examine it from a little distance. When she turned round she saw a blue paper parcel lying on her plate, which Mr. Behrens had placed there unnoticed by her. She seized upon it, and while untying the string, wondered audibly what it could contain, and said she felt certain some one had been playing her a practical joke; at last the paper was removed, and there was a beautiful piece of black silk, enough to make a dress!--Every one was happy: Hawermann had found a new pipe on his plate, which he filled and began to smoke; the pastor had placed himself in the sofa-corner in his new dressing-gown, and rejoiced in seeing the happy faces around him; Mrs. Behrens and Louisa found it impossible to sit still, but were continually moving about the room, and holding the materials for their new dresses under their chins to see how they would look when made up, and stroking them to show how smoothly they would lie. Frank on the other hand withdrew a little into the background oppressed by the sad feeling that he had never known a happy home-like Christmas-eve. He rested his head on his hand as he thought that when kind friends and relations had asked him to spend his Christmas-holidays with them, he had there most of all missed the presence of the originals of the two portraits over which he had placed garlands of immortelles. He felt that he belonged to no one in this house either, but he must not destroy the pleasure of others by showing his sadness, and with a great effort he forced himself to look up and smile, and as he did so he found Louisa's large beautiful eyes fixed on him full of sorrowful sympathy as if she had been able to read his very heart.
"Julklapp!" cried Rika in her loud voice, and a parcel flew in at the door addressed to "Mrs. Behrens." It was a pretty ruche, and no one knew who had given it. And "Julklapp!" was shouted again. It was a beautifully worked cushion for Mr. Behrens' arm-chair this time, and of course nobody had had anything to do with it--Oh, what fibs were told at the parsonage that evening!--And "Julklapp!" A letter was thrown into the room which told of another letter that was to be found upstairs in the garret, and that told of another in the cellar, and that one of another, and again another ..... in short, if Mrs. Behrens wished to get a very pretty embroidered collar which was intended for her, she would have to run all over the house, and would at last find it close at hand in the cupboard where her husband kept his boots.--And "Julklapp!" It was a tremendous package this time, with Mr. Behrens' name upon it, but when the outer covering was taken off it was addressed to Mrs. Behrens, and then to George, and then to Rika, and last of all to Louisa, and when the last paper was taken off a small worktable was displayed, such as Hawermann had given his wife years ago.--No one knew that, however, but himself.--And "Julklapp!" Books for Louisa.--And "Julklapp!" A worsted-work footstool for Hawermann.--Rika acted her part to perfection.--But now it was all over and she came in to collect the bits of paper and string that were scattered over the floor; but the door opened again suddenly and unexpectedly, and "Julklapp!" cried a clear sweet voice, and when they looked at the packet they saw that it was addressed to "The honourable Francis von Rambow." Immediately afterwards Louisa slipped softly into the parlour from the study, her face beaming with happiness.
Frank was overwhelmed with confusion, but when he opened the parcel, he found a letter from his youngest cousin Fidelia, which informed him that she and her two unmarried sisters had each sent him a Christmas present. Alberta gave him a sofa-cushion, though he never lay on the sofa; Bertha--a saddle-cloth, though he had no horse, and Fidelia--a cigar-case, though he never smoked.--But what of that? They were all things that might have been useful, and it is the giver, not the gift that one thinks of at Christmas.--He no longer felt himself so much alone in the world, and when he saw how much Louisa rejoiced for him, he quite recovered himself and laughed and joked about his presents, and whether Louisa would or not, she had to receive his thanks for them, for he had recognised her voice when she threw in the parcel.
Rika then came back, and said: "They are all here now, ma'am."--"Then we'll go to them," answered Mrs. Behrens.--"No, dear Regina," said her husband, "let them come in here."--"But," she remonstrated, "they'll bring in so much snow on their boots."--"Never mind that," said the clergyman, then turning to the maid, "you won't object to get up a little earlier than usual to-morrow morning to put the room in order again, will you, Rika?"--No, Rika would do that with pleasure, and so the door was thrown open and in streamed, one after the other, all the little children in the village, flaxen heads, black heads and all! There they stood rubbing their noses, staring with great eyes at the apples and ginger-bread-nuts, and opening their mouths widely, looked as if they wished to show the good things on the table the way in which they ought to go.--"Now," said Mrs. Behrens, "let all our god-children stand in the first row. You know, Hawermann," she added, "that we, that is, my pastor and I stand nearest to our god-children after their own parents,"--More than half of the children came forward, for Mr. and Mrs. Behrens had stood sponsor for the greater number of the little boys and girls in the village. An impostor took his place amongst the rest, Joseph Rührdanz by name; he had noticed on the preceding year that the god-children got more presents than the others; but Stina Wasmuth saw what he was about, and pushed him away, saying: "You are not a god-son, boy!" so he slunk back unable to carry out his deception.
Mr. Behrens came forward with a pile of books under his arm, and he gave a hymn-book to each god-child whom he was preparing for confirmation, and to the others he gave copy-books, and slates, and primers and catechisms as they were most wanted, and each of the little ones said: "Thank you, god-father," but those who got the hymn-books said: "Thank you very much, reverend Sir," for they were older than the others.--Now it was Mrs. Behrens' turn. "Come," She said, "I'll take the nuts; Louisa there's the ginger-bread for you, and Mr. von Rambow, please take the basket of apples, and let us go down each row.--Arrange yourselves in line, children, and have your dishes ready."--There was so much pushing and shoving that this was a work of time, for everyone wished to be in the first row,--at last they were all ready with their dishes in their hands. The little girls held their aprons up at the corners, but the boys were provided with anything and everything that would hold their cakes and fruit; one had a tin measure; another a flour bowl; another his father's hat, and another with quiet self-possession held up a great five bushel sack in the firm persuasion that it would be filled to the very top.--Now the division of the spoil began.--"Look! here, here, here--stop!" cried Mrs. Behrens as she reached a mischievous looking little lad, "this boy is to have no apples, Mr. von Rambow, for he helped himself in the garden last summer."--"Oh, ma'am!"--"Boy, didn't I myself chase you out of the big apple-tree near the wall with a pitch-fork?"--"Oh, Mrs. Behrens!"--"No, no, the boy who steals apples, gets none given him at Christmas."--The division went on quietly again till they came to Joseph Rührdanz, when the clergyman's wife stopped, and said: "Wasn't it you who fought with Christian Casbom last week at the parsonage gate, till Rika had to go out and separate you?"--"Yes, ma'am. He said to me ...."--"Hush!--Louisa, Joseph is to have no gingerbread."--"But, ma'am, we've made it all up again."--"Ah then, Louisa, you may give him the gingerbread."--At last the fruit and cakes were all distributed, and the children went away with their share, each merely saying; "Good-night, good-night," for it was not the fashion amongst them to say thank you.--No sooner were they gone than a different set of people came in coughing and scraping. They were the old spinning women, and the old brush-binders and wooden-shoemakers &c., in fact everyone in the village who was too old and frail to work any more. Mr. Behrens said a few kindly words of help and counsel, which were well received, and his wife gave them each a tea-cake which they were also glad to get, and as they went away, they prayed that the "blessing of God" might rest on their pastor and his family.
At last, George, the clergyman's man-servant, and Hawermann brought the sledge to the door, and then the two guests said good-bye. Hawermann's first action before driving away was silently to take off the sledge-bells, for the great bells in the church-tower were ringing out their message to the whole world, while the sledge-bells only kept up a merry tinkle for the high road. They drove through the village at a foot's pace, and as they passed along they heard a sweet Christmas Carol rising from many a labourer's hut and ascending to the quiet heavens where God had placed the lights of His great Christmas tree, under which the earth was stretched like a table covered with the pure white cloth of snow that winter had spread over it, and which spring, summer and autumn were in turn to deck with flowers and fruit in due season.
They drove slowly out of the village, and when they came to the turn of the road, Frank caught sight of Pomuchelkopp's manor house with its brilliantly lighted windows: "They are keeping Christmas there too," he said.--Yes, presents were given and received there, but Christmas was not kept.
Pomuchelskopp had bought everything in Rostock, nothing in Rahnstädt. "One should always do things in style!" he said, and then he told how much he had paid for Mally's and Sally's new dresses, and when Sally heard that Mally's had cost six shillings more than hers, she was jealous of her sister, and Mally thought herself much better than Sally. Then Phil and Tony quarrelled about a sugar doll, and when Pomuchelskopp decided the dispute in favour of his pet son Phil, Tony lost his temper and struck at Phil's head with his toy whip, but instead of striking his brother, he hit the large mirror so hard that it was broken in pieces; so Henny called order, and taking the tawse out of the cupboard, punished Tony first, because of his naughtiness, and then Phil, and lastly the other boys to keep them company. She did not call her husband, Pöking, once during the whole evening, no, not even when he gave her a new winter-bonnet trimmed with ostrich feathers, she only said, as she took it: "Do you want to make a guy of me, Kopp?"
When Frank went to bed that night he confessed to himself that he had never spent such a pleasant Christmas in his life before, and when he asked himself the reason, the sweet face of Louisa Hawermann appeared before his mind's eye, and he said to himself: "An innocent happy child like that makes a merry Christmas."
Something very unusual happened between Christmas and New-year's-day. Joseph Nüssler drove up to the farm at Pümpelhagen in the phaëton and wearing an enormous blue cloak with seven capes.--He could not get out of the carriage, he said, for he had been away from home for a good hour and a half, and had only called to say that the clergyman, and his family and Bräsig were coming to a party at his house on Sylvester's day, and that he wanted his brother-in-law to join them with his two young people, and he, for his part, would as host provide a good bowl of punch for the evening's entertainment. As soon as he had finished this long speech, he shut up completely, and when Hawermann had accepted his invitation, and Christian had begun to turn the carriage, he merely muttered something like: "Good-bye then, brother-in-law," from beneath the seven capes, so Christian turned his head round and called out: "The mistress told me to say that she expected you to come to coffee."
Frank wrote and told Fred, who was still in Rahnstädt with his mother, of the invitation, at the same time telling him that as his holiday was over he had better go straight to Rexow on the last day of the year, and then he could return to Pümpelhagen with Hawermann and him in the evening.
A regular thaw had set in before Sylvester's day, and when Hawermann and Frank arrived at the muddy farm-yard at Rexow, they saw Joseph Nüssler standing in the doorway with bent knees. He was dressed in the black coat and trousers that his wife had given him at Christmas, and as he had put on the red cap which Mina had crocheted for his Christmas present, he looked in the distance exactly like a stuffed dignitary of the church. Bräsig, however, pushed him out into the yard, saying: "Show yourself, Joseph. Do les honours properly, so that Charles' young nobleman may see that you know something of life."
As soon as Joseph had got over his labours of receiving the company, and Mr. and Mrs. Behrens had arrived and had spoken to the twins, Mrs. Nüssler took her brother aside and told him how the farm had been paying that year; Mr. Behrens entered into conversation with Mr. von Rambow; his wife talked to the little girl about their Christmas presents; Joseph seated himself in his old corner by the stove and said nothing, and Bräsig went about from one group to another, his feet and legs incased in seal-skin boots that came up as high as his waist, as though Christmas were come again and he were going to act Ruklas[10] to frighten the children.--The sun shone in at the window and gilded the steam that curled from the coffee-pot, and the thin cloud of smoke from the clergyman's pipe, reminding one of the light fleecy clouds which float upon the summer sky, but a black wintry storm-cloud rose from behind the stove, for Joseph was sitting there smoking as though for a wager.--Fortunately for those present, his wife had taken the precaution of emptying his tobacco-pouch of the twist he kept there, and of putting a very mild kind of tobacco in its place, but he had been so long accustomed to the hard work of smoking the coarse native tobacco he was in the habit of using, that he thought the same exertion was necessary with the mild foreign tobacco he had now in his pipe. Outside the house black clouds were gathering on the horizon, but no one in the cosy parlour was troubled by thoughts of a coming storm.
Mrs. Nüssler's parlour-maid now came in, and telling her mistress that a carter had just brought a box from the apothecary in Rahnstädt, asked where it was to be put.--"Good heavens!" cried Mrs. Behrens, "it will be Fred's clothes. My dear pastor, you will see that my brother-in-law has been so foolish as to let the boy ride again, and on that wild sorrel horse too that no one else has ever ridden!"--"You needn't be anxious, Mrs. Behrens," said Hawermann with a half laugh he could not suppress, "the sorrel isn't so bad as you think."--"Oh, but Hawermann, when he was riding to Pümpelhagen before, I saw how the horse stood still and refused to move."--"Ah," said Bräsig "the mere obstinacy shown by the beast is nothing, the danger is, that when the young rascal conquers, the horse generally starts forward suddenly, and then the rider is apt to lose his balance and tumble off."--But little Mrs. Behrens was not to be comforted by what Bräsig told her, she opened the window and asked the carter whether Fred was riding, and whether the horse was wild.--"As quiet as a lamb," was the answer, "and if he lets the horse alone, it'll let him alone. He isn't far off now."--That was a pleasant piece of news, and Mrs. Behrens seated herself on the sofa again with a sigh of relief, saying: "Ah me, I always tremble for my sister's sake when I see that boy. He's continually getting into some stupid scrape or other."--"You may depend upon that," said Bräsig.
They were both right. In the short time, between Christmas and New-year's-day, he had got into no end of scrapes, and all of them in his grand new clothes too, for in spite of the bad weather he wore his green hunting-coat, white leather breeches, and top-boots regularly every day, and sometimes even during the night; that is to say, that on one occasion when he had remained till a late hour at a supper-party composed of merry young farming apprentices as great dandies as himself, he was found lying on the top of his bed with his boots and spurs on by the servant when she took him his hot water in the morning.--Some people might be inclined to laugh and shrug their shoulders, but the fact of the matter is, that at this party, Fred had happened to meet his old friend Augustus Prebberow, who had been going about in top-boots for a year and a half longer than himself, and that the joy of seeing his old friend again, and the highly intellectual conversation in which he had taken part, had rather overcome him. Augustus Prebberow had taken the opportunity of giving him a great deal of good advice as to how he ought to behave to his "governor"--that was what he called Hawermann, and what was the best way of managing his governor, and then he had gone on to give him examples from his own experience, of the proper way to treat the bondager-lads, how to make them go head over heels, climb a greased pole, &c. &c. As soon as they had exhausted that branch of farming they had turned the conversation to horses. Fred had then told the whole of his experience with the sorrel. He had taken care to explain that the sorrel was a good horse, but that as his father, the apothecary, who had had him since he was a foal, loved him as the apple of his eye, he had never cared to cure him of his tricks, and now the horse had grown obstinate in his own opinion, and thought he knew better than anyone else; but that he, Fred, was determined to teach him better manners. His chief fault was that he absolutely refused to go a step further when he had taken it into his stupid old head that he had done enough, and that then neither working the bit, nor tche-tcheing, neither whip nor spur made the slightest impression on him.--"And you really allow that?" Augustus had asked. "Well, then I'll tell you what to do next time. Take a large jug of water with you, and ride on quietly till he comes to a stand-still and refuses to move--listen--pull at the bit, give him the spur, and fling the jug of water between his ears--all at the same time you understand--so that the crockery should break on his head and the water run into his eyes."
When Fred set out for Rexow he remembered this piece of advice, and determined to try whether it would really succeed. So off he set, the reins in his left hand, the whip under his left arm, and a large jug quite full of water in his right hand. Of course his progress was only at a foot's pace, for if he had gone fast he would have spilt the water, and as the sorrel was too old to care about going quickly everything went well till they reached the farm-yard at Rexow. Fred then wished to turn his gallant steed down the drive leading to the front-door, so he gave the sorrel a touch of the spurs in his ribs, and immediately the horse stopt as though rooted to the spot; whether it was only his way, or whether he was a sly dog and remembered what had happened at the parsonage-pond is more than I can tell. Now was the time for Fred to try his stratagem. He jerked the bit, used his spurs energetically, and dashed the jug of cold water between the horse's ears. "Ugh!" grunted the sorrel with a shake of the head, to show that he had no intention of moving on, but was quite contented to remain where he was, and then he sank down gently and quietly to the ground where he stretched himself out at full length. Fred was obliged to follow his example, for though he had sufficient presence of mind to free himself from the stirrups, still he could not help falling beside his horse.
The company assembled in Mrs. Nüssler's parlour had seen the whole dispute between Fred and the sorrel, and little Mrs. Behrens trembled for her sister's darling when she saw Fred raise himself in his stirrups, and fling the great kitchen-jug at his opponent, but when she saw the sorrel's gentle reproof, and her nephew lying on the soft but slightly cool "bed of honour" which Heaven had covered with a coating of mud, made by the rain and thaw, and which Joseph Nüssler had also aided to soften with his farm-carts, she could not help joining in the hearty fit of laughter with which the rest of the party had greeted Fred's down-fall. She then said to her husband: "It will do him a great deal of good!"--"Yes," said Bräsig, "and a cold in the head will do him no harm either. What business had he to treat the poor old beast so shockingly."
Fred approached like the half-moon, one side shining and brilliant, the other dark, and gloomy. "What a mess you've made of your clothes, my dear boy," cried his Aunt from the open window. "Don't come into the parlour in that state. Fortunately your box has arrived, so you can easily change your things."
This was done, and then Fred made his appearance in his grandest clothes: a blue cut-away coat and black cloth-trousers, and went about the room with all the airs and graces of a young squire, though inwardly he was fretting and fuming over Bräsig's pointed jests and Mrs. Behrens' remarks. Frank on the contrary was in high spirits, he talked and joked with the three little girls, got the twins to let him see their Christmas presents, and laughed, heartily when Lina and Mina showed him two great flannel-bags which uncle Bräsig had given them "to keep their extremities warm, and so prevent them having gout before their time." He had never before been in the society of girls younger than himself, and was so pleased with the innocent confidences made to him by these three little maids, that when supper-time came he seated himself beside the children, and when Mrs. Nüssler asked him to take his proper place near the head of the table, he begged to be allowed to remain where he was.
It was a merry supper-party, every one except Fred and Joseph took part in the conversation. Fred was cross and uncomfortable, and was angry with himself for not being able to talk and laugh like Frank. Joseph was also silent, it is true, but then he was always ready to laugh, and if Bräsig so much as opened his mouth, he prepared to join in the burst of laughter which was sure to follow. When the punch was placed on the table, Lina, as the steadiest of the two sisters, was chosen to dispense it to the company, and her father recovering speech for the time being, and determining to do his duty as host, said, or rather murmured: "Give Bräsig some punch, Lina."--The punch helped Fred also to find his tongue, though it did not improve his temper. He was displeased with Frank's way of behaving, and thought that though the little girls were quite children, they ought on this occasion to be treated like grown-up young ladies, and have a higher sort of conversation addressed to them, he therefore took up the same theme which he had found answer at the Rahnstädt ball when he was dancing the cotillion with the mayor's daughter, a lady of five and twenty. "Miss Hawermann," he began. The child looked at him in astonishment, and when he once more said: "Miss Hawermann," she burst out laughing, and said: "I'm not Miss, I'm only Louisa Hawermann!" And Frank could not help joining in her merriment.--Disagreeable as this was, Fred was too well aware that his behaviour was correct, to be much put out by the reception it met with, he therefore proceeded to describe the ball he had been at in Rahnstädt, and to repeat what he had said to the mayor's daughter, and what she had said to him, and as he did so he addressed the twins as well as Louisa, taking care to call them "Miss Nüssler" and "Miss Mina Nüssler." As every one at table was talking and laughing, he raised his voice higher and higher, till at last there was dead silence all round him, and every eye was fixed on him in astonishment. Joseph, who sat beside him, drew back a little, and stared at him in blank amazement, that any one man could pour forth such a stream of words. Bräsig peered round the corner at him from behind Joseph, and winked at Hawermann as much as to say: "Didn't I tell you, Charles, that he was a regular greyhound?"--Hawermann kept his eyes fixed on his plate, and looked angry. Mrs. Nüssler was anxious and ill at ease, feeling that as hostess it would hardly do for her to desire her guest to be quiet, and to choose a different style of conversation. The pastor shook his head gravely, while little Mrs. Behrens gave more decided tokens of disapprobation by burying her chin in her breast till her cap-ribbons were almost lost to view, and by flouncing up and down on her chair as if it were too hot for her; but when Fred began to describe the schottish, and told how the gentleman puts his arm round the lady's waist, she started up exclaiming: "Don't any of you speak! I'm his Aunt, and am therefore the nearest to him. Come here Fred."--And when Fred rose slowly, and approached her with an air of high-bred nonchalance, she seized him by the lappel of his coat, and pulling him towards the door, said: "Come, my dear boy, come away with me," and so left the room with him. They could all hear the murmur of Mrs. Behrens' voice as she lectured her nephew, her words flowed on uninterruptedly in spite of his protestations until she had finished what she wanted to say, when she reopened the door, and leading Fred into the room, pointed to his chair, and said: "Sit down there, and speak like a reasonable mortal."
Fred did as he was bid, that is to say, he obeyed the first command; the second was too hard for him. How was it possible to talk sensibly after having begun by talking sentimentally, and so make a flat ending to a well begun conversation.--Frank and the three children gradually resumed their former merry talk, while the older people spoke about graver subjects, and so the conversational coach rolled on smoothly, except when Bräsig drove it against a stone with a sudden jerk. Mrs. Behrens managed to act the part of moral policeman towards the offender while taking her full share in the conversation of the elders, and Fred sat silently fuming, and pouring punch, like oil, on the flames of his wrath, internally stigmatising Frank as a "sneak," and the little girls as "silly baggages," who understood nothing of the ways of polite society.
But notwithstanding the contempt he felt for the society of such mere children, he was seized with a certain feeling of jealousy, when he saw, as he imagined, that Frank liked talking to Louisa Hawermann best of all, he made up his mind to put an end to that state of things, and to try what he, Fred Triddelfitz could do, that is to say, when his aunt was not there.
Meanwhile it had grown very late without anyone having noticed how quickly time was flying, when suddenly a terrible form was seen standing in the parlour; it was dressed in warm patch-work garments, and blew a loud blast on the cow-horn it held in its hand, and then began to ring still more discordantly. It was Augustus Stowsand, a half-witted fellow who lived on the estate, and whom Joseph Nüssler, having no other use for him, had made night-watchman. The serving men and maids peeped in at the open door to see how he got on, and giggled, and pushed each other forward, and drew each other back. Everyone began to wish everyone else a happy new year, and then as soon as quiet was restored, the pastor made a little speech which began jestingly, and ended seriously. He reminded his auditors that every year they were nearer death than before, and that every year they might have the comfort of making new ties of friendship and love, and of drawing the old ones tighter. And when he looked round the room on the conclusion of his address, his little wife threw her arms about him; Mr. and Mrs. Nüssler drew closer to each other, Hawermann and Bräsig clasped hands; the twins embraced, and Frank stood by Louisa Hawermann's side. Fred was nowhere to be seen, his bad temper had conveyed him out of the room.--Thus ended the year 1839.