CHAPTER IX.
The new year 1844 had come and winter was gone. Spring was waiting at the door till the Lord of the house gave him permission to enter, and re-clothe the earth with her garment of leaves, grass and flowers. When the ice and snow melted all hearts at Pümpelhagen grew lighter as though awakened to new life by the sunshine. Even old Hawermann was happier as he worked away in the fields, and while he sowed the corn-seed in the dark soil, God sowed the seed of hope in his sad heart. As Mr. and Mrs. von Rambow had gone to visit some of their relations he was able to get on quicker with the work of the farm, and also to see more of his daughter than during the winter. He had seen and spoken to her that morning at church, and he was now spending the Sunday afternoon quietly in his sitting-room thinking over the past. No one interrupted him for a long time, as Fred was in the stable with his mare, and that was a great comfort to the old man, for he could now find his pupil at a moment's notice if he wanted him, which was not always the case before.
Bräsig came in: "How-d'ye-do, Charles," he said.--"What?" cried Hawermann, starting up, "I thought you were laid up with gout, and was just meditating paying you a visit, but the difficulty was that Mr. von Rambow is from home, and Triddelfitz isn't to be trusted just now."--"Why, what's the matter with him?"--"Oh, his old mare is going to foal very soon."--"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed Bräsig. "The thoroughbred foal that he's going to sell to the squire."--"Yes. But tell me, hav'n't you had another attack of gout?"--"Well, Charles, it's very difficult to tell whether one has had the real thing or not. But it comes to much the same thing in the long run, for one's suff'ring is quite as severe in the one case as in the other. The only great difference is in the cause. You see real gout is brought on by good eating and drinking, and what I had wasn't quite the right kind, for it was caused by wearing wretched thin-soled patent leather boots."--"What on earth makes you wear such things then?"--"I had them when I was in the Count's service, and I can't throw them away. But what I wanted to say was this: have you seen the parson today?"--"Yes."--"Well, how is he?"--"He looks ill, and is very weak; when he got into the pulpit the perspiration stood in great beads on his forehead from the exertion, and he had to rest quietly on the sofa for some time after he went home."--"Hm! Hm!" sighed Bräsig, shaking his head. "I'm sorry to hear that, Charles, but we must remember that he's an old man now."--"Yes, that's true," said Hawermann thoughtfully.--"How's your little girl?" asked Bräsig.--"She's very well, thank you, Zachariah. She was here last week, but I had no time to speak to her, as I had to go and see to the sowing of the corn. Mrs. von Rambow saw her though, and called her into the house where she kept her till the evening."--"Charles," said Bräsig, and getting up from his chair he walked up und down the room, biting the mouth-piece of his pipe so hard in his excitement that the knob broke short off, "believe me, your squire's wife is a capital product of humanity."--Hawermann also rose and paced the room. Every time the old friends passed each other in their walk they gave their pipes a vehement puff, and Bräsig said: "Well, Charles, am I not right?" and Hawermann answered: "Quite right, Zachariah."--Who knows how long they would have gone on repeating this question and answer, if a carriage had not driven up to the door, and Kurz and the rector made their appearance.
"How-d'ye-do! How-d'ye-do!" cried Kurz as he entered the parlour. "Oh, I see, you're here too, Mr. Bräsig. How are you, old friend? I've come to speak to you about the clover-seed, Hawermann."--"Good-day!" said Baldrian to Bräsig, drawling out the word "day" till one would have thought he wanted that day to last to all eternity, "how are you my worthy friend?"--"Pretty bobbish," replied Bräsig.--"Hawermann," interrupted Kurz, "isn't it splendid seed?"--"Well, Kurz," said Hawermann, "I've seen worse seed and I've seen better. I put a little of it on a hot shovel, and as you know, if it's good seed it ought to jump off the shovel with a skip like a flea, but a good many of the grains never moved at all."--"You don't look quite so blooming, my dear Sir," continued the rector, "as on that memorable occasion when we met round the punch-bowl to celebrate the betrothals at Rexow."--"There's a good reason for that," said Hawermann, laying his hand affectionately on Bräsig's shoulder, "my dear old friend has been suffering from gout."--"I see," laughed the rector, trying to be witty,
"'Vinum, der Vater,
Und cœna, die Mutter,
Und Venus, die Hebamm,
Die machen podagram.'"[4]
"The seed is splendid," cried Kurz again, "you won't see finer between Grimmen and Greifswald."--"Take care, Kurz!" said Hawermann, "don't crow too loud, remember the proverb!"--"Listen!" Bräsig exclaimed, at the same moment addressing the rector. "Don't talk French to me! I can't understand you. But what do you mean by talking of Fenus? What have I and my gout to do with Fenus?"--"My honoured friend," said the rector with a deep bow, "permit me to inform you that Venus was the name given in ancient times to the goddess of love."--"I don't care about that," answered Bräsig, "she may have been anything you like, but now-a-days every stupid shepherd's dog is called Venus."--"No, Hawermann," exclaimed Kurz eagerly, "I assure you that when clover has the real purply red colour it ....."--"Yes, Kurz," was the answer, "but yours wasn't like that."--"My good friend," said the rector to Bräsig, "Venus was a goddess, as I told you before, and how a shepherd's dog ...."--"But," interrupted Bräsig, "you make a mistake in saying she was a goddess, for a Fenus was a kind of bird. Now, Charles, us'n't we to hear of a bird called the Fenus when we were children?"--"Ah, I see what you mean now," said the rector, who had received a new light on the subject. "You're thinking of the Arabian bird, the Phœnix, which builds its nest of costly spices ..."--"Humbug!" interposed Kurz. "How is it possible for any bird to build a nest with cloves, pepper, cummin and nutmegs."--"My dear brother-in-law, are you not aware that it is an old saga?"--"Then," said Bräsig, "the saga tells what isn't true, and besides that, you don't pronounce the word rightly. It isn't Phœnix but Ponix, and they arn't birds at all, but small horses that come from Sweden and Ireland, and not from Arabia, as you say. The Countess always used to drive two of these ponixes in her carriage."--The rector was going to put his friend right, but Kurz stopped him: "No, brother-in-law," he said, "just let it alone. We're all willing to admit that you're much better up in learned subjects than Bräsig."--"Let him say what he will," said Bräsig, standing before the rector, and looking quite ready to fight out the point.--"No, no," cried Kurz, "we didn't come here to quarrel about Venuses or clover-seed, but to have a good game at Boston."--"That's much better," said Hawermann, beginning to prepare the table.--"Stop, Charles," said Bräsig, "that isn't proper work for you to do; the apprentice ought to do it for you."--He then put his head out at the window and shouted "Triddelfitz" across the court. Fred came running to see why he was wanted. "We're going to play at Boston, Triddelfitz, so please put the table in order for us, and get a dish of some kind for the pool, then you can fill our pipes and make a handful of matches."--As soon as Fred had done this they sat down to play, but could not begin at once, as they had first to determine what the stakes were to be. Kurz wanted to do things grandly when he was about it, and proposed penny points, but he was always of a reckless disposition, and the others agreed with Bräsig that the stake was too high, as they were not playing for the pleasured of winning other people's money. At last Hawermann got them to fix on a smaller sum, and to begin.--"Diamond begins," said the rector.--"Kurz deals," said Bräsig. They might have begun now, but the rector laid his hand upon the cards, and said as he looked round upon the circle: "What a strange thing it is! We are all sensible men, and yet we are playing at a game, which, if old tales are true, was invented for the amusement of a mad king. King Charles of France ....."--"No, no, good people," said Kurz, pulling the cards from under the rector's hand, "if we're going to play let us play, and if we're going to talk let us talk."--"Fire away!" said Bräsig, and Kurz began to deal, but in his haste, he misdealt. "Try again!" This time it was all right, and they could begin.--"I pass," said Hawermann. It was now the rector's turn, and they had all to wait till he had arranged his cards, for he had a superstitious fancy for picking up his cards singly, thinking it would bring him better luck, and as he was very conscientious in all his actions he was careful to arrange them in regular order, placing the sevens and fives in such a way that he could see the centre mark on each card, and so distinguish between them and the sixes and fours.--Kurz meanwhile laid his cards on the table, folded his hands and sighed.--"I pass," said the rector.--"I knew that," said Kurz, who was quite aware that it would be very odd play if his brother-in-law were to declare anything, but still he was always frightened, lest Baldrian should return the lead when he himself had declared anything, and when in consequence he had nothing more, or else should not lead up to him when he ought.--"Pass," said Bräsig whose turn it now was.--"Boston grandissimo," said Kurz.--"Who can follow?"--"Pass," said Hawermann.--"Dear brother-in-law," said the rector, "I--I--one trick, two tricks--this'll be the third. I follow."--"Oh," said Kurz, "but remember, we're not going to pay together, we're each to pay for ourselves."--"Then, Charles," said Bräsig, "if that's the way of it we'll have to give them a double beating."--"No talking," said Kurz.--"Certainly not," answered Hawermann, laying the ten of hearts on the table; "'Archduke Michael fell on the land.'"--"Cœur, Mr. Bräsig," said the rector throwing down the knave of hearts.--"'Hug me (Herze mich), and kiss me, but don't crumple my collar,'" said Bräsig playing the queen.--"The lady must have a husband," said Kurz putting down the king and taking the trick. He then played a small club; "clubs."--"Quick, snap it up," cried Bräsig to Hawermann.--"Hush!" said Kurz, "no talking allowed."--"Of course not," said Hawermann playing a small club.--"Well done our side," said the rector playing the nine.--"I've conquered with a club and a lady," said Bräsig taking the trick with the queen.--"What the mischief!" cried Kurz. "He has no more clubs. I wonder what he has!"--"Keep a bright look out, Charles, we're going to begin," cried Bräsig; "Sir," he went on turning to Kurz, "this is Whist. The ace of spades leads the way," and he threw down the ace. The king followed: "Long live the king!" and then the queen: "Give place to the ladies!"--"Hang it!" cried Kurz laying his cards on the table and staring at the rector; "what can he have? He has no spades either!"--"Dear brother-in-law," said the rector, "I'll do my part afterwards."--"And then it'll be too late," said Kurz taking up his cards again with as deep a sigh as if the rector had been ill-treating him and he was determined to bear it with the resignation of a Christian--"Charles," asked Bräsig, "how many tricks have we altogether?"--"Four," answered Hawermann.--"Hush," said Kurz. "That's not the game. No talking allowed."--"I wasn't giving any hints," said Bräsig. "I was only asking a question. Now, Charles, do your best. I can make one more trick, and so if you make another we'll do."--"I shall make one," said Kurz positively.--"And so shall I," said the rector.--After a couple of rounds, Kurz laid his hand over his tricks and said: "I've got mine now."--Diamonds were led. Baldrian recklessly played his queen, and Bräsig threw down the king, exclaiming: "Where are you going to, my pretty maid?" so the poor old rector was out-done, and he muttered confusedly: "I don't understand how that happened."--"Because you don't know the rules of Whist," cried Kurz.--"Charles," said Bräsig, "if you had only been paying proper attention to the game you might have got another of their good cards."--"Might I? Well, you made a mistake too, you ought to have returned my lead that time I led hearts."--"Now, Charles, how could I when I had none. I had nothing but the king."--"Well, brother-in-law," exclaimed Kurz, "you threw away the game. Why did you play the nine of trumps when you had the king. If you hadn't done that the game would have been ours."--"Faugh!" said Bräsig with great contempt, "you boy, you savage! How can you say that, when you remember what a strong hand I had in spades, to say nothing of my other cards. What do you mean by it?"--"Sir, do you think that when I agreed to play at Boston I should be afraid of your stupid grumbling?" said the rector.--"Don't let's talk about it any more," said Hawermann beginning a new deal. "It's always unpleasant to play a game over again."
They began to play once more with the firm determination to get the better of their adversaries.--The rector won as was right and proper, for, as is well known, the one who loses the first game is sure to win the second.--Kurz looked gloomy for a time, but afterwards brightened up: "Ten grandissimo," he said. Everybody was astonished, and so was he. He looked at his cards again, and repeated: "Ten grandissimo," laid the cards on the table and began to walk up and down the room: "That's the way they play in Venice and in other great towns," he said in conclusion.
Fred Triddelfitz entered the parlour at the moment when Kurz was triumphant and the others hardly knew what to do next. He looked pale and frightened: "Mr. Hawermann," he said, "do please come with me."--"What's the matter?" asked Hawermann starting up, but Kurz forced him back into his chair, saying: "You mustn't go till you've finished the game. The same thing happened to me once before, at the time of the great fire, I had just laid a grandissimo on the table when everyone ran away."--"Confound it," cried Hawermann freeing himself from Kurz, "can't you tell me what it is. Is there a fire?"--"No," stammered Fred, "it's--it's--it's only something that has happened to me."--"What has happened to you?" asked Bräsig sharply across the table.--"My mare has got a foal," said Fred.--"Is that all?" said Bräsig, "she has often had one before and I don't see what's to frighten you in that. Such an event is always a subject of rejoicing."--"I know," said Fred, "but--but--it looks so very odd. You must come, Mr. Hawermann."--"Is the foal dead?" asked Hawermann.--"No," answered Fred. "It's quite well, it only looks so odd ..... Christian Däsel says it's a young camel."--"Bless me!" cried Hawermann. "We'll put off the game till another time. Will you all come with me?"--And in spite of Kurz's expostulations they all followed Fred to the stable.--"I never saw a foal like it," said Fred while they were on their way there, "its ears are so long," and he showed them his arm from his elbow upwards.
When they came to the stable they found Christian Däsel in the stall, where the sorrel-mare was making much of her foal, which was trying to skip about merrily though rather staggeringly. He turned to Bräsig and said with a shake of his head: "Please, Sir, what in all the world is it?"--Bräsig looked at Hawermann and said emphatically: "Yes, I know what it is, Charles, this thorough-bred foal is neither more nor less than a mule."--"You're right," said Hawermann.--"A mule?" cried Fred, rushing into the stall and, notwithstanding the mother's displeasure, succeeding in getting hold of the foal's head and examining its face, eyes and ears with anxious scrutiny. As soon as he was convinced of the dreadful truth, he exclaimed angrily: "I'd like to strangle the creature, as I can't get at Augustus Prebberow."--"For shame, Triddelfitz!" said Hawermann gravely. "Don't you see how pleased its mother is with it although it isn't a thoroughbred?"--"Yes," said Bräsig, "and she's 'the nearest' to it, as Mrs. Behrens would say. You may strangle Augustus Prebberow though for all I care; he's a thrice distilled contraband rascal!"--"Nay," said Fred, whose wrath had given place to sadness, "how is it possible? He was my best friend, and yet he cheated me into buying a deaf mare and a mule. I'll prosecute him."--"I tell you that friendship and honesty are nowhere in horse-dealing," said Bräsig, taking Fred by the arm and leading him out of the stable, "but I'm very sorry for your disappointment. You've paid dearly for your experience in horse-dealing, but that's what everyone has to do. You mustn't go to law about it, for a law-suit is an endless thing; it'll still be going on long after the mule is dead. Look here," he said, making Fred walk up and down the yard with him, "I'll tell you a story as a warning. Old Rütebusch of Swensen sold his own brother-in-law, who was bailiff here before Hawermann, a regular porcupine of a riding-horse. Well, or as you always say, 'Bong,' three days afterwards the bailiff wished to try his new inquisition. He climbed into the saddle, and it was really climbing, I can tell you, for the horse, which had very short legs, had poked up its back till it looked more like a rainbow than anything else. No sooner was he mounted than the beast ran away with him, and never stopped till it had got deep into the village pond, right up to the neck in fact, and there was no inducing it to move either one way or the other. That was a blessing though in one sense, both for the horse and the bailiff, as they would otherwise most likely have been drowned. The bailiff shouted for help. The water was too deep to allow him to wade ashore, and he couldn't swim, so at last old Flegel the carpenter had to save him in a boat. Then there was a law-suit, for the bailiff said the horse was incurably mad, or as we farmers call it 'witless,' and Rütebusch must take it back, as madness when proved was sufficient cause to dissolve any bargain. Rütebusch refused, and the brothers-in-law became on such bad terms that they couldn't see each other three miles off without getting into a rage. The law-suit went on. All the Swensen people were called upon to swear that the horse was in full possession of its senses, and the Pümpelhagen people had to swear to the contrary. The law-suit went on for five years, and during that time the horse was left quietly in the stable eating his oats comfortably, for the bailiff had never ridden him since the first day, as he looked upon him as a dangerous wretch that had sold his soul to the devil, and he didn't dare to kill the beast because he was what is called the corpus delictus of the whole affair. The most learned vetinairy surgeons, six in number, were brought to look at the horse, but no good came of that, for they didn't agree. Three of them said he was all there, and the other three pronounced him mad. The lawsuit went on, and a number of other law-suits branched out of it, for the learned horse-doctors accused each other of being malicious and rude, and ended by going to law. Then a famous professor of vetinairy surgery in Berlin was applied to, and he wrote to desire them to cut off the horse's head and send it to him, as he must examine the brain before he could pronounce judgment. It's very difficult to say of any reasonable human being whether he is witless or wise, and how much more difficult is it to speak decidedly of an unreasoning animal. The bailiff determined to do as the professor wished, but old Rütebusch and his legal advisers wouldn't consent, so the law-suit went on as before. At last Rütebusch died, and six months later his brother-in-law died also. They hadn't made up their quarrel at the time of their death and each of them went into eternity clinging to his own opinion; the one that the horse was in his right senses and the other that he was mad. The law-suit was then suspendicated and three weeks afterwards the old horse died of fat and idleness. The head was nicely pickled and was sent to the learned professor at Berlin, who wrote clearly and decidedly that the horse had never been mad in all its life; that in point of fact it had been every bit as sane as he was himself, and that he only wished for the sake of the rival litigants that their brains had been in as perfect a condition as that of the horse. And he was right, for the rascally boy who had saddled the bailiff's horse, confessed to me afterwards when he was in my service, that he had tied a burning sponge under the poor beast's tail out of revenge, because the bailiff had thrashed him the day before. Now I ask you as a reasonable mortal, didn't the horse show his wisdom by running into the pond and so putting out the fire? The great law-suit was at an end, but the little ones between the farriers are still going on. And now I'll tell you something; Hawermann is a great friend of old Prebberow, the father of your roguish friend, and he will try to make an arrangement for you and see that you have fair play. You may go now, but don't be unkind to the innocent little foal or its mother, for they are not to blame for your having been cheated, indeed the mother was as much cheated as you were." Bräsig then went to join his friends and they all resumed their places at the card-table.
"All right!" said Kurz, "well it was ten grandissimo, and my turn to play."--"Charles," said Bräsig, "you must have a talk with old Prebberow some time or other, and try to make better terms for that confounded grey-hound of yours."--"I'll see to it, Zachariah, and it'll all come right. I'm heartily sorry for the poor boy having his pleasure spoilt like this--a mule of all things in the world!"--"I perceive," said the rector, laying down the cards which he had just finished arranging, "that you all talk of that little new born foal as a mule, and mule is the term used in natural history ....."--"Don't drive us mad with your natural history!" cried Kurz who had been sitting on thorns in fear of a long harangue. "Are we playing at natural history or at cards? Look, there's the ace of diamonds lying on the table."--They went on with their game and Kurz won. He was never tired of talking of his ten grandissimo during the next few weeks.
They played in the most friendly manner, till the rector who had arranged his money in a half circle, found out that he had won ten shillings, and then seeing that fortune was beginning to go against him, determined to stop playing; he therefore rose, and complaining of his feet having grown very cold, put his winnings in his pocket.--"If you suffer from cold feet," said Bräsig, "I'll tell you an excellent cure; take a pinch of snuff every morning before you have eaten anything and that'll prevent your ever having cold feet."--"Nonsense!" cried Kurz, who had been winning, "what's to make his feet cold?"--"Why," said the rector, defending himself, "can't I have cold feet as well as you? Don't you always complain of having cold feet at the club when you've been winning?" And so Baldrian succeeded in keeping his right to cold feet and to what he had won. After a little further talk the two town's people drove away taking Bräsig with them as far as their roads went in the same direction.
Just as Hawermann was going to bed he heard loud talking and scolding outside his door, and immediately afterwards Fred Triddelfitz and Christian Däsel came into the room.--"Good evening, Sir," said Christian, "and I don't care a bit."--"What's the matter?" asked Hawermann.--"Well, Sir," said Fred, "you know--how--how disappointed I was about the--the mule, and now Christian won't let the poor thing remain in the stable."--"Why not," asked Hawermann.--"You see, Sir," answered Christian, "I don't mind anything else, but I can't consent to that. My work lies amongst horses and foals, and I never set up to undertake camels and mules. And why? If I did Mr. Triddelfitz would be for bringing apes and bears into my stable next."--"But if I tell you that the mule is to stay there, and that you're to treat it as you would any other foal?"--"Nay then, of course I must do it if you tell me that, and it's all right now. Well, goodnight, Sir, I hope you'll not take it ill of me saying what I did," and so saying he went away.--"Mr. Hawermann," asked Fred, "what do you think that Mr. von Rambow will say when he hears what has happened, and Mrs. von Rambow too?"--"Don't distress yourself, they won't trouble themselves about it"--"Ah," sighed Fred as he left the room, "I'm awfully sorry that this has happened."
When the squire came home he was told the whole story of the sorrel-mare by Christian, and as he was a good-natured fellow at heart, and really liked Fred, whom he felt to be somewhat like himself in disposition, he spoke kindly and comfortingly to the lad, saying: "Never mind! Our little traffic in thorough-bred foals has come to nothing as the mare had made a mésalliance. We'll soon put her and her foal out into the field, and you'll see that things will turn out better than you expect"--Every one took an interest in the little mule, which soon became a general favourite. When the village children were passing through the field on Sunday afternoons they went to the enclosure where the foals were kept and looking at the mule used to say: "Look, Josy, that's it."--"Yes, that's the one. Just look how he's waggling his ears."--"I say, he's kicking like a donkey."--And when the young women who worked on the farm trooped past the enclosure, they also stood still, saying: "Look, Stina, that's Mr. Triddelfitz's mule."--"Come, Sophie, let's go a little nearer."--"No, I'd rather not. What an ugly beast it is to be sure."--"You've no right to say so. You don't dislike him so much, for he always gives you the easiest bits of work."--The sorrel-mare, the mule and Fred became well known in all the country side, and wherever the latter showed himself, he was asked how the mule was getting on, much to his chagrin. The little mule was happy and careless of all the remarks made about him, he ran and jumped about the paddock with the other well-born, high-bred foals, and when one of them tried to bully him he was quite able to take his own part.
CHAPTER X.
Everything went on well at Pümpelhagen that year. The harvest was plenteous, and the price of corn was high. Alick von Rambow saw a way opening before him of getting out of his difficulties; he did up his accounts over and over again, and saw clearly that if he sold the rape for so much, the sheep for so much, and the cattle for so much, that all this, with what he got for the wheat would be amply sufficient to pay off the last farthing of his debts. The devil himself must take part against him, if he failed to do so. He thought that the reason of his good fortune this year was that he himself was at Pümpelhagen, and was therefore able to look after things with his own eyes. The eye of the master is to a farm what the sun is to the world, everything ripens under it, and the tender blades of grass grow green under his footstep. So thinking, it was not long before Alick quite forgot that these blessings were the gift of God, and began to look upon them as the result of his own efforts, and even the high price of corn seemed to him to be a piece of well merited good fortune.
He rode his high horse without fear, and even when the farming and household expenses of the moment ran away with all the bank-notes with which David and Slus'uhr had provided him, and his small change began to run short, he congratulated himself on his excellent farming which gave him such unlimited credit in the neighbourhood, that Pomuchelskopp had offered to lend him various small sums from time to time. He had accepted loans from Pomuchelskopp without fear, in order to get rid of David for the time being, so that he paid David and Slus'uhr with Pomuchelskopp's money, and they paid it back to Pomuchelskopp, and he again lent it to Alick, thus the money was kept continually going round and round in a circle. It would altogether have been a very pleasant little arrangement, if Pomuchelskopp had not been obliged to take the trouble of removing the marks from the bills for fear of Alick's finding out that it was always his own money that he got back. It could not be helped however if Pomuchelskopp still wished to keep his plans for gaining the Pümpelhagen acres a profound secret from his victim, and indeed he enjoyed the sense of power which came of his rapid intimacy with Alick far too much to grudge the trouble he had to take.
Alick was also perfectly satisfied with the course events were taking, for he was always well supplied with money to ward off the attacks of the usurers, and at what seemed to him a very small price, for he never thought of adding up at the end of the year how much the total came to, and he was firmly convinced that his affairs were better attended to now that he lived at Pümpelhagen than they had ever been before. It was the old story over again. When a young squire who knows nothing whatever of farming wants to make improvements, he always begins with the live-stock. And why is this the case? Well, I imagine it is because young gentlemen think this subject the easiest to understand. All that they have to do is to buy a new bull, and a ram or two of some new fashioned breed, and then, as the laws of cattle-breeding are still sufficiently indefinite to allow of much theorising, even the stupidest of them has no difficulty in speaking learnedly on the subject. They have only to pass over as of no account, all that the old men around them have learnt from the experience of years, and they do not find it hard to do; after that these youthful farmers are as worthy of being listened to, in their own opinion at least, as those whose hair has grown grey at the work.
There was a dairy of Breitenburg cows at Pümpelhagen, which the old squire had bought by Hawermann's advice and with Hawermann's assistance. This dairy must now be improved, so Alick went to Sommersdorf in Pommerania where there was a great cattle-show, and bought a splendid Ayrshire bull by Pomuchelskopp's advice. He bought this bull because he was handsome, because he came from Scotland, and because he was something new. There was a flock of Negretti sheep which produced a great quantity of wool, and were of a high market-value, but as Pomuchelskopp said he had got four and sixpence a stone more for his wool, the young squire was induced to buy a couple of Electoral rams from his worthy neighbour, for which he was obliged to pay ready money. It never occurred to Alick to set the sum he made by the large quantity of wool given by his sheep, against that gained by Pomuchelskopp for the smaller quantity of finer wool; had he done so he might have found the result to be in his own favour, but unfortunately for him he had enough to do adding up other sums on a different subject.
Hawermann defended himself from the new arrangements as well as he could, but his efforts were vain. His master looked upon him as an old man who clung to the traditions of his youth too vehemently to be able to advance with the age, and when the old man's reasons against the introduction of some new method were unanswerable, he always said impatiently: "Hang it! Let's try how it does at all events," and it never entered his head to remember that experiments run away with more money than anything else. The bailiff could do nothing, and only thanked God that the squire had not yet really thought of breeding thorough-bred horses, though he spoke of doing it every now and then. Mrs. von Rambow could do nothing, for she was not aware of the way in which her husband put off the evil day of paying his debts, and in ordinary matters she was obliged to be contented with the result of what she saw, and that was that Alick was apparently satisfied with the course of events, and was looking forward to a golden future.
The Pomuchelskopps at Gürlitz manor were also happy; I do not mean that they enjoyed great domestic happiness, they were too modest to expect such a thing? but they were satisfied with their financial condition, and looked forward to still greater wealth coming to them in a short time, for the boundary between Pümpelhagen and Gürlitz was growing more shadowy every day. Pomuchelskopp's only difficulty after any new business-transaction with Alick was to keep his Henny quiet, for in her ardour for possession she was anxious to cross the boundary, and seize upon Pümpelhagen without further delay.
There was great contentment in Joseph Nüssler's house, and much looking forward to a golden future of the ideal sort, such as poets mean when they try to describe the "golden glory of the dawn," not that they think the brilliance of gold an exact representation of that wonderful light in the eastern sky, but because they know nothing more beautiful, they so seldom get a glimpse of it. Godfrey gradually got rid of his long hair, and began to look upon the world with other eyes than before. He no longer used the mental blue spectacles they had provided him with at Erlangen or elsewhere, and much to Bräsig's delight he even went so far as to play at Boston, though it must be confessed that he did it very badly; on another occasion he had got on horse-back, and had managed to fall off without hurting himself, and he had appeared at Joseph Nüssler's Harvest Home. He did not dance, that is to say before all the rest, but he enjoyed a quiet turn with Lina in the next room, and at the end of the evening he sang "Vivallera!" clearly but wretchedly ill. And Rudolph? It is sufficient to repeat what Hilgendorf said to Bräsig about him: "He'll do, Bräsig. He's just such another youngster as I was myself; there's no tiring him; he's as strong as a horse. He has only to glance at a thing, and he knows how to do it at once, and it was just the same with me. And as for books? He never opens one! And that's like me again."--Mrs. Nüssler rejoiced in her children's happiness; and young Joseph and young Bolster sat quietly by the hour together, gazing straight before them, and saying nothing, they were thinking of the time when they would each have a new heir to their dignities, young Joseph in Rudolph, and young Bolster in young Bolster the seventh. Theirs could not be called a looking forward to a golden dawn, but to contented natures like Joseph and Bolster the evening-sky has likewise its golden light.
Every house in the parish had its share of happiness, each of them after its kind, but one house formed an exception to this rule, although it used to have its full share. In winter round the fire-side, and in summer under the great lime-tree, or in the arbour in the garden there always used to be a calm peaceful happiness, in which the child Louisa as she played about the old house and grounds, and little Mrs. Behrens, who ruled all things duster in hand, had had part, and also the good old clergyman, who had now done with all earthly things for ever. Peace had taken leave of the house, and had gone forth calmly to the place from whence she came, and during that time of illness, care and sorrow had taken up their abode there, deepening with the growing weakness of the good old man. He did not lie long in bed, and had no particular illness, so that Dr. Strump of Rahnstädt could not find amongst all the three thousand, seven hundred and seventy seven diseases of which he knew, one that suited the present case. Peace seemed to have laid her hand on the old man's head in blessing, and to have said to him: "I am going to leave thee, but only for a short time, I shall afterwards return to thy Regina. Thou needest me no more, because thou hast had me in thy heart during all the long years thou hast fought the good fight of faith. Now sleep softly, thou must needs be tired."
And he was tired, very tired. His wife had laid him on the sofa under the pictures, that he might look out at the window as much as he liked, Louisa had covered him comfortably with rugs and shawls, and then they had both left the room softly that he might rest undisturbed. Out of doors the first flakes of snow were falling slowly, slowly from the sky; it was as quiet and still outside as within his heart, and he felt as if the blessing of Christ were resting upon him. No one saw it, but his Regina was the first to find it out--he rose, and, pushing the large arm-chair up to the cupboard, opened the door, and sitting down, began to examine the treasures that he had kept as relics of the past. Some of them had belonged to his father, and some to his mother, they were all reminiscences of what he had loved.
This cupboard was the place where he had stowed away whatever reminded him of all the chief events of his life, and they had become relics the sight of which did him good when he was down-hearted. They were not preserved in crystal vessels or in embroidered cases, but were simply placed on the shelf, and kept there to be looked at whenever he wanted to see them. When he felt low and sad it did him good to take out these relics, and to live over again in thought the happy days of which they reminded him, and he never closed the cupboard-door without gaining strength and courage, or without thanking God silently for his many blessings. There lay the Bible his father had given him when he was a boy; the beautiful glass vase his old college-friend had sent him; the pocket-book his Regina had worked for him during their engagement; the shell which a sailor had sent him in token of his gratitude for having been shown the way to become a better man; the pieces of paper on which Louisa, Mina and Lina had written their Christmas and New Year's-day messages of affection, as also some of their earlier bits of handiwork; the withered myrtle wreath his wife had worn on her wedding-day; the large pictorial Bible with the silver-clasps that Hawermann had given him on his seventieth birthday, and the silver-mounted meerschaum that Bräsig had given him on the same occasion, and down below on the lowest shelf were three pairs of shoes, the shoes that Louisa, Regina and he had worn when they first entered the parsonage.
Old shoes are not beautiful in themselves, but the memories attached to these made them beautiful in his eyes, so he took them out of the cupboard, and laid them down by his side, and then placing his first Bible on his knee, he opened it at our Lord's Sermon on the Mount, and began to read. No one saw him, but that was not necessary, and his Regina knew it when it was all over. He grew very tired, and resting his head in the corner of the great chair fell asleep like a little child.
And so they found him when they came back. Mrs. Behrens seated herself on the arm of his chair, clasped him in her arms, closed his eyes, and then resting her head against his, wept silently. Louisa knelt at his feet, and laying her folded hands on his knee, looked with tearful eyes at the two quiet faces that were so dear to her. Then Mrs. Behrens rose, and folding down the leaf of the Bible, drew it softly out of her husband's hand, and Louisa also rose and threw her arms round her foster-mother's neck. They both wept long and passionately, till at last when it was growing dusk Mrs. Behrens replaced the shoes in the cupboard, saying as she did so: "I bless the day when we came to this house together," and while laying Louisa's little shoes beside them, she added: "and I bless the day when the child came to us." She then closed the cupboard-door.
The good old clergyman was buried three days later in the piece of ground he had long ago sought out for his last resting-place, and any one standing by the grave, which was lighted by the earliest rays of the morning-sun, might easily see into the parlour in the parsonage-house.
The people who had been at the funeral were all gone home, and Hawermann had also been obliged to go, but uncle Bräsig, who had spent the day at the parsonage helping his friends in every possible way, had announced his intention of remaining for the night. Seeing the two women standing arm in arm at the window buried in sad thought, he slipped quietly upstairs to his bed-room, and going to the window looked sorrowfully down into the church-yard, where the newly made grave showed distinctly against the white snow surrounding it. He thought of the good man who lay there, who had so often helped him with kindness and advice, and he swore to himself that he would be a faithful friend to Mrs. Behrens.--Down-stairs the two sad-hearted women were gazing at the same grave, and silently vowing to show each other all the love and tenderness that he who was gone from them had been wont to bestow. Little Mrs. Behrens thanked God and her husband for the comforter she had in her adopted daughter whom she held in her arms, and whose smooth hair she stroked, as she kissed her lovingly. Louisa prayed that God would bless the lessons she had learnt from her foster-father, and would give her strength to be a good and faithful daughter to the kind woman who had been as a mother to her. New-made graves may be likened to flower-beds in which the gardener puts his rarest and most beautiful plants; but alas, ill-weeds sometimes take root there also.
Two people were standing in one of the windows at Gürlitz manor on the same evening, and gazing out in the dusk, but not towards the church-yard and parsonage; no, they were looking covetously at the glebe-lands, and Pomuchelskopp said to his Henny that they were sure to fall into their hands soon, for he would be the first to propose to take a lease of them when the new clergyman came to the parish.--"Muchel," answered his wife, "the Pümpelhagen people will never stand that; they'll take very good care not to let the land slip through their fingers."--"Through their fingers did you say, Henny? Why, don't you know that their very fate is in my hands?"--"That's quite true as far as it goes, but perhaps a young clergyman may come who would like to farm his own glebe."--"Chuck, Chuck, you're not as clever as you used to be. We have to choose the new parson, and we'll choose a methodist. Those clergymen who are never to be seen without a Bible and hymn-book are the kind we want, for they have no time to farm."--"You ar'n't the only patron, remember. Pümpelhagen, Rexow, and Warnitz have votes as well as you."--"But, my Chick, don't you know that Warnitz and Rexow have no chance if they vote against Pümpelhagen. If the Pümpelhagen people and mine only vote together ....."--"Don't trust to your people, Kopp, they've no particular love for you. Mrs. Behrens will be against you, and all the villagers will do her bidding to a man."--"I shall get rid of her as soon as possible. She must leave the village at once. There's no house in the neighbourhood for a parson's widow to live in, and I'm not going to build one. No, no, Mrs. Behrens must go away, and the sooner the better in my opinion."--"What a fool you are, Kopp! Don't you know that she has a right to remain at the parsonage until the new clergyman is elected?" And with that Henny walked away.--"Chuck," Pomuchelskopp called after her, "I'll manage it, dear Chuck."
Many an evil weed flourished upon that quiet grave, and covetous hands were stretched out to seize the place left vacant by the good old man, but harm always comes sooner or later to him who with greedy joy uses the misfortunes of the widow and orphan for his own advantage, and makes capital for himself of his neighbour's necessities.
CHAPTER XI.
Bräsig remained a week at the parsonage, and did everything that was necessary to be done at such a time. He made the inventary, wrote a large bundle of letters announcing the sad news of Mr. Behrens' death, and took them to the post-office himself in spite of snow, cold and gout, settled accounts with the Rahnstädt tradesmen, and was now seated at the breakfast-table with Mrs. Behrens and Louisa on the Monday after the funeral, taking his last meal before leaving them, when a carriage stopped at the door, and Frank von Rambow getting out of it entered the room with joyful impetuosity. But on seeing the deep mourning worn by both the women, he stood still and exclaimed: "What has happened? Where is Mr. Behrens?"--The widow rose from her arm-chair, and going to the young man shook hands with him, and said with difficulty: "My pastor is gone. He has gone home, and wished to be remembered to all, to all ...." Here she broke down, and covering her face with her pocket-handkerchief, continued: "To all he loved, and you were one of those."--Louisa now went and shook hands with him, but without speaking. When he entered the room the blood had rushed to her face, but she had had time to regain self-command. Bräsig then welcomed the new-comer, and began to talk of this or that to change the current of his friends' thoughts, which had gone back to the time when they first knew of their bereavement; but Frank did not hear a word that he said, and stood as motionless as if he had been struck by lightning, the news he had just heard had shattered his joyful anticipations so completely.
He had been at the agricultural school at Eldena for the last two years, where he had worked hard, and had learnt all that was needed to make him a good farmer; the practical part of his business he had been taught by Hawermann, and so now that he was of age he was fitted to take possession of his estate, and even to take a wife if he felt inclined. The prudent advice of Mr. Behrens had prevented him hurrying on to such a consummation too quickly. His disposition was neither cold nor calculating, and his heart beat as warmly in his breast as that of any other young man who was very much in love, but he had been obliged to think for himself while so young that he had grown cautious, and had accustomed himself to think twice before doing anything of importance--some people said that he was too cautious--but it is a fault on the right side. In this instance he was right to consider well the step he proposed taking, for it was the most important of his life. He had buried the sweet dream of happiness deep in his heart in the same way as the kernel of the acorn is hidden by its hard shell; he had not pleased himself with building up images of ideal bliss, but had waited patiently till the proper time came for the seed to sprout out of which was to grow the stately tree under whose shade he and his Louisa might sit in peace. Whenever he had longed to go and see her, he struggled against the temptation, for he did not wish to speak to her then, he wanted to leave her free, and to give her plenty of time to make up her mind unharassed by opposition. And when his heart bled at the thought that he must not see her, he used to strengthen himself by saying: "Be still. This is no game of chance. I must learn to be worthy of her. And then if I win her, success will be all the sweeter."
He was now of age and was able to take his place in the world as a man. The time was come where pride and honour no longer stood in the way and he might tell his love to her whom he deemed the noblest, sweetest girl on the face of the earth. The seed had begun to sprout, the tender green shoot was showing above the soil, and the time was come to tend it that it might grow into a tree; not only was it time to do so, it was his duty. So at last yielding to the dictates of his warm heart, and putting aside all further deliberation, he got into a carriage and set out for Gürlitz parsonage.
Now that he had arrived there, the song of joy his heart had been singing on the journey was hushed, and he stood between the two black-robed women feeling more sorrowful than he had ever done before. The object of his journey must remain unknown, for his own feelings, respect for the grief he saw in his friends, and his own sorrow for the true and good man who had passed away from them, all combined to keep him silent, at the cost of much pain to himself.--Love is selfish and cares nothing for the feelings of others is a common saying, and often a true one. It has a world of its own, and goes it own way as though the fate of others were nothing to it; but when it comes from God, its course is determined by the eternal laws of right and goodness, and its influence on sad hearts is sweet and calm as the light of the evening star.
Such was the character of Frank's love, it could neither hurt nor annoy the people with whom he had to do, on the contrary it comforted and did good to all. He said nothing of the errand that had brought him to Gürlitz, and when he took leave of his friends he felt like the traveller, who, towards the end of a long and toilsome journey, sees a church-spire rising in the distance and walks on cheerily, thinking that his destination will soon be reached, but who is undeceived by the sight of the first houses of the village, and finds that he has yet further to go.
It was a beautiful winter-day when Frank set out to walk from the parsonage to Pümpelhagen, letting the carriage follow slowly. Bräsig went with him. The young man was busily engaged with his own thoughts, while Bräsig was not at all inclined to be silent so that they were by no means suitable companions. Bräsig might certainly have held his tongue and have kept all the stories that came into his head to himself, but it was one of his peculiarities never to see when he was not wanted. He could not help seeing at last that he received no answer to his remarks, and then he stood still, curiously enough, nearly on the same spot where Alick had given him to understand that he did not want his company any further, and asked: "Perhaps my presence is disagreeable to you. It was just about this very place that your cousin Mr. von Rambow told me that he did not wish me to walk with him, if that is the case with you, I can easily leave you alone."--"Dear Mr. Bräsig," said Frank; taking the old man's hand, "don't be angry with me, but I can't help thinking about the death of the good old clergyman, and the sad change that has taken place in the parsonage."--"If that is it," answered Bräsig pressing his hand, "I quite understand, and only think the better of you for it. I have always told Mrs. Behrens and little Louisa that you are one of the cultivated farmers such as one meets with in books, for you have a deal of humanity in you and yet you are quite able to keep order amongst those confounded farm-lads; I tell Rudolph that he can't do better than follow your ensample."--He then went on to tell Frank about Rudolph and Mina, Godfrey and Lina, and from them he passed to other people living in the parish; Frank forced himself to listen attentively, so that by the time they reached Pümpelhagen he knew all that had been going on during his absence, even to the doings of Pomuchelskopp and his Henny.--"Well," said Bräsig in conclusion as they entered the court-yard at Pümpelhagen, "you're going to see your cousin, I suppose, and I'm going to Hawermann, but there is one request that I want to make you; let what I have told you about Pomuchelskopp and his projections remain a secret between us, and you may trust me to have my eye upon him and to put a spoke in his wheel whenever I can."
But Frank did not go to the manor-house, he hastened to the bailiff's quicker than Bräsig could follow, rushed into the parlour where he had spent so many quiet hours alone with Hawermann, and fell upon his neck. The old man's eyes were moist, and the cheeks of the youth were flushed, as if age had given his best gift, the dew of his blessing, and the young heart on receiving it were revived and strengthened.--It should always be so.--Frank then went up to Fred Triddelfitz, and holding out his hand, said: "How d'ye do, Fred."--But Fred was proud, with a true middle-class pride; and he had also a desire for revenge which was born on the evening he had been caught in the field-ditch near the parsonage, so he said quietly: "How d'ye do, Mr. von Rambow."--"What's the matter, Fred?" asked Frank turning him round, and letting him stand as if Fred were some inexplicable note of interrogation to which he must find an answer, then shaking hands with the two old gentlemen, he went to his cousin's house.--"Charles," said Bräsig, seating himself by the table on which dinner was laid, "that young Mr. von Rambow is really a most capital fellow. Ah, what a splendid roast of pork! It's an age since I saw roast pork."
Alick welcomed his cousin heartily, for he was really pleased to see him. He and Frank were the last male descendants of their race. Frida, who had only met Frank once before, on the occasion of her marriage, was glad to renew her acquaintance with him, and did all in her power to make his visit a pleasant one. When Hawermann was crossing the yard after dinner, on his return from seeing Bräsig part of the way home, she sent out, and invited him to come to coffee, because she knew that Frank would like it. Then it came out that Frank had gone to the bailiff's before appearing at the manor-house, which made Alick rather angry; he frowned with displeasure and Frida saw that his manner changed and became haughty. That would not have mattered much, however, if he had not been so foolish and unjust as to revenge Frank's mistake, if mistake it were, on Hawermann by the coldness of his demeanour.
The company were therefore not on such easy terms as they might have been, and every friendly word which Hawermann and Frank exchanged added to Alick's wrath; he grew stiffer and colder every moment, so that in spite of the sunshine of Mrs. von Rambow's kindness, the conversation was in danger of dying away, when suddenly Hawermann jumped up, looked out at the window and then hastened from the room.--Alick's face flushed with anger: "What very extraordinary conduct! Most improper!" he said. "My bailiff seems to think that he may dispense with the commonest rules of politeness."--"Something of great importance must have happened," answered Frida going to the window. "What can he be saying to that labourer?"--"It's Regel," said Frank who had also gone to the window.--"Regel? Regel?" asked Alick starting up. "That's the messenger I sent to Rostock yesterday with three hundred pounds in gold, he surely can't have got back already."--"What can it be," cried Frank, "I never saw the old man so excited. Look, he has seized hold of the labourer," and with that he rushed out of the house, followed by Alick.
When they reached the yard, they saw that the old bailiff had caught the strong young labourer by the collar, and was shaking him so violently that his hat fell off and rolled into the snow: "That's a lie," he exclaimed, "a mean, wicked lie! Mr. von Rambow," he said, "this fellow says that he has lost the money!"--"No, it was taken away from me," cried the labourer who was deadly pale.--Alick also changed colour. He had long owed the three hundred pounds to some people in Rostock, and had put off paying the debt till he could put it off no longer; Pomuchelskopp had lent him the money to pay it--and now it was gone.--"It's a lie!" cried Hawermann. "I know the fellow. He isn't one to allow the money to be taken from him by force. He could and would keep any ten men at bay who only wanted to steal a little tobacco from him," and he shook the man again.--"Wait!" said Frank, separating them. "Let the man explain the whole affair quietly. What's all this about the money?"--"They took it away from me," said Regel. "When I got to Gallin wood on the other side of Rahnstädt this morning, two men came up to me, and one of them asked me to give him a light for his pipe. I refused, and so the other caught me by the waist and knocked me down. They then took the black parcel out of my pocket and ran away with it into Gallin wood, and I ran after them but couldn't catch them."--"But," interrupted Alick, "how does it happen that you just reached Gallin wood this morning, it's only a couple of miles on the other side of Rahnstädt. Didn't I tell you plainly to get a passport from the mayor of Rahnstädt, and to walk all night so as to be able to pay over the money in Rostock at twelve o'clock to-day?"--(If the money were not paid at that hour proceedings were to be instituted against him.)--"Yes, Sir," said the labourer, "and I did get the passport. Here it is," pulling it out of the lining of his hat, "but I really couldn't walk a whole winter's night, so I remained with my friends in Rahnstädt, and thought that I'd be sure to get to Rostock in time."--"Christian Däsel," cried Hawermann, who had grown quite calm again, his previous excitement having been caused by the conviction that the labourer was telling him a lie.--"Mr. von Rambow," he asked, as soon as Christian came, "will you not send for a magistrate?" and when Alick had consented, he said: "Christian, harness two of the carriage horses into the dog-cart, and go for the mayor of Rahnstädt; I'll have a letter for you to take by the time you're ready to start. Now, Regel, come with me, and I'll put you in a quiet place where you'll have time to come to your senses," he then took the labourer away to his house and locked him up in one of the rooms.
When Alick went back to the house with his cousin, he had a good opportunity for consulting him about his affairs, but he did not do it although he knew that Frank was both able and willing to help him. It is a true saying that the real spendthrift turns for help much more readily to a hard-hearted usurer than to his friends and relations.--He is too proud to confess his debts and sins, but not too proud to humble himself by begging and borrowing from disreputable Jews. Such conduct however cannot, in the true sense of the word, be said to arise from pride, but from a miserable insensate cowardice, a fear of the kind and sensible advice of friends and relations.
Alick was silent, and Walked restlessly up and down the room while his wife and cousin talked over what had occurred. He felt himself to be in a very disagreeable position, for unless the money was paid, his creditor, perhaps all his creditors, would go to law with him. He could bear it no longer, and though it was rapidly growing dark, ordered his horse, and went out for what he called a ride--in reality it was to see Mr. Pomuchelskopp.
Pomuchelskopp listened sympathetically to Mr. von Rambow's story, and loudly bewailed the wickedness of mankind, adding that in his opinion when Mr. von Rambow went to the expense of having a bailiff, that bailiff ought to be able to choose a trustworthy man to send on an errand of such importance. He did not want to say more at present, but still he must confess that he thought Hawermann always acted too much on his own judgment; for instance with regard to the glebe lands; he had persuaded the late squire to rent the fields for his own benefit, and he, Pomuchelskopp would prove clearly that the lease of the glebe had been injurious to the interests of Pümpelhagen. He then went on to tell Alick a long winded tale, which he could not understand, because he was a very poor arithmetician, and besides that, could think of nothing but his lost money at the moment. He therefore said "yes" to everything his companion told him, and at last forced himself to ask Pomuchelskopp to lend him another three hundred pounds. Pomuchelskopp at first looked doubtful, scratched his ear, and then said, "yes" in his turn, but only on condition that Alick should not rent the glebe from the new clergyman.--Mr. von Rambow might have turned restive at this condition being annexed to the bargain, but Pomuchelskopp showed once more by figures that Pümpelhagen and Gürlitz would both gain by the arrangement. Alick only half heard what was said to him, and at length agreed to give a written consent to the plan proposed; his debts were pressing, and he must rid himself of the worst claims at any cost. He was just the kind of man who would cut the throat of his only milch cow in hopes of making money by the sale of its skin.
Everything was settled now. Alick signed the paper given him. Pomuchelskopp packed up the parcel of three hundred pounds and sent his own groom with it to the Rahnstädt post office. This was much the wisest thing to do, for thus no one at Pümpelhagen got to know anything of the affair. Alick told himself two things so often during his ride home that he ended by believing them: the first was, that the loss of the money was entirely Hawermann's fault; and the second was, that he was glad to have got rid of the glebe lands on such terms.