CHAPTER XII.
In the meantime the mayor of Rahnstädt, who was chief-magistrate in Alick's district, had arrived at Pümpelhagen, bringing Slus'uhr with him as clerk. The mayor had made good use of his time; before starting he had sent a detective to all the public houses and shops which farm-labourers were wont to frequent, to find out whether the labourer Regel from Pümpelhagen had been there, and thus he had discovered enough to assist him in his enquiry. Regel had come to his office about four o'clock on the previous afternoon, had got a passport from him, and had showed him the parcel of money, which was sewed up in a piece of black wax-cloth, and he had seen that the seal on the packet was still intact. The man--who was of a very talkative disposition--had told him, he was to walk all night, and that considering the time of year was a good deal to require of any one, but still the fellow was very strong and healthy looking; there was no fear of its being too dark for a traveller to see his way, the snow covering the ground made it so light; he had advised the man to set out at once, but he had not started till nearly midnight. Regel had gone into a public house, and had bought a glass of schnaps; at nine o'clock he was seen standing in front of a shop drinking brandy, giving himself airs, and talking of the money he was carrying, he even went so far as to show the parcel to one of the shopmen. Where he had gone next the mayor did not yet know, but looked upon it as an undoubted fact that the man had got very drunk, and asked Alick and Hawermann whether he was in the habit of drinking.--"I don't know," answered Alick, "my bailiff can answer that question better than I."--The squire's tone was so peculiar that Hawermann looked at him enquiringly, and seemed as though about to say something, but changing his mind he merely said to the mayor, that he had never noticed anything of the kind in the man, nor yet had he ever heard of his being drunk; he had little to say against any of the Pümpelhagen labourers in that respect, and least of all against Regel.--"That may be," said the mayor, "but the man was drunk for all that. Once is the first time, as we say--he was certainly drunk when he came to my office. Will you send for his wife."
His wife came. She was a young and nice-looking woman; but a very few years ago she had been the prettiest girl in the village, neat, trim, and frank, like every Mecklenburg country-maiden, now children and housework had stolen away all the roses from her cheeks, and had made her thin and angular--married women soon grow old in our country-districts. She also looked sad and anxious. Hawermann was very sorry for her, so he went to her, and said: "Don't be afraid, Dame Regel. Tell the truth, and all will be well."--"Lawk a daisy! Mr. Hawermann, what is it? What's the matter? What has my husband done?"--"Tell me, Dame Regel, does your husband often drink more brandy than is good for him?" asked the mayor.--"No, Sir, he was never known to have done such a thing in his life. He never drinks brandy, we have none in the house; the only time he ever tastes it, is during the harvest when he gets it from the farm the same as the other men."--"Had he not had some brandy yesterday before he left home?" asked the mayor again.--"No, Sir. He had his dinner, and then went away about half-past two. No, Sir .... but stop. I didn't see it, but still .... I remember now! Yesterday evening when I looked into the cupboard, I found the brandy-bottle empty."--"But I thought you told me you had no brandy in the house?" asked the mayor.--"Neither we have; that was the remains of the brandy used at the funeral; we buried our eldest little girl last Friday, and some of the brandy was left. Ah, how miserable he was! How very miserable he was!"--"You think that your husband drank it?"--"Yes, Sir, who else could have done it?"
The case was made out so far, and Dame Regel was allowed to go.--"We've got out the story of the brandy," whispered Slus'uhr to Alick, winking and blinking slyly at the mayor, "I only hope that we'll make out as much about the missing money."--"Take down the examination, clerk," said the mayor quietly, pointing to a seat. "Let the labourer Regel be sent for, and put upon oath."--"Mr. Mayor," cried Alick, springing to his feet, "I don't understand what the brandy has got to do with my money. The fellow has stolen it!"--"That's just what I want to find out," replied the mayor calmly. "Has he stolen it, or has he been acting for some one else, or was he in a condition to carry out either of these actions," and going up to the young squire, he said kindly but decidedly: "Mr. von Rambow, a man who had made up his mind to steal three hundred pounds wouldn't go and get drunk first. And then I must remind you that it is my duty as a magistrate to look after the interests of the accused, as much as after yours."
Regel was now brought into the room. He was deadly pale, but had lost all the nervousness he had shown in the morning when the old bailiff was questioning him, and looked as stern and hard as if his figure had been hewn out of granite. He confessed that he had drunk all the brandy that had been left in the cupboard at home; that he had had more at Rahnstädt; that he had been still in the wine-shop at nine o'clock; that he had spent the night with his friends, and had set out on his journey again about six in the morning; but he remained true to his first story, and maintained that two men had taken the money from him by force in Gallin wood. Whilst this last part of the deposition was being taken down, the door opened, and Dame Regel, rushing up to her husband, threw herself into his arms. In Mecklenburg courts of justice strict formality is not considered necessary, so there are no police to prevent the occurrence of incidents of this kind.--"Joe! Joe! Have you made your wife and children miserable for ever?"--"Oh, Molly, Molly, I didn't do it. My hands are clean. Did you ever know me steal?"--"Tell these gentlemen the whole truth, Joe."--The labourer hesitated, turned dusky red and then pale again, looking shyly and uncertainly at his wife: "Mary, did I ever take what was not my own?"--Dame Regel let her hands fall from his shoulders: "No, Joe, you never did that. You never did that. But you have told lies; you have often told me a lie." She hid her face in her apron, and went out; Hawermann followed her. The labourer was removed.
The mayor had not disturbed the meeting between the husband and wife, it was against rules, but it might furnish him with a clue, and show the truth. Alick started, and began to walk rapidly up and down the room when he heard Dame Regel say: "You have told lies, you have often told me a lie." His conscience reproached him, he hardly knew why on this evening of all others, but he felt that he too had never stolen anything, and that he too had lied. But like every man who is not upright in heart, the moment his conscience pricked him, he lied to himself again, and denied the accusation his conscience had brought against him. He and the labourer were very different; he had only told a fib for his wife's sake, to save her uneasiness, while the labourer had lied for his own sake.
Ah, Mr. von Rambow, if you remain as you are, the devil will yet reap a goodly harvest in your soul!
Slus'uhr, having finished, slipped up to Alick, and whispered: "Yes, Mr. von Rambow, the man who lies will also steal."--Alick shivered at the words; partly because of the turmoil in his own heart, and partly because he knew how very like stealing Slus'uhr's business was; he was not merely astonished, he was horrified at the impudence of the man. He would not have been so startled however, if he had only heard the stories people told of the attorney.
Nothing more could be done for the moment, as all the witnesses, including the labourer's friends, were in Rahnstädt, the mayor therefore ordered that the prisoner should remain at Pümpelhagen that night, locked up in some secure place, and that he should be brought to Rahnstädt on the next day.--"Then let him be put in the front-cellar of the manor-house," said Alick to Hawermann who had come back.--"Wouldn't it be better, Sir, to leave him in the room where I put him before, in the farm-house, as the window is barred with iron ....."--"No," answered Alick sharply, "the cellar-windows are also grated, and I wish to prevent his having the opportunity of speaking to his friends which he might have at the farm."--"I'm a light sleeper, Mr. von Rambow, and if you want to make sure, a trustworthy man might guard the door."--"I have already told you what I desire you to do. The matter is far too important for me to trust to your light sleep, or to the guard that a comrade of that rascal would keep."--Hawermann looked at him in surprise, said, "as you will," and left the room.
It was about ten o'clock in the evening, supper had long been on the table, Mary Möller had groaned and moaned over everything being spoilt, and Frida was rather cross because of having to wait so long for news, and because of the supper; the only thing that kept her patient was talking to Frank. At length the gentlemen came back, and Frida went to the mayor, and asked: "He didn't steal the money, did he? I hope not."--"No, Madam," answered the mayor calmly and decidedly, "the labourer didn't steal the money; it was stolen from him, or he lost it."--"Thank God!" she said from the bottom of her heart, "I'm so glad that the man isn't a thief. I should hate the thought of there being dishonest people in the village."--"Surely you don't imagine that our people are better than those in other places. They're the same everywhere," said Alick.--"Mr. von Rambow," said Hawermann, who had come to supper, "our people are perfectly honest; I have been here long enough to be convinced of that. There hasn't been a single case of theft known in all the years that I've been at Pümpelhagen."--"Ah! That's what you've always told me, and now--yes now, you see that my foolish credulity has made me lose three hundred pounds. If you really know the people so well, what induced you to recommend me to use that man of all others as my messenger?"--Hawermann stared at him: "It seems to me," he said, "that you want to make out that the loss of the money is my fault, but I cannot acknowledge that to be the case. It is true," he went on, his face reddening with anger, "that I advised you to send Regel to Rostock, but my only reason for doing so, was that you have always hitherto used him as a messenger in your money transactions; he has been more than ten times at Gürlitz for you, and attorney Slus'uhr can bear witness to how often you have sent to him by that man."--Frida looked quickly at Slus'uhr when she heard this, and the attorney returned her gaze; neither of them spoke, and different as their thoughts were, it seemed that each could read the other's soul. Frida saw in the sly sinister expression of the attorney's eyes, that he was a man who would not scruple to use his power over her husband to the uttermost, while the attorney on his side read in the clear thoughtful eyes of the lady of the house, that she was the person he had to fear most in the prosecution of his designs. Alick stifled a hasty answer to what the bailiff had said, when he saw the old man's grave determined face, and Frida's look of enquiry. Slus'uhr was also silent, but watched anxiously lest his prey should escape him. Thus Frank and the mayor were the only people at table who were unaware that Hawermann's words had touched a sore subject, and they were the only ones who were able to keep up a conversation. The party separated as soon as supper was over; the mayor spent the night at the manor-house.
Everyone at Pümpelhagen was sound asleep with the exception of two pairs of married people. These were Mr. and Mrs. von Rambow, and the labourer and his wife. Alick and Frida were sitting at their own fire side, he longing to tell his wife all that weighed upon him and made him miserable; to tell the whole truth for once. But he could not. She entreating him to confide in her now that she knew so much, now that she knew of his money difficulties; she said that she would economise, but begged him to give up all transactions with Pomuchelskopp and Slus'uhr, and to consult Hawermann who would be able to advise him what to do. Alick always did things by halves; he never told a downright lie, and yet he did not tell the truth. He did not deny his present need of three hundred pounds, but said that no one could help his means being straightened after having met with so considerable a loss. He had not had time to consider what was best to be done, and could not yet see what he should sell to meet the claim--but he never said that he had already sold some fine wheat and had got the money for it too. He assured her that his business relations with Pomuchelskopp and Slus'uhr--he never spoke of David--could do him no harm; it was an old story now with both of them--he did not tell her of his new dealings with Pomuchelskopp--and he had found both very civil in their treatment of him, "but," he said in conclusion, "you know it would never do for me to talk to Hawermann about money matters, it wouldn't be fitting."--Alick's untruths were more a suppression of the truth than direct falsehoods, and indeed when putting his arm round his wife's waist, he assured her that his affairs would soon be in good order; he was merely saying what he, for the moment, fully believed.--Frida was sad at heart when she left him.
The other husband and wife were not in a warm room like these; the labourer was confined in a cold cellar, while his wife knelt at the window of his prison unheeding the cold drizzling November rain which was wetting her to the skin, they were not sitting side by side, but were separated by an iron grating.--"Joe," she whispered through the grating, "tell the truth."--"They stole it from me," was the answer.--"Who stole it, Joe?"--"How can I tell?" he said, and it was the truth; he did not know the name of the woman who had taken the black pocket-book out of his waistcoat pocket in the full light of day, when he was reeling along the Gallin road only half conscious of what he was doing after his potations of the night before, to say nothing of the two gills of brandy he had taken that morning on an empty stomach. He could not tell the truth; how could he acknowledge that he, a young strong man, had allowed a woman to steal three hundred pounds from him on the public road? He could not do it even to save his life.--"You're telling me a lie, Joe! If you can't tell me the truth, won't you tell it to our old bailiff?"--It was impossible, he could not tell him of all people; especially when he remembered how solemnly he had once promised Hawermann that he would never again tell a lie. He could not do it.--"Bring me my file, Mary, and any silver you have"--"What do you mean, Joe?"--"I'm going to run away."--"Oh, Joe, Joe, will you really leave me and the babies all alone?"--"I must go, Molly. I'll never get on here now."--"Only tell the truth, Joe, and all will be well."--"If you don't bring me the file and some money, I'll kill myself to-night."--There was much entreaty of her husband here also, as upstairs in the sitting-room, but the truth remained unspoken, and this wife left her husband with as sad a heart as the other had done.
Next morning there was great excitement at Pümpelhagen when it became known that the labourer had escaped. The mayor made arrangements for his apprehension, and then drove home with the attorney. Alick was furious, no one knew exactly with whom, but probably with himself, for it was by his orders that Regel had been locked up in the cellar.
Pomuchelskopp arrived at breakfast time to ask what had really happened, for, as he said, he had only heard a vague rumour of what had taken place. Frank received him coldly and stiffly; Alick on the contrary welcomed him warmly. Pomuchelskopp told many stories of the shameful way in which the magistrates were befriending the common people, and of the extreme kindness the mayor of Rahnstädt had always shown any rogues he had to deal with. He told of thefts which had been perpetrated on himself or his friends, and ended by saying that he believed with Hawermann that the labourer had not committed the theft, "I mean," he said in conclusion, "that he didn't do it for himself; but was employed by some one else; no labourer would dare to steal such a large sum as three hundred pounds; the deed would become known too soon. And so, Mr. von Rambow, I advise you to keep your eye on those who may have assisted the labourer in his flight, or who even take his part."--Alick's mind was so restless and upset by anger and anxiety that it was ready to receive the seeds of suspicion which Pomuchelskopp was trying to sow. He walked up and down the room, thinking: Yes, Pomuchelskopp was right, he was well up to things of the kind and therefore was sure to know best; but who was it who had helped Regel to escape? He knew no one. Who had taken Regel's part? Why Hawermann, to be sure, when he said so decidedly that the man must have lost the money. But when he first heard what had happened he had seized the fellow by the collar? That might have been all pretence though. And why did he want to have the man put into the room next his own? Perhaps that he might speak to him; perhaps that he might help him to run away?
These would have been foolish thoughts for a wise man to have had; but the devil is "cunning," he does not choose the wise and the strong as his instruments, but the foolish and weak.
"What is your bailiff saying to that woman, I wonder?" said Pomuchelskopp, who was looking out at the window.--"It's Dame Regel," said Frank, who was standing beside him.--"Yes," said Alick hastily, "what can he be saying to her? I'd like to know very much."--"It's an odd thing certainly," remarked Pomuchelskopp.
Hawermann and the labourer's wife were standing in the yard, and he seemed to be talking earnestly to her; she appeared to be unwilling to do as he wanted, but at last gave way and followed him to the manor-house. They entered the room.--"Mr. von Rambow," said Hawermann, "Dame Regel has just confessed that it was she who helped her husband to escape last night."--"Yes, Sir," said the woman, moving her hands and feet about restlessly, "I did. I did, but I couldn't help it, for he said he'd kill himself if I didn't get him away;" the tears rolled down her cheeks, and she hid her face in her apron.--"A nice story," said Alick harshly. "There seems to have been a regular plot!"--Frank went to the woman and making her sit down, asked: "Didn't he tell you where he had spent the night with the money?"--"No, Sir, he told me nothing, and I know that all he did tell me were lies; the only thing I know for certain is that he didn't steal the money."--Alick now turned upon Hawermann and asked: "What made you give the woman an audience without orders?"--Hawermann was startled at the words, but still more at the tone of this question: "I thought," he answered calmly, "that it would be a good thing to find out when and how the man escaped, and so perhaps discover some indication of his whereabouts."--"Or perhaps to give an indication," cried Alick, and then he turned away hastily as though afraid of the consequences of what he had said.--Hawermann had not understood the sense of the words, but the tone in which they were uttered hurt him: "I don't know what you mean," he said gravely, "but I wish you to know that I will not stand being spoken to as you have been doing both last night and this morning. I took no notice of it yesterday out of consideration for Mrs. von Rambow, but in the present company"--here he glanced at Pomuchelskopp--"there is no need for such forbearance on my part," as soon as he had done speaking he went away and the labourer's wife followed him. Alick was going after him, but was stopped by Frank: "What are you going to do, Alick? Just think of what you said. Your words were even crueller to the old man than he imagined."--"That was a strong measure," said Pomuchelskopp, as if he were talking to himself, "a very strong measure for a bailiff; but it's time for me to go home now," and putting his head out at the window, he called for his horse. He felt that everything was going on as he wished at Pümpelhagen.
The horse was brought round. Alick accompanied his neighbour to the door, and Frank remained in the room.--"Your cousin seems to be a most excellent young man," said Pomuchelskopp, "but he knows nothing of the world, he appears to be ignorant of what is suitable conduct in master and servant." So saying, he rode away.
Alick rejoined his cousin, and tossing the cap he had put on to go to the door, as a protection against the cold morning air, into a corner of the sofa, exclaimed: "A d--d rascally story! The devil take the whole business! There's no one to be trusted."--"Alick," said Frank gently, as he went up to him, "you are doing your people a grievous wrong, you are doing yourself wrong, dear cousin, by nursing such unjust suspicious in your kind heart."--"Unjust? What do you mean? I've been robbed of three hundred pounds"--"The money has been lost, Alick, by the thoughtlessness and folly of a labourer."--"Lost, did you say? Are you going to repeat the tale my bailiff has thought fit to tell me?"--"Everyone is of the same opinion, Alick; the mayor himself says ....."--"Don't talk to me about what that old fool said. If I had only conducted the examination myself I should have discovered something before now; if I had even spoken to the woman first this morning she'd have told a different story; but now ... It's nothing more nor less than bribery!"--"Stop, Alick!" cried Frank sternly. "You've hinted at that already this morning but fortunately were not understood. You are now making an open accusation, and I must know what your grounds are for making such a charge."--"I have good reasons for doing so."--"Just consider for a moment. You are accusing an honest old man; you are unjustly and hastily casting a slur on a man who has lived for sixty years in the world and whose honour in unblemished."--Alick grew calmer and tried to excuse himself: "I never said that he had done it, only that he might have done it."--"It's just as bad to suspect him of perhaps doing such a thing; the suspicion hurts you as much as it does the old man. Only think, Alick," he went on laying his hand affectionately on his cousin's shoulder, "how long and faithfully Hawermann has looked after your father's and your own interests. To me," he added in a low tone, "he has been more than that, he has been a true friend and a painstaking teacher."
Alick walked up and down the room. He felt he was wrong--at least for the moment--but he was too much of a moral coward to acknowledge that he wanted to throw the blame of his own faults and follies on Hawermann's shoulders, so taking refuge in the mode of action commonly employed by weak souls when in a difficulty such as the present, he determined to carry the war into the enemy's country. He once more shut his heart to the pure unvarnished truth, selling it, as it were, for a piece of silver.
"Of course," he said, "Hawermann is much more to you than he is to me."--"What do you mean?" asked Frank looking at him quickly.--"Nothing," said Alick. "I only meant that you will soon call him, 'father.'" The worst of this speech was the intention he showed in it to wound the man who had cared for him enough to tell him the truth. He had used the gossip he had heard from Pomuchelskopp because it was the only weapon he knew of that would answer the purpose.--Frank reddened. The secret he had deemed so holy was dragged into the common light of day at such a time and in such a way as to make the intended insult the more apparent. The blood rushed to his face, he struggled to command himself, and said: "That has nothing to do with what we are speaking about."--"How do you make that out?" asked Alick. "To my mind it fully explains the warmth with which you defend Mr. Hawermann."--"He needs no defence. His whole life is his best defence."--"To say nothing of his beautiful daughter," said Alick striding up and down the room, and congratulating himself upon the success of his last remark.--Frank was very angry, but he forced himself to say quietly: "Do you know her?"--"Yes; no; that is, I've seen her. I met her at the parsonage, and she often comes to see my wife. She's a very pretty girl upon my honour. I first noticed her when she was quite a child at my father's funeral."--"Did you not try to become better acquainted with her when you found that I loved her?"--"No, Frank, no. Because I knew that nothing could come of such a love affair."--"Then you knew more than I did."--"I know even more than that. I know how you have been hunted and caught, and how they tried to make sure of you."--"Who told you that? But why do I ask? Such scandalous gossip can only proceed from one house in this neighbourhood--now that we are talking on this subject I will tell you frankly that I intend to marry the girl if she will have me."--"She won't say no! She'll take good care not to say no!" cried Alick angrily. "And so you are really going to be such a fool? You seriously intend to bring this disgrace on our family?"--"Take care what you say, Alick!" said Frank passionately. "I don't see, however, how the matter affects you."--"What? I am the head of our old family, and do you think that it is nothing to me when a younger member of our race disgraces himself by a mésalliance?"--Again Frank commanded himself, and said: "You yourself married for love, and nothing else."--"That was different," said Alick, who thought he was now getting the best of the argument. "My wife is my equal in birth; she is the daughter of an old and noble house, while the girl you love is only the daughter of my bailiff, and was brought up by the clergyman and his wife out of charity."--"For shame!" cried Frank. "How dare you treat misfortune as if it were a crime."--"I don't care," stormed Alick. "I tell you once for all that I'll never call my bailiff's daughter, cousin; the wench shall never cross this threshold."--Frank turned deadly pale, and said with a voice that trembled from suppressed emotion: "That is enough. You need say no more, we must part. Louisa shall never cross your threshold, nor I either." With that he went away. Frida met him at the door, she had heard the loud voices in the next room and had come to see what was the matter: "Frank, Frank, what is it?" she asked.--"Good-bye, Frida," he said quickly and went out across the yard towards the bailiff's house.
"Alick," cried Frida going up to her husband, "what have you been doing? What have you been doing?"--Alick walked proudly up and down the room as if conscious of having put the whole world right and of having shown it the way it ought to go: "I've been showing a young man," he said, "a young rustic, who has made a fool of himself for the sake of a fair face, what he is about. I made his position clear to him."--"Did you dare to do that?" said Frida, sinking into a chair pale and trembling. She fixed her great clear eyes on her husband as he continued his triumphal march and went on: "Did you dare to thrust your petty pride of birth between two noble and loving souls?"--"Frida," said Alick, whose conscience told him he had done wrong, but who refused to acknowledge it, "I believe that I have done my duty."--It is a curious fact that those people who never do their duty, pride themselves most upon doing it.--"Oh," cried Frida, starting to her feet, "you have wounded a true and noble heart most sorely. Alick," she entreated, laying her clasped hands upon his shoulder, "Frank has gone to the bailiff's house, won't you follow him and say that you are sorry for having hurt him, and bring him back again to us?"--"Am I to beg his pardon before my bailiff? No thank you, I'd rather not do that! It is too good a joke," he said working himself into a rage, "I've been robbed of three hundred pounds, my bailiff orders me about, my cousin takes his beloved father-in-law's part, and now my own wife joins with them against me!"--Frida stared at him, let her hands fall, drew her shawl round her, and said: "If you won't go, I will."--As she left the room he called after her: "Go, go, but the old scoundrel shall leave my service."
When she crossed the yard the horses were being put into Frank's carriage, and as she entered the parlour Hawermann had just said: "You'll forget it in time, Mr. von Rambow. Your life has hitherto been spent in a narrow circle of friends; you should travel--I think that you ought to do so--and then you'll soon change your mind. But, dear Frank," the old man added familiarly in memory of old times, "let me entreat of you not to bring unrest to my child by telling her of this."--"No, Hawermann, I promise," said Frank, and then Frida came in.--"Bless me!" cried Hawermann. "I quite forgot. Excuse me, Madam," and he left the room.
"He's always so thoughtful, so very thoughtful," said Frida.--"Indeed he is," answered Frank looking after the old man. The carriage drove up to the door, but had to wait there for a long time, Mrs. von Rambow and Frank had so much to say to each other, and when they parted Frida's eyes were red with weeping, and Frank looked much moved: "Say goodbye to the good old man for me," he said, and then added in a lower voice, "and to Alick too." He shook hands with her once more. The carriage drove away.
CHAPTER XIII.
Young Joseph was sitting in his usual place by the fire-side, smoking. Young Bolster was lying under his chair with his head stretched out far enough to be able to see his master. Young Joseph looked back at him but said nothing, and Bolster was also silent. It was very still and quiet in Rexow farm-house on that December afternoon, the only noise that was to be heard came from Mrs. Nüssler's basket-chair upon which she was sitting in the window; every time she made a stitch in her knitting it creaked out a remark upon it, a circumstance not to be so much wondered at, when it is remembered that Mrs. Nüssler had now become what might be called rather a stout lady. The old chair was creaking even more than usual to-day, for she had knitted herself into a deep reverie, and the more she became immersed in her own thoughts the louder her chair creaked in unison with her every movement.--"Ah me!" she said, laying her knitting down in her lap. "What a strange thing it is that the sorrow of one human being is often the cause of happiness for another. Do you know what I was thinking of, Joseph?"--"No," said young Joseph, looking at young Bolster, but Bolster could not help him to guess.--"Joseph," she asked, "how do you think it would do for Godfrey to offer himself as a candidate for the Gürlitz living? I know that Godfrey's but a poor rush-light in comparison with the old parson; but a man of his kind is likely enough to get the living, and why shouldn't he as well as another?"--Joseph said nothing.--"Even if Pomuchelskopp were against him, our people and those at Warnitz would vote for him, so that it all depends upon what the squire of Pümpelhagen does, whether the election goes against him or not. What do you say Joseph?"--"Oh," said Joseph, "it all depends upon circumstances," and then because he was very much taken with the idea, he added, "What's to be done now?"--"Oh, dear," said Mrs. Nüssler, "what's the use of talking to you about it. I wish that Bräsig were here, he would and could tell us what to do." And then she took up her work, and began to knit vehemently.
Half an hour later Mrs. Nüssler exclaimed: "'Speak of an angel, and you see his wings.' Here's Bräsig driving into the yard. Who's that with him? Rudolph--just fancy, Rudolph! I wonder why Rudolph has come to-day? Now, Joseph do me a favour--the lad does everything so nicely--don't overwhelm him with talk." Then she hastened from the room to receive her guests.
She had put off too much time, and she was not the first, for there was Mina clasped in Rudolph's arms. "Goodness gracious me!" cried Mrs. Nüssler, "what are you doing here, Mina?" She then took Rudolph into the parlour with her.--"Well," said Joseph. "Sit down, Bräsig. Sit down, Rudolph."--But they were not ready to do that yet, Rudolph had too much to say to Mina and Lina to be able to sit down quietly, and Bräsig's head felt as if it were going round and round like the hands of a clock, so he walked quickly up and down the room making his legs act pendulum, and thus working off some of his excitement. "Have you heard the news, young Joseph?" he asked. "They hav'n't caught him after all."--"Who?" asked Joseph. "Preserve us all, Joseph," said Mrs. Nüssler, "can't you let Bräsig go on? You always interrupt people so suddenly; do let him finish his story! Who is it that they hav'n't caught, Bräsig?"--"Regel," said Bräsig. "They traced him as far as Wismar where they found that their prey had escaped them. He had sailed out into the Baltic eight days before in a Swedish trading-vessel."--"Oh, dear," cried Mrs. Nüssler, "What a misfortune that may be for my brother Charles."--"You're right, Mrs. Nüssler. Charles is hardly to be known for the same person he used to be, he has insulated himself entirely, and looks very miserable. He feels the misfortune bitterly--not for his own sake--but for his master's, for as you will see, the young squire will sooner or later have to declare himself insolvent."--"That would be the death of Charles," said Mrs. Nüssler.--"What help is there?" continued Bräsig. "The young man has ruined himself with open eyes. His latest fad is the breeding of thorough-bred horses. Old Prebberow told me that he had got into Lichtwarte's hands, and that he had sold him a thorough-bred horse which has a ruptured muscle, spavin, and string-halt, and a variety of other diseases; as soon as he was in possession of this beautiful creature Mr. von Rambow bought, with a great flourish of trumpets, a thorough-bred mare, and now, I'm told, he has serious thoughts of taking Triddelfitz's deaf old mare off his hands, and so setting up a hospital for sick horses in Mecklenburg. The little mule is to be thrown into the bargain, and I'm glad of that, for it's the only healthy member of the stud."--"Let him be, Bräsig; he must fight his own battles," said Mrs. Nüssler. "Joseph and I were talking of young Mr..... Mina, you and Rudolph may go into the garden for a little, and Lina you'd better go with them;" as soon as they were gone, she said: "It's about the Gürlitz living. I wish that Godfrey could get it."--"Mrs. Nüssler," said Bräsig, standing before her and looking important, "what you have just said may be called an idea, and no one in the whole world is so quick in seizing an idea as a woman. How did you manage to get hold of this idea though?"--"It is my own thought entirely," she answered, "for Joseph never agrees with me now-a-days. He has always some objection to everything I propose."--"Joseph, be quiet," said Bräsig, "you were wrong to oppose your wife, for her idea is a good one. I'll answer for Warnitz, the Count and Countess will, I know, agree to let the people vote as I wish them. You, young Joseph, must see to Rexow. Pomuchelskopp will be against us from love of opposition, but that doesn't matter. Pümpelhagen is the only difficulty. Who's to speak to Mr. von Rambow? Hawermann? Nothing could be less apropos at this moment. Myself? Impossible, for he has insulted me. Young Joseph? I can't trust young Joseph, he'd content himself with using some of his favourite forms of speech. Godfrey? He's a good fellow, but too slow. Who else is there? Rudolph? He is a clever lad, as Hilgendorf tells me. Yes, Rudolph must go, and you, Mrs. Nüssler, must go with him, because of family circumstances, and that the young man may be more at ease."--"Good gracious!" cried Mrs. Nüssler. "Do you mean that I am to go and see Mr. von Rambow?"--"No," said Zachariah Bräsig, "you are to go to Mrs. von Rambow, and Rudolph to the squire. Where's Rudolph. He must come in at once."
Rudolph was quite ready to go to Pümpelhagen for his cousin's sake, and so it was settled that he and his aunt should drive over there on the following day.
When the deputation arrived at Pümpelhagen, Mr. von Rambow was out riding, but when their coming was announced to his wife, she received them very kindly.--"Madam," said Mrs. Nüssler, going frankly up to Mrs. von Rambow, and beginning to speak to the point without much loss of time, "Madam, I hope that you will not be offended with me if I talk to you in the dialect I'm accustomed to; I can speak better, but it's very difficult. We keep up old customs at Rexow, and I always say that I'd rather have bright shining tin plates, than silver ones that are dull from want of rubbing."--Frida took off the good woman's shawl, made her sit down on the sofa, and signed to Rudolph to take a chair; just as she was about to seat herself, Mrs. Nüssler rose and said confidentially: "You see, Madam, this is my nephew and future son-in-law. He's the son of Kurz, the shopkeeper in Rahnstädt, from whom you also get your things."--Rudolph bowed, and now Mrs. von Rambow at last persuaded her visitor to seat herself, and took her place beside her. "He has been to college," Mrs. Nüssler went on, "but didn't do much there. Now that he has turned farmer, however, he does very well, as Hilgendorf tells Bräsig."--Although what she said was all in Rudolph's praise, he found it rather embarrassing, and said: "But, my dear aunt, we hadn't come here to talk of me, but of Godfrey"--"Yes, Madam, he's quite right. You see I've got another nephew who also wants to be my son-in-law, I mean the son of rector Baldrian in Rahnstädt. He has passed all his examinations, and knows everything he needs to know. He's quite fit to be a clergyman any day. Now that our good old parson has gone from us--and oh, Madam, what an excellent man he was--you won't think ill of me for saying that I'd like to keep my Lina near me, and to have Godfrey at Gürlitz parsonage."--"No, dear Mrs. Nüssler," said Frida, "I think that it is quite natural in you to wish it, and if I had anything to do with it, your son-in-law should certainly get the living. I've heard so much good of you and your daughters."--"Have you really," said Mrs. Nüssler, looking pleased, "well, they are dear children."
At this moment foot-steps were heard approaching, and Mr. von Rambow, who had returned from his ride, entered the room. His wife introduced her visitors to him, and Alick, when he heard their names, made rather a long face. Rudolph would not allow himself to be put out by this reception, he held a trump-card that he thought would soon change the aspect of affairs, so he said: "May I speak to you alone for a moment, Mr. von Rambow?"--Alick took him into the next room.
"I understand, Mr. von Rambow," said Rudolph, "that you were robbed of three hundred pounds the week before last. The money, I think you said, was in Danish double Louis d'ors. From what I hear there is no chance of your catching the labourer, but the police are busy tracing the money."--"What?" cried Alick. "How do you know that?"--"I understand that the detective, employed by the mayor of Rahnstädt, found clear traces of the money yesterday afternoon. I was in my father's shop when a woman, a weaver's wife, who with her husband is trying to get a decree of divorce, came in and asked for change for a Danish double Louis d'or. I know the woman to be in abject poverty, and the mayor knows it also from the proceedings in the divorce case. My father and I made the circumstance known to the authorities, and after examination it was discovered that she had more money than the gold piece she had shown. She could give no account of how she had become possessed of the money, and--this is the most damaging part of the whole evidence--it has been proved that she went along the same road as your messenger on the same morning."--"Is it possible!" cried Alick. "Then the labourer didn't steal the money after all."--"It seems," said Rudolph, "as if he had been robbed. The mayor has committed the woman to prison for sundry small thefts that have been proved against her, and has forbidden my father and me to tell any one what we know, but when he heard that I was coming into this neighbourhood, he desired me to let you know what has been done. You will no doubt have a letter from him to-night on the subject."--"Thank you, Mr. Kurz," said Alick, "for having come here to tell this news," and he shook hands heartily with the young man.--Rudolph smiled, and said: "I should certainly have come even if that had been the only object of my visit which it was not. You saw my aunt in the drawing-room, she has come to see you about something she has much at heart."--"If I can be of any use ...." said Alick courteously.--"I will explain. One of my cousins, who is a theological student, offers himself, through my aunt, as a candidate for the living of Gürlitz."--"A cousin? Are you not a theological student?"--"I was, Mr. von Rambow," answered Rudolph brightly, "but I don't think I was, what people call, highly organised enough to be a clergyman, so I became a farmer, and I can assure you," looking laughingly at Alick as he spoke, "I never was so happy in my life as I am now."--In spite of Alick's faults and foibles, he was too good hearted not to be pleased and touched by the freshness of the other, so he said heartily: "That's right! That's right! I've taken to it too. The life of a Mecklenburg farmer is the happiest of all. Where are you living just now, Mr. Kurz?"--"With the greatest farmer of the century," laughed Rudolph, "with Hilgendorf at Little Tetzleben."--"A most admirable man," cried Alick, "and thorough-bred! I mean has thorough-bred horses."--And now they began to praise Grey Momus, Herodotus, and Black Overshire, &c., and to praise Hilgendorf's management, and when Rudolph at last rose to take leave, Mr. von Rambow shook hands with him warmly, and said: "You may rely upon your cousin having my vote, Mr. Kurz."
When they went into the drawing-room, Mrs. Nüssler rose, and said to her hostess: "He'll do all that he can for you and the squire," then going up to Mr. von Rambow she said: "You'll give us your vote, won't you, Mr. von Rambow? How happy I shall be to be able to keep my Lina so near me."--Alick disliked this free way of speaking, and--without any particular reason for it, disliked the Nüssler manner, but being pleased at the prospect of recovering his money, and having had his heart further opened by his horsey talk with Rudolph, he was on this occasion able to see the sterling qualities of Mrs. Nüssler under her somewhat unpolished manner. He went to his wife and said: "Dear Frida, we have some hope now of recovering our three hundred pounds."--"Thank God!" said Mrs. Nüssler, "Rudolph, did you speak to Mr. von Rambow?"--"Yes," answered Alick. "And it's all settled, I promise to give your nephew my vote; but--I should like to see him first."--"That's only right and proper," said Mrs. Nüssler. "No one cares to buy a pig in a poke! You'll see when he comes to preach that he's quite up to the mark. But, goodness gracious me! This is folly. Like every other man, he has his own little ways, I can't deny that."
Then they drove away. Godfrey had a good chance of the living. "Everything promises well," said Bräsig, "but Godfrey must manage with Pomuchelskopp himself. Let the iron be struck while it is hot, and as neither God nor man can help him with Samuel Pomuchelskopp the sooner he tries his fate with him the better." This advice was considered good, so Godfrey was written to and told what had already been done for him, at the same time he was ordered to make his appearance at Rexow on the following day, there to receive further instructions.
He arrived, and when Bräsig had explained everything to him shortly, he consented to make the difficult visit. Christian, the coachman, drove the "phantom" round to the door; Lina put in a foot-stool, cloaks and shawls, and wrapped up her future husband warmly. "That's right, Lina," said Bräsig, "wrap him up well that he mayn't catch cold, and that his lovely voice mayn't be lost in this frightful weather."--Suddenly Joseph rose from his corner by the stove, and said: "Mina, my cloak."--"The world's coming to an end!" cried Bräsig.--"Joseph, what are you about?" cried Mrs. Nüssler.--"Mother," said Joseph, "you went with Rudolph, and I intend to go with Godfrey. I shall do my part." And as he said this he nodded his head so decidedly, and looked round at them all with such determination that Bräsig exclaimed: "As sure as your nose is in the middle of your face, I never in all my life saw anything like this."--"Ah, Bräsig," said Mrs. Nüssler, "he's quite changed of late, but let him go quietly, no talking will prevent it."--So Joseph was allowed to go. Lina went straight upstairs to her little garret-room and prayed as passionately for Godfrey's success in his difficult interview as if he had been going to his execution.
Joseph and Godfrey drove through the deep lane silently; neither spoke, for each was buried in his own thoughts, the only remark made during the drive was when Christian, turning his head over his shoulder, said: "This would just be the place for an upset, Sir, if one were driving in a dark night."--It was about three o'clock in the afternoon when they arrived at Gürlitz manor.
Pomuchelskopp was lying on the sofa looking unhappy and rubbing his eyes, for Gustavus had disturbed him in his after dinner sleep by choosing a plate to take to the loft, for it was Saturday and he wanted to make up an account of the measurement of the grain, "Gus," he cried angrily, "you'll be a fool all your life, a regular ninny! You nincompoop! I'll put you on a pedestal to let all the people see what an ass you are."--"But, father ....."--"Father here, father there! How often have I told you never to make a clatter with the plates when I'm asleep! What carriage is that driving into the yard?"--"My eye!" cried Gustavus. "It's our neighbour Nüssler and another gentleman."--"Idiot!" said Pomuchelskopp. "Hav'n't I often told you not to call every Jack and Tom 'neighbour'? Brinkmann the labourer, is my neighbour in the sense that he lives close to my garden. I won't be every man's neighbour," and when he had said that he went out to see what was going on.
Joseph and Godfrey had got out of the carriage by this time, and Joseph now came forward, saying: "How-d'ye-do, neighbour."--Pomuchelskopp made him one of the very low bows he had learnt to make when he was attending parliament, and signed to him to go into the parlour. The silence in the parlour was so intense that the only sound to be heard was a faint creak from one of the chairs when it was moved. Godfrey thought that Joseph ought to speak, Joseph thought that Godfrey ought to speak, and Pomuchelskopp would not speak for fear of compromising his interests in some way. At last, however, Godfrey began: "Mr. Pomuchelskopp," he said, "good old parson Behrens has gone to his rest, and though it may seem hard and unchristian to make an application for the living so soon after his death, I do not think that in doing so I am really sinning against proper feeling, or true Christianity, for I am only acting in accordance with the advice of my own parents and of those of my future wife."--Godfrey had now opened the proceedings to the best of his ability; but still Pomuchelskopp was quite justified in drawing himself up a little and saying: That might be all very well, but he wanted to know with whom he had the honour to be talking. Joseph signed to Godfrey to answer, and Godfrey said that he was the son of rector Baldrian, and a theological student. As soon as this information had been given Joseph leant back in his chair comfortably, as though he had nothing more to do and might have a quiet pipe. But as Muchel did not ask him to smoke, he was obliged to content himself with making a fruitless movement with his lips as if he were doing so, which made him look exactly like a Bohemian carp, gasping for air.--"Sir," said Pomuchelskopp, "a good many of your sort have already called upon me, and asked for my vote,"--that was a lie, but it was the only way he knew of making a bargain, for he looked upon a living as a species of merchandise, and chaffered as much about it as he would have done with a butcher who came to buy his fat pigs,--"but," he went on, "I sent them all away for the present without an answer, for there is only one thing that I care about in the whole business."--"And that is?" asked Godfrey. "My examina ....."--"I don't care a pin about that," said Mr. Pomuchelskopp. "I mean the glebe lands. If you will promise to give me a lease of the glebe--of course I should give you a good rent, a very good rent,--you shall have my vote, but not otherwise."--"I think I heard," said Godfrey, "that the glebe is let to Mr. von Rambow, and I should not like ...."--"You need have no scruple on that head," said Pomuchelskopp decidedly.--Joseph said nothing, but looked at his future son-in-law as much as to say: "What have you to say to that, my boy?"--Godfrey was very much taken aback, for he was ignorant of worldly matters, but after a moment's thought his whole honest soul revolted against such a bargain, so he answered frankly: "I cannot and will not make you such a promise, I do not wish to gain the living by these means. There is plenty of time to settle matters of this kind, and they had better be left alone until I am in office."--"That's the way, is it?" said Pomuchelskopp with a cunning smile. "Then let me tell you that the fox is not to be trapped; 'a bird in the hand', &c; if Mr. von Rambow does not want the glebe, you may perhaps let it to your father-in-law. Is it not so, to your father-in-law?"
That was a horrible idea Pomuchelskopp had promulgated.--Joseph take a lease of the glebe! Joseph, who already found the burden of his daily work more than he could bear! He sprang to his feet and said: "Neighbour, when a man does what he can, he can't do more than he can; and what am I to do now? If the squire of Pümpelhagen won't have the glebe, I won't have it either, I've enough to do without."--"Mr. Nüssler," said Pomuchelskopp slyly, "will you give me your promise in black and white that you won't take a lease of the glebe?"--"Yes," cried Joseph from the bottom of his heart; he then reseated himself and resumed his former occupation of pretending to smoke.--Pomuchelskopp began to walk up and down the room, and as he did so thought within himself: Mr. von Rambow was not going to renew his lease, and Joseph wouldn't take it if it were offered him, so that all danger from without was guarded against, for the glebe was too small for anyone to rent by itself. The only remaining fear was lest Godfrey should wish to farm the land himself, and Pomuchelskopp was determined to find out. Now God has created many different kinds of men, each of whom has his own special capacity; there was one thing that was completely wanting in Godfrey's composition, and that was all comprehension of agricultural subjects. Bräsig had given himself no end of trouble to teach Godfrey a few of the rudiments of the subject, but all his efforts were vain. It is impossible to get from any man that which he does not possess. Godfrey did not know the difference between oats and barley, he could not tell a cow from a bull, and his ignorance was altogether so dense that Bräsig said to himself at last: "God bless my soul! I don't see how the poor lad is ever to get through the world!"
Pomuchelskopp was not long in discovering this weak point in Godfrey's composition, and he rejoiced greatly thereat: "He'll never be a farmer," he said to himself, "and so he's just the man for me. But, I mustn't let him see that."--"Sir," he said aloud, "I am satisfied with you so far, for you seem to be a very large-minded sort of person, and also a man of morality"--he thought that a particularly good word for the occasion--"you will not grant my request--good!--neither shall I grant yours. But if Mr. Nüssler will sign a written document to the effect that he will not take a lease of the glebe, I am willing to have a further conversation with you on this subject, for, as I said, I am satisfied with you so far."
Young Joseph signed the paper as he was asked, and then he and his nephew drove away from Gürlitz manor perfectly contented with what they had done. They had gained nothing from their visit, but an indefinite promise from Pomuchelskopp, for which Joseph had had to put his name to a paper; but still they were pleased with the result of their application. Joseph was convinced that his signature had been the ultimate cause of their good luck, and had secured the living to his future son-in-law.
Joseph and Godfrey wanted to go to the parsonage, but Christian, the coachman, refused point blank to take them there, for, as he said, it was getting as dark as pitch; so the "phantom" floated back to Rexow like a ghostly shadow in the mist and gloom. Now sleep is the almost inevitable consequence of a long drive through the mist and darkness of night, therefore it was not wonderful that Joseph sank into a peaceful slumber shortly after leaving Gürlitz, and soon afterwards Christian followed his example and though he seemed to be driving, the horses really went of their own accord; had it been daylight this would of course have been discovered, but as it was, no one saw it. Godfrey was the last to fall asleep, and when he did so his dreams were all of Lina, his election sermon, and the first sermon he should preach after he had been chosen minister of the parish. When they reached the spot where Christian had made the remark that it was a good place for an upset, and when Godfrey was dreaming of his election papers, the carriage began to sway from side to side in a terrible manner; then the fore wheel rose in the air, and the hind wheel on Godfrey's side sank in a deep hole--and the next moment--they were all tumbled into the ditch.
I have seen many Grand Ducal chamberlains get out of their carriages at my neighbour, Mrs. Laurence's inn, but never in all my life did I see anything so perfect as the way in which Joseph was shot out of the phaeton; he fell on the top of Godfrey into the muddy ditch, and Christian, not to be behindhand with his master, tumbled from the box in such a manner as to lie side by side in the ditch with him.--"Faugh! Oh! Just stay where you are, Sir," cried the honest old fellow. "The horses are standing quite still!"--"You idiot!" said Joseph.--"Thank God!" said Christian rising, "none of my bones are broken. But stay where you are, Sir, I'll catch the horses."--"You idiot!" cried Joseph once more as he struggled to his feet, while Godfrey was coughing and choking in the deep mud bed in which he was lying, "what on earth made you upset us?"--"It all depends upon circumstances," answered Christian, who had learnt to make use of his master's favourite expressions during his long years of service at Rexow, "what was to be done on such a road in a pitch dark night?"--Joseph did not know what else to say, now that the very words were taken out of his mouth, so he contented himself with asking: "Are any of your bones broken, Godfrey?"--"No, uncle," said the divinity student, "and yours?"--"No, I'm all right except my nose, which I think has been knocked off my face altogether."--Meanwhile the carriage had been raised, and when Joseph and Godfrey had resumed their seats in it, Christian once more turned round on the box, and said: "Didn't I tell you so this very afternoon? This is the exact place."--"Idiot!" said Joseph rubbing his nose energetically, "you had gone to sleep."--"To sleep, Sir, to sleep? It doesn't much matter in such pitch darkness whether one's asleep or awake; I told you before. I know the road by heart and I warned you." And whenever he told the story afterwards to the other servants, he always added: "but I told him how it would be beforehand," and made out that Joseph was a regular daredevil who had no fear of risking his life.
They drove home, and Godfrey was the first to get out of the carriage. Lina had long been uneasy about their absence, and was listening anxiously for every sound that should bring her certainty of the good or evil fate of her father and lover. There was a noise outside. They are coming!--It was only the sighing of the wind in the poplars.--But now!--Yes, it was a carriage, it same nearer, it drove up to the door. She sprang up and rushed out of the room, but had to stop a moment with her hand pressed to her side to still the beating of her heart, which was torn by the conflicting emotions of hope and fear. Would Godfrey bring her good news or had he failed in his attempt? She ran out into the porch. "Don't come near me!" cried Godfrey, but his warning came too late, for Lina, although she was the eldest of the family, was still very thoughtless, and she had thrown herself into his arms as soon as she saw him. But suddenly she felt her hands and arms quite damp and cold, it almost felt as if she were embracing a frog, and letting him go, she exclaimed: "Good gracious! what's the matter?"--"The carriage was upset," said Godfrey; "the carriage was upset by the Providence of God; I mean that Christian upset the carriage, and God has providentially shielded us from all harm."--"What objects you look, to be sure!" said Bräsig, who just then came into the porch with a candle in his hand, and saw Joseph behind Godfrey.--"Yes, Bräsig," said Joseph, "it's just as it is. We've had an accident."--"How did you manage it," asked Bräsig. "I don't see how any reasonable mortal can get himself upset on his own roads; a man of your age too! You must have gone to sleep, Joseph."--"Merciful Heaven!" cried Mrs. Nüssler, "what a sight you've made of yourself, Joseph!" and she turned him round before the candle, as if he were a roast she was turning on a spit--"Mercy! Joseph, look at your nose!"--"His Reverence is in a nice mess too," said Bräsig, examining Godfrey from head to foot. "Hollo," he cried, "just look at Lina! Why, Lina, were you in the upset too? Mrs. Nüssler, do you see that she has got half the road from here to Gürlitz sticking to her clothes."
Lina blushed deeply, and Mina at once began to rub her down, while Mrs. Nüssler did the same kind office to her husband: "My goodness, Joseph, what a state you're in, to be sure. And your beautiful new cloak!"--Joseph had bought the cloak twenty years before, when he was engaged to be married.--"This'ill never do," he said, "I must change my clothes, and then to-morrow they can all be put in the oven, and thoroughly dried."--They all agreed that it was the only thing to be done, and soon afterwards uncle and nephew were able to join the rest of the family in the parlour. Mrs. Nüssler now caught sight of her Joseph's nose in the bright light, and exclaimed: "Joseph, look at your nose!"--"You said so before," said Joseph.--"Well," said Bräsig, "I should be telling a downright lie if I were to say that I had ever thought your nose a particularly handsome one; but keep this nose! and what a nose it is!"--"For shame, Bräsig. Why do you wish him to keep this nose. Preserve us all! it's growing thicker every moment! What's to be done?"--"Mrs. Nüssler," said Bräsig, "he must go to the water-cure."--"What!" cried Mrs. Nüssler, "my Joseph go to a water-cure because he has given his nose a little bit of a knock."--"Please, understand me," said Bräsig, "I don't mean him to try the water-cure on his whole body, on his legs and arms; no, I only mean him to put a cold plaget on his nose. Or, Joseph, what do you say to bleeding your nose a little. It would cool it down nicely if you did."--Joseph could not agree to the last proposal, so they determined to try the effect of cold water. At last he settled down in his chair with stately composure, a wet linen rag on his nose, and his pipe in his mouth.
"But now," said Bräsig, "none of us have heard what arrangements you made with Samuel Pomuchelskopp."--"Yes," said Lina, "what did you do Godfrey?"--Godfrey then described their interview with the squire of Gürlitz, and when he had done, Joseph said: "It's all right. I signed a paper."--"And what paper did you sign?" asked Bräsig angrily.--"A promise not to take a lease of the glebe."--"That was a very foolish thing to do. Oh the Jesuit! He wants the land himself. Nightingale, I hear you, you want to get it all your own way! That's your aim and object! But--but"--here Bräsig sprang to his feet and began to pace the room with long strides--"I'll catch you in your own net. Don't count your chickens before they're hatched! Samuel Pomuchelskopp, we've not done with each other yet. What did the celebrated poet say of David and Goliath? I look upon myself as David, and upon him as Goliath. 'He took the sling in his hand and struck him on the forehead, and so did for him.' And how beautifully the celebrated poet ends the story by saying: 'Thus it is with all boasters, when they think they stand, they are sure to have a fall.'--And so it shall be with you, Samuel. I've been in a passion, Mrs. Nüssler, so I can't eat any supper, and will say 'good-night' now as I've a good many things to think about."--He took his candle and went to his room, and the others followed his example soon after supper was finished. Lina lay awake for a long time in anxious thought, listening to the wind in the trees by her window, and to uncle Bräsig walking about in his room, which was below hers.