An Old Story of My Farming Days Vol. 3 (of 3). / (Ut Mine Stromtid)

CHAPTER III.

Hawermann kept very much alone, and when visitors came to see Mrs. Behrens, he either remained in his room or went out into the garden. There were a great many visitors, for the one half of Rahnstädt thought they could not better show their contempt for the other half, which had put Mrs. Behrens' house under the bann, than by going there as often as possible. So it came to pass that rector Baldrian and Kurz the shopkeeper came to see Mrs. Behrens nearly every day, for their women-kind had preached Hawermann's innocence to them so vehemently at home, that they found it impossible to retain their doubts any longer. Young Joseph, his wife and Mina, and parson Godfrey and Lina often came in from the country and dined with them. Bräsig made Mrs. Behrens' house his headquarters, and was always coming in and out like the dove to the ark bringing any news from Rexow, Pümpelhagen and Gürlitz he could pick up for his old friend. He told him that the ground was dry and fit for ploughing; and sometimes when he spoke of what Pomuchelskopp or Alick were about, he forgot his character of dove, and dropping the olive branch, would show himself to be neither more nor less than a raven. He would not be denied when he came, but told Hawermann to his face that he had come to cheer him up, and if he did not succeed on that occasion, he was not at all put out, and returned to the charge next day as if nothing had happened, telling his friend all about the weather and the crops.

In the spring of 1846 there was a great deal to be said about both the weather and the crops. The winter had been warm and wet, so the spring was early, and everything was green before anyone looked for it. The grass and autumn sown corn were green in February, even the clover was sprouting, the fields were as dry as one could wish, and the weather was like harvest time. "Charles," said Bräsig, "you'll see that harm will come of it, the spring is too fine, and when a bird sings too early in the morning, a cat eats him before night; you'll see, we'll all be groaning by autumn. The devil take every early spring!"--On Palm-sunday he brought a rape-flower in full bloom and laying it on the table before Hawermann, he said: "Look there! Look there! That's from your rape-field at Pümpelhagen. You'll see, Charles, the Louis d'ors will be in flower in a week's time; but it's all vinegar, it's covered with beetles."--"Oh, Zacariah, we've often had that before and yet we've had good rape all the same."--"Yes, Charles, black beetles, not grey ones--I've brought the proof of your convarsion with me--," he felt in his pocket and pulled out a small paper-parcel, but when he opened it, it was empty. "What did I tell you, Charles! These grey beetles are cunning dogs and are not to be counted on for anything even to the harm they do. You'll see, Charles, that this year'll be neither more nor less than a cake made of nest eggs, everything's going contrary to nature. Why? The rye is seldom tall enough before May-day to hide a crow, this year a good sized turkey-cock could easily hide itself in it. No, Charles, the world has gone quite round. The parsons have been preaching about it from the pulpit, they say that the moon's going slap in among the stars, and then the sun 'ill be too near the earth, and everything 'ill catch fire. They say that 'ill be the beginning of the Day of Judgment, and that everyone ought to repent of his sins at once."--"Bless me, Zachariah! That's all nonsense."--"I say so too, Charles. It's a mistaken kind of repentance that has been shown too, for the labourers at Klein-Bibow have given up work, have sold all their possessions to the Jews, and are spending their time drinking and devouring their goods. Parson Godfrey wanted to preach the same kind of sermon in his church, but I hid myself behind Lina, and she talked him out of it. But things are looking ill, Charles."--"I think perhaps we may have a bad harvest; but Kurz was here yesterday and he told me that the winter corn was looking beautiful."--"Well, Charles, I thought you had been a wiser man. Kurz, if you please, Kurz! He understands all about salt herrings, for he's a good tradesman; but he must get up earlier in the morning if he wants to express an opinion about corn, for it needs a farmer, and a good farmer, to understand that. You see, it's just as I say, Charles, everyone puts his finger in our pie, and these town's people are about as wise as bees. If any man takes to farming poor passer le tongs, because he likes the amusement, à la bonhour! I have nothing against it, but when he tries to derive advantage from it--pshaw!--Kurz! He may peep into a sugar barrel or into another man's hand at cards; but when he tries to peep into a field of rye, the meaning of what he sees, is hidden from him. But what I was going to say, Charles, is this; I'm here, bag and baggage, next week."--"No, Bräsig, no, if this is going to be a bad year the young people will need you, and Godfrey understands too little about farming to be able to do without your help."--"Yes, Charles, you're right, and if you think I ought--for I have given myself entirely to you--I will stay with him. But now good-bye! I don't know why, but I feel rather stomach-achy, I must go and ask Mrs. Behrens if she can give me a little kümmel." With that he left the room, but next moment he put his head in at the door again, and said: "I had almost forgotten to tell you about Pümpelhagen. There's such an infernally queer kind of farming going on there just now that you might almost warm your hands and feet at it. I met Triddelfitz yesterday near the shed, and although he's an infamous grey-hound, he was nearly crying about it: 'Mr. Bräsig,' he said, 'I lie awake at night bothering over the farming, and tire myself out thinking, till I can't fall asleep at all. When I've got it all beautifully arranged in my head, and have told the people in the morning what they are to do, the squire comes out with his arm in a sling and undoes all my arrangements. He sends the labourers off to the fields in twos and threes, this way and that, so that they are all running about like chickens with their heads cut off, and I have to chase them and gather them all together again. Then when they're all collected and working in the afternoon, he comes out, and scatters them once more.' It must be a great satisfication to you to hear this, Charles, for it shows that they can't get on without you." After that he went away, but soon put his head in again to say: "What I wanted to say, Charles, was this--half of the horses at Pümpelhagen are done up; a few days ago I saw them standing while the carts were being filled with marl, the poor things were hanging their heads and ears down devotion'ly as the labourers do in church, and it isn't over work that makes them do it, but want of food. The squire hasn't too much fodder in his barns, for he sold three loads of oats, and two of peas, to the Jews this spring, and his granary floor is now as empty as if the bull had licked it. He has to buy oats, but the poor farm horses get none, for the oats are all given to the thoroughbred mares who do nothing for their living, and so steal the days when they should be at work from God. There is great injustice in the world! Now good-bye, Charles." He went away really this time.

It was a sad picture that Bräsig had drawn of the condition of affairs at Pümpelhagen, but matters were even worse there than he suspected. He had said nothing of the influence want of money was having on Alick's character, and that was the worst part of the whole business. Pressure of that kind does not only make people irritable, it also makes them hard to their dependents, and poor Alick, like other men in his position fell into the mistaken idea that the reason he was so hard up was because his labourers were too well treated. It was Pomuchelskopp who first taught him that this might be the case. So he took a little here and a little there from his people, and then when his natural good-nature got the better of him he gave them back a little here and a little there, in both cases without method and just as the fancy seized him. At first the labourers had all laughed at the new mode of farming their young master had introduced, but very soon their laughter was changed to murmuring, and then their murmurs became complaints. Under Hawermann's rule the labourers had always received their corn and money punctually, so they did not like waiting till there was some to give them. When they complained to their master, they only got sharp words in answer to their grumblings, and that they thought even worse. Discontent was spreading.

Alick comforted himself with looking forward to the new harvest, and the money he would get for it; but unfortunately Bräsig's predictions came true. The crops looked thin as they stood in the fields, and when they were cut down, and carried in, the barns were only half full. Experienced old farmers said to the young beginners: "Take care! Save what you can, for hard times are coming. That corn won't be worth much." It was good advice, but what was the use of it to Alick? He must have money, so he had the corn thrashed out at once for seed and for sale. It brought a fine price when it was sold, for the corn-Jews saw from the first what was surely coming, and bought up all the corn they could on speculation, and so the natural dearth was succeeded by an artificial dearth. The old labourers at Pümpelhagen shook their heads when they saw the waggons driving out of the yard: "What's to become of us! What's to become of us! We'll have no corn to make our bread." And the women stood at their cottage doors wringing their hands: "Look Daddy, that little heap of potatoes is all I have remaining, and they're all diseased. What are we to do this winter?"--So dearth had come into the rich land of Mecklenburg like a thief in the night. No one had expected it, and no one had made preparations to defend himself against it. What was to be done?--It fell most heavily on the small towns, and on the artisans in those towns. The labourers always had work, and the children could beg from door to door, and then soup kitchens were organised for them. But the poor artisan had nothing to do, for no one got anything made; he did not know how to beg, indeed he was too proud to do so. I once went to see the wife of an honest hard-working tradesman during that time. The dinner was on the table and the hungry children were standing round it ready to begin. When I went in, the woman threw a cloth over the dish, and while she was out of the room calling her husband I lifted the cloth, and what did I find under it? Boiled potato skins! That was all they had for dinner.

At such a time God sits in heaven and picks out the good men from amongst the evil ones, that all may see clearly which is which; He supports the good, and rejoices to see them bear fruit; but the wicked fall under the flail and the scourge, that is to say, under the power of their own evil wishes, unrighteous actions, and unjust thoughts, so that when they grow up and the time comes for them to bear fruit they are choked by weeds which are sometimes so fair to the eye that the world looks at them with admiration, but when the harvest comes, and the sickle is put to their roots, the crop of grain is found to be very small, then the Lord of the harvest turns away from the field, for it is written: "By their fruits ye shall know them."

Many people, during these hard times, gave to the poor with large hearted charity in spite of the pressure of their own difficulties, and the sheriff, Mr. von Ö .., the chamberlain, Mr. von E .., farmer H .., our old friend Moses, and many other people were of those who bore good fruit in the sight of God in those hard times. But Pomuchelskopp was not one of that good company, nor were Slus'uhr nor David, for these three sat together in Gürlitz manor and laid their plans for completing Alick's ruin. David and Slus'uhr felt no qualms of conscience in doing their work, but they had not enough money to go on with it, for they wanted to use all they had of their own for lending to those who were in desperate need of it, at the highest possible rate of interest. They had used up all their own capital and so they now applied to Mr. Pomuchelskopp for money, promising that he should go shares with them in their gains. But they found their friend too wide-awake to do anything of the sort; he feared lest it should become known that he had done so, and lest he should be blamed. He therefore said that he had no money, but what he required to keep his cattle and his people alive during the famine.--"I agree with you about the cattle," answered Slus'uhr, "but it's great nonsense about the people. Don't deceive yourself on that point, pray! Your people are going everywhere begging. As we drove past the parsonage just now I saw all the wives and children of your labourers collected in the yard, where your old friend Bräsig was standing with two large pails full of porridge which young Mrs. Baldrian was distributing."--"Let her go on! Let her go on!" said Pomuchelskopp. "I never interfere with anyone's good works. These people may be able to afford it, I cannot, and I have no money."--"But you have the Pümpelhagen bills," said David.--"They're of no use just now. Mr. von Rambow's harvest was worse than anyone else's, and he has threshed out and sold all the grain he had."--"That's the very reason you should do something," replied Slus'uhr. "Now's the time to act. You won't have such a good opportunity again in a hurry, and he can't take it ill of you, for you are in such desperate need of money that you have had to sell some of his bills to David and me. You must wait no longer. Shake the tree, for the plums are ripe."--"What is the sum total?" asked David.--"H'm!" said Pomuchelskopp, going to his desk and scratching his ear thoughtfully. "I have bills for sixteen hundred and fifty pounds."--"Is that all?" asked Slus'uhr, "I wish it had been more."--"Yes, that's all, except a mortgage for twelve hundred pounds that I've had for the last year and a half."--"Then you've acted very foolishly. You have always to give proper notice before you can foreclose. However, it do'sn't matter so much after all. Give me the bills for the sixteen hundred and fifty pounds, and I'll see that they give him trouble enough for the present."--Muchel would not at first consent, but Henny, who had joined them, was so determined that he had to give way and hand the bills over to Slus'uhr and David.

The old game was once more played at Pümpelhagen. Slus'uhr and David came and made Alick suffer the torments of purgatory. They would not hear of the bills being renewed. He must and should pay, although he had not a penny and could think of no plan for raising the money. The blow came upon him as suddenly as Nicodemus came by night, and for the first time the thought flashed into his mind that it might be a plot to ruin him, that his kind neighbour at Gürlitz perhaps had his finger in the pie, and had set these two rogues to badger him; but how it could be so remained hidden from him. What was the use of thinking and troubling about that. He must have money and from whom could he borrow it? He knew of no one who could lend it to him. Then in spite of his misgivings of a few minutes before his thoughts turned to his neighbour Pomuchelskopp once more. He must help him; who else could do it? He got on his horse and rode over to Gürlitz.

Muchel received him very kindly and heartily as if to show that he considered it to be the duty of neighbours to cling to one another, and uphold one another in these bad times. He groaned over his wretched harvest, and complained loudly of the difficulties he was in for want of ready money, so that Alick found it impossible to urge his request and felt much ashamed of troubling a man, who was himself straightened, with the tale of his difficulties. But necessity is a hard master, and so he at last asked Pomuchelskopp why he had parted with his bills to those two usurers. Whereupon Muchel folded his hands across his stomach and looking compassionately at the young man, said: "Ah, Mr. von Rambow, I couldn't help it.--Look" and opening his desk he pointed to a drawer in which there were perhaps thirty pounds, "look that's all the money I have, and I must buy provisions for my cattle and labourers, and I thought you might perhaps have money by you."--Alick then asked him why he had not come to him himself.--"I couldn't do that," answered Muchel, "you know the proverb, 'Money binds strangers to each other, but it separates friends,' and you and I are friends." That was all very true, Alick replied, but the usurers had pressed him hard and he did not know where to turn for help. "Did they really?" cried Pomuchelskopp. "They oughtn't to have done that. I expressly stipulated that they shouldn't dun you. Of course you will renew the bills--it'll cost you a trifle, but that can't be helped under the circumstances." Alick knew that as well as he did, but he would not allow himself to be talked over this time, and passionately entreated Pomuchelskopp to help him with his credit if he could lend him no money. "Willingly," said Muchel, "but how? Who has money just now?" Alick asked whether Moses would not help. "I don't know him," was the answer, "I've never done any business with him. Your father found him useful, and you know him yourself, so I advise you to turn to him."

That was the only comfort Alick could get; Pomuchelskopp slipped through his fingers like an eel, and when he rode home his thoughts were as gloomy and disagreeable as the evening itself.

David and Slus'uhr came back. They dunned him in the most shameless manner, and when he told them that Pomuchelskopp was too hard up to help him, they refused to listen, and only demanded their money the more fiercely.

Alick rode from one place to another, knocking at this door and at that, but all in vain, he could not raise the money. And when at last he came home worn out and despairing, he read in his wife's quiet eyes that she knew all, though she kept silence, her lips firmly closed, reminding him of a beautiful book containing words of comfort which was now closed to him for ever, for he had lost the key which would have unlocked it. Since the time she had learnt the great wrong she had done Hawermann on the day he had been turned off with ignominy, a wrong she had done him from love to her husband, she had never again spoken to Alick of his money difficulties. She could not help him, and she would not tempt him to tell her what was false either about himself or others. His restless manner and anxious expression showed that he was even more unhappy than usual, and when she went to bed that night and saw her sleeping child, her heart softened and she remembered that he was her baby's father, so bursting into tears, she determined to speak to him gently on the next morning about his difficulties, and to show herself ready and willing to bear her share of his burden.

But next morning Alick ran down-stairs whistling and singing, called Triddelfitz and gave him his orders, and then calling Christian Degel told him to get the carriage ready and to put up clothes enough to last him for several days. When he met his wife in the door-way he looked so bright and happy that the words she had been prepared to speak died unuttered. "Are you going anywhere?" she asked.--"Yes, I have to go away on business. I shall probably go to Schwerin also, have you any message for my sisters?" She told him to give them her love, and soon afterwards Alick bade her farewell, and getting into the carriage, drove off towards Schwerin. He had again told his wife but half the truth, his only business was in Schwerin, at his sisters' house. He had suddenly remembered during the night that his sisters had money. His father had left them a small house and garden and rather more than two thousand pounds. The money was put out at 4½ per cent interest, and on this income, small as it was, they managed to live. Their father had not been able to do more for them, and had trusted that the married sisters, and especially Alick, would help them now and then. It was this money Alick had thought of in the middle of the night; it was just what he wanted; it would tide him over his difficulties, and he could pay his sisters a reasonable percentage on it as well as strangers. He determined to give them five per cent instead of the 4½ they had had before, and he would himself be free from those rapacious money lenders, and at small cost to himself considering the greatness of the benefit to be obtained. It was this thought that had cheered him.

When, on reaching Schwerin, the young squire had explained his necessities to his sisters, and had told them of his grievous losses that year, the poor women were filled with pity for him and comforted him to the best of their ability. When Albertine who was much the wisest of the three sisters and who had the charge of their money affairs, began to speak hesitatingly about good security, the other two, especially Fidelia, fell upon her and accused her of hardheartedness; their brother required the money, and in that he was only like very many other farmers; their brother was their pride and their only support, their father had himself said so when he was dying, and when Alick promised that the estate should be security for the money, Albertine gave way and rejoiced with her sisters that they were able to be of use to their brother. Alick was fortunate in being able to draw the money at once, although, of course, he met with a considerable loss on the transaction. However he had made up his mind that such must be the case, and had determined that he would take the loss upon his own shoulders and that his sisters should not suffer, indeed they would gain by lending him their money, for was he not going to give them five per cent for it.

He came home punctually in the second week of January 1847, and a few days later, when David and Slus'uhr returned to press him for the money, he paid it down, took possession of his bills and bowed them out of the room.

"What's the meaning of all this?" asked Slus'uhr when they were seated in the carriage. "Why, hang it!" said David. "He has got money after all. Did you notice that he had a lot more bank notes than what he gave us?"--"Yes, who the devil did he get them from?"--"I say, let's ask Zebedee." Now Zebedee was a poor relation of David, who always used to take him with him as coachman, but his real occupation was spying upon the owner of any estate in which his master was interested. "Zebedee, have you seen or heard where he went lately?"--"The coachman told me he had been to Schwerin."--"To Schwerin? What was he doing in Schwerin?"--"He got the money there," replied Zebedee. "In Schwerin? Didn't I always tell my father that these aristocrats uphold each other through thick and thin? He must have got it from his rich cousin."--"Ah," muttered Slus'uhr taking the packet of bank notes out of his pocket and thrusting it under David's nose: "just smell that," he said. "These notes wer'n't got from a nobleman! They smell of garlic, so he must have got them from one of you d--d Jews. But, it's all the same where they were got. We must go and tell Pomuchelskopp. Ha, ha, ha! How the little rascal will dance with rage!"

And he was right enough there! Pomuchelskopp was neither to hold nor to bind when he heard that his plot had failed: "I told you so, I told you so. I knew that the right time hadn't come yet. Oh, Henny, Henny, it's all your fault, you made me do it."--"You're a fool!" said Henny leaving the room.--"Come now, don't be angry!" said Slus'uhr. "It'll do you no good you know. Tell him that you expect him to pay up the twelve hundred pound mortgage at midsummer."--"No, no," Pomuchelskopp whimpered, "that's the only foot-hold I've got on the estate, and if he pays it, I shall have lost the game. You're sure that he has more money," he continued, addressing David.--"Yes, a large roll of notes, and a small one also."--"Well," said Slus'uhr, "you may have your will, like the dog in the pond, but this much I'll maintain, he must be a greater fool than I take him for if he doesn't smell a fox now; if he doesn't see that you're trying to ruin him, and if he has got an inkling of that, it doesn't matter whether you dun him for the money now or a couple of years hence."--"But, but," exclaimed the honest old law-giver, stamping and puffing about the room like a steam-engine, "even though he may have guessed something of what is going on, it doesn't si'nify much, for he can't do without me. I am the only friend who can help him."--"Well then, don't help him. Midsummer is the best time to make him pay up, for he has no money coming in at that time."--"Hasn't he though? He'll have the price of the wool and the rape."--"Hang it, man, you forget that he has to pay off the interest of a lot of money, and besides that, you may be sure that he always spends his income before he gets it."--"I can't do it, I tell you, I can't do it. I can't draw back the foot I've planted on his land for anything," repeated Pomuchelskopp, and he was not to be persuaded to change his mind.

"It's a great pity," said the attorney as he was driving home, "when a man hasn't courage to carry out his intentions and so stops short in the middle. Mark my words, our work at Pümpelhagen is finished. I wish I had to do business with the old woman, she'd have gone through with it."--"She's a fearfully clever woman," said David.--"It's no good talking," grumbled Slus'uhr, "our milch cow at Pümpelhagen has gone dry. We'd have got on all right if you hadn't been such an idiot, David. Why couldn't you have made your father foreclose his mortgage? If you had done that, we'd both have made a pot of money."--"Good heavens!" cried David. "He won't do it, I tell you. He goes to see old Hawermann, and they sit for hours together talking. When I say to him 'foreclose', he tells me to attend to my own business and he'll attend to his."--"Then he must be in his second childhood, and a man who knows so little how to act for his own advantage ought to be put under guardians, who will act for him."--"Well, d'ye know--I've thought of that several times; but you see--it's so--so--and then you see; my father's far too sharp for that to be tried."

CHAPTER IV.

By the help of the remainder of his sisters' money, Alick got through the spring and half of the summer of 1847 pretty well, and when that supply was at an end, he sold off his wool rather than apply to his friendly old neighbour for help. He was sure that Pomuchelskopp had a great deal to do with his troubles somehow or other, and the suspicion grew stronger within him, that he had been shorn like a sheep for the benefit of the man who had pretended to be a true friend and neighbour to him, but how or why it was done was a mystery to him. His manner to Pomuchelskopp grew much colder than before, whenever they chanced to meet. He visited him no longer, and he slipped out into the fields through the garden when he happened to see his former friend coming to call upon him. Frida silently rejoiced in the change. We should also have rejoiced in it if he had only acted wisely and thoughtfully, and if he had striven with quiet courage to set himself free from his entanglements, but instead of that he acted foolishly. Persuading himself that he could not bear the presence of the man he now hated and despised, he went so far as to refuse to shake hands with him, when Pomuchelskopp greeted him warmly at a patriotic meeting in Rahnstädt, and not contented with that, spoke of him in such insulting terms that everyone present soon knew pretty well how Pomuchelskopp had been employing his money. Though Alick's conduct on this occasion was honest, it was very foolish. He owed Pomuchelskopp twelve hundred pounds, and had not the wherewithal to pay him. If he knew the squire of Gürlitz as well as he said he did, he must have been aware of the danger of such conduct. Pomuchelskopp could stand a few hard words as well as anybody, but the scene at the meeting was a little bit too much for him, and means of revenge lay too close at hand for him not to make use of it. He made no reply, but rising, went to attorney Slus'uhr and said: "Let Mr. von Rambow know that if he does not pay me my twelve hundred pounds by S. Antony's day I shall foreclose. I know now where I am. I shan't have another chance, and so I'll do the best I can now."--"If Moses would only foreclose too!" cried Slus'uhr; and this pious wish was to be fulfilled also, but later.

There was a great change in young Joseph, which no one but Mrs. Nüssler had noticed. She had always had a suspicion that Joseph would some time or other take to new and evil ways, that he would at last refuse to be guided by any one. This time was now come. From the very beginning of his married life Joseph had been accustomed to lay by some money every year. At first it was only ten pounds, but at last these ten pounds had increased to hundreds, and he was very happy when his wife told him on New-year's-morning that she had made up the farm-books for the year, for she always kept the accounts, and that they had so much to lay by. His soul rejoiced in his savings, why, he hardly knew; but in all these long years of his married life he had grown accustomed to having a larger or smaller sum of money to put in the bank or to invest, and custom was Joseph Nüssler's life. When the bad year came, Mrs. Nüssler had said to her husband during the harvest: "This'll be a bad year, and I'm afraid that we'll have to take up some of our capital."--"Mother," Joseph had answered, staring at her in blank amazement, "surely you'd never do that." But on this New-year's-morning his wife came to him and said, she had drawn four hundred and fifty pounds, and that she only hoped and trusted that that would be enough. "We can't let our people and our cattle starve," she said in conclusion.--Joseph sprang to his feet, a thing he had never done before; he trod on Bolster's toes, another thing he had never done before; stared at his wife gloomily and said nothing, a thing that he often did, and then walked out of the room with Bolster limping at his heels. Dinner-time came, but Joseph did not return. A beautiful bit of sirloin was put on the table, but Joseph did not return. His wife called him, he did not hear. She sought him, but could not find him, for he had taken refuge in the cow-house and was busily engaged with a tar-pot in one hand and a brush in the other, in making little crosses on his cattle, and Bolster was standing at his side. After a long search his wife found him thus employed: "Goodness gracious me, Joseph," she asked, "why ar'n't you coming to dinner."--"I hav'n't time, mother."--"What are you doing here with the tarpot?"--"I'm marking the cows that we ought to sell."--"Preserve us all!" cried Mrs. Nüssler, snatching the tar-brush out of his hand, "what do you mean? My best milkers!"--"Why, mother," answered Joseph calmly, "we must get rid of some of our people and of our cattle or they'll eat up our very noses and ears."--It was indeed a fortunate circumstance that he had fallen upon the cows first and not upon the people, otherwise the farm-lads and lasses might have borne tarry crosses on their backs on that New-year's-morning.--Mrs. Nüssler got him to leave off his work with great difficulty, and then took him back to the parlour. When once more seated there, he announced that he would not farm any more, and said that Rudolph must come and marry Mina, and take the farm into his own hands. Mrs. Nüssler could make nothing of him, so she sent for Bräsig. Mina, who had heard enough, rushed upstairs to her garret-room and clasping both hands upon her heart, said to herself, that it was wrong to harass her father, why could he not be allowed to rest when he wanted, and why should Rudolph not manage the farm, Hilgendorf had written to say that he could do it. If uncle Bräsig took part against her in this she would tell him plainly that she wouldn't be his god-child any longer.

When Bräsig came and had heard the whole story, he took his stand in front of young Joseph, and said: "What's the meaning of all this, young Joseph? Why did you spend the holy New-year's-morning in painting tarry crosses on your cows? Why do you want to sell your wife's best milkers? And do you really mean to say that you're going to give up farming?"--"Bräsig, Rudolph can attend to the farm, and why can't Mina marry him at once? Lina is married, and Mina is as good as her sister."--As he said this he glanced at Bolster out of the corner of his eye, and Bolster shook his head in grave agreement with his master's sentiments.--"Joseph," said Bräsig, "justice is a great virtue, and I must confess that your folly has for once driven you to speak the words of wisdom"--Joseph raised his head--"no, Joseph, I'm not going to praise you, it is only that you have for once in your life said something I can agree with. I also think that Rudolph should be sent for, and that he should manage the farm. Hush, Mrs. Nüssler!" he added, "come here for one moment please." He drew Mrs. Nüssler into the next room, and explained to her that he intended to remain with parson Godfrey until Easter. He could look after matters at Rexow till then, but after that Rudolph must come, "and it's better for you that it should be so," he continued, "for he'll never paint crosses on your cows, and it will be equally good for him, for in that way he will gradually learn to manage a farm on his own responsibility. Then the marriage must be in the Easter holidays of next year."--"Goodness gracious me, Bräsig, that'll never do, how can Mina and Rudolph live in the same house? What would people say?"--"Ah, Mrs. Nüssler, I know how hard the world is in its judgment of engaged couples. I know it well, for when I was engaged to the three--toots, what was it I was going to say? Oh, it was this, that Mina might go to parson Godfrey's. My room at the parsonage will be empty after Easter, for I'm going to Hawermann in Rahnstädt then."--"Yes, that'll do very well," said Mrs. Nüssler. And so it was all settled.--Rudolph came to Rexow at Easter, but Mina had to go away then, and when she and all her luggage were packed into the carriage, she wiped the tears from her eyes and thought herself the most miserable creature on the face of the earth, for was not her mother sending her out of her own father's house to live amongst strangers--by which she meant her sister Lina--and without any good reason that she could see. She doubled up her fist when she thought of Bräsig, for her mother had said that Bräsig thought the arrangement a good one. "Pah!" she cried aloud, "and I am to have his room at the parsonage; I'm sure it'll smell of stale tobacco, and that the walls will be so well smoked that one might write one's name upon them with one's finger!" But when she entered the room at last, she opened her eyes wide with astonishment. There was a table in the middle of the room, and it was covered with a white cloth, while right in the centre of it was a glass vase full of the most beautiful flowers that could be got at that time of year, blue hepaticas, yellow acacias, and wild hyacinths. Beside the flower glass lay a letter directed to Mina Nüssler in uncle Bräsig's hand-writing, and when she opened it, she was more surprised than ever, for it was written in poetry, and this was the first time she had ever had verses addressed to her. Uncle Bräsig had learnt an old proverb, used in house building from Schulz the carpenter, and had adapted it to a room. He had then added a few lines of comfort entirely out of his own head. This was the letter.

Mina blushed when she read the bit about the marriage, and throwing her arms round her sister Lina's neck, began laughingly to abuse Bräsig for his stupidity; but in her heart of hearts she blessed him. Thus Mina went to Gürlitz, Rudolph to Rexow, and Bräsig to Mrs. Behrens and Hawermann at Rahnstädt.

With Hawermann everything was going on in much the same way as before. He led a very retired life in spite of the efforts of his friends. The rector often gave him a little lecture; Kurz inveigled him into many a farming talk, and even Moses now and then made his way upstairs, spoke to him about old times, and asked his advice on various business affairs; but the old man kept on the even tenour of his way uninfluenced by any of them. He thought night and day of his daughter's fate and nourished a faint hope that the labourer Regel would return sooner or later, and by telling the truth would wash away the stain of dishonesty which had been fastened upon him. The labourer had written home several times lately, and had sent his wife and children some money; but had always kept his whereabouts a secret. Little Mrs. Behrens was much afraid that his sorrows were preying on her old friend so heavily as to make him more or less morbid, and she feared that he might in time become a monomaniac, so she thanked God heartily when Bräsig came to live with them. Bräsig would do him good, he was the man to do it, if any could. His restless nature and kind heart made him try to rouse his friend; he would oblige him to do this or that, would persuade him to go out for a walk with him, would make him listen to all sorts of silly novels which he got from the Rahnstädt lending library, and when nothing else had any effect, he would give utterance to the maddest theories in order to induce his friend to contradict him. Hawermann grew better under this mode of treatment, but if ever the words Pümpelhagen or Frank were mentioned in the course of conversation, all the good was undone for the time being, and the evil spirit of melancholy once more possessed him.

Louisa got on much better than her father, she was not one of those women who think that when they have been disappointed in love they ought to go about the world sadly, and show every one by their woe-begone faces and languid movements how much their poor hearts have suffered, saying by their manner, that they are only waiting for death to release them from a world, in which they have now neither part nor portion. No, Louisa was not that kind of woman. She had strength and courage to bear her great sorrow by herself, she did not need the world's pity. Her love was hidden deep down in her heart like pure gold. She spoke of her feelings to nobody, and only took from her treasure what was required for the needs of the day, for the loving-kindness she lavished on all who came near her. When God sees a child of man striving valiantly for victory over a crushing sorrow, and in spite of his own misery, doing what he can to make the lives of others easier and pleasanter to them. He gives him help and strength to go on with his battle, and sends him many little accidental circumstances that assist him on his way, but which pass unnoticed by outsiders. What is called chance is, when regarded from a truer point of view, only the effect of some cause which is hidden from our eyes.

Such a chance help, as I have mentioned, came to Louisa in the spring after the meeting of the stormy council of women, which divided Rahnstädt into two parties.

One day when Louisa was returning home from visiting Lina at Gürlitz, as she was walking along a foot path at the back of some of the gardens at Rahnstädt, one of the garden doors suddenly opened, and a pretty little girl came up to her with a bunch of elder-flowers, tulips and acacias. "Please take these flowers," said the little member, blushing deeply, for it was she who had come to speak to Louisa. When Louisa looked at her in surprise, wondering what it all meant, tears began to roll down the girl's cheeks, and covering her eyes with her hand, she murmured: "I w-wanted to give you a little pleasure." Louisa touched by the kindness of the girl, threw her arms round her neck and gave her a kiss. They then went into the garden together and seated themselves in the arbour made of the interlaced branches of elder. There Louisa and the warm-hearted little member began an acquaintance which soon ripened into a firm friendship, for a heart full of love is easily opened to friendship, so it came to pass that the little member became a daily visitor at Mrs. Behrens' house, and whenever she appeared all the faces in the household brightened at her approach. As soon as Hawermann heard the first notes struck on Mrs. Behrens' old piano, he used to come down stairs, and seating himself in a corner, would listen to the beautiful music the little member played for his entertainment. When that was over Mrs. Behrens would come in for her share of amusement, for the little member was a doctor's daughter, and doctors and doctors' children always know the last piece of news that is going; not that Mrs. Behrens was curious, she only liked to know what was going on, and since she had come to live in a country-town she had been infected with the desire, all inhabitants of such towns feel, to know what their neighbours are doing. She once said to Louisa: "you see, my dear, one likes to hear what's going on around one, but still when my sister Mrs. Triddelfitz begins to tell me any news I don't like it, her judgments of people's actions are so sharp and sarcastic; it's quite different with little Anna, she tells such funny innocent stories that one can laugh over them quite happily; she is a dear good child."

This new friendship gained strength and significance when the bad harvest brought its consequences of famine, want and misery into the town. Anna's father was a doctor, although he had not the title of Practising Physician, but he had something that was better than any such title, he had a kind heart, and when he came home and told of the poverty and wretchedness he had seen, Anna used to go to Mrs. Behrens and Louisa and repeat to them what her father had said. Mrs. Behrens used then to go to her larder and fill a basket with food and wine, which the two girls carried out to the homes of the starving people in the dusk of the evening, and when they came home they gave each other a kiss, and then they kissed Mrs. Behrens and Hawermann, that was all, not a word was said about it. When arrangements were to be made about the soup kitchens, all the ladies in Rahnstädt held a great 'talkee-talkee,' as Bräsig called it, to settle how the distress in the town could best be alleviated. The town-clerk's wife said that if there were to be soup-kitchens at all, "they must be on a grand scale." And when she was asked what she meant, she answered that it was all the same to her, but if any good was to be done it must be on "a grand scale." Then the elder members of the council agreed that a difference must be made between the converted and unconverted poor, for a little starvation would do the latter no harm. After that a young and newly married woman proposed that some man should be appointed manager of the charity, but her motion was quashed at once, as all the other ladies voted against her, and the town-clerk's wife remarked that as long as she had lived--"and that's a good many years now," interrupted Mrs. Krummhorn--all cooking and charitable societies had been managed by women, for men didn't understand such things, but she would once more impress upon them that the charity must be done on a grand scale. The Conventicle then separated, every member as wise as she had been at the beginning. When the soup kitchens were opened, two pretty girls of our acquaintance became active workers in them. They flitted about the great fire in their neat gowns and long white linen aprons, and ladled out the soup from the large pots into the tins the poor women brought with them. They sat on the same bench as the converted and unconverted, and helped them to peel the potatoes and cut the turnips for the next day's use. That was the way that Louisa expended what she took from the treasure of love hidden away in her heart, and Anna also added her mite.

Bräsig took a good deal of the distant visiting of the poor off the little member's hands, saying that running messages was just what he was made for, and when he had not got gout he trotted about the town wherever he was wanted. He said to Hawermann one day: "Charles, Dr. Strump says there's nothing like polchicum and exercise for gout, and the water-doctor says, it ought to be cold water and exercise. They both agree in advising exercise, and I feel that it does me good. But what I wanted to say was this,--Moses sends you his compliments and desires me to say that he intends to come and see you this afternoon."--"Why, has he returned from Dobberan already? I thought that he didn't want to come home till August."--"But Charles, this is S. James' day, and harvest has begun. But what I wanted to say was this,--the old Jew has quite renewed his youth. He looks almost handsome, and ran up and down the room several times to show me how active he was. I must be off now to see old widow Klähnen, she's waiting for me in her garden, and is very impatient, for I've promised her some turnip seed. And then I must go to Mrs. Krummhorn's and look at her kittens, she has promised to give us one of them, for, Charles, we require a good mouser; after that I have to go and speak to Rischen the blacksmith about the shoes for Kurz's old riding horse. The poor old beast has as many windgalls as Moses' son David has corns on his feet, I'm not joking, Charles. I suppose you hav'n't heard yet that Mr. von Rambow has already invested in a horse with windgalls, otherwise he might have bought Kurz's horse to complete the infirmary at Pümpelhagen. I have to go and see the mayor's wife later in the afternoon, for she has got some newly mown rye, and wants me to to make her some beer as we have it in our farms. She is going to make quite a festival on the occasion of the beer making. Now good-bye, Charles, I'm going to read aloud to you this afternoon, and I've got a book that I'm sure will amuse us both." Then he went away, and ran up one street and down another, visiting this house and that, and doing all in his power to help his neighbours. As the inhabitants of a small Mecklenburg town are more or less interested in agricultural matters, Bräsig was continually appealed to for advice and assistance, and finally became the oracle and slave of the whole town.

In the afternoon Bräsig seated himself beside his friend Charles, and opening his book prepared to read aloud. If we were to look over his shoulder we should read on the title page: "The Frogs by Aristophanes, translated from Greek." We open our eyes wide with astonishment, but only think how much wider the old Greek humourist would have opened his, had he seen to what heights education had advanced in Rahnstädt, had he known that his frogs had taken their place, two thousand years after his death, in the same shelf of the Rahnstädt circulating library as "Blossoms," "Pearls," "Forget-me-nots," "Roses," and other annuals. How the old rascal would have laughed! Uncle Bräsig did not laugh, but sat there gravely and seriously. He had put on his horn spectacles, that looked for all the world like a pair of carriage lamps, and was holding the book as far away from him as the length of his arm would allow. When he began: "'The Frogs'--he means what we call 'puddocks,' Charles--'by Aristop-Hannes'--I read it 'Hannes,' Charles as I look upon 'Hanes' as a misprint, for there's a book called 'Schinder-Hannes'^[2] that I once read, and if this is only half as horrible, we may be well satisfied, Charles." He now began to read after school-master Strull's, fashion, only stopping for breath, and Hawermann sat still seeming to listen attentively, but before the first page was finished he was buried in his own thoughts again, and when Bräsig wet his finger to turn the fourth page, he discovered to his righteous indignation that his old friend's eyes were closed. Bräsig rose, placed himself in front of him and stared at him. Now it is a well known fact that the miller wakes when the mill stops working, and that the hearers wake when the sermon is done. So it was with Hawermann, he opened his eyes, pulled at his pipe, and said: "Beautiful, Zachariah, most beautiful."--"What? you say 'beautiful' and yet you were asleep!"--"Don't be angry with me," said Hawermann, who was now thoroughly awake, "but I couldn't understand a single word of it. Put the book away, or do you understand it?"--"Not so well as usual, Charles, but I paid a penny for the hire of it, and when I pay a penny I like to have my money's worth."--"But if you can't understand it?"--"People don't read in order to understand, Charles, they read poor passer lour temps. Look," and he tried to explain what he had read, but was interrupted by a knock at the door, which was followed by the entrance of Moses.

Hawermann went forward to meet him and said: "I'm very glad to see you Moses. How well you're looking!"--"Flora says so too, but it's an old story with her, she told me so fifty years ago."--"Well, how did you like the watering-place?"--"I'll tell you some news, Hawermann. One is very glad of two things at a watering-place. The first is that one can go there, and the other is that one's going away again. It's just the same as with a horse, a garden, and a house one rejoices to have them, and rejoices to get rid of them."--"Yes, I see that you wer'n't able to stand the full course of it; perhaps however it was business that brought you home."--"How I hate business. I am an old man. My business now is not to enter into new transactions, and gradually to withdraw my money from old ones. That's what has brought me here today I want to have the ten hundred and fifty pounds I lent on Pümpelhagen."--"Oh, Moses, don't! You would plunge Mr. von Rambow into great difficulties."--"I don't know that. He must have money; he must have a great deal of money. David, the attorney and Pomuffelskopp tried to ruin him at the new year, but he paid them up sixteen hundred pounds at once. I know all that David has been about; I questioned Zebedee. 'Where were you yesterday?' I asked. 'At the Court's,' he said. 'That's a lie, Zebedee,' I answered. But he swore it was true till he was black in the face. I always said: 'You know you're telling a lie, Zebedee.' At last I said: 'I'll tell you something. The horses are mine, and the carriage is mine, and the coachman is mine. Now if you don't tell me the truth, I'll send you away, for you're a scoundrel.' Then he confessed and told me about the sixteen hundred pounds, and yesterday he said that Pomuffelskopp had given Mr. von Rambow notice to pay up the mortgage he holds on Pümpelhagen, on S. Anthony's day. Now Pomuffelskopp is a wise man, and he must know how it stands with him."--"Merciful heaven!" cried Hawermann quite forgetting his hatred to Alick, and feeling all his former loyalty to the von Rambow family revive, "and you are going to follow his example? Moses, you know that your money is safe."--"Well, I'll confess that it is safe. But I know many other places where it would also be safe." Then looking sharply at the two old bailiffs, he said very emphatically: "I have both seen him and spoken to him."--"What? Mr. von Rambow? Where was it?" asked Hawermann. "In Dobberan at the gaming-table," said Moses angrily, "and also in my hotel."--"Alas!" said Hawermann, "he never used to do that. What will become of him poor fellow?"--"I always said," exclaimed Bräsig, "that too much knowledge would be the ruin of the lieutenant."--"I assure you," interrupted Moses, "that I saw these people round the table with piles of Louis d'ors before them. They sat at one part of the table and then at another. They pushed about the money in this direction and in that, and that's what they call business, and what they call pleasure! It's enough to make one's hair stand on end. And he was always at it. 'Zebedee,' I said, for Zebedee had brought my carriage ready for me to go home on the next day, 'Zebedee, stand here and keep your eye on the Squire of Pümpelhagen. You can tell me afterwards how he gets on. It makes me quite ill to watch him.' Zebedee came to me in the evening, and told me he was cleaned out. And a little later Mr. von Rambow came and asked me for a hundred and fifty pounds. 'I'll tell you something,' I said, 'I'll act like a father to you, come away with me, Zebedee has the carriage all ready, I'll take you with me, and it shan't cost you a farthing.' He refused my offer, and was determined to remain."--"Poor fellow, poor fellow," sighed Hawermann. "That boy," cried Bräsig, "has actually a wife and child! If he belonged to me, what a wigging I should give him."--"But, Moses, Moses," entreated Hawermann, "I implore you by all you love not to demand payment. He will come to his right mind, and your money is safe."--"Hawermann," said Moses, "you also are a wise man; but listen to me; when I began business as a money lender, I said to myself: when anyone comes to borrow money from you who has carriage and horses and costly furniture, lend him what he wants, for he has goods to be security; when any merry-hearted young fellow who laughs and jokes and drinks champagne wants to borrow money from you, lend it to him, for he'll earn enough to pay you back; but if a man should come to you for help who has cards and dice in his pocket, and who frequents gambling-tables, beware what you do, for a gamester's money is never to be counted on. And besides that, Hawermann, it would never do. People would say that the Jews incited the young man to gamble, so as to ruin him the quicker, and make sure of seizing his estate," and Moses drew himself to his full height. "No," he continued, "the Jew has his own code of honour as well as the Christian, and no man shall come and point to my grave, and say: that man drove a dishonest trade.--I won't have my good name taken from me in my old age by a man whose own conduct is not immaculate. Has he not stolen your good name, and yet you are an honest man and a true-hearted man. No," he went on, as Hawermann rose and began to walk up and down the room, "sit down, I won't talk about it. Different people have different notions. You bear your fate, and you have your reasons for doing so; I should not bear it if I were in your place, and I have my reasons for saying so. Good-bye now, Hawermann; good-bye Mr. Bräsig. I shall demand my money at S. Anthony's day all the same," and so saying he went away.

It was thus that the black clouds rose on this side also of Alick's sky, and they rose when he did not expect them. The dark storm clouds hemmed him in on every side, and when once the storm burst who could tell how long it might rage, and how many of his brightest hopes might not be destroyed by it for ever. He would not let himself think that ruin was staring him in the face, he comforted himself by looking forward to a good harvest, by counting up the money he expected to get from the grain merchants and wool-staplers, and with the hope that some lucky chance would stave off the evil day of reckoning a little longer. People always think when things are going ill with them that chance will come to their rescue and make everything easy to them. They treat the future as if it were a game at blind man's buff.--So the year 1848 began.