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

CHAPTER VII.

Young Joseph walked up and down the yard followed by Bolster. He often stood still during his walk and rubbed his forehead as if he did not know what to do next. Whenever he did so, Bolster also stood still, wagged his tail, and then immediately lost himself in sad consideration of the divided sovereignty that lay before him, Rudolph came out: "Why father," he said, "up already!"--"Yes, Rudolph, and it's all because of the geese;" he was going to have said something more, but the words did not come to him, and Rudolph exclaimed: "Don't bother your head about that, father, it's an old story now; but I'm very glad you're up, for you can give the overseer his orders, and I'll go and see how the field's getting on that I was at yesterday on the Pümpelhagen march. We must do the same as yesterday, cart manure to the potato land."--"Yes, Rudolph but ...."-"That's all you've to do, father; now I must be off," and he hastened away. Joseph resumed his walk up and down the yard till at last Kalsow, the overseer came to him: "Kalsow," said Joseph, "send all the workpeople here to me," and having given this order he went into the house accompanied by Bolster. The labourers, labourer's wives, and work-people crowded into the court and asked each other: "What are we to do?"--"I don't know," answered Kalsow, the overseer. "Ah then, just go and ask him, will you?"--Kalsow went into the parlour where he found young Joseph pacing up and down, followed by Bolster, for as Joseph had not taken off his cap. Bolster thought his company was required. "The villagers are all here, sir," said Kalsow.--"Good," replied young Joseph. "What are we to do now?" asked Kalsow.--"Wait," said Joseph.--Kalsow then went out and told the people, so they waited. In a short time he returned to his master: "They're waiting, sir," he said.--"Good," answered Joseph, "tell them to wait a little longer, for I'm going to make them a speech." Kalsow went out again and desired the people to wait, adding that Mr. Nüssler was going to make them a speech. They waited for a long time, but nothing came of it, and at last Christian the coachman, said: "I know him Kalsow. Go back and wake him up." So Kalsow went in again and asked: "Well, sir, how about the speech?"--"Confound you!" stormed Joseph, "do you think that my thoughts are growing on my back ready to be plucked when I want them." The overseer retired and said to the people: "It was of no use, it only made the master angry, so we must wait."--"Goodness gracious me!" cried Mrs. Nüssler, when she had finished tidying up the larder, "what's the meaning of this? Why are the people all standing in front of the house doing nothing?" and opening the window, she called out: "What are you doing there?"--"We're only waiting, mistress."--"What are you waiting for?"--"We don't know mistress, but the master's going to make us a speech."--"Who?" asked Mrs. Nüssler. "The master," said Kalsow. "What did you say he was going to make?"--"A speech," said Kalsow.--"A nice state of affairs this!" muttered Mrs. Nüssler as she slammed down the window. Then hastening to her husband, she seized him by the arm, and shook him as if she wanted to bring him back to his senses: "What are you going to do? You're going to make a speech? What sort of a speech are you going to make? Is it to be about me? or about Rudolph and Mina?"--"Mother," said Joseph firmly, "it's to be about the geese."--"May God have mercy upon you," said Mrs. Nüssler angrily, "if you ever dare to speak to me about the geese again."--"What?" cried Joseph, rising in open rebellion against his wife for the first time. "Mayn't I make a speech? Everyone does it; Mr. von Rambow does it; Bräsig speaks in the Reform-club, and you don't think me good enough to follow their example." Then striking the table with his fist: "I am master here, woman, and will speak about my own geese if I choose!" Mrs. Nüssler turned very pale, and stared at Joseph silently. After waiting a minute, she pressed one hand over her heart, and groped for the door handle, which having found she turned slowly, and then left the room backwards, her eyes still fixed on Joseph--in like manner as a lion tamer treats a wild beast which has defied his authority. As soon as she was safely out in the passage, she threw herself down on a bench and began to cry. Ah yes, the year 1848 was a terrible time. Lawful government was no longer held of any account, and open rebellion was the order of the day.

Bräsig came down stairs whistling merrily, but stopped short when he caught sight of his old sweetheart weeping bitterly. "As sure as your nose is in the middle of your face, tell me what's the matter? What makes you cry at this time of day, Mrs. Nüssler? it's only half past six." So saying he threw himself on the bench beside her, and tried to pull the apron away from her face, but she signed to him to let her alone. "Mrs. Nüssler," he exclaimed, "for God's sake tell me what has happened." After a long time she managed to ejaculate: "Joseph."--"Good God!" cried Bräsig. "He was quite well yesterday. Is he dead?"--"Dead? not he!" she exclaimed, throwing down her apron and showing her red eyes, "but he has gone quite mad!"--"God have mercy upon me!" cried Bräsig, springing to his feet, "what's he about?"--"He's going to make a speech."--"What? Young Joseph? A speech? that's a very bad sign!"--"Oh me, me!" groaned Mrs. Nüssler. "The labourers are all waiting for him to begin, and he almost turned me out of the room, indeed I hardly know how I got out."--"Well, I never thought of such a thing in my wildest conjecturation!" exclaimed Bräsig. "But keep your mind easy, Mrs. Nüssler, I'm not afraid, I'll venture into the parlour." And he immediately went away.

Joseph was walking up and down the room, and rubbing his forehead every now and then. Bräsig seated himself on a chair near the door and followed his every movement with his eyes, but did not say a word, and Bolster sat at the opposite side of the room silently watching his master. It was an anxious moment, at least to Joseph and Bräsig; Bolster took the state of affairs pretty quietly upon the whole. At last Bräsig asked very gently: "How are you, Joseph?"--"I don't know," answered Joseph, "I have rather a buzzing in my head, and my thoughts are jumping about as if some one had poured a bushel of wild oats into my brain."--"I believe you, Joseph, I believe you," said Bräsig, still watching him as he went up and down the room. At length Joseph suddenly stopped and exclaimed indignantly: "Who the devil can make up a speech when you two are staring like that?"--"Oh you're going to make a speech, are you? What's it to be about?"--"Am I worse than any other man Bräsig? Are my labourers worse than other people's labourers? In these bad times they must be pleased like the workmen on other estates, but I'm not good at it, it's too hard a task for me; you are quicker-witted than I, so please make the speech for me."--"Why not?" said Bräsig, "if it will really be a relief to you. But now don't disturb me." And Bräsig in his turn began to pace the room while Joseph sat down and watched him. Suddenly the bailiff opened the window and shouted: "Come here, all of you!" and the labourers did as they were desired. "Fellow citizens!" began Bräsig; but--bang--he shut the window, exclaiming: "Hang it! That won't do at all, these people are labourers, so one can't call them 'fellow-citizens.' Now you see Joseph what a difficult thing it is to make a speech, and yet you wanted to meddle with a thing that even I cannot manage."--"Ah, Bräsig, but ...."--"Hold your tongue, Joseph, I know what you're going to say." He then went to the window, opened it, and said: "You can all go back to your work now, there won't be any speech to day."--"All right," said Kalsow, "but the master ...."--"Has thought better of it," interrupted Bräsig, "he thinks that spring is rather too early in the year for such a thing, but he hopes to make you a stunning good speech in autumn after the harvest is secured."--"Very well," answered Kalsow, "perhaps that'll be the best time for it. Come away then," and so he and the labourers all went back to their work.

Now that the coast was clear, Bräsig turned to Joseph, addressed him with all the dignity he could command, and used all the influence he had gained over him in the course of many years: "How? You were said to be mad! You are no more mad than either Bolster or I; you are only stupid. What ever induced your dear--I mean to say--late--I mean to say--confounded parents to bring you into the world? Was it that you might make speeches and distress your good wife who has tended you for five and twenty years as anxiously and carefully as if you had been a little new born child? Come away at once, and beg her pardon, and promise that you'll never do it again." Joseph was quite willing to do as he was bid, but he was saved going out in search of his wife by Mrs. Nüssler coming into the parlour: "Josy, Josy," she said, "how very miserable you have made me!"--"Ah mother ...."--"Josy you'll bring me with sorrow to the grave!"--"And that with confoundedly imposing language," interposed Bräsig.--"Mother, I won't ...."--"Ah Joseph, I don't believe you'll ever give it up now that you've once begun." But Joseph assured her that he had had enough of it. "God grant that it maybe so," said Mrs. Nüssler, "and that you may see that I also can give way, Rudolph may marry to-morrow if you like."--"Ah," said Bräsig, "that's good, there's peace in the house again, and you'd better seal it with a kiss--now another, Joseph, that the left side of your mouth mayn't have short measure."

As soon as that was settled, uncle Bräsig made the best of his way to Gürlitz to visit his little god-child, and tell her of her happy prospects. He went by the short cut, by the very foot-path in which Muchel had put up the fence alleging that it belonged to him, but Godfrey had been egged on by Bräsig to go to law about it, and having won his suit, the fence was now cleared away and the road was once more open to the public.

When Bräsig was going along this path who should meet him but the squire of Gürlitz, who on seeing him put on a friendly smile, and said, as soon as he got near enough to speak: "Good morning my dear ...." He could not finish his sentence, for Bräsig thus accosted him, without vouchsafing to look at him: "A certain person, who shall be nameless, threatened to pull off my boots here, and to leave me to hop home with bare feet like a crow," having said this he walked on without once looking back.

After he had told Mina what had brought him to Gürlitz and had rejoiced at the sight of her happiness, Lina asked him to remain with them, though as it was Saturday, Godfrey must write his sermon instead of enjoying his society. He answered: "No, no, Mrs. Lina, everyone has his work to do in the world, and if parson Godfrey has to write a sermon, why shouldn't I have one to preach also? I must go to the Reform-club to-night." And having said good-bye, he returned to Rahnstädt.

CHAPTER VIII.

When Bräsig had told Hawermann and Mrs. Behrens all the news he had picked up at Rexow and Gürlitz, and had answered all their questions, he rose to go away again: "Don't be angry with me, Mrs. Behrens, or you either, Charles, but you see I must go to the club as soon as I have put on another pair of boots. You should come with me, Charles. We're going to choose a new president this evening, for the old one, as he himself confesses, is quite lost amongst us, I'm going to vote for lawyer Rein.--Do you know him? He's a nice fellow, and a man of the world; besides that I must say he's a bit of a wag. Then we have to decide a very important question--rector Baldrian says that it has a strong connection with the spirit of the times--I mean that we want to discover the cause of the large amount of poverty there is in the world. You should come with me, Charles." But Hawermann was not to be persuaded, so Bräsig went alone.

The first person Bräsig recognised on entering the hall of meeting was--Samuel Pomuchelskopp, who hurried forward to greet him, saying: "How d'ye do, brother! How are you, Zachariah?" Only a few people saw the expression of Bräsig's face when the squire of Gürlitz thus addressed him, and of those who saw, hardly anyone understood the meaning of what he had seen; but Bank the shoemaker told me about it: "Fritz," he said, "his face looked for all the world as if it had been reflected in a shoemaker's-ball. His mouth was as large again as it is by nature, his nose was twice as thick as usual and his face was glowing like a furnace. Can't you imagine what he looked like when he answered: 'Mr. Samuel Pomuchelskopp we are not on sufficiently intimate terms for you to address me so familiarly.' Well, he looked exactly like the picture of old Hofer, landlord of the Sands in the Tyrol, which is hanging on the coffee room wall of Fuchs' inn at Ivenack, except that he hadn't a musket in his hand. Then he turned his back upon Mr. Pomuchelskopp, and what a back! went to the election table and gave his vote in a loud clear voice that could be heard all over the hall, saying: 'I vote for Mr. Rein (pure) for our cause and actions must be pure, and if a scoundrel should chance to come in amongst us, he must be turned out' No one understood what he referred to, but there was a dead silence, for everyone knew that something had happened. When he went back to his seat everyone made way for him, because he looked like a bull ready to toss whoever opposed him, but he sat down quietly in his place, and every member of the club knows all that went on afterwards."--That was what Jack Bank told me, and I believe that he told the truth, for he was a great friend of mine and an honourable man although he was only a shoemaker. He was murdered by a ruffian while still a comparatively young man when he was standing up for the right. I mention this fact although it has nothing to do with my story, because he was my friend, and because I don't wish his virtues to be known only from the epitaph on his grave stone.

So Zachariah Bräsig seated himself in an out of the way corner of the hall looking like a thunder storm that might burst at any moment. Mr. Rein was elected president, so he rang the bell, crept into the vat or pulpit, thanked the members of the club for having done him the honour of electing him as their president and then added: "Gentlemen, before we enter on the question of the evening regarding the origin of poverty, allow me to mention that Mr. Pomuchelskopp of Gürlitz has applied for admission as member of this Reform club. I believe that no one has any reason to oppose his being admitted as one of us."--"Ah," cried a voice behind him sharply, "are you so sure of that? I beg to be allowed to speak," and when the new president turned round he saw uncle Bräsig standing beside the pulpit. "Let Mr. Bailiff Bräsig say what he has to say," answered the president, so uncle Bräsig clambered into the pulpit and began: "Fellow-citizens, how long is it since we swore to maintain liberty, equality, and fraternity in this hall, which used to be Grammelin's dancing saloon? I will say nothing just now about liberty, although I have no room to move in this confounded barrel; of equality I will also say nothing, for our new president shows us a good example in that respect by always wearing a grey coat, instead of going about in a blue surtout with brass buttons like some people; but it is of fraternity that I am going to speak. Fellow-citizens, let me ask if it is brotherly conduct for a man to threaten to have his neighbour's boots pulled off, and to leave his fellow man to hop home barefoot through the snow, and if there should be no snow, through the mud? Is it brotherly to be proud of saying such things? and of making a fool of another? I ask you if that is brotherly conduct? and I tell you that Mr. Samuel Pomuchelskopp is a brother after that fashion. I will say no more." He descended the pulpit and blew a long trumpet blast of defiance upon his nose. Wimmersdorf the tailor was the next to speak, he said that it was a great honour to the Rahnstädt Reform club that it was now to number a large landowner amongst its members; as far as he knew Mr. Pomuchelskopp was the only squire in their ranks, for Mr. von Zanzel was not to be counted although he had an estate and was a member of the club, as he neither bought anything in Rahnstädt nor had anything made there. He therefore voted for Mr. Pomuchelskopp's admission. "Bravo!" was shouted by many voices. "Wimmersdorf is right. You're right lad. How can we expect to live if we don't uphold such people?"--"I don't agree with you," said Schulz the carpenter letting his head appear above the edge of the pulpit by slow degrees, like that of a fat old snail out of a shell which has become rather a tight fit. "That's all nonsense, Wimmersdorf, great nonsense. If the Gürlitz potentate had ever troubled himself about us before, if he had paid his bills at once it would have been all very well, but he needs us now. If he were outvoted, would he go out modestly? I tell you no! And why? Because he is a great Mogul. Away with him, I say, away with him!" Then the snail crept back into its shell, but its speech had had a great effect. "Out with him! Out with him!" cried several voices, while others shouted: "Go on! Begin again from the beginning!" and a mischievous journeyman shoemaker sang in a loud clear voice:

But Schulz was much too wise to show himself again, he knew that he might only weaken the decided effect his speech had made if he said any more, so he took his stand by Bräsig at the back of the pulpit and joined him in shouting: "Out, out!" They would certainly have gained the day if the devil had not sent David and Slus'uhr to take their places in the speaker's pulpit, where they now made their appearance their upper lips adorned with moustachios to show their liberal principles. These two then proceeded to sing Pomuchelskopp's praises as though to the music of a psaltery and fiddle. Slus'uhr called the squire of Gürlitz: "An angel of charity."--"Yes, a fine solid angel!" cried the witty journeyman shoemaker--he had helped many a poor man in Rahnstädt (Slus'uhr did not think it necessary to mention that his friend had charged ten per cent interest for these little loans) and he was willing to do even more than that for the town. David sang a song to the same tune, but perhaps his eulogies were even more highly coloured and spiced than those of the attorney: "Gentlemen!" he began, making at the same time a peculiarly low bow to the witty shoemaker as if to ask him to be silent and let him go on: "Gentlemen, consider, only consider the weal of the whole town. Look here, per primo, there's Mr. Pomuchelskopp in person, and then there's Mrs. Pomuchelskopp--a horribly clever woman she is too!--then there are Miss Sally and Miss Mally, Mr. Gustavus, Mr. Anthony and Mr. Philip; then come Miss Mary, Miss Sophie and Miss Milly and the little Masters Christian and Josy, and last of all there's the baby. Wait a bit, I hav'n't done yet--then there are the housemaids, cooks and nursery maids, and the wenches who attend to the pigs--now who else is there?--then come the coachman, the grooms and the cowherd--there's something else he needs? Why shouldn't he need something? Every one does! You all require coats and trousers, shoes and boots, stockings, shirts and night shirts. In cold weather you must have warm coats, and in warm weather, light coats. Then on Palm Sunday when you are confirmed you must have good coats, and at Christmas likewise. Ah yes, have I not always said that this Christ you worship must have been a great man? How busy everyone is at Christmas time! We fill our shops and keep all sorts of beautiful things. Who buys them from us? Mr. Pomuchelskopp to be sure! I'll say no more." And indeed it was not necessary for him to say more, for no sooner had he finished his speech than all the shoemakers and tailors began in thought to make shoes and boots for the little Pomuchelskopps, and to sew trousers and coats for them, while the shopkeepers imagined themselves doing a large business with Muchel, and Kurz went so far as to sell him half the contents of his shop--in thought.

But in spite of all this Bräsig and Schulz cried out the more: "Out! out!"--To which others replied: "No, remain!"--"Out! out!"--"Remain!"--At last there was a frightful uproar. The material interests of Rahnstädt in the shape of Pomuchelskopp's boots, trousers, &c. opposed the ideal of fraternity; it was a hard battle.--At last the president's bell produced a lull, and Mr. Rein began: "Gentlemen!" he said--"Out! out!"--"No, stay!"--"Gentlemen," he said once more, "God be thanked!"--"Out! out!"--"Stay!"--"Thank God, the opinion of this assembly has already been so clearly expressed that we may at once proceed to voting. So: Let all who wish to admit Mr. Pomuchelskopp into our club go to the musician's platform, and let the rest go to the other side."--The members of the Rahnstädt Reform-club were now all in motion. They stamped their feet as hard as they could on the floor as they walked, in order to show how firmly their minds were made up. It sounded in the distance as if Grammelin had set a fuller's mill to work on his premises, the consequences of which act would soon be seen, for Grammelin rushed in and exclaimed: "Mr. President, my lads, I entreat you to choose another way, a quieter way of voting!"--"What!" cried Thiel, the cabinetmaker. "We must vote or this wouldn't be a Reform-club."--"That's quite true, Thiel, but your voting is bringing down the plaster of my ceiling."--They all saw that it was true and so they agreed to Grammelin's request to vote with their hands instead of their feet.

The votes were counted and Pomuchelskopp was admitted to be a member of the Rahnstädt Reform-club,--Schulz, the carpenter, turned to Bräsig: "Ah, Mr. Bräsig," he said, "if things go on like this, what's to become of Germany?"--"I don't care," said Bräsig, "but don't let anyone talk to me of fraternity."

Then the question of the origin of poverty was brought forward. The president put the subject clearly before the meeting thus: "When did poverty first show itself in the world, and why does it still exist?"--Rector Baldrian was the first speaker. He mounted the pulpit from behind like everyone else, and as soon as he had taken his place, he leant forward and took a large bundle of books from his head pupil that he might the better prove the truth of his statements. When he had arranged before him on the ledge, the Bible, Xenophon, Plato, Aristotle, Livy, Tacitus, and as many volumes of Cicero as he happened to possess, he made a bow, and said that these books were an army of authorities he had brought to help him.--"Ah, lad," said John Bank to Deichert, the shoemaker, "it'll be slow work now, I know the man, let's each send for another glass of beer before he begins."--The rector now showed from the testimony of the Bible that poverty was known to the Jews of old.--"That isn't true!" cried a hoarse voice from amongst the crowd behind the speaker, "these cursed Jews have all the money. They know what a poor fellow feels?"--The rector paid no attention to this interruption, he showed all that could be learnt from the Bible on the subject, then taking up Xenophon he explained the condition of the Spartan Helots, but his audience did not seem to understand a word of what he was saying. After that he took up Plato, opened it at the part about the Republic, and added in all good faith that if the Rahnstädters had what Plato had imagined for the Athenians on these evenings, then every Rahnstädt labourer would have roast-beef and potatoes every day for dinner, and would be able to drive in a carriage every Sunday afternoon, and the children would have gold chains instead of ribbons to tie round their necks.--"He ought to tell us more plainly how we can have all that?" said some. "Hurrah for Plato, hurrah!" cried a number of voices.--"I say, lad, does he mean the old Jew Platow who can only see out of one eye?"--"Ah, lad, I used to know him well, he has often cut up a bit of beef in my shop," said Krüger, the butcher.--The president's bell rang and produced silence, then that rascal Mr. Rein turned to the rector, and begged him in the name of the assembly to be so kind as to give the Rahnstädt Reform-club a clear description of Plato's Republic. That was a terrible request! The perspiration stood in large drops on the poor rector's forehead as he three times began to explain the nature of that ideal Republic, and as often broke down, because his own ideas regarding it were not of the clearest. At last he said that Plato's Republic was a republic, and that he was sure all of his politically educated hearers knew what a republic was. As everyone was agreed on that point, the rector went on to speak about the Romans, and told his audience as a very curious fact that the Romans had now and then suffered from starvation, and had then shouted at the tops of their voices for "panem et circenses." "Now, my dear hearers," he continued, "you must know that 'panem' signifies 'bread,' and 'circenses' 'public games'."--At this moment Deichert, the shoemaker, sprang upon his bench, in spite of the efforts Jack Bank made to drag him back by the coat tails, and exclaimed: "The old Romans weren't such fools after all, and what they did we Rahnstädters can do any day. Why as things are now if I and Bökel, Jürendten and others were to play a game at vang-toon when we are sitting together at Pfeifer's, the mayor would have our cards taken away from us, and we should have to appear in the town hall with Daddy Pfeifer and pay a fine and costs! Why, I say again like the old Romans: Let's have free public games."--"You're right there, lad," cried Jürendt, "three cheers for the old Romans and Mr. Baldrian."--"Hurrah! hurrah!" and once more "Hurrah!" was shouted.--The rector bowed his thanks both for himself and the Romans, and as he saw how often the president glanced at the clock, he soon brought his speech to a conclusion. "My honoured hearers," he said, "when we consider the poverty at present amongst ourselves, we find that it is only the children of poor people and of journeymen who are obliged to go about our town begging." He then came down from the pulpit with his army of authorities under his arm.

He was succeeded by John "For my part".--"Gentlemen," he said, "for my part, I am a dyer," here he stretched both hands out over the edges of the "vat" to show how blue they were dyed by his work, "I was in Mr. Baldrian's school when I was a boy, and I say that he's right, we must have a republic. You may choose Plato's if you like, for my part, or any other; but what the rector says of the journeymen is a sin and a shame; I mean the journeymen, for my part, and not the rector. Gentlemen, I, for my part, have travelled to other lands in my calling as a journeyman dyer."--"You sat quietly at home with your mother," cried a voice.--"What's that you say? I went as far as Birnbaum in Poland, and even further; for my part, onward was my motto, as far as the blue sky extends and an honest dyer in blue can get work," here he beat upon his breast. "And gentlemen," he went on, "I could, for my part, have two men under me; but I can't manage it, for indigo is too dear."--"Ah, you rogue!" cried Deichert, the shoemaker, "you use logwood."--"I think, for my part, that you're talking nonsense," replied John.--"What indigo?" exclaimed a number of voices, "he dyes with logwood!"--"Yes," cried the wit, "anyone can tell the women who get their things dyed by him in a moment, they all have a washed out look, for that wretched logwood comes off so dreadfully."--"Young man," asked John with a grand air, "have you ever examined my tubs?"--"You should hold your tongue when people speak of poverty. You're a rich man," cried another.--"For my part, gentlemen, I think that's all bosh. It's true that I've built myself a new house ...."--"Of logwood," cried the shoemaker.--"Of logwood," shouted a dozen voices.--"No," cried the dyer, "of pine, with oaken posts."--"Of logwood!" was shouted again by the assembly.--"For my part, gentlemen," exclaimed the dyer beating his breast with his blue hand and drawing himself up to his full height, "I'm a Rahnstädt citizen and that's all that I've got to say."--"And it's quite enough," cried a number of voices.--"Then you're a very good thing," said some of the labourers, "down with the slow coach, we know all that he has to say." So John "For my part" had to come down from the speaker's desk.

Kurz was the next to address the meeting: "Fellow citizens," he said, "we came here to talk of poverty and the honourable gentleman who spoke last told us about indigo instead. It's enough to bring down a judgment upon him! How can we tradesmen be expected to pay our taxes when every dyer imports his own indigo. Now the honourable gentleman who spoke last does this in order that no one may guess how much logwood he adds to the tub of indigo! He takes care to keep his trumps out of sight."--"You always peep at the cards," cried some one behind him; he stared Bräsig full in the face, and then went on as if nothing had been said to interrupt him: "If he chose he might buy his indigo from me at a much lower price than he can get it in Rostock. But, gentlemen, our subject is poverty. If matters remain as they are we shall soon all be poor."--"He's right there, lad," said Deichert to Jack Bank.--"Fellow citizens," continued Kurz, "I bought myself a carriage and horses to send about the country side with my wares, for I must neglect no possible mode of turning an honest penny in these hard times."--"These small profits don't seem likely to come any more," said Fred Sievert, the driver.--"But," Kurz went on, "they took possession of my carriage last year at Tetterow."--"Because you didn't pay the tax," interrupted Fred Sievert.--Kurz cared nothing for such a small matter as an interruption, for he had once been turned out of the meeting and had come back again at another time, so he went on: "The mayor sent for me and asked me, what van I employed to carry my wares.--'My own van,' I answered.--'Then you do it per se,' he said.--'No,' I said, 'not per sea; Rahnstädt isn't a sea port town; per van.'--'Oh, I was talking Latin,' he said with a laugh."--"Fellow citizens, what is the world coming to when our judges begin to talk Latin? When our horses and carriages are put under arrest? That's the way to become poor! How are we trades-people to carry on business when we make such very small profits on coffee, sugar, tobacco and snuff as we now do?"--"You'd better hold your tongue about your confounded snuff," interposed Deichert, "it gave me such a swelled nose," and he covered his nose with his hand, but did not make much by that action, for everyone laughed when they saw that it stretched out beyond his hand both to the right and left.--"Fellow citizens," said Kurz, "I know very well that poverty must exist, but I think it ought to be kept within reasonable bounds. I mean, it should never be more than each man can deal with by himself without becoming a burden on his neighbours. But is that possible in the present sad condition of our town? Fellow citizens, I have been struggling for many years past to put an end to certain unjust privileges in the possession of which some people are revelling through the favouritism of the authorities."--"I say, lad," said Thiel, the cabinetmaker, to Jürendt, "you'll see that he's going to speak about the town jail, and if he does, he'd better get out of that, for Wredow, the baker, is my brother-in-law."--And sure enough he was right!--"Fellow citizens," cried Kurz, "I mean the town jail; that un ....."--"Down with him!" shouted Thiel, the cabinet-maker.--"Yes, down with him!" was echoed throughout the hall.--"We won't listen to anything about jails or pails," cried a number of voices.--"He won't allow anyone to make a small profit except himself," said Fred Sievert.--"He wants to have everything for himself, and the town jail into the bargain."--The president rang the bell in the most inhuman manner, while Kurz gesticulated wildly, and shouted: "Fellow citizens ...."--"What's all this row 'fellow citizen'?" said Thiel and Deichert while dragging the unfortunate shopkeeper out of the pulpit by the tails of his coat. He soon disappeared into the hollow of the "vat", but his two hands were long to be seen grasping the sides of it convulsively, reminding one of a pot of soup boiling on the kitchen fire, in which the fat bubbles up with a sound like "town jail--jail--jail," then all was silent and Kurz fell almost fainting into Bräsig's arms. Bräsig and Schulz took him out of the room between them.--"Hold your foolish tongue," said uncle Bräsig shoving Kurz into the room next to that in which the meeting was held, "do you want to be turned out in good earnest?"--Then the two old fellows placed themselves on guard, one on each side of Kurz, like the two men in the "willen Manns-Gulden" who watch a rampant lion lest he should suddenly spring upon the people. The only difference was that Bräsig and Schulz acted more wisely than the wild men in having each a long pipe instead of a whip in their hands.

Meanwhile Fred Sievert had shown that the poverty they were suffering from was caused by their having to pay so much for keeping up the roads, and had proposed that the road tax should be done away with. Wimmersdorf the tailor had then given it as his opinion that something must be done for the poor, and had thought that, at that moment, the only feasible plan was to write on the door of the Grand Duke's castle it Rahnstädt that it was "national property." If the castle were sold and the money that it brought were distributed amongst the poor, he considered that there would be no more pauperism in Rahnstädt. This motion was carried unanimously, and seven men were sent to the castle armed with Grammelin's stable lantern and a bit of chalk to see about putting the plan into execution.

"Christian," said a voice behind Mr. Pomuchelskopp, "I like this sort of thing very much. You can write too, so you must write that on our squire's front door to-morrow evening." Pomuchelskopp looked round; he thought he recognised the voice, and found himself--face to face with one of his own labourers, who had joined the Reform club before him, and who had the assurance to nod to him on catching his eye. He was very much taken aback, and did not in the least know what to do. He asked himself what card he should play, whether being 'master' was still a trump card, or whether 'fraternity' had taken its place. Something had to be done at once. He must at least bring the opinion of the meeting round to his side. So just as Bräsig and Schulz came back into the hall after having seen Kurz safe home, the president said: "Mr. Pomuchelskopp is going to make us an address." Pomuchelskopp forced his way slowly through the crowd, and as he passed them, he seized the opportunity of shaking hands with Thiel the carpenter, of giving Wimmersdorf the tailor a friendly slap on the back, and of speaking to the witty journeyman shoemaker. When he had got into the tribune, he said: "Gentlemen." Now it always makes a great impression when a man dressed in a blue surtout with brass buttons addresses a crowd of smock-frocked labourers and poorly dressed mechanics as "gentlemen," so a murmur went through the hall: "He's right!"--"He knows how to treat us!"--"Gentlemen," repeated Pomuchelskopp as soon as the murmurs had ceased, "I am not an orator, but a simple farmer. I have heard better speakers," here he bowed to rector Baldrian, John 'For my part' and Wimmersdorf, and even Fred Sievert's services were recognised by Mr. Pomuchelskopp on account of his speech about the road money, "and I have also heard worse," here he glanced towards the door out of which Kurz had been led but a short time before, "than myself, but gentlemen, I didn't come here because of your eloquent speeches, but because of the principles that actuate you."--"Bravo, bravo!"--"Gentlemen I am heart and soul for liberty, heart and soul for equality, and heart and soul for fraternity. I am very grateful to you for having admitted me into your noble association." He now pulled a white handkerchief out of his pocket and placed it on the ledge by his side. "Gentlemen, you were talking about poverty. I have spent many a silent hour in thinking over that question, and have passed many a sleepless night in considering how the evil may best be remedied." He wiped the perspiration from his forehead with the handkerchief as if to impress his auditors with the deep anxiety this subject caused him. "Of course, Gentlemen," he went on, "I allude to the poverty that exists in small towns, for there is no such thing as poverty in the country."--"Oh! oh!" cried a voice behind him, "It's time for you to speak, Christian."--"Our labourers," pursued Muchel, paying no attention to the displeasure to which his last remark had given rise, although he knew who had spoken quite well, "our labourers have each a free house and garden, grazing for a cow, as well as hay and straw for its winter fodder; they have fire wood and peat; as much potato and flax land as they require, and every week they are given a measure of barley and the same quantity of rye or three shillings in money. Then there's all the thresher's corn, and the labourer's wives can make six pence a day besides if they like. Now, I ask you gentlemen, if the labourers in town are as well off as that? What can a labourer want more?"--"Nothing! nothing!" cried all the town labourers. "Gentlemen," said a journeyman carpenter named Stephen Rutschow, "I am a journeyman carpenter, and my wages in summer are ten pence a day, one penny of which I have to give back to my master. I'd much rather be one of Mr. Pomuchelskopp's labourers than what I am."--"You donkey!" cried Schulz. "You might have had plenty of work all spring, but you're too fond of lounging about."--"Silence! silence!"--"Gentlemen," continued Pomuchelskopp, "I have told you what the position of my labourers is, and will now tell you how they're treated. Any labourer may give warning at any time and go to another place. Isn't my conduct worthy of all honour? Isn't that enough?"--"Christian speak, the time has come," cried the same voice as before. "Gentlemen," said Pomuchelskopp in conclusion, "I have been induced to become a member of your noble association because of your high principles, and because of the great poverty existing in all small towns such as this. You shall see that--although I am not a rich man--I will do all that lies in my power to help you. And now, gentlemen, I ask you to help me in return, for if town and country are only true to each other, order will be maintained, and everything will be conducted to a peaceful end by this most admirable assembly. Long live the Rahnstädt Reform club!"--"Hurrah!--Hurrah!--Hurrah!" was shouted from every corner of the hall, interspersed here and there with: "Three cheers for Mr. Pomuchelskopp!" Muchel then returned to his seat bowing and smiling.

The very moment he left it, the pulpit was again filled, and Zachariah Bräsig's red face showed itself above the book board. His face did not shine down on the assembly with the peaceful radiance of the sun or moon, no, it more nearly resembled the thunderbolt that God sometimes sends down upon the world as a punishment for its sins. "Fellow citizens," he cried, looking at his fellow citizens with an expression that seemed to say that he had devoured two of them for breakfast that morning, and intended to pick out the fattest of them for supper, "Fellow citizens, if Mr. Samuel Pomuchelskopp had remained quietly in his own farm-yard at Gürlitz, I should have said nothing; if he had not spoken too familiarly to me here tonight; if he had not told a whole string of most unblushing lies in this sublime corner of our fatherland," here he thumped the "vat" to show that it was it he alluded to, "I should have said nothing."--"That's got nothing to do with it," interrupted Wimmersdorf, "that's only abuse."--"Silence! He can speak as well as anybody."--"Mr. Wimmersdorf," said Bräsig, "if you don't like my speech you may shut your ears for all I care, as I think you're a foolish fellow. Now you may go and have me taken up for libel if you like, I am bailiff Bräsig."--"Quite right--go on," was the cry. "Fellow citizens, I repeat that I should have said nothing, for I hold it to be very wrong of any farmer, or of any man, to speak against a master in the presence of his labourers. But when a man,"--"a great Mogul!" shouted Schulz--"places himself on the altar of fraternity in order to throw dust in the eyes of this assembly, and knowingly give them a false idea of the condition of his labourers, I will speak. Fellow citizens, my name is bailiff Zachariah Bräsig."--"Hear, hear."--"Mr. Samuel Pomuchelskopp has told you that there's no poverty in the country, because he has arranged everything that affects the labourers so perfectly. 'Bonus,' as our honoured president says--but, fellow citizens, these things sound very well, in like manner as with the roast beef and plums of life--they are uncommonly good to eat--but very few of us can get them. For example, take the houses. To the right of Gürlitz farm is a kind of pig sty, that is called a cottage, in which Willgans lives--is Willgans here?" Willgans was not there. "It doesn't matter. The thatch has never been mended during the last three years, so that the rain comes in in streams, and when there is a storm whilst he and his wife are out harvesting, the children may be seen paddling about in the kitchen like frogs in a pond. When he asked his master to have it mended, Mr. Pomuchelskopp said his name was Willgans (wild goose) and water was always pleasant for geese to swim in."--"Faugh! He oughtn't to have said that."--"And now with regard to the grazing and hay for a cow. Where is the field for the cow to graze in? About two miles and a half from the village, at the very edge of the estate, is a large meadow on which nothing but twitch and fir trees will grow, and the women have to go all that distance three times a day to milk the cows. That's to say, three of them have to do so, for eighteen labourers out of the whole one and twenty have lost their cattle from disease, and the three cows that remain are just like dancing masters, their figures are so slight and elegant!"--"What a great Mogul the fellow is!" cried Schulz from behind. "Out with him, out with him!"--"Silence! Let Mr. Bräsig go on."--"Yes, fellow citizens, I will go on. As for the fire wood and peat: The peat is bad, it crumbles away without giving any heat, and the fire wood is nothing but any branches and cones the children can find in the woods and bring home on their backs. And the potato and flax land? Where is it? A poor bit of ground at the outside of the estate. And who manures it? The birds manure it, and when one sees the few handfuls of potatoes that are dug in autumn, one clasps one's hands above one's head and exclaims: 'Great God! And that's what's to feed the people and the pigs all winter!' But they can't live on it, they steal what more they require. They don't steal from Mr. Pomuchelskopp; they know better than to do that; but they steal from the neighbours, and a friend of mine, Mrs. Nüssler, has given orders that if any of the Gürlitz labourers are caught stealing from her potato-stores, they are to be let off, for they're starving."--"Hurrah for Mrs. Nüssler!" cried John Bank. "Hurrah!" was shouted throughout the hall, and again, "hurrah!"--"And the flax," pursued Bräsig, "is only so long," showing about a foot's length on his arm, "indeed Attorney Slus'uhr, who is a particular friend of Mr. Pomuchelskopp, said jestingly in my presence, that the Gürlitz women all wear short chemises because the staple of the flax is too short to make long cloth."--"What a wretch the fellow is, to make a joke about other folk's misery," cried Schulz, "Out with him, out with him!"--"Fellow citizens," continued Bräsig, "I tell you that the houses, cow's grass, fire wood and peat, potato and flax land are the roast beef and plums of the labourers in the country; they are pleasant things, but are not to be had, that's the reason of the poverty in country districts. What is the cause of poverty in towns? I will tell you, fellow-citizens, for I have lived in Rahnstädt long enough to have observed the human nature to be seen here; the great poverty in towns arises from the extreme pauverté to be found there?" Having said this he descended the pulpit, and "Bravo!" was shouted throughout the hall. "He's right!" said some. "Long live Mr. bailiff Bräsig!" cried others. The president then closed the meeting, for he said that no one would care to speak after that last address. Everyone surrounded Bräsig, congratulated him, and shook him warmly by the hand. The only exceptions to the general rule were Pomuchelskopp and David Berger, leader of the town band; for the one had slipped away quietly, and the other had run home to collect his fellow musicians. When Bräsig got out at the inn door he found himself in the presence of seven performers on brass instruments, who stood round him in a half circle, and played: "See the conquering hero comes!" in his honour, while David Berger, who had put on his spectacles, beat time with one of Grammelin's billiard cues. The Gürlitz labourers then came up to uncle Bräsig, and Rührdanz the weaver said: "Don't be afraid, Sir; you've stood by us, and we'll stand by you." And so when Bräsig was solemnly conducted through the marketplace and through all the principal streets in Rahnstädt, this small band of oppressed and saddened men followed him faithfully, for it was the first time that any one had spoken as though he understood and felt for them in their dire necessity, and the knowledge that one is not quite forsaken does more to develop and keep alive the good that is in the human heart than any admonitions however well intended.

Bräsig said a few words of farewell to his guard of honour when they all reached Mrs. Behrens' house. He said he could not ask them in, as it was a sort of parsonage, but added that he invited all present to drink a bowl of punch at Grammelin's on the following evening. The invitation was accepted with a 'hurrah,' and when Bräsig was comfortably in bed and was telling his friend Charles all the events of the evening, the musicians struck up: "High stand the laurels o'er the bed where the warrior sleeps." Meanwhile the Gürlitz labourers were walking home talking gravely and seriously as they went. "We must rebel, lads," said Rührdanz the weaver "there's no help for it, but let us act quietly and firmly, not violently; for what would the Grand Duke and Mr. Bräsig say if we were to be so ungrateful for his speech as to act like brutes instead of honest men?"

CHAPTER IX.

On the afternoon of the next day, when service was over, for it was Sunday, Kurz came to see Hawermann and Bräsig. "How-d'ye-do, how-d'ye-do," he said, "I'm very much put out, for one thing after another has happened to trouble me to-day. I never knew such a set of people! They won't let one finish what one has to say. It's much pleasanter work herding swine than being a democrat! These people cheer the stupidest speeches, and give serenades during the night when everyone ought to be asleep, while they always try to silence any one who endeavours to make an important matter clear to them. And yet they call themselves a Reform club!"--"Listen, Mr. Kurz," said Bräsig, walking straight up to him, and making himself appear at least two inches taller than usual, "it is very unseemly of you to make any slighting remarks about the serenade which was played in my honour, and let me tell you that you would have received some very hard knocks if Mr. Schulz and I had not good-naturedly taken you under the shadow of our wings. Why? Have you never heard the good old proverb: 'You may ride your hobby to town when fashion allows it;' but as you know already, you can't career through the Reform club on your hobby the town-jail, and if you attempt to do it, you must expect that both you and it will be kicked out, for the Reform club was never meant for such doings."--"I don't care; it's nothing to me!" cried Kurz. "But other people ride on donkeys there, and yet they are made much of."--"You're a rude barbarian!" exclaimed uncle Bräsig, "you're an impenetrable fellow, and if this were not Charles Hawermann's room, I'd fling you down stairs till you had to carry your bones home in a bag."--"Hush, Bräsig, hush!" said Hawermann, getting between them, "and as for you, Kurz, you ought to be ashamed of beginning a quarrel about such nonsense."--"There was nothing but noise and quarrelling last night, and it has just been as bad today. No sooner was I awake this morning than my wife began to lecture me. She says that I'm not to go to the Reform-club any more."--"She's quite right," said Hawermann angrily, "you ought never to have gone, for your hasty temper and thoughtless words have done nothing but mischief." Then leaving Kurz, he went up to Bräsig, who was running up and down the room puffing like a grampus, and said: "He didn't mean what he said, Bräsig."--"It's all the same to me, Charles, what such a cross-grained, dunder-headed, addle-pated idiot thinks of me. Ride on a donkey forsooth! Pooh! it's nothing but small-minded jealousy."--"I never meant you," cried Kurz, beginning to walk up and down the other side of the room, "I was alluding to my brother-in-law, Baldrian, and to the dyer, and one or two other fools of the same kind. It's enough to drive one mad! First of all I had words with my wife about the Reform-club; then I had to scold the shopman for not getting up till nine, in consequence of having gone singing through the streets last night, and of having remained at an ale-house till four this morning; then I had words with the groom and the vet about my riding horse which has got influenza, and after that I had another quarrel with my wife, who says that I mustn't set up a farm of my own."--"She's quite right," interrupted Hawermann, "you'd never make anything by farming, because you know nothing about it."--"I know nothing about it, do you say? I'm thwarted everywhere. Again at dinner the stupid table-maid gave us such a long table-cloth that it reached to the floor on every side. Whilst we were at dinner a customer came, and as the shopman didn't get up quickly enough to please me, I jumped up myself, got my feet entangled in the table-cloth and so pulled the soup tureen and all the plates clattering on to the floor. Then my wife caught me by the arm and said: 'Go to bed, Kurz, you're unlucky to-day,' whenever she sees that I'm in a bad humour she tells me to go to bed! It's enough to drive anyone mad."--"Then again your wife was right, for if you had gone to bed as she told you, you wouldn't have brought your quarrelling here," said Hawermann.--"Ah," said Kurz, "have you ever spent a whole day in bed when there was nothing the matter with you, and only because it was an unlucky day for you? I'll never do it again, however my wife may entreat me to do it. It just makes one in a worse humour than before. Whenever she gets me to go to bed like that, she takes away my boots and trousers, and so I have to lie still and fret over not being able to get up when I want."--Here uncle Bräsig burst into a loud fit of laughter, and Hawermann asked: "So you came here to have it out with some one, did you?"--"Oh no," said Kurz, "I didn't mean him, I only came to ask you both to come and look at my land and tell me whether it's time for me to begin to plough."

Through Hawermann's good offices peace was soon restored and the three friends set out together to visit the field belonging to Kurz, who amused himself and his companions by his constant use of the most abstruse agricultural terms he could remember, so that Bräsig could not help asking himself, "who was riding the donkey now?"--"My field," said Kurz, "is 150 square poles, and I bought ten waggon loads of manure for it from Krüger, the butcher, most capital stuff; I intend to plant beetroot there; the manure was spread yesterday; don't you think there's enough? Just look!" and turning off the high road he led the way to a field.--"It's very badly spread," said Bräsig, "properly manured land should be as smooth as a piece of velvet," and when he had said this he began to break up a larger lump with the end of his walking stick.--"Oh, that doesn't matter," said Kurz, "something's sure to grow there all the same, for the manure is good, it cost me thirty shillings."--Next moment he came to a sudden standstill, beat the air with his hands, and gazed confusedly around him.--"Preserve the man!" cried Bräsig, "what's the matter?"--"This is some of the devil's own work!" exclaimed Kurz. "It isn't my field. The one next it is mine, and yet the confounded fellow carted the manure I had bought on to another man's land, and I was foolish enough to tell him to spread it. Thirty shillings for the manure; then the carter's wages, and the spreader's wages! It's enough to drive one mad!"--"Don't take the accident so much to heart, Kurz," said Hawermann, "your neighbour will understand how it happened, and will of course pay you for what you have expended on his land."--"Why that's the worst of it," cried Kurz, "the field belongs to Wredow, the baker, the man I've tried to turn out of his office at the jail, and he's certain to revenge himself now."--"You think yourself fit to be a farmer," said Bräsig very quietly, "and yet you lay down manure on another man's land instead of on your own."--"Isn't it enough to drive anyone mad!" cried Kurz, "but what talking can do shall be done," and having said this he hastened to the edge of the field, speared a lump of manure with the point of his stick, and flung it over on to his own ground. He knocked about the manure so vehemently that he soon lost his breath with rage and hard work, then stopping short and looking pale and exhausted, he flung away his stick and panted out: "I wash my hands of it all. Why didn't I go to bed? If I can only lay hands on that rascally carter when I go home--Oh, friends, help me--if you don't take care something dreadful will happen."--"Trust me," said Bräsig, seizing him by the collar, "I'll keep you out of mischief."--"There's no use leaving the stick there," said Hawermann going on and picking it up.

Something was hanging to the end of the stick. Kurz in his vehemence had thrust the point through something that had remained on the stick when he threw it away. Hawermann was about to knock it off, when on looking more closely at it he remained motionless with surprise. Bräsig meanwhile was too much occupied with Kurz to be able to attend to what his old friend was doing, so he now called out: "Come along, Charles. We can do nothing more here." Not getting an answer, he turned round to see what was the matter, and perceived Hawermann standing still, turning something black round and round in his hand and staring at it blankly. "Bless me, Charles, what's the matter?" asked Bräsig going towards him.--At length with a mighty effort and in a low tremulous voice, he said: "The pocket-book! The pocket-book! This is the pocket-book!" and he held out to Bräsig a piece of black waxcloth.--"Why? What pocket-book do you mean?"--"I had it in my hand once before. I've seen it for years in my sleeping and waking dreams! Look, there are the Rambow arms. And there's where the clasp was! It was folded so, and was as large as that. That's how it was folded when the three hundred pounds were in it. This is the pocket-book that Regel was to have taken to Rostock." The words fell from him interruptedly and with infinite difficulty as though he were speaking in a trance, and he looked so overcome by his surprise and excitement, that Bräsig sprang to him, and supported him in his arms. The old man clung to the bit of waxcloth as though it were his dearest possession, and would hardly allow Bräsig to look at it closely.--Kurz now came up to them. He had been too much engrossed with his own wrongs to pay any attention to what his companions were doing, and he now exclaimed: "Isn't this enough to drive one mad? My thirty shillings worth of manure is lying on Wredow the baker's field instead of on my own."--"Hang it!" cried Bräsig. "Do have done with your moans about the manure. When once you begin to talk, it's a never ceasing stream. There now, take your stick and let's go home. Come, Charles, don't take on so!"--After Hawermann had gone a few steps the colour returned to his face, and he suddenly became possessed of a restless uneasy longing to get on quickly, and a desire to ask questions. He asked Kurz from whom he had bought the manure; where the carts were loaded; what sort of man Krüger, the butcher, was; and then he again stood still, folded the pocket-book and examined the tear in the waxcloth and the seal, till Kurz forgetting his anger stared at him, lost in wonder that he should feel so little sympathy with him in his unlucky farming transaction. At last Bräsig had to explain what had happened to Kurz, at the same time adjuring him by all he held sacred to keep his knowledge of the matter to himself, "for," he said in conclusion, "you are one of those people whose tongue runs away with them."--The three then stood together on the high road and wondered how the cover of the parcel of money had got into the butcher's yard. Kurz and Bräsig agreed that it was impossible for the butcher to have had anything to do with the affair, for he was a very respectable man.--"Yes," said Hawermann, and as he spoke all the old activity, decision and quick-witedness that had marked his character, and which he had apparently lost during the time of his sorrow and suffering, seemed to have come back to him, "yes, but one of his neighbours may have thrown it over the wall, and can you tell me whether anyone besides Krüger and his family live in that house?"--"He has let the small house at the back of his own," said Kurz, "but he doesn't know what sort of people his tenants are."--"I must go and speak to the mayor," said Hawermann, and as soon as they reached the town, he went to his house. Kurz wanted to go with him, but Bräsig held him back, saying: "Neither of us has lost anything." When they parted at Kurz's door Bräsig added: "You insulted me terribly to-day, but I forgave you your speech about the donkey. Remember this, however, if you ever say a word to anyone about Charles Hawermann's affairs, I'll twist your neck while you're alive. You old humbugging sugar-prince, you!"

Hawermann found the mayor at home, and told him of his discovery; he folded the waxcloth by the tear, and the mayor became more and more interested every moment. At last he said: "True, true! I had the pocket-book in my hand once also, when I wrote out the pass for the messenger, and the examination I had to make soon afterwards impressed the whole circumstance more clearly on my memory. If I were required to bear witness as to this pocket-book I should be obliged to confess that it is either the same that the labourer had, or else it is exactly like it. But you see, Mr. Hawermann, the evidence is very slight. Krüger certainly could have had nothing to do with the affair; he is one of the most respectable citizens in our town, and it is impossible that he could have had a hand in any roguery."--"But, I'm told that he has tenants in the house at the back of his yard."--"That's true! H'm! Wait a moment, who is it that lives there? We'll soon find out." He rang the bell, and a parlour maid came in: "Sophie," he asked, "who lives in the small house in Krüger the butcher's yard?"--"Oh, Sir, that's where widow Kählert and Schmidt, the weaver, are living," answered Sophie.--"Schmidt? Schmidt? Is that the same weaver Schmidt who is divorced from his wife?"--"Yes, Sir, and it is said that he's going to marry widow Kählert."--"Oh, ah! People say that, do they? Well, you can go now, Sophie."--When she had left the room the mayor began to walk up and down in deep thought; at last he stopped in front of Hawermann, and said: "It is certainly a very strange concatenation of circumstances; this weaver Schmidt was the husband of the woman I had up before me for examination about this very thing. You remember the woman who said she had found the Danish Double Louis d'or which she was suspected of having stolen."--Hawermann made no reply; fear and hope were contending for mastery in his breast.--The mayor rang the bell once more and Sophie came back: "Sophie," he said, "go and ask Krüger, the butcher, if he will be so good as to come and speak to me here in about a quarter of an hour."--Sophie went, and then the mayor turned to the old bailiff, and said: "Don't forget, Mr. Hawermann, that we have very little evidence to go upon as yet; but it is quite possible that by following this clue we may discover something that may lead to the truth, it is only fair to warn you, however, that I hav'n't much hope. Even though we don't arrive at any absolute certainty, it doesn't much matter, for no sensible man can suspect you. I have been very sorry to see how much you have taken the baseless suspicion against you to heart. But now I must ask you to go away, the people look upon you as being personally interested in this case. Say nothing about what you know, and try to persuade Kurz and Bräsig to be silent also. Yes--let me see--send Mr. Bräsig to me at nine o'clock to-morrow morning."

Hawermann went away, and Krüger arrived almost immediately afterwards. "Well, Mr. Krüger," said the mayor, "I have sent for you to ask you some questions. Widow Kählert and Schmidt the weaver are living in the small house in your yard, are they not?"--"Yes, Mr. Mayor."--"I hear that Schmidt is going to marry Mrs. Kählert? Does the woman know that there are legal hindrances to Schmidt's marrying again?"--"Well, Sir, as to your last question, I don't know; I never trouble my head about such people; but you know that whenever there's the prospect of a wedding women folk are just like bees, they bring so much news into the house. Don't take it ill of me, Mr. Mayor, my wife isn't a whit better in that respect than her neighbours, and she told me the other day that the matter was now settled so far, that Mrs. Kählert was determined to marry the weaver, who hadn't yet consented to do as she wished. Widow Kählert had said to Mrs. Borchert that as she had cooked and washed for Schmidt for a full year, it was high time for him to propose to her, and she was sure that he would have done so long before, if it hadn't been for his divorced wife, who came in and out of the house, and tried to persuade the weaver to marry her again. If the woman ever came back, Mrs. Kählert had added, she would give her a beating and would then leave Schmidt to cook and wash for himself as best he could."--"What a foolish woman the widow must be," interrupted the mayor, "to want to marry that man. She has money of her own on which she can live, while he has nothing but his loom. That all came out at the time of the divorce you know."--"Yes, I daresay that was the case then. But you see, sir, I don't trouble my head about such things. If my tenant pays his rent punctually that's all I require of him, and Schmidt has always done so hitherto to the very day. A year ago, I think it was, he rented another small room from me, that adjoined his own, and my wife, who went into it one day with Mrs. Kählert, told me that it was beautifully furnished with a sofa and chairs and pictures on the wall."--"Then I suppose that he has a great deal of work, and gets well paid for it?" asked the mayor. "Oh, sir, he's a weaver you know! Weaving's a horrid trade for telling tales, the whole neighbourhood hears when the loom's silent, and I can bear witness that I often don't hear its music for many days together. No, no, he must have money of his own."--"I suppose that he lives on the fat of the land?"--"That he does! He has meat for dinner every day, and I say to my wife that dame Kählert wants to marry him because of his good beef and mutton."--"Now, Mr. Krüger, tell me frankly--I ask you this in confidence--do you consider Schmidt to be an honest man?"--"Yes, sir, I'm sure he is. I'm a good judge of such things. I've had tenants who would sometimes be seen standing in my yard with a splinter in their hands, but when once they were safe in their own kitchen it turned out to be a good lump of my fire wood, or perhaps when they were in the privacy of their own houses they would pull out of their pockets a pound of my beef, or some apples from my apple-tree. But he isn't one of that sort, I assure you; not a bit of him!" The mayor was a kindhearted man, and an honourable man, but on this occasion it must be confessed that he was sorry to hear the good character given to the weaver, he would much rather have heard that every one looked upon Schmidt as a rogue. It is difficult to explain why such a thing should be, but in truth there is many a dark spot in human nature, and a dark spot such as this, showing itself in an unscrupulous judge has doomed many an innocent man to unjust punishment. "Let him that judgeth take heed that he judge uprightly! God is thy Lord and thou art His servant!" That is a fine old saying, and I well remember how often my father used to repeat it to me when I was quite a little boy; but the pitiful weakness of human nature does not always attain to that, to say nothing of open wickedness which seeks its own advantage.

After the butcher had gone, the mayor paced the room considering how he could best discover the way in which the pocket-book had got into Krüger's yard. He had two weighty reasons for desiring that the matter should be completely cleared up; one of these was his deep compassion for Hawermann, and the other was the firm conviction that the bit of wax cloth that had been discovered that day was the self same piece that had been wrapped round the roll of notes. Still he could find no clue to the mystery; the only thing he had found out was that the weaver's divorced wife kept up an acquaintance with her former husband.

Meanwhile Hawermann was also walking up and down in his room hastily and restlessly. What prevented him telling his daughter and Mrs. Behrens all his hopes and expectations? It was because he feared to make them hope lest they should afterwards be disappointed. His own anxiety was enough for him to bear. Bräsig sat still in an arm-chair, and turned his head with every change of movement made by his friend. He watched Hawermann with much the same intensity as Bolster had watched young Joseph when he had put on his cap in the house. "Charles," he said at last, "I am very glad of this for your sake. You've grown quite active again and I'm sure that that activity will do you good. But you ought to engage a lawyer. I advise you to choose Mr. Rein, he's a clever fellow, and knows how to turn and twist about in spite of his height. You'll never be able to manage the affair alone Charles; but he'll help you, and if you like I'll bring the matter before the Reform club, and then your fellow-citizens will be able to help you to our rights."--"For heaven's sake, Bräsig, do nothing of the kind! How can you think of publishing such thing? I am only afraid lest Kurz should speak of it."--"Kurz? No, Charles, don't trouble your head about him, he'll not talk about it to-day at least, for I've been to see him and have lectured him until he can neither hear nor see, and to-morrow he's in for a sore throat, and so won't be able to speak."--"What do you mean, Bräsig? Kurz in for a sore throat?" cried Hawermann laughing in spite of his anxiety. "What are you talking about?"--"Don't laugh, Charles. You must know that his riding horse has inflorenza, and the vet has ordered that the old beast was to be separated from the others for fear of infecting them. Kurz is amusing himself just now by purring over the sick horse in his wadded dressing gown and then going to see how the other horses are getting on. So he's certain to infect the whole stable, for nothing carries infection so well as cotton wool--indeed wadding is looked upon as the best known absorbant of infection--you'll see that he'll catch the disease himself and will have a sore throat to-morrow. The Glanders is infectious, so why not inflorenza?"

Hawermann spent a very restless night; but though he had not slept he felt strong and capable of exertion next morning, for a ray of hope had pierced through the night of his sorrow and had gilded the future with its brightness. He could not remain in the house; the four walls seemed to impede his breathing; he must have more room for his restlessness to expend itself, and long before Bräsig went to the town hall at nine o'clock in pursuance of the orders he had received from the mayor, Hawermann was walking along the quiet path-way through the green spring fields. And what a beautiful spring it was! It seemed as though the heavens were saying to the earth: "Hope on!" and as though the earth repeated the message to man: "Hope on!" The old bailiff hearing the good tidings told him by the fresh green leaves and the joyous songs of the birds, cried aloud: "Hope on!"

The Heavens did not always keep their word to the earth, for the last year had been a year of scarcity; nor did the earth always keep her promise to man, for the last year had been one of misery; would she be as good as her word to the old man now? He could not tell; but he put faith in the message he had received. He walked on and on, right through Gürlitz. He was now going along the very footpath down which he and Frank had walked together on that Palm Sunday when his daughter was confirmed. He knew that it was on that day that Frank's heart had first wakened to thoughts of love--the young man had written to him lately, he often wrote to him--and now a bitter feeling rose in his heart that so much innocent happiness should have been destroyed by the ignorance and unrighteousness of others. He turned into another path to the right that led to Rexow, that he might not be obliged to go through the Pümpelhagen garden. He saw a girl coming towards him with a child in her arms, who, when she came close to him, stopped short, and exclaimed: "Good gracious, Mr. Hawermann, is it really you. I hav'n't seen you for such a long time."--"How d'ye do, Sophia," said Hawermann, looking at the child, "how are you getting on?"--"Oh, Sir, very badly. Christian Däsel did something that angered the squire. You see he was determined to marry me whether Mr. von Rambow allowed it or not, and so he was turned away and I was to have gone too, but my mistress wouldn't part with me. Well do you want to get down? Run then," she said to the child who was kicking and struggling to get out of her arms. "I have always to take the little one out at this hour," Sophia went on, "because my mistress is busy with the housekeeping, and the child used to get restless." Hawermann watched the little girl. She was plucking flowers by the side of the path, at last she came up to him, and said: "There--man," at the same time giving him a daisy. And immediately he remembered that other daisy which a child--his own child--had given him long years ago. He took the little girl in his arms and kissed her, and she stroked his white hair murmuring "ah--ah." Then he put her down again, and said as he turned to go: "You'd better go straight home, Sophie Degel, it's going to rain." As he walked on a spring shower began to fall in slow drops upon the earth, and his heart rejoiced in it, as much as the tender shoots of grass. What had become of his feeling of hatred?

When Hawermann reached his sister's house, Mrs. Nüssler hastened to meet him as fast as her stoutness would allow: "Charles," she exclaimed. "Bless me, Charles! Here you are at last! How much more cheerful you look, and so well too! What has happened, brother Charles? Anything good?"--"Yes, dear, yes, but I'll tell you afterwards. Where's Joseph?"--"Joseph? Good gracious, that's a difficult question to answer. No one knows where he is. Now-a-days he comes and goes like a bird upon a branch. Ever since it was settled that Rudolph and Mina are to be married next week, on Friday--of course you'll come to the wedding?--he has had no rest either day or night. He sometimes goes out to see how the farm's getting on, sometimes he goes to find out that the spring sowing's all right, or perhaps he walks about the fields and comes in late in the evening quite worn out. It really seems as if he were trying to get through all the work in the last eight days before the marriage, that he had neglected to do during the whole five and twenty years in which he has idled away his time."--"Ah, well, leave him alone, there's no harm in that."--"That's just what I say, but Rudolph is angry with him for poking his nose into everything."--"Things will soon right themselves, never fear. Are all your people quiet?"--"Oh yes, and if Joseph hadn't wanted to make a speech about the geese, we should hardly have known that there was such a thing as disaffection in the neighbourhood, but from what I hear matters look badly at Gürlitz and Pümpelhagen."--"At Pümpelhagen too?"--"Yes, indeed. Neither of them confesses it; he doesn't say so, nor does she; but everyone knows that there may be an explosion there any day. He is terribly in debt, and the labourers want their wages, which he has allowed to mount up I suppose. The wisest thing he could do would be to get you to go back to him as bailiff."--"Pshaw! That last is nonsense."--"I said so too. I told Mrs. von Rambow that you could never go back there."--"What?" asked Hawermann quickly, "have you been to see her lately?"--"Yes, didn't Bräsig tell you that we intended to go?"--"He said that you spoke of going, but I didn't know that you had really gone."--"You see, Charles, this was the way of it. Triddelfitz brought all kinds of firearms here, which he told us he was going to use against the people, so I said to Joseph that we ought to go and see Mr. and Mrs. von Rambow. They had rather held aloof from us before, and so we needn't have gone; but, Charles, these are hard times. I wouldn't give much for neighbours who won't do each other a kindness in such times as these. Well we drove over to Pümpelhagen. Joseph saw the squire, and what passed between them will of course never be known to any human being.--'Joseph,' I asked, 'what did he say to you?'--'Nothing,' he answered.--'What did you say to each other?' I asked again.--'What was the good of talking much?' he said.--'What was the last thing he said to you?' I asked.--'He said good-bye,' he answered, 'but, mother,' he added, 'I'll never go there again. One either grows mad or foolish there.'"--"And how did she receive you?" asked Hawermann.--"Ah me, Charles, I believe that if she had shown what she felt, she would have thrown her arms round my neck, and would have wept tears of blood. She made me go into her morning-room and looked so kind and friendly, that I told her, that as her neighbour I felt drawn to come and see her, and ask if I could be of any use to her in the present state of affairs. She looked up in my face quietly and trustfully, and asked: 'What is your brother doing just now?' When I told her as, thank God, I could, that you were getting on pretty well, she asked after Louisa, and as I could also give a good account of her, I did so, and she looked pleased. She then told me how she managed her household, but she didn't dwell upon it as a woman in my position would have done; still I could see that she understood how to practise economy. Poor thing, necessity may have taught that. Then, Charles, I called up all my courage, rose and taking her hand in both of mine, said: She must not repulse me; no one could tell what might happen in these days; she might be in need of help some time or other--of course she had many friends, but they might be too far away to be appealed to--and I only wanted to assure her, that if ever she wanted me, I was ready to go to her, and that as I was her neighbour, I was, as Mrs. Behrens would say, 'the nearest' to her, I would do anything I could for her. Well, Charles, her eyes filled with tears. She turned her face from me to wipe them away, and when she looked at me again it was with an affectionate smile, and taking my hand she said she would thank me in the best way she knew. She then took me into another room, and lifting her little child in her arms, she held it towards me, telling it to give me a kiss. What a little darling it is, to be sure!"--"Yes," said Hawermann, "I saw the child this morning. But didn't she complain to you of anything?"--"No, Charles, not a word. She said nothing about him, or her position, and when we came home we were no wiser than when we set out; at least, I can only speak for myself, for Joseph told me nothing of what had passed between him and Mr. von Rambow, if indeed they did say anything to each other."--"Well, that doesn't matter, dear. All the world knows that Mr. von Rambow is in great want of money: Pomuchelskopp sent him notice to pay up the mortgage he holds on the estate on S. Anthony's day, and as the squire failed to do so, he has now entered into arrangements for going to law with him. Moses wants his money at midsummer, and he won't get it either, for it would be impossible for Mr. von Rambow to raise the money by that time, the country is in such a state. I fear the place will have to be sold to pay the creditors and that Pomuchelskopp will buy it. But if the times should change for the better, and the estate were only well managed, it might be made to weather the storm in spite of all that's come and gone. You will do what you can to help Mrs. von Rambow, and so will I. If the squire will only consent to have the farming matters put into good hands, I'll give him all my savings willingly. Still that's not enough. You might do something too, and I would speak seriously to Moses. Matters will indeed have come to a pretty pass if honest men can't beat a rogue in the long run. Pomuchelskopp thinks he has muddied the water sufficiently to enable him to land his fish."--"Ah, Charles, if he'd only take to farming properly and get you to go back there as bailiff, then ....."--"No, dear," said Hawermann decidedly, "I'll never go back there. But that doesn't matter. Thank God there's no lack of good farmers in the country, and he can easily get another bailiff. It's only possible to help him on the express condition that he puts the entire management of his property into the hands of a responsible person."--"That's all very well. We have now to provide Mina's outfit. Kurz might do more than he does for his only son, but he always croaks about poverty--and we want to settle matters out and out with Rudolph. Besides that we have to make arrangements for our own old age, and our money is mostly laid out in mortgages."--"Moses will help you to arrange that. Look here, Sis, you told the poor lady that you would help her, and I know that you really meant what you said--the time has come for you to keep your promise."--"Yes, Charles, but Joseph--what will Joseph say?"--"Oh, Joseph has obeyed you for five and twenty years, and he won't refuse to do your bidding now."--"You're right, Charles, he must do this.--I've always acted for the best, and now he's beginning to set himself up against me. He makes so many difficulties about everything that I can hardly manage him," and as she spoke, Mrs. Nüssler sprang from her chair, and struck the table vehemently with her clenched hand in front of her brother as if he were Joseph.--"You've succeeded in doing many a kind good action in the years that are past, Dorothea, and I'm sure that you won't fail now. God keep you, dear, and now, good-bye." He then kissed his sister and went away.