Habermann heard nothing of this occurrence. His child said nothing to him about it, only treated him with increased tenderness and reverence, if that were possible, as if with her greater love to make up to him the wrong which had been done him. Frau Nüssler, who had heard the whole story from her little girls, could not find it in her heart to say a word to her brother which could grieve him, or make him suspicious of others. The Pastor and his wife had the same reason for silence, and also the wish that the whole matter should be forgotten by Louise.
Jochen Nüssler said nothing of consequence, and Bräsig also held his peace, that is toward Habermann. It happened, however, through his feeling of injury at this self-restraint, and the attack of gout,--which came as he said it would the next day,--that he excited the whole neighborhood against Pomuchelskopp; and as the latter made no special efforts towards friendship and sociability, it was not long before his intercourse with his neighbors was like my wife's kitchen floor at Pentecost, so naked and bare was he left in this respect.
Pomuchelskopp looked upon social intercourse as a garden merely, in which he could plant his pride-beans; whether the garden gave him shade, or produced flowers, was of little importance to him provided that he had room for himself and what belonged to him to spread and grow. He had come into Mecklenburg, in the first place, because he could buy Gurlitz at a good bargain; but, secondly because he had a vague idea of his future prospects as a landlord.
"Häuhning," said he to his wife, "here in Pomerania, every body rules us, and the landrath says, 'It shall be so and so,' but in Mecklenburg we shall be law-givers ourselves, I among others. And I have heard it is customary there for rich burghers, who live like the nobility, to become ennobled in time. Think, Küking, how it would seem to be called 'my gracious lady von Pomuchelskopp!' but one must not throw himself away!"
And he took pains not to throw himself away, giving up, for that purpose, one of his chief pleasures, the boasting and bragging of his money, in order not to associate too familiarly with the farmers and inspectors of the neighborhood. For that purpose, he had greeted old Bräsig with "Sie," and had honored only Bräsig's Herr Count with a formal visit. He went in his blue dress-coat, with bright buttons, and the new coach with four brown horses, and was as welcome there as a hog in a Jew's house. When he came home, he sat out of humor in the sofa-corner, and struck at the flies; and as his wife who always became affectionate when he was cross, said, "Pöking, what is the matter?" he grumbled, "What should be the matter? Nothing is the matter, only these confounded nobility, who are friendly to look at, and when you come nearer it is good for nothing. Oh, yes, he asked me to sit down, and then he inquired very politely how he could serve me. I don't want anything of him, I am better off than he; but I could think of nothing to say, at the moment, and then there was such a silence that I must needs go."
But for all that, Pomuchelskopp would not throw himself away,--by no means! He trailed after the nobility like the tail after a sheep, and although he would never advance a penny of wages to his own people, and the poor tradesmen in the city had to wait till the year's end for their hard-earned pay, he had money for any spendthrift young gentleman. And, while every poor devil of a fellow who went through his fields was fined without pity, for trespassing, Bräsig's gracious Herr Count had permission, even in harvest time, to go over them with the whole hunt; and while he cheated the Pastor shamefully in his Easter-lamb, the Herr Count's hunter could shoot the roe-buck before his very door, and he made no complaint. No! Zamel Pomuchelskopp did not throw himself away!
Habermann kept out of his way. He was not a man for strife and contention, and was too well satisfied with his situation, to be looking here and there after other things. He was like a man, who, after being out in a storm, sits warm and dry in the chimney-corner; and his only trouble was his anxiety about his good master. He had some time before received a letter from him, in a strange hand, and with a black seal, which said that he had had a stroke of paralysis, and had not yet recovered the use of his right hand; but the greatest affliction which had befallen him was the loss of his wife, who had died suddenly, in full health. And it said also that his nephew Franz would arrive at Pumpelhagen, at Michaelmas, in order to learn farming. "It is his own wish to handle the spade and learn everything for himself. I also think it best." These words were written in the Kammerrath's own hand. A couple of weeks later he received another letter, in which the Kammerrath informed him that he had resigned his post in Schwerin and intended, after the next Easter, to reside at Pumpelhagen, with his three unmarried daughters; through the winter, he must remain in Schwerin, on account of his health. Habermann should however retain complete management of everything.
This would be a change, which would have some effect upon his situation; and, though he had no occasion to dread the eye of the master, and would gladly exert himself to do anything for his comfort, yet he could not help saying to himself that the quiet peace and simplicity of his life were over, and how long would it be before greater changes must come?
Michaelmas came, and with it came Franz von Rambow. He was not what is called a handsome young man; but he was healthy and strong, and upon nearer view one was struck by the earnestness of his manner, and the good-nature in his eyes. A shadow of sadness sometimes fell upon his face, which may have been owing to the fact that he lost his parents in early youth, and had since stood as an orphan, alone in the world. As one might infer from his appearance, he was no fool; he had good natural talents, which had been developed at the school in which he had fitted for the university, and he had also learned a more important lesson, how to labor. He was a young tree, raised in a nursery in a hard soil, and the wood had grown slowly, but firmly; he had shot out no rank shoots into the air, his branches were low, but wide-spread, and when he should be transplanted he would need no prop. "Let him be," the gardener would say, "he is tough and strong, he can stand alone."
At present, he was twenty years old, and the three years' child whom Habermann recollected had become a steady young man, with future prospects such as few young men in the country were possessed of. He owned two fine estates, which had become freed from debt by prudent management during his minority. It was before his recollection, to be sure, that Habermann had served as inspector with his father; but he had been told how friendly the inspector had always been toward him, and when a good, simple-hearted man knows that another has carried him in his arms, as a child, confidence easily glides into his heart, and he seems to see the little pillow in the cradle, and the tired head lies softly down, and the dreams of childhood return once more.
Habermann returned this confidence, heartily and gladly. He cautiously and quietly led the young man along, in the new and unaccustomed path; he instructed him in matters of the farm-yard and of the field; he told him the reasons why such a thing should be done, and why it should be done just so, and not in a different manner. At the same time, he endeavored to spare him; but as he noticed that his scholar had no wish to be spared, and desired faithfully to fill his post, he let him have his way, saying to himself, like the gardener, "Let him alone, he needs no prop."
But to these contented companions another was to be added, who would bring life into the house, and that was Fritz Triddelsitz.
The little Frau Pastorin had a brother-in-law, the apothecary Triddelsitz, at Rahnstadt, and when he heard that Habermann had taken a pupil to be instructed in farming, he took it into his head that his Fritz, who was a foppish stripling of seventeen, should learn how to manage an estate under Habermann's tuition. "Merely the higher branches," said Fritz; "I know all about common things already, for I have been twice in the dogdays at the miller's in Bolz, and helped about the harvesting."
The little Frau Pastorin was not quite pleased with the proposal, for she knew her greyhound of a nephew, and did not wish that Habermann should be troubled with him; but her brother-in-law persevered, and the matter was brought forward. Habermann would have gone through fire and water for the Pastor and his wife; but he could not decide such a question on his own responsibility. He wrote to his master about it: young Triddelsitz wanted to come in as a third, he had many crotchets in his head, but was good-hearted; his chief recommendation was that he was the Frau Pastorin's nephew, to whom Habermann was under great obligation, as the Herr Kammerrath was aware. For the rest, his father would pay, for two years, a hundred dollars for board. Would it be agreeable to the Herr Kammerrath, that Fritz Triddelsitz should come to Pumpelhagen, to learn farming?
The Herr Kammerrath answered by return post; there was no question of board, the hundred dollars were for tuition, and with that he had nothing to do, that was Habermann's business; if he thought best, let him take the young man, and welcome.
This was a great joy to Habermann; nothing more was said of board or tuition money, for he could now discharge a small portion of the great debt which he owed to the Pastor and his wife.
So Fritz Triddelsitz came, and in such a way! He was his dear mother's only son,--to be sure she had a couple of daughters,--and she fitted him out for his new place, so that he could represent an apprentice, a travelling agent, an inspector, or a farmer and landlord, according to the occasion, or as the whim took him to play at farming, in this manner or that. He had dress-boots and working boots, laced boots and top-boots; he had morning shoes, and dancing shoes, and fancy slippers; he had button-gaiters, and riding-gaiters, and other gaiters; he had dress-coats, and linen frocks, and cloth coats and pilot-coats; overcoats and under-jackets, and rain-coats, and a variety of long and short trousers, too numerous to mention.
This outfit for a gentleman farmer arrived at Pumpelhagen one fine day, in several large boxes, with a fine, soft bed, and a great clumsy secretary; and the carrier volunteered the news that the young gentleman would soon be there, he was on the way, and was merely detained by a struggle with his father's old chestnut horse, who would come no further than the Gurlitz parsonage, because that had been the limit of his journeys hitherto. How the contest terminated he did not see, because he came away; but the young gentleman was coming. And he came, and as I said before, in what a guise! Like an inspector over two large estates belonging to a count, and who has the privilege of riding to the hounds with his gracious Herr Count, in a green hunting-jacket, and white leather breeches, top-boots with yellow tops, and spurs, and over the whole a water-proof coat, not because it was likely to rain, but it was new, and he wanted to hear what people would say about it. And he came upon his father's old chestnut, and, from the appearance of both, it was evident that their present relations were the result of a contest. The horse had come to a stand in the middle of the great puddle before the Pastor's house, with a fixed determination to go no further, and Fritz had exercised him for a good ten minutes with whip and spur, to the great dismay of the little Frau Pastorin, before he could persuade him to advance; so when he dismounted at Pumpelhagen, his rain-coat looked as if he had been pelted with mud.
The old chestnut stood before the house, and he pricked up his ears, and said to himself, "Is he a fool, or am I? I am seventeen years old, and he is seventeen years old. He has had his way this time, next time I will have mine. If he treats me so with whip and spur and kicks, next time I will lie down in the puddle."
When Fritz Triddelsitz came into the room where Habermann, and young Herr von Rambow, and Marie Möller, the housekeeper, were sitting at dinner, the old inspector was struck dumb with astonishment, for he had never seen him before. In his green hunting-jacket, Fritz looked like one of those long asparagus stalks which spring up in the garden, and he was so thin and slender that he looked as if one could cut him in two with his riding-whip. He had high cheek bones and a freckled face, and something so assured, and yet awkward in his whole demeanor, that Habermann said to himself, "God bless me! am I to teach him? He feels above me already."
His reflections were interrupted by a burst of laughter from Franz von Rambow, in which Marie Möller secretly joined, holding her napkin before her mouth.
Fritz had begun, "Good-day, Herr Inspector, how do you do?" when he was interrupted by the laughter; he saw his old schoolmate at Parchen, shaking with fun; he looked at him rather doubtfully? but it was not long before he joined in the laugh himself, and then steady old Habermann could refrain no longer, he laughed till his eyes ran over. "Man!" said Franz, "how you have rigged yourself up!"
"Always noble!" said Fritz, and Marie Möller disappeared again behind her napkin.
"Come, Triddelsitz," said Habermann, "sit down to dinner,"
Fritz accepted the invitation--the fellow was in luck, for he had come at the best season for good living, in the roast-goose season, and as it happened, a fine, brown bird stood before him, and this beginning of his study of farming might well be agreeable. He was not at all sparing of the roast goose, and Habermann reflected silently that if he sat on horseback as well as at table, paid as much attention to farm-boys as to roast goose, knew as much about horses' fodder as of his own, and cleared up business as completely as he did his plate, something might be made of him in time.
"Well, Triddelsitz," said Habermann, when dinner was over, "now you can go to your room, and change your clothes, and put this smart riding-suit away where the moths will not get at it, for you won't need it again this two years. We don't ride much here, we go on foot, and if there is any riding to do, I do it myself, by the way."
Before long, Fritz re-appeared, with a pair of greased boots, short breeches, and a grass-green pilot-coat.
"That will do," said Habermann; "now come, and I will give you some instructions to begin with."
They went over the farm, and next morning Fritz Triddelsitz stood with seven of the farm laborers in the Rahnstadt road, and let the water out of the puddles,--an agreeable business, especially in November, with a drizzling rain all day long. "The devil!" said Fritz Triddelsitz, "farming isn't what I took it for!"
A couple of weeks after his arrival, Bräsig came riding into the yard, one Sunday noon. Fritz had by this time become so far subdued by Habermann, his monotonous work, and the everlasting rainy weather, that he began to comprehend his situation as an apprentice, and his natural good-heartedness made him ready for little services. So he started out of doors, to assist Bräsig down from his horse, but Bräsig screamed, "Don't come near me! Don't touch me! Don't come within ten feet of me! Tell Karl Habermann to come out."
Habermann came: "Bless you, Bräsig, why don't you get down?"
"Karl--no, don't touch me I just get me a soft chair, so that I can get down by degrees, and then bring a blanket or a sheepskin or something soft to spread under it, for I have got this confounded gout."
They did as he asked, spreading mats under the chair, and Bräsig crawled down from the horse, and hobbled into the house.
"Why didn't you send me word you were ill, Bräsig?" said Habermann. "I would gladly have gone to you."
"You can do nothing for me, Karl; but I couldn't stay in that confounded hole any longer. But what I was going to say is--I have given it up."
"Given what up?"
"Getting married. I shall take the pension from my gracious Herr Count."
"Well, Bräsig, I would do that, in your place."
"Eh, Karl, it is all very well to talk; but it is a hard thing for a man of my years to give up all his cherished hopes, and go to a water-cure; for Dr. Strump is determined to send me there. I don't suppose Dr. Strump knows anything about it, but he has had the accursed gout himself, and when he sits by me and talks so wisely about it, and talks about Colchicum and Polchicum, it is a comfort to think that such a learned man has the gout too."
"So you are going to a water-cure?"
"Yes, Karl; but not before spring. I have made my plans; this winter I shall grumble along here, then in the spring I will go to the water-cure, and by midsummer I will take the pension, and go to live in the old mill-house at Haunerwiem. I thought at first I would go to Rahnstadt, but there I should have no house rent-free, and no village, and they would take me for a fat sheep and fleece me and skin me; it would be contemptible, and also too expensive."
"You are right, Bräsig; stay in the country, it is better for you; and stay in our neighborhood, for we should miss you sadly, if we did not see your honest old face, every few days."
"Oh, you have society enough; you have these young people, and, I was going to say, old Bröker at Kniep, and Schimmel of Radboom would be glad to send you their boys also. If I were you I would put on an addition to the old farm-house, to have plenty of room, and establish a regular agricultural school."
"That does very well for a joke, Bräsig. I have enough to do with these."
"Yes? How do they get along."
"Well, Bräsig, you know them both, and I have often thought I should like to ask your opinion."
"I can't tell, Karl, till I have seen how they go. Young farmers are like colts, one can't judge merely by looking at them, one must see them put through their paces. See, there goes your young nobleman; call him a little nearer, and let me examine him."
Habermann laughed, but complied with Bräsig's request, and called the young man.
"Hm," said Bräsig, "a firm gait, not too rapid, holds himself together well, and has his limbs under control. He'll do, Karl. Now the other one!"
"Herr von Rambow," said Habermann as the young man came up, "where is Triddelsitz?"
"In his room," was the answer.
"Hm," said Bräsig, "resting himself a little."
"I don't know."
"Tell him to come down," said Habermann, "and come back yourself. Coffee will be ready presently."
"Karl," said Bräsig, when they were alone, "you will see, the apothecary's son has been taking a nap."
"No harm if he has, Bräsig; he is young, and has been at work all the morning, giving out corn for fodder."
"But he oughtn't, Karl; it isn't good for young folks to sleep after dinner. See, there he comes! Now send him somewhere, past the window, so that I can see how he goes."
"Triddelsitz," called Habermann from the window, "go to the stables, and tell Jochen Boldt to be ready to take Herr Inspector Bräsig home, by and by. He may take the two fore-horses----"
"Bon!" said Fritz Triddelsitz, and skipped vivaciously along the causeway.
"God preserve us!" cried Bräsig, "what an action! Just look how awkward he is! See the weakness of his ankles, and the thinness of his flanks! It will take you a good while to fat him up. He is a greyhound, Karl, a regular greyhound, and, mark my words, you will make nothing of him."
"Eh, Bräsig, he is so young, he will outgrow these peculiarities."
"Outgrow them? Sleeps in the afternoon? Says 'Bong' to you? And now look here--for all the world he is coming back again, and hasn't been near the stables."
Fritz was coming back again, to be sure; he came to the window and said, "Herr Inspector, didn't you say Jochen Boldt should go?"
"Yes," said Bräsig snappishly, "Jochen Boldt shall go, and shall not forget what he is told. You see now, Karl, am I right?"
"Bräsig," said Habermann, a little annoyed by Fritz's stupidity, "let him go! we are not all alike; and, though it may cost a good deal of trouble, we will bring him through."
Vexation was an infrequent guest with Habermann; and, whenever it came, he showed it the door. Thought, anxiety, sorrow of heart, he admitted, when they overpowered him; but this obtrusive beggar, which borrows something from each of the others, and lies all day at a man's ears, with all sorts of complaints and torments, he thrust out of doors, headforemost. So it was not long before the conversation became lively and pleasant again, and continued so until Bräsig departed.
The winter passed away without any special incidents. Habermann was accustomed to a uniform life, and desired no other, for himself; but the young people were sometimes wearied by it, and by their seclusion, especially Franz von Rambow. Fritz Triddelsitz had his aunt, the Frau Pastorin, close by, and a little farther off, his dear mother at Rahnstadt and, nearer than either, Marie Möller the house-keeper, who often comforted him with a bit of roast goose, or a morsel of sausage, so that they soon came into friendly relations. Sometimes they were together like mother and child, for Marie was seven years older than Fritz,--she was four and twenty; sometimes they seemed more like lovers, for four and twenty is no great age, after all; and Fritz instead of learning his Latin at school, had fed upon romances, and had been a regular customer at the circulating library, so that he was quite well informed about such matters, and as his father had advised him to study human nature, and Habermann often repeated the advice, he thought it a good opportunity to improve his knowledge of love-affairs; but don't be alarmed, there is nothing serious coming--nothing more tender than roast goose and sausage.
Habermann had no occasion to trouble himself about Fritz; it was only for Franz he felt anxious. He had taken him already once to the parsonage, and when Christmas time came, they were invited there to spend Christmas eve. The young Herr accepted,--Fritz had gone home to Rahnstadt for the holidays--and as they drove up in the sleigh--for it was fine sleighing--to the front door, which opened into the living-room, there stood the little, plump Frau Pastorin, motioning with both hand and foot:--
"No, Habermann, no! you mustn't come in here! Herr von Rambow, if you will have the kindness, just go round to my Pastor's study."
And, as they entered the study, Louise sprang towards her father, and kissed him, and whispered in his ear what presents she had made, and how she had arranged them, and who was to knock the Yule raps, and had scarcely time to give Herr von Rambow a hasty courtesy. But the Pastor made up for her neglect; he shook the young man's hand, and said that he was heartily glad that he had come to celebrate this joyous feast with them. "But," he added, "we must be under subjection; my Regina takes the rule to-day, and her head is never clearer and brighter than on Christmas eve."
He was right in that; for every few moments her head was thrust in at the door: "Wait just a minute longer! Sit perfectly still! The bell will ring directly." And once she whisked through the room, with a blue package peeping from under her apron, and then in the next room they heard her merry laugh.
At last, at last, the bell rung, and the door flew open, and there stood the Christmas tree, in the centre of the room, on the round table, and under the tree were as many dishes full of apples and nuts and ginger-bread as there were members of the family, and two more, for Habermann and the young gentleman. The Frau Pastorin fluttered about the tree, and then taking Habermann and Herr von Rambow by the hand, she led them up to the table. "This is your dish, and this is yours, and Louise and my Pastor have already found theirs!" then turning around, she cried, "Now all come in!" for the Pastor's man, George, and the two maids, Rika and Dürten, were all standing at the door, waiting for their Christmas boxes,--"now all come in! Where the bright dollars are sticking in the apples, those are your dishes, and the red cloth lying here is for the two maids, and this red vest is for George. And Louise--yes, yes, yes!" She could go no further, for Louise had grasped her about the neck, and was kissing the words from her lips, and in her hand she held a bright cherry merino dress: "This is from you, mother!"
Here it must be confessed, the Frau Pastorin so far forgot herself as to equivocate, not in words, to be sure, but by shaking her head, and nodding towards her Pastor, and Louise sprang upon him: "Then it is you!"
But he also shook his head, and professed to know nothing about it, and Louise grasped her own father by the arm, and cried: "No, no! It is from you!"
The good old inspector was much affected at receiving from his child the thanks which were due to others; he stroked her soft hair, and his eyes grew moist, as he took her hand and led her back to the Frau Pastorin, saying, "No, darling, no! Your thanks belong here."
But the Frau Pastorin had no time now to receive thanks. She was busy with her Pastor, whom she had drawn aside to see how his new dressing-gown fitted. It was fortunate that it did not happen to be a pair of pantaloons, for in the joy and excitement of this evening, the impropriety would never have occurred to her mind. The gown fitted well, and looked finely, and she drew back a couple of steps and looked at her Pastor, like a child when it has set up a new doll in the sofa-corner, and as she turned round she saw a package lying on her dish, which her Pastor had secretly placed there. Hastily she untied the string, and took off the wrappings, chattering all the while. What could it be? How strangely it felt! Somebody was surely playing a joke on her,--and at last, there was a beautiful black silk dress. Now the joy was at its height. Habermann had found a new pipe on his plate, and held it in his mouth, puffing contentedly, although it was quite cold, the Pastor lay back in the sofa-corner, like the new doll, and the Frau Pastorin and Louise walked up and down the room holding up the stuff for their new dresses, and looking down at them, as if the dresses were already finished.
And Franz! Franz sat a little aside, and a slight sadness stole over him, at the thought of the joys he had missed since his childhood. He rested his head on his hand, and the Christmas eves of his life passed before him; kind friends and relatives brought him their greetings, but the two faces which hung in his room, under the wreath of immortelles, were missing. He felt that he did not belong here, but he would not disturb their joy; he recalled his thoughts, and as he raised his head he looked into a pair of great, beautiful, childish eyes, full of thought and compassion, as if they had read his heart.
"Yule rap!" cried Rika's loud voice, and a package flew in at the door, "For the Frau Pastorin." It was a nice roller, and nobody knew where it came from. "Yule rap!" again; and this time it was a new stuffed cushion for the Pastor's arm-chair; but nobody had made it. Oh, what fibs they told that evening at the parsonage! "Yule rap!" There was a letter for the Frau Pastorin, and in it a ticket with a number, referring to another ticket up-stairs, and when she had got this, it referred her to another down in the cellar, and that to another, and another,--and if the Frau Pastorin wanted the pretty embroidered collar designed for her, she must chase it all over the house, to find it, at last, close by, in her husband's boot-leg. Another "Yule rap!" All, that was a great package! "To the Herr Pastor," it was addressed, but when the first wrapper was taken off, it was for the Frau Pastorin, and then for George, and then for Rika, and finally for Louise, and when the last paper had been taken off, there was a little work-table, exactly such a work-table as her father had given years ago to her dead mother. He knew where it came from, no one else.
Then another "Yule rap!" Books for Louise. "Yule rap!" again--an embroidered foot-cover for Habermann. All this time Rika had not been visible. Now she came in and gathered up the wrapping paper and string. Then the door opened once more, a clear bell-like voice cried "Yule rap!" and, as the package was examined, it was found to be "For the Honourable Herr Franz von Rambow," and while they were looking, a little maiden crept softly in on tip-toe, a great joy beaming in her face.
Franz was taken by surprise, but when he opened his package, he found a letter from his youngest cousin Fidelia, and the three unmarried daughters of the Kammerrath had sent him their Christmas gifts--Albertine a smoking-cushion, and he never smoked on a sofa,--Bertha a saddle-cover, and as yet he had no horse,--and Fidelia a cigar-case, and in fact he never smoked at all. But what of that? Whether one can use them or not, it is all one; not the gift, but the giver, and the good-will is the important thing at Christmas time. Franz no longer felt so lonely; and as he saw the pleasure in Louise's face, when she returned, he laughed and joked with her about his presents, and, whether she liked it or not, she must receive his thanks, because he had recognized her voice.
Rika came in again, saying, "Frau Pastorin, they are all here."
"So? Then we will go out."
"No, dear Regina," said the Pastor, "let them come in."
"Oh, Pastor, they will bring in so much snow on their feet!"
"Never mind! Rika will get up early to-morrow morning, and clean it all up. Eh, Rika?"
To be sure, Rika would do it gladly; so the door was opened, and in came head after head, flaxen heads and dark heads, all the little people in the village, and they stood there rubbing their noses, and opening their eyes wider and wider, and stared at the apples and ginger-nuts, with their mouths also wide open, as if to invite the dainties to walk in.
"So!" said Frau Pastorin, "now let the godchildren come first. Habermann," added she, "we are next to their parents, my Pastor and I, in fact we are nearest to our godchildren." And more than half of the company pressed forward, for the Pastor and his wife had stood godparents to at least half the village children. One boy, who wanted to deceive, pushed forward with the others, that was Jochen Ruhrdanz, who had said last year that the godchildren got more than the others; but Stina Wasmuths noticed him, and pushed him back, saying, "You are not a godchild," so that his impudent attempt was unsuccessful.
Then the Herr Pastor came forward, with a pile of books under his arm, and all the godchildren, who had during the winter come to him for instruction, received every one a hymn-book, and the others received writing-books and slates and primers and catechisms, according as they needed them, and all the children said, "Thank you, godfather!" but those who had hymn-books said, "Thank you very much, Herr Pastor." That was an old custom.
Then came the Frau Pastorin. "So! I will take the nuts; Louise, you take the ginger-nuts, and, Herr von Rambow, will you take the apple-basket? And now, each in his turn! Come, children, put yourselves in rows, and hold your dishes ready."
It was not a very quiet proceeding, there was some pushing and shoving, for each one wished to be in the front row, and each held out whatever he had brought, to receive his Christmas gift. The little girls had their aprons, but the boys had brought anything they could lay hands on; one had a platter, another a peck-measure, a third his father's hat, and one a great corn-sack, which he evidently expected to get almost if not quite full. Now began the dividing.
"There, there, there--hold!" said the Frau Pastorin, as she came to a mischievous rogue of a boy. "Herr von Rambow, that boy is to have no apples, because he helped himself from the garden, last summer."
"Oh, Frau Pastorin----"
"Boy, didn't I see you myself, up in the great apple-tree by the wall, knocking off the apples with a stick?"
"But, ah, Frau Pastorin----"
"Not a word! Boys who steal apples can't expect to have any at Christmas." So she went on, but stopped again when she came to Jochen Ruhrdanz. "Didn't I see you, last week, fighting with Christian Rusborn, before the parsonage, so that my Rika had to go out and separate you?"
"Yes, Frau Pastorin, but he said----"
"Hush! Louise, he gets no ginger-nuts."
"Yes, Frau Pastorin, but we made it all up again."
"Ah! Then you may give him some, Louise."
So they went through the rows, and then the children went off with their Christmas boxes, saying only, "Good evening!" for thanks were not the custom, at this stage of the proceedings.
When they were gone, quite a different set of people came coughing and limping in at the door; these were the old spinning-women, and broom-tyers, and wooden-shoemakers, out of the village, and also some, who were no longer capable of any work. With these the Pastor spoke a few friendly, Christian words, and the Frau Pastorin gave each one a great loaf of plain, wholesome cake, and they went away, wishing God's blessing upon the Pastor and his wife.
About nine o'clock the Pastor's George brought Habermann's sleigh to the door, and the two guests said "Good night!" and, as Habermann came out, he went up silently to the horses, and took off their bells, for up in the church-tower other bells were ringing which rung for the whole world.
They drove slowly through the village. Here and there burned a Christmas candle in the cottages of the poor laborers, and up in the heavens God had lighted up his great Christmas tree with a thousand shining lamps, and the world lay stretched out beneath like a Christmas table, and winter had spread it with a cloth of whitest snow, that spring, summer and autumn might cover with Christmas gifts.
As they came out of the village, Franz noticed the lighted windows of Pomuchelskopp's house; "They are keeping Christmas there, too," said he. They gave presents; but it was not a real Christmas after all.
Pomuchelskopp had bought nothing at Rahnstadt; everything came from Rostock. "Always noble!" said he. He told also how much Malchen and Salchen's clothes had cost, and when Malchen heard that Salchen's dress was two dollars dearer than her's, she felt badly, and Salchen thought herself quite superior to her sister. And Philipping and Nanting began to quarrel about a sugar doll, and when Pomuchelskopp said that his favorite, Philipping, should have it, Nanting was angry, and threw a toy-box at Philipping, which unfortunately hit the great looking-glass, and broke it into a thousand pieces. Then their mother took the government into her hands, and got the strap out of the cupboard, and punished Nanting first for his misdeeds, and then Philipping, and afterwards the other boys for company. And not once in the whole evening did she say "Pöking" to her husband; not even when he brought out the new winter hat with great feathers, that he had bought for her; she said only, "Kopp, do you want to make me look like a scarecrow?"
As Franz went to bed that night, he said to himself that he had never spent so pleasant a Christmas eve, and when he asked himself the reason, the joyous face of Louise Habermann appeared before his mind's eye, and he said, "Yes, yes, such a joyous child belongs properly to Christmas time!"
Between Christmas and New Year's, a very unusual event occurred. Jochen Nüssler's blue cloak with seven capes drove over to Pumpelhagen in the "phantom," and when Habermann went out there sat Jochen himself inside the coat. He could not get out,--Oh, no!--he had been from home an hour and a half already; but he had been at the parsonage, and they were all coming to spend St. Sylvester's eve, and Bräsig also, and he wanted his brother-in-law to come, and bring the two young people with him, and he would do what he could to entertain them with a big bowl of punch.
Having uttered this long speech, he stopped abruptly, and when Habermann had accepted the invitation, and Christian had turned the horses' heads, a murmur came out of the seven capes, which sounded like, "Good-bye, brother-in-law!" but Christian looked back and said, "You must all come to coffee, Herr Inspector! The Frau told me so expressly."
Franz forwarded the invitation to Fritz, who was still at Rahnstadt, and wrote him that, as his vacation would be over, he could come to Rexow the last day of the year, and go home with them to Pumpelhagen.
As Habermann and Franz drove up to the Rexow farm house, at the appointed time,--it was a wet day,--there stood Jochen in the door, in his new black dress-coat and trousers, a Christmas present from his wife, and the red smoking-cap which Mining had given him, looking for all the world like a stuffed bullfinch.
"Look alive, Jochen," called Bräsig from within, "and do the 'honneurs,' that Karl's young nobleman may have some opinion of your manners."
After Jochen had received them, and the greetings with the family and the Pastor and his wife were over, Frau Nüssler began to talk to her brother about her domestic affairs, the Pastor engaged in conversation with the young Herr von Rambow, the Frau Pastorin asked the little girls about their Christmas presents. Jochen sat silently in his old corner by the stove, and Bräsig in his great seal-skin boots which came nearly up to his waist, went from one to another, as if it were Christmas eve over again, and he were playing St. Nicholas, to frighten the children.
The sun looked in at the window now and then, the room was warm and comfortable, the coffee-steam rose in little clouds and mingled with the smoke-wreaths from the Pastor's pipe, till it seemed like a summer day, with light, feathery clouds floating in the sunshine. Only, near the stove, it looked as if a thunder-shower was coming up, for there sat Jochen, smoking as if for a wager. His wife had taken away the "Fleigen Markur" from his tobacco-pouch, and filled it for the occasion with "Fine old mild," and he could not get the strength of the "Markur" from this more delicate quality of tobacco, without using a double portion.
But a cloud was coming up outside, not exactly in the heavens, nor yet from the earth beneath,--which would disturb the repose of this quiet room.
One of Frau Nüssler's maids came in to say that there was a man outside with a cart, who had brought a travelling trunk from the apothecary at Rahnstadt, and where should it be put?
"God bless me!" cried the Frau Pastorin, "that is Fritz's trunk. You will see, Pastor, my brother-in-law is so inconsiderate, he has let the boy come on horseback again. Nobody ought to ride that wild horse, Habermann."
"Oh, don't be troubled, Frau Pastorin," said Habermann, laughing a little, "the horse is not so bad----"
"Ah, Habermann, but I saw him before, when he first came to Pumpelhagen; the creature would not stir a step."
"Frau Pastorin," said Bräsig, "it is not so bad if a beast is balky as when the rascal takes to running; then the Latin riders used to fall off."
But the little Frau Pastorin could not rest; she opened the window, and asked the man who had driven the cart whether Fritz was riding, and was the horse very vicious?
"Like a lamb," was the reply. "If he does nothing to the horse, the horse will do nothing to him. He will be here directly."
That was comforting, so the Frau Pastorin seated herself again on the sofa, saying, with a sigh,--
"My poor sister! I tremble for her, whenever I set eyes on the boy. He plays too many stupid jokes."
"He will be up to something of the sort, now?" said Bräsig.
Bräsig was right. In the time between Christmas and New Year's Fritz had accomplished a great deal of folly, all the time in his wonderful inspector suit; for, though the weather had been cold and disagreeable, he had worn the green hunting-jacket, white leather breeches, and yellow top-boots, not merely in the day-time, but occasionally through the night. Once, at least, after he had come home late from a lively company of young farmers, the maid-servant found him next morning lying in bed in his boots and spurs. He had met an old friend that evening, Gust Prebberow by name, who went round half the year in yellow top-boots, and the pleasure of seeing him, together with the lively, agricultural conversation, had been a little too much for Fritz. Gust Prebberow had given him all sorts of useful advice, how to manage "the old man," as he called Habermann, and to pull the wool over his eyes, and had told incidents from his own experience in the management of farm-boys; and, after discussing these branches of agriculture, they came to the subject of horses. Fritz related his adventures with the old chestnut, who was naturally a very gifted horse, and good-natured, for the most part, but like his own father the apothecary, old Chestnut had always been suspicious of him, and on the look-out for mischief. He had evidently made up his mind that Fritz knew nothing about the management of horses, although Fritz had made repeated efforts to bring him to a better way of thinking. His greatest fault was that he positively would not stir a step farther than he pleased, neither kicks nor kindness, whipping nor spurring, could alter this determination when once he had taken it into his stupid head.
"And do you allow that?" said Gust Prebberow. "Now, brother, I will tell you what to do. See, next time you mount him, take a good sized earthen pot full of water, and ride gently along just as usual, till you come to the place where he balks, and then give it to him with the spurs in the ribs, and break the pot over his head,--all at once!--so that the fragments of the pot will clatter down, and the water will run into his eyes."
Fritz paid close attention to this advice, and when he started to-day in his smart inspector suit, he took the bridle in his left hand, the riding-whip under his left arm, and in his right hand a great jar full of water. He could not ride fast, without spilling the water, and old Chestnut had no desire to run away, so they jogged along very peaceably until they reached Rexow farm.
Here Fritz wished to ride up to the house in a brisk trot, so he drove the spurs into old Chestnut's ribs, but Chestnut, having a bad disposition and still bearing Fritz malice, on account of his adventure in the Pastor's mud-puddle, all of a sudden stood still. Now was the time. A stroke of the whip behind, spurs in his ribs, and crash! the pot between his ears. "Uff!" grunted Chestnut, shaking his head, in token that he would not stir a step, but the blow must have stunned him a little, for he lay down directly. Fritz went too, of course, and though he had sense enough to fall clear of the horse, he could not prevent himself from lying at his side.
The company in Frau Nüssler's parlor had witnessed the scene, and at first the little Frau Pastorin had lamented her poor sister's misfortune, but as she observed old Chestnut's quiet behaviour, and saw Fritz safely landed upon the soft and somewhat cold "bed of honor," which the rain and dew of heaven and Jochen Nüssler's dung-heap had prepared for him, she was compelled to join in the general laughter, and said to her Pastor, "It is good enough for him!"
"Yes," said Bräsig, "and if he takes cold, it won't hurt him. What business has he to behave so with that old creature!"
Fritz now approached, looking on one side like a plough-boy, black and muddy, on the other still smart and shining.
"You are a dainty sight, my son," cried the Frau Pastorin, from the open window. "Don't come in here like that! Fortunately, your trunk has arrived, and you can change your clothes."
He followed her advice, and entered the room, before long, in his most distinguished apparel, a blue dress-coat and long black trousers, like a young proprietor, but in great vexation, which Bräsig's jokes and his aunt's observations did not tend to diminish. Franz, on the contrary, was in the most cheerful temper. He joked to his heart's content with the three little girls, and looked at their Christmas gifts, laughing himself half dead as the little twins finally dragged forward a great foot-sack, which Uncle Bräsig had given them, "that the little rogues might keep their toes warm, and not get the cursed Podagra." Franz had never in his life enjoyed opportunities of intercourse with little girls younger than himself, and this confidential chatter and contented mirthfulness, making merry over things which in his eyes seemed nothing at all, made such an impression upon him, that when they sat down to supper, he kept among the little folks, decidedly refusing the pressing invitations of Frau Nüssler, who wished him, as a nobleman, to take a higher place.
That was a joyous evening meal; talk went briskly back and forth, every one taking his share except Fritz and Jochen. Fritz could not get over his annoyance, and was vexed that he could not enjoy himself as Franz was doing. Jochen said nothing to be sure, but he laughed continually; if Bräsig merely opened his mouth, Jochen stretched his from ear to ear, and when the punch was brought in, and Lining, as the most judicious of the little ones, undertook the task of serving it out, he found a voice, and endeavored to discharge his duties as host, saying now and then very quietly, "Lining, help Bräsig!"
The punch helped Fritz, also, to the use of his tongue. He was still in ill-humor, especially at Franz's undignified behavior. The little girls had hitherto seemed to him very small fry, but if one talked to them at all, one should employ a higher style of conversation. Accordingly he took up therôlewhich he had played at the Rahnstadt ball, when he had danced with the burgomeister's daughter, aged twenty-seven, and addressed Louise as "Fräulein Habermann." The child looked at him in astonishment, and as he again uttered his "Fräulein," she laughed innocently in his face: "I am no Fräulein, I am only Louise Habermann,"--and Franz could not help laughing also.
That was annoying for Fritz, but he knew what was proper, and how one should converse with ladies; he refused to be snubbed, and went on relating his experiences at the ball, what he said to the burgomeister's daughter, and what she had said to him, "fräulein" ing also the little twins, right and left. And as this caused a great tittering and giggling among the little folks, he naturally talked louder and louder, in order to be heard, till at last the whole company were looking at him in silence. Jochen, who sat next him, had turned round and stared at him, as if to see how it were possible that one human being could talk so much. Bräsig looked over Jochen's shoulder with an uncommonly happy face, rejoicing at his own knowledge of human nature, and nodding now and then to Habermann, as if to say, "You see, Karl, didn't I say so? A good-for-nothing puppy!"
Habermann, annoyed, looked down at his plate, Frau Nüssler was in great perplexity to know what she ought to do as hostess, in such an emergency, the Pastor gently shook his head back and forth; but the most excited of all was the little Frau Pastorin. She bent down her head till the cap-strings rustled under her chin, and moved uneasily on her chair, as if the place were too hot for her, and as Fritz finally attempted to give a visible illustration of the schottische, how the gentleman embraced the lady, she could no longer contain herself. She sprang up and cried, "All keep still! As his aunt, I am the nearest to him! Fritz, come here directly!" And as he slowly rose, and very coolly and politely walked round to her, she took hold of his coat and pulled him along: "My dearest boy, come out here a moment!" With that, she drew him out of the door. The company inside heard fragments of a short sermon, which was interrupted by no reply, and then the door opened and the Frau Pastorin led Fritz back again, and, pointing to his place, said, "Now sit down quietly, and behave like a reasonable being."
Fritz followed her advice, that is to say the first part of it; the second was not so easy, and ought not to have been expected. After fashionable talk, reasonable talk seemed to him very tame, and why should he spoil a good beginning by a bad ending?
As Franz and the little girls gradually resumed their lively chatter, and the older people travelled on in the country road of reasonable talk, with a jolt now and then, when Bräsig drove against a stone, Fritz sat and grumbled to himself, feeding his anger with punch, which served as oil to the flame, and inwardly called Franz "a crafty rascal," and the little girls, "foolish children," who understood nothing of polite conversation.
In spite of this, and of the contempt which he felt for such childish intercourse, his anger was mingled with a little jealousy at not being himself "cock of the walk," and as he perceived that Franz seemed most taken with Louise Habermann, he vowed secretly thatthatshould come to an end; he himself, Fritz Triddelsitz, would see what he could do, provided, that is, that his aunt would keep out of the way.
By this time it was growing late, but no one thought how late it was, until suddenly a strange figure appeared in the room, wrapped from top to toe in all sorts of warm garments, and he blew a horn, which was fearful to hear, and then began to sing, which was more fearful still. It was Gust Stöwsand, who was not more than half-witted, and, because he was fit for nothing else, Jochen Nüssler had made him night-watchman. And the boys and girls looked in at the door, to see how Just would manage his business, and they laughed, and pushed and pulled one another back and forth. Then congratulations began, and all wished each other "Happy New Year!" and after all was quiet again, the Herr Pastor made a little speech, which began quite playfully but ended seriously, how with every year one came a step nearer to the grave, and one must comfort oneself by this, that with every year new knots were tied, and friendship and love bound more closely together. As he finished his good words, he looked around the circle; the little Frau Pastorin had slipped her arm in his, Jochen stood by his wife, Habermann and Bräsig held each other by the hand, the two little twin-apples had their arms around each other, and Franz stood by Louise Habermann. Fritz was nowhere to be seen, he had gone off in his vexation.
So ended the year 1839.