"'Schwester mit das Leinwand mieder,Bruder in das Ordensband?'"
"'Schwester mit das Leinwand mieder,Bruder in das Ordensband?'"
"Yes, indeed," said David.
"Well, go ahead, then! Begin!" And suddenly resounded through the hall:
"Freude, schöner Gutter funken,"
"Freude, schöner Gutter funken,"
but fewer and fewer voices joined the chorus, weaker and weaker grew the song, till, at last, old Uncle Bräsig stood there, with the book before his nose, and the tears running down his cheeks, and sung:
"Seid umschlungen Millionen,Untergang der Lügenbrut!"
"Seid umschlungen Millionen,Untergang der Lügenbrut!"
That was too strong, they couldn't stand that. "Lying brood!" No, that was too much; they all lied, to be sure, but only when it was necessary. The company rose from table, very much out of humor. Bräsig sat down in a corner and began to grumble, he was vexed to his inmost heart; the young people began to dance again, and David and Slusuhr sat in an adjoining room, drinking champagne, and cracking their jokes over Uncle Bräsig.
"Herr Inspector," said the carpenter Schultz to Bräsig, after a while, "there are some people sitting in No. 3, and the notary and David are poking fun at you, because you bring your politics into everything, and the notary said, if the French should get no king after Louis Philippe, then you might become King of France; you had nothing to do, and might like the situation."
"Did he say that?" asked Uncle Bräsig, rising from the corner, with great energy.
"Yes, he said that, and the others laughed at it."
"And he is sitting in Grammelin's No. 3?"
"Yes, he is sitting there."
"Come with me, Herr Schultz."
Bräsig was angry, as I have said, he was exceedingly angry; the fine fraternityfête, from which he had hoped so much for mankind, was hopelessly ruined; he felt like the patriarch Abraham, when he offered up his darling child, he would have nothing more to do with it, he would go home; then providence sent him this scapegoat, upon whom he could express his anger, and so much the better, since he was the friend and tool of Pomuchelskopp.
"Come along, Herr Schultz," said he, crossing the hall with great strides to the dressing room, where he had left his hat and buckthorn walking-stick. The hat he left there, but the stick he took with him to No. 3.
There were many guests sitting here, over their bottles, and laughing at the jokes of the Herr Notary. All at once a great silence fell upon the merry company, as they saw a face among them which frightened them out of their laughter. That was Bräsig's, which looked, in a very singular way, first at his buckthorn stick, and then at the notary, so that the company, with a suspicion of what might possibly happen, hastened to withdraw from the table.
"What rascal wanted to make me King of France?" cried Bräsig, in such a voice that the plastering fell from the ceiling, and his stick seemed like a live thing in his hand: "I will not be made King of France!"--whack! came the buckthorn, between the notary's shoulder-blades. "Oh Lord!"--"I will not be made King of France!" and a second time the buckthorn did its work, and Uncle Bräsig and his stick alternated in the assurance that they had no ambition for the French crown. Candlesticks, lamps and bottles entered actively into the battle-royal, and David got under the table, that is to say, he crept there for refuge. The notary shrieked for help, but no one stood by him; only when the affair was over, David plucked up courage, under the table, to inquire: "Begging your pardon, Herr Inspector, is this what you call fraternity?"
"Yes!" cried Bräsig, "you miserable scamp! Between a man and a dog, blows are the best fraternity."
"Out! out!" said Herr Schultz and he grappled David, under the table, and dragged him to light.
"Gentlemen," cried Slusuhr, "you are witnesses how I have been treated, I shall enter a complaint."
"I have seen nothing," said one.
"I know nothing about it," said another.
"I was looking out of the window," said a third, although it was pitch dark.
"Herr Schultz," said Bräsig, "you are my witness that I have treated the Herr Notary Slusuhr with the greatest forbearance," and with that, he left the room, got his hat, and went home.
The blows which Slusuhr had received in No. 3 had echoed by this time through the hall, and in no way tended to harmonize the existing discords. The two Herrs von So and So with their sons had taken leave long before, and some of the grandees had also quietly retreated. The little assessor had her hat on, and her cloak wrapped around her, though Fritz Triddelsitz was almost on his knees before her, begging for one more, justonemore little Schottische.
Pomuchelskopp also prepared for departure; he had an indefinite, but just, premonition that something was going to happen to him that evening, so he went to his family and told them it was time they were starting for home. His family afforded a sad picture of the whole entertainment, for they were quite divided. Gustaving was still hopping about, contentedly, with tailor Wimmersdorf's youngest daughter, Salchen was standing a little aside with Herr Süssmann, listening attentively while he related how merely by way of joke he had taken the stupid situation at Kurz's shop, but he should remain there no longer than till he could decide which of the places to accept, which were offered to him in Hamburg, Lübeck or Stettin, or possibly he might conclude to establish himself in Rostock, for he had a rich uncle there, who was constantly urging him to get married and come and live with him. Malchen sat in a sofa-corner, crying with vexation over her shoemaker. Klücking, our brave old Häuning, sat there stiff as a stake; however agitated by the events of the evening she may have been, she gave no sign, she remained steadfast, even the shoemaker had not moved her out of her composure, and when Muchel proposed that they should go she merely said, in a very friendly way, "Pöking, will you not invite your friend, the shoemaker, to ride with us? You might also invite one of your noble acquaintances. And then, if you ask weaver Ruhrdanz, and Willgans, and your other brothers of the Reformverein, the company will be complete."
And with this matrimonial sting in his great fraternal heart, our friend set off on his homeward journey.
One should never be confident beforehand how a matter will turn out; especially, one should never make free with the devil, for he is apt to come when he is called, and often appears uninvited. The guests whom Häuning advised Pomuchelskopp to invite, were standing before the gate of Gurlitz waiting for their host and hostess. All the villagers and Pomuchelskopp's day-laborers stood there together, as the summer morning began to dawn, before the court-yard gate, to give their master a reception.
"Children," said Ruhrdanz, "what must be, must, but do everything with regularity!"
"Out with your regularity!" cried Willgans. "Has he treated us with regularity?"
"No matter," said Ruhrdanz, "we cannot get our rights out of hand. That is where you are mistaken. When we go to the grand-duke about it afterwards, and that is no more than proper, and he asks, 'Willgans, what did you do?' and you tell him, 'Why, Herr, we first gave the old man and his wife a good beating, and then we took them over the boundary,' how will that sound? What will the man say to that?"
"Yes," said old Brinkmann, "Ruhrdanz is right? If we take him over the boundary then we are rid of him, and there is no need of our doing anything more."
This was finally resolved upon. Behind the men stood the women and children, and the great, strong woman of yesterday morning was there also, and she said, "Now we have things, so far, as we want them. If you don't do it though, and get rid of the fellow and his wife, I will beat my man till he cries for mercy."
"Yes, gossip," said another woman, "we must,we must!I went to the pastor's yesterday,--well, the Frau Pastorin gave me something, and he preached patience. What? Patience? Has hunger patience?"
"Johann Schmidt," said a tall, slender girl, "just run up the hill, and see if they are coming. Fika, how will our two mamsells look, when they are sent packing?"
"Shall we tell the pastor about the matter?" inquired the day-laborer Zorndt of Brinkmann. "It might be well that he should know about it."
"I don't think there is any use in it, Zorndt, he knows nothing about business. If the old pastor were only alive!"
"They are coming!" cried Johann Schmidt, running back.
"Come, who is to speak?" said Willgans, "I will hold the horses."
"Eh, Ruhrdanz," went from mouth to mouth.
"Well, if you are contented, why should not I speak?" said Ruhrdanz. Then all was quiet.
The coachman, Johann Jochen, drove up, and was going to turn in at the gate; then Willgans seized the two leaders by the heads, and turned them aside a little, saying, "Johann Jochen, stop here for a moment."
Pomuchelskopp looked out of the carriage, and saw the whole village assembled: "What does this mean?"
Ruhrdanz, and the rest of the company, stood at the door of the carriage, and he said, "Herr, we have made up our minds that we will not consider you our master any longer, for you have not treated us as a master ought, and no more have you other people before us, for you wear a ring around your neck, and we cannot suffer a master with a ring around his neck."
"You robbers! You rascals!" cried Pomuchelskopp, as he became aware of the meaning of this performance. "What do you want? Will you lay hands on me and mine?"
"No, we will not do that," said old Brinkmann, "we will only take you over the boundary."
"Johann Jochen!" cried Pomuchelskopp, "drive on! Cut them with your whip!"
"Johann Jochen," said Willgans, "so sure as you touch the whip, I will knock you off the horse. Turn about! So! to the right!" and carriage and horses were headed towards Rahnstadt. Salchen and Malchen were screeching at the top of their voices, Gustaving had sprung down from the box, and placed himself between his father and the laborers, to keep them off; all was in confusion, only our brave old Häuning sat stiff and stark, and said not a word.
"What do you want of me? You pack of robbers!" exclaimed Pomuchelskopp.
"We are not that," cried Schmidt, "we would not take a pin-head from you, and Gustaving can stay here and manage, and tell us what to do."
"But the wife, and the two girls, we cannot stand any longer," said Kapphingst, "they must go too."
"Hush, children!" said Ruhrdanz, "everything with regularity. Merely to take them over the boundary amounts to nothing; we must give them up to our magistrate, the Rahnstadt burgomeister. That is the right thing to do."
"Ruhrdanz is right," said the others, "and Gustaving, you go quietly home, nobody will hurt you. And you, Johann Jochen, just drive at a steady pace," and they placed themselves, some on one side, some on the other, and the procession started, at a regular parade step. Pomuchelskopp had resigned himself, but he was not resigned to his destiny; he sat wringing his hands and lamenting to himself: "Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord! what will become of me? what will they do?" and then, putting his head out of the door, "Good people, I have always been a kind master to you."
"You have been a regular skinner!" cried a voice from the crowd.
Salchen and Malchen wept, Häuning sat there, stiff as a thermometer tube, but if the day-laborers had understood that sort of thermometer, they would have seen that the mercury was far above boiling point, and Willgans, who was close by the door, would have been more careful, for suddenly, without saying a word, she made a grab at him, and got fast hold of his curly, chestnut hair, and pulled it to her heart's content, and her eyes gleamed and sparkled out of the dusky carriage, as if she had been transformed into an owl, and had taken him for a young hare.
"Thunder and lightning! Look at the carrion!" cried Willgans. "Strike at her, Düsing! See the devil! Strike her on the knuckles! ye, ya! ye, ya!"
Before Düsing could rescue him, Häuning banged his nose, a couple of times, against the door-handle, and the blood ran in streams.
"Thunder and lightning! I say! Such deviltry is not to be put up with! Hold on, I will----"
"Hold!" cried Ruhrdanz, "you must not blame her for that, it is only her natural wickedness; you must let it go for this time; but you can tell the grand-duke about it and show him your nose, if you like, that he may see how they have treated you."
Häuning said nothing, and the procession moved on; at the boundary the laborers sent home their wives and children, who had followed so far, behind the carriage, and about seven o'clock they marched, slowly and solemnly, into Rahnstadt.
Uncle Bräsig lay by the window, smoking his pipe, and thinking over his heroic deeds of the previous evening. Kurz, although he had not attended the fraternity ball, was fearfully cross, and went scolding about his shop: "The stupid dunce! the harlequin! Only wait! Only come home!" and, although he intended to be in such different circumstances afterwards, he must at length come home, that is to say, Herr Süssmann. Herr Süssmann danced over the threshold. Kurz braced his two hands against the counter, and looked at him, as if he would spring over the counter in his wrath, and meet Herr Süssmann in the hall; he let him, however, come into the shop first.
"Morning, principal, principälchen, principälchen!" cried Herr Süssmann, staggering about the shop, and finally seating himself on the rim of a herring cask, with his hat cocked on one side: "Morning, Kurzchen, Schurzchen, Wurzchen----" but he had not time to finish his variations, Kurz had his hands in his hair, knocked off his hat into the herring-cask, and began dragging him about the shop by his ambrosial locks. Herr Süssmann groped blindly about him for something to lay hold of, and caught at the stop-cock of the oil-cask; the cock came out, and the oil poured out in a stream.
"Good heavens!" cried Kurz, "my oil! my oil!" and he let go of Herr Süssmann, and stuck his right fore-finger into the hole. Herr Süssmann held up the cock in triumph, and, as it often happens that crazy or intoxicated people do uncommonly clever things, the bright idea occurred to Herr Süssmann that he would do his work thoroughly. So he pulled out the cock from the vinegar barrel.
"Oh, good gracious! my vinegar!" cried Kurz, and he stuck his left fore-finger into the vinegar barrel. And as he was now fairly caught, and stooping over, the opportunity was too tempting for Herr Süssmann to neglect. "Principälchen! Kurzchen!"--whack! "Leben sie wohl, Tuten dreherchen!"--whack, whack! "Johannageht, und nimmer kehrt sie wieder!"--whack, whack, whack! Then he fished his hat out of the herring-cask, put it on, as much askew as possible, laid the two cocks on the counter, about twenty feet from Kurz, and danced, laughing, out of the door.
"Help!" screamed Kurz, "help! he-l-p!" But his people were not in the house, and his good old advocate was in the back garden, cutting asparagus, and the only one who heard him was Uncle Bräsig. "Karl," said he, "it seems to me, as if Kurz were yelling. I will go over, and see if anything has happened."
"He-l-p!" cried Kurz.
"Preserve us!" said Bräsig, "what an uproar you are making here, at seven o'clock in the morning!"
"Infamous rascal!"
"How? Is that the way you greet me?"
"Good-for-nothing scamp!"
"You are a rude fellow!"
"Give me those cocks, that lie on the counter!"
"Get your dirty cocks yourself, you donkey, you!"
"I cannot, the oil and the vinegar will run out, and I don't mean you, I mean Süssmann."
"That is another thing," said Bräsig, perching himself on the counter, and swinging his legs, "what is the matter with you?"
Kurz related how he had got into this situation.
"You strike me very comically, Kurz, but let this be a warning to you; a man is always punished in the members in which he has sinned."
"I beg you----"
"Quiet, Kurz! You have always sinned in oil and vinegar, since you have emptied the quart measure with a jerk, so that often two or three spoonfuls would be left in it. Will you always give right measure hereafter? Will you never look at the cards again, when we are playing Boston?"
"Good heavens! yes, yes!"
"Well, then, I will release you," and with that he brought the cocks.
Hardly was Kurz free when he darted out of the door, as if he expected to find Herr Süssmann waiting for him outside. Bräsig followed, and they came out just as Pomuchelskopp and his escort were passing.
"Preserve us! What is this? Ruhrdanz, what does this mean?"
"Don't take it ill, Herr Inspector, we have turned out our Herr."
Bräsig shook his head: "You have done a very foolish thing!" and he fell into the procession, and many people who were in the street followed to the burgomeister's house. Here the laborers took out the horses, and Ruhrdanz and Willgans and Brinkmann, and several others went in to see the burgomeister.
"Well, Herr," said Ruhrdanz, "we have got him here."
"Whom?"
"Eh, our Herr Pomuchelskopp."
"What? What is that?"
"Oh, nothing, only that we won't have him for our Herr any longer."
"Good heavens, people, what have you done."
"Nothing but what is right, Herr Burgomeister."
"Have you laid hands on your master?"
"Not a finger; but the old woman there, she laid hands on Willgans, for she----"
But the burgomeister had gone out of the room, and stood by the carriage, and begged the company to get out; they did so, and he brought the family into his living room.
"Oh, what will become of us! what will become of us!" moaned Pomuchel. "Herr Burgomeister, you know, I have always been a good master to my people."
"Kopp, for shame!" interposed Häuning.
"No," said the burgomeister, paying no attention to Häuning, and looking the Herr Proprietor firmly in the eye, "you have not been a good master. You know I have often remonstrated with you, on this account, and you know that, because of your behavior to your people, I have declined to act as your magistrate. I have nothing to do with the business, and if I were to concern myself in it, merely as a private citizen, I should not take your side, but that of your poor, oppressed people. You must excuse me, therefore----"
"But you can at least give me your advice," begged Pomuchelskopp. "What shall I do?"
"You cannot go back to Gurlitz, at least not at present, it might give occasion for violent deeds; you must wait the result, here. But wait a moment; I will speak to the people again."
Well, what good could that do? The people were firmly resolved in the matter; the bad fellows among them had yielded to the decision of the older, more peaceable laborers and villagers, and now they were all so fully persuaded that they were in the right, that they were not to be moved from their purpose.
"No, Herr," said Ruhrdanz, "we will never take him back; that is settled."
"You are guilty of a great offence, and it may go hard with you."
"Yes, that may be; but if you talk of offences, Herr Pomuchelskopp has been guilty of worse offences against us."
"Those foolish people at the Reformverein, have filled your heads with their silly ideas."
"Don't take it ill, Herr Burgomeister; that is what everybody says, but it isn't true. What? Our Herr Pomuchelskopp belongs to the Reformverein, and has made a speech there; but, Herr, he told nothing but lies, and we know better."
"Well, what do you intend to do?"
"Herr Gustaving is there, and when he tells us to do this or that, we shall do it; but Willgans and I will go to the grand-duke, and give him an account of the matter, and that is what I wanted to ask you, if you would give us some papers to take with us."
"What do you want with papers?"
"Well, Herr Burgomeister, don't take it ill, there is no harm in it. You see, I went to the old railroad, without any papers, and they turned me out, of course; but the grand-duke is no railroad, and he would not act so inconsiderately, and if we have no papers to show you can show your nose, Willgans, how the old woman has treated you, and I will show my honest hands, which have never been in any unjust business."
Upon that, the old man went out, and the laborers crowded around him, and felt in their pockets, and produced the few shillings and groschens they had by them: "There, now go! The shortest road to Schwerin!" and "Neighbor, don't forget Kapphingst's girl!" and "Neighbor, if he asks what we have lived on, you may say honestly we have stolen nothing from our master; but we have helped ourselves to a few of Frau Nüssler's potatoes, because she never minded it."
The two set out for Schwerin, the other day-laborers went home; Johann Jochen drove the empty carriage behind them; the people, who had assembled in quite a crowd before the burgomeister's door,--for the business had spread through the town like wildfire,--dispersed to their homes, and Uncle Bräsig said to Habermann, "Karl, he is getting his deserts. I went in a moment, not on his account, but for those poor fellows, the laborers; but when he came in, I went away, for I didn't want to see him in his disgrace."
Pomuchelskopp had gone to Grammelin's, with his dear family, and he sat now, in misery and distress, by the bedside of the Herr Notary; for Slusuhr had gone directly to bed, after his beating, in order that the business might appear to be very serious.
"I have sent for the doctor, and shall have myself examined, so that I can catch the inspector nicely. Strump is not at home, but the other one will be here directly."
"Ah, how fortunate you are!" said Pomuchel.
"I should not have supposed," said the Herr Notary, turning on his other side, "that it was a particular piece of good fortune to get a jacket full of blows from a buckthorn staff, as thick as your thumb."
"You can avenge yourself, but I,--poor man that I am,--what can I do?"
"You can get a detachment of soldiers, and then you can punish the rascals, within an inch of their lives, and if you are too much of a milksop to do it yourself, employ your wife, she will do it finely."
"God bless you! no! no! I have enough on my hands! I can do nothing about Pumpelhagen yet, and I dare not go back to Gurlitz, they will tear my house down over my head. No, no! I shall sell, I shall sell!"
"Shall I tell you some news?" said David, who came into the room, in time to hear the last words, "you are right, sell; I will look out for you, I know----"
"Infamous Jew rascal!" said Slusuhr, shifting his position again,--"aw! thunder!--do you think we cannot manage that for ourselves? Yes, Herr Pomuchelskopp, I would sell, for if they don't tear your house down they might get at the barns, and the potato middens."
"Well, Herr Notary, what will you do?" asked David. "You have some money; you might manage a farm-house, or a mill, but for an estate like that? You must come to my father."
"Your father? When he hears that it is for Pomuchelskopp, he will say: 'Cash down!' We three are not in very high credit with him."
"If I tell him----" began David, but just then the doctor came in, the father of the little assessor.
"Good morning! You sent for me?" turning to Slusuhr, "you wanted to see me?"
"Ah, Herr Doctor, you were at the ball last night. Oh, my bruises! You must surely have heard----"
"He got a beating," said David, "I am a witness he was dreadfully abused."
"Will you hold your cursed tongue?" cried Slusuhr. "Herr Doctor, I wish you would examine me medically; I fear I shall never recover the use of my limbs."
Without more words, the doctor went up to the patient, and removed the shirt from his shoulders, and there was much to be read there which is not usually seen on a pair of shoulders, and the inscription was written in red ink, in the largest capitals. Pomuchelskopp sat there, with folded hands, in the deepest melancholy, but when he saw the inscription on the notary's back, a very comfortable expression dawned in his face, and David sprung up, exclaiming, "Good heavens! How he looks! Herr Doctor, I will let you examine me too; carpenter Schultz dragged me out from under the table, and tore my new dress-coat."
"Send for the tailor!" said the doctor quietly, and turning to the notary: "I will leave a certificate for you, with Grammelin. Good morning, gentlemen!"
Then he went down-stairs, and after a little while, Grammelin's waiting-maid brought up the paper, which the doctor had left for the Herr Notary. Slusuhr opened it, and read:
"As in duty bound, I hereby testify that the Herr Notary Slusuhr has received a good, sound flogging, as is clearly evident from the suggillations upon his back. It has done him no harm, however.So and So, Dr. Med."
"Has the fellow the insolence to say that?" screamed Slusuhr. "It has done him no harm? Well, just wait, we will talk about that, by and by."
"Good heavens!" cried David, "isn't it better that it has done you no harm, than if had hurt you?"
"You are an idiot! But what am I lying here for?" said Slusuhr. "You will excuse me, I must go out, I must thank the Herr Inspector for his flogging--with a little writ."
"Don't forget me, my dear friend," said Pomuchel. "You must write for me to Pumpelhagen to-day."
"Rely upon me. I feel spiteful enough, to-day, to get out writs against the whole world. Haven't you something to write, David?"
"If I have anything to write, I can write it, if I have nothing to write, I shall write nothing," said David, and he went out with Pomuchelskopp.
Gloomy, heavy, leaden hours oppressed the young Frau von Rambow, after Pomuchelskopp's visit; slowly, step by step, they passed over her, and in their footprints new cares and anxieties sprang up; with firm, energetic hands, she pulled up these weeds from her path; but in time the most active hand grows weary, and the strongest heart longs for rest.
Her husband had not returned on the day appointed; instead there had come a messenger, with a letter, bearing Slusuhr's seal, who said he had orders to wait, until he could give the letter into the hands of the Herr von Rambow himself. What that signified, she could easily understand. She sat, in the twilight, in her room, by her child; her hands were folded in her lap, and she looked out, in the hazy summer evening, at the dark clouds gathering over the sky.
The day had been sultry, and in such weather, the blood flows heavily through the veins, not leaping and throbbing, like a living spring of clear water, but dragging; sleepily along, like the black water in a ditch, and even as Nature sighs and pants for the storm, which shall give her fresh life, so the heart longs and sighs, in impatience, for the whirlwind and thunderbolt of destiny, which may save it from such wearing torture,--come what may, deliver us from this fearful suspense. This was Frida's mood, so she longed and sighed for a sturdy thunder-bolt which might drive away the foul air in which she was stifling, and make everything clear around her; and she did not sigh in vain.
Korlin Kegel came in, bringing the post-bag, and stood there as if she wanted to do something, then unlocked the bag, and laid a letter on the table before her mistress, and again stood still.
"Gracious Frau, shall I light the lamps?"
"No, let them be."
Korlin did not go, she remained standing:
"Gracious Frau, you have forbidden us to come telling tales, but----"
"What is it?" asked Frida, rousing herself from her thoughts.
"Ah, gracious Frau, the Gurlitz people have driven away Herr Pomuchelskopp, and his wife and his two daughters."
"Have they done that?" cried Frida.
"Yes, and now all our day-laborers are standing outside, and want to speak to you."
"Are they going to drive us away?" asked Frida, rising, very quietly and proudly, from her chair.
"No, no! dear, gracious Frau," cried Korlin, throwing herself on the floor, and grasping her about the knees, while the tears started from her eyes, "no, no! There is no talk of that, and my old father says, if any one should propose such a thing, he would beat out his brains with a shovel. They only say there is no use in speaking to the Herr, he breaks up their talk too shortly. They want lo speak to you, because they have confidence in you."
"Where is Triddelsitz?"
"Dear heart! he is going round among them, but they won't listen to him, they say they have nothing to do with him, they want to speak to the gracious Frau."
"Come!" said Frida, and went down.
"What do you want, good people?" asked the young Frau, as she stepped outside the door, before which the laborers were assembled. The wheelwright, Fritz Flegel, stepped up, and said:
"Gracious Frau, we have only come to you because we are all agreed,--and we told the Herr so before; but nothing came of it. And the Herr answered us harshly, and we have no real confidence in Herr Triddelsitz, for he is so thoughtless, and doesn't know yet how things should be managed, and we thought you might help us, if you would be so kind. We are not dissatisfied because we want more, we are contented with what we get, and we get what belongs to us;--but never at the right time; and poor people like us cannot stand that."
"Yes," interrupted Päsel, "and last year, the famine year, the rye was all sold, and you see, gracious Frau, some of us get our pay in grain; and I was to have twelve bushels of rye, and live on it, and I got none, and they said we must be patient. Oh, patience! And all the potatoes bad! How can we live?"
"Gracious Frau," said an old white-haired man, "I will say nothing about the means of life, for we have never gone hungry; but for an old man like me to stand, all day long, bent over in the ditch, shoveling water,--and at evening I am too stiff to move, and cannot sleep at night for misery,--it isn't right. We didn't have such doing? when Herr Habermann was here; but now it is all commanding and commanding, and the commanders know nothing about the work."
"Yes, gracious Frau," said the wheelwright, stepping forward again, "and so we wanted to ask you if we couldn't have a regular inspector again, if Herr Habermann will not come, then some other; but one that would treat us kindly, and listen when we have something to say, and not snap us up, and scold us when we haven't deserved it, or knock our children about with sticks, as Herr Triddelsitz used to."
"That shall be put a stop to," cried Frida.
"Yes, gracious Frau, he has broken off that habit; about six months ago I had a very serious talk with him about it, and since then he is much better behaved, and more considerate. And if our gracious Herr would be considerate too, and think of his own profit, he would get a capable inspector, for he himself understands nothing about farming, and then he need not have a whole field of wheat beaten down by the wind, as it was last year, and the people would not talk about him so. And, gracious Frau, people talk a great deal, and they say the Herr must sell the estate, and will sell it to the Herr Pomuchelskopp; but we will never take him for our master."
"No!" cried one and another, "we will never take him." "A fellow who has been driven off by his own laborers!" "We can't put up with him!"
Blow after blow fell the words of the day-laborers upon Frida's heart. The little love and respect which they professed for her husband, the knowledge of their embarrassed situation, which was evident even to the common people, weighed heavily upon her, and it was with extreme difficulty that she controlled herself, and said:
"Be quiet, good people! The Herr must decide all these matters, when he comes home. Go quietly home, now, and don't come up to the house again in such a crowd. I will join in your petition to the Herr, and I think I may safety promise you that there will be a change in the management by St. John's day,--in one way or another," she added with a sigh, and paused a moment, as if to reflect, or perhaps to swallow something that rose in her throat. "Yes, wait until St. John's Day, then there will be a change."
"That is all right then."
"That is good, so far."
"And we are very much obliged to you."
"Well, good-night, gracious Frau!"
So they went off.
Frida returned to her room. It was beginning to thunder and lighten, the wind blew in gusts over the court-yard, driving sand and straw against the window-panes. "Yes," she said, to herself, "it must be decided by St. John's Day, I have not promised too much, there must be a change of some kind. What will it be?" and before her eyes rose the dreary picture which David had so coarsely drawn; she saw herself condemned to live in a rented house in a small town, with her husband and child, with no occupation, and no brighter prospects for the future. She heard the neighborhood gossip; they had seen better days. She saw her husband rising in the morning, going into the town, coming home to dinner, smoking on the sofa in the afternoon, going out again, and going to bed at night. And so on, day after day, with nothing in the world to do. She saw herself burdened with household cares, comfortless, friendless; she saw herself upon her death-bed, and her child standing beside her. Her child; from henceforth a poor, forsaken child! A poor, noble young lady! It is a hard thing to occupy a station in which one must keep up appearances, without the requisite means. A poor young gentleman may fight it through, he can become a soldier; but a poor young lady? And though the Lord should look down from heaven, and endow her with all the loveliness of an angel, and her parents should do for her all of which human love is capable, the world would pass her by, and the young Herrs would say, "She is poor," and the burghers, "She is proud." So Frida saw her child, who lay meanwhile in peaceful child-sleep, undisturbed by the storm and tempest without, or by the storm and tempest in her mother's breast.
Korlin Kegel brought a light, and the young Frau reached after the letter which lay upon the table, as a person will do, when he wishes to prevent another from noticing that he is deeply moved. She looked at the address, it was to herself, from her sister-in-law, Albertine; she tore open the envelope, and another letter fell into her hand, addressed to her husband.
"Put this letter on your master's writing-table," she said to the girl. Korlin went.
Her husband's sisters had often written to her, and their letters were generally such as ladies write to drive away ennui. Frida opened the letter; but ah! this was no letter born of ennui. Albertine wrote:--
"Dear Sister:
"I do not know that I am doing right. Bertha advises me to it, and Fidelia has twice taken away the paper from under my pen, she thinks it will only worry our dear brother Axel. But--I don't know, I cannot help myself,--necessity really compels us. We have already written twice to Axel, without getting an answer; he may be absent from home a good deal, in these hard times, and also very much occupied,--for these unhappy political troubles are beginning to reach us, as we have evidence enough in Schwerin,--and so I believe I am doing right in turning to you; you will give us an answer. You know that Axel borrowed the capital which our dear father left us, to invest it on the estate at Pumpelhagen; he promised us five percent, interest, instead of four and a half, which we got before,--it was not necessary, for we did well enough,--but he promised us the interest punctually, every quarter, and it is three quarters since he has sent us any. Dear Frida, we should certainly have said nothing about it, if we were not in the greatest embarrassment. Added to this, our brother-in-law Breitenburg has been here, who knew nothing of Axel's having borrowed from us, and when he found it out, he spoke of Axel in the most dreadful way, and declared that we were three geese. He asked to see our security by mortgage, which we could not show him, because Axel has always delayed sending it; and then he said, right to our faces, we should never see our money again; it was notorious that Axel was so deeply in debt, through his bad management, that Pumpelhagen would be sold over his head. We know, to be sure, how to make allowance for our brother-in-law's speeches, for he was always unfriendly to our dear Axel,--and how could it be possible? Pumpelhagen sold? In our family for hundreds of years! The Grand-Duke would not allow it, and we told him as much,--Fidelia in her lively way,--then he took his hat and stick, and said in his coarse way, 'Your brother Axel was always a fool, and now he has become a scoundrel,' whereupon Fidelia sprang up, and showed him the door. It was a frightful scene, and I never would have written you about it, if I had not a secret anxiety lest Axel and Breitenberg should encounter each other, and, like the brothers-in-law, Dannenberg and Malzahn, out of an exaggerated sense of honor, shoot each other, across a pocket-handkerchief. Caution Axel to avoid such a meeting, and, if it is possible, take care that he sends us our interest.
"We think of visiting you this summer; we have taken a childish pleasure in the thought of seeing you and the dear old place again, where we played as children, and dreamed as maidens, and--alas!--where we parted from our dear father. Yes, Frida, I rejoice in thinking of it all, and Bertha and Fidelia with me, for we live only in recollection; the present is dreary and comfortless. Only now and then some friend of our father's comes in, and tells us what is passing in the world, and it is really touching for Bertha and me to see how our little Fidelia, with her natural vivacity, will throw aside her sewing and interest herself in everything. She is very much interested in the court. Now, farewell, dear Frida, pardon my gossip, and give the enclosed letter to Axel. I have written him very earnestly and trustingly; but have spared him, as much as possible, anything disagreeable. We shall see you in August.
"Yours,
"Albertine von Rambow.
"Schwerin, June 11, 1848."
Frida read the letter, but she did not read it through; when she came to the place, "Your brother Axel was always a fool, and now he has become a scoundrel," she threw the letter on the floor, and wrung her hands, then sprang to her feet, and walked up and down the room, crying, "That he is! that he is!" Her child lay sleeping before her; she threw herself down in the chair, and took up the letter again, and read over the terrible words, and the dark picture she had been making to herself of her child's future was gone like a shadow, and before her eyes another shone, in livid colors; on it stood the three sisters, and underneath was written: "Betrayed! betrayed by a brother!" And in the back-ground stood her husband; but, dimly seen, she could not tell what was truth and what was falsehood, and underneath was written: "Scoundrel!" Horrible! horrible! Now all was lost,--doubly lost! For it was not her own loss merely, it was the loss of one whom she had loved, dearer than her own soul. That was fearful! Oh, for help, to remove this glowing brand from the brow she had so often lovingly kissed! But how? Who could help her? Name after name shot through her head, but these names all seemed inscribed on a distant, inaccessible, rocky wall, where she could find no footing. She wrung her hands in distress, and the prospect grew darker and darker, when, all at once, there beamed upon her in her anguish and torment an old, friendly, woman's face. It was Frau Nüssler's face, and she looked just as she had when she had kissed Frida's child.
The young Frau sprang up, exclaiming, "There is a heart! there is a human heart!" It thundered and lightened, and the rain poured in torrents; but the young Frau caught up a shawl, and rushed out into the storm.
"Gracious Frau! For God's sake!" cried Korlin Kegel, "in the rain? in the night?"
"Let me alone!"
"No, that I will not!" said the girl, as she followed her mistress.
"A human heart, a human heart," murmured the poor young Frau to herself; the rain beat in her face,--onward! onward!--she had the shawl in her hand, and never thought of it, her feet slipped in the muddy path, she did not know it, there was a voice in her ears crying ever, "Onward! onward!"
"If you must go, gracious Frau, then come along!" cried Korlin Kegel, taking the shawl and wrapping it about her head and shoulders, and encircling her waist with a strong arm. "Which way?"
"Frau Nüssler," said the young Frau, and murmured again, "a human heart!" And a human heart was beating close beside her, and she never thought of it; nothing keeps hearts asunder like the words, "Command and obey." She had always been good to her people, and had received every kindness from her servants with acknowledgments; but at this moment she did not think of Korlin Kegel, her whole heart was absorbed in the thought that Axel must be saved from shame and dishonor; and the friendly face of Frau Nüssler shone upon her through the rain and the darkness, like the nearest, and the only star. "Thither! thither!"
"Good heavens!" said Frau Nüssler, going to the window, "Jochen, what a storm!"
"Yes, mother, what shall we do about it!"
"Dear heart!" said Frau Nüssler, sitting down again, in her arm-chair, "suppose one were out in it! I should be frightened almost to death."
Frau Nüssler went on knitting, and Jochen smoked, and everything was quiet and comfortable in the room, when Bauschan, under Jochen's chair, uttered a short bark, such as signifies, in canine language: "What is that?" Receiving no answer, he lay still, but all at once he started up, and went with his old stiff legs, to the door, and began to whine vehemently.
"Bauschan!" cried Frau Nüssler, "What ails the old fellow? What do you want!"
"Mother," said Jochen, who knew Bauschan as well as Bauschan knew him, "Somebody is coming." And the door was thrown open, and a pale, female form tottered in and a strong girl supported her, and seated her on Frau Nüssler's divan.
"Dear heart!" cried Frau Nüssler, starting up, and seizing the young Frau's hands, "what is this? What does it mean? Good gracious! wet through and through!"
"Yes, indeed!" said Korlin.
"Jochen, what are you sitting there for? Run and call Mining! Tell Mining to come, and bid Dürt to make camomile tea."
And Jochen also sprang up, and ran out, as fast as he could, and Frau Nüssler took off the young Frau's shawl, and wiped the rain from her face and her fair hair, with her handkerchief, and Mining shot into the room like a pistol-ball, and was full of questions; but Frau Nüssler cried, "Mining, there is no time for looking and questioning; bring some of your clothes and linen, quickly, into my bedroom." And when Mining was gone, she herself asked:
"Korlin Kegel, what does this mean?"
"Ah, Madam, I don't know; to be sure, she got a long letter this evening."
Mining returned quickly, and Frau Nüssler and Korlin took the young Frau into the bedroom, and when she was undressed, and had drunk the tea, and lay in Frau Nüssler's bed, her senses returned, for it was mere physical weakness which had overpowered her, and if the first shock, and the dreadful feeling that there was no creature who could help her, had turned her brain a little, here by this friendly face, and this friendly treatment, she was herself again. She sat up in bed, and looked confidingly into Frau Nüssler's eyes: "You told me once, if I were ever in trouble, you would help me."
"And so I will," said Frau Nüssler, quite overcome, and stroking her hands she said "Tell me, what is it?"
"Ah, much!" cried the young Frau, "our laborers are discontented, we are in debt, deeply in debt, they are going to sell the estate----"
"Preserve us!" cried Frau Nüssler, "but there is time enough for that!"
"I could have borne that," said the young Frau, "but another trouble has driven me to you, and I cannot and dare not tell you----"
"Don't speak of it, then, gracious Frau. But this isn't business for women; we ought to have a man's counsel, and if you feel able, we might drive over to see my brother Karl, at Rahnstadt."
"Ah, I could go; but how should I look the man in the face, whom----"
"That is where you are mistaken, gracious Frau, you don't know him. Jochen!" she cried at the door, "let Krischan harness up, but let him make haste, and do you make haste, too! Mining!" she cried at another door, "bring your new Sunday mantle and hat, and a shawl; we are going out."
All was quickly ready, and as she got into the carriage, Frau Nüssler said to Krischan:
"Krischan, you know I don't like fast driving; but drive fast to-night! We must be in Rahnstadt in half an hour. Else they will have gone to bed," she added to the young Frau.
The little assessor had just gone home from the Frau Pastorin's, Habermann and Bräsig had said "Good-night!" and gone up-stairs, and Bräsig opened the window and looked out, to observe the weather: "Karl," said he, "what a fragrance there is after the storm! The whole air is full of atmosphere." Just then a carriage stopped at the Frau Pastorin's, and the light from the house shone directly upon it. "Preserve us!" cried Bräsig. "Karl, there are your sister and Mining, at this time of night!"
"Can any misfortune have happened!" exclaimed Habermann, snatching the candle, and running down to the door.
"Sister," he asked hastily, as Frau Nüssler met him at the foot of the stairs, "why have you come here, in the night? Mining,"--but he stopped abruptly,--"gracious Frau! You here, at this time?"
"Karl, quick!" said Frau Nüssler, "the gracious Frau wishes to speak with you alone. Make haste, before the others come!"
Habermann opened the Frau Pastorin's best room, and led the young Frau in; he followed her, just catching, as he shut the door, the beginning of Bräsig's speech, on the stairs:
"May you keep the nose on your face! What have you come here for? Excuse me, for coming down in my shirt sleeves; Karl very inconsiderately took away the light, and I couldn't find my coat, in the dark. But where is he, and where is Mining?"
Frau Nüssler was not obliged to answer these questions, for Louise came out of the Frau Pastorin's room with a light.
"Bless me! aunt!"
"Louise, come in here, and you, Bräsig, put your coat on, and come down to the Frau Pastorin's room!" They did so, and Frau Pastorin came in also, and the hall was left empty and still, and if one had put his ear to the door on the right, he would have heard the honest, touching confession, which the young Frau, at first with embarrassment and bitter tears, but afterwards with entire confidence and secret hope in her heart, poured out to the old inspector; and if he had listened at the door on the left, he would have heard the most frightful lying from Frau Nüssler, for it had occurred to the good lady that, since they had taken the gracious Frau for Mining, she might as well pass for Mining, till she had finished her business, so that they need not torment her with questions, and so she told them that Mining had a dreadful toothache, and that her brother Karl knew of a remedy, a sort of magnetism, which must be applied between twelve and one o'clock at night, in perfect silence; and Frau Pastorin said she thought that was an unchristian proceeding, and Bräsig remarked, "I never knew that Karl had any taste for magnetism and doctoring." And after a little, Habermann put his head in at the door, and said, "Frau Pastorin, leave the door unlocked, I have an errand out, but I shall be back soon," and before Frau Pastorin could say a word, he was gone, and he went to the street where Moses lived.