Fritz Triddelsitz darted about the Pumpelhagen court-yard next morning, like a pickerel in a fish-pond, for he had put on his little uniform, the green hunting-jacket, and gray breeches, to please the gracious lady,--as he said,--that her lovely eyes might have something agreeable to look upon. His own eyes, which were usually directed to Habermann's window like the compass to the north star, wandered this morning over the whole front of the manor-house, and when a window was raised, and the young Herr put his head out and called to him, he darted across the court-yard, like a pickerel, as if Axel in his silver-gray dressing-gown were a flat-fish, and the red handkerchief about his neck were the fins.
"Triddelsitz," said Herr von Rambow, "I have decided to make a little address to my people this morning; get them together here at nine o'clock, before the house."
"To command," said Fritz, using this form of speech to do honor to the Herr Lieutenant.
"Where is the inspector? I wish to speak to him; there is no hurry, however."
"He has just gone out with Inspector Bräsig."
"Very well. When he comes back."
"Fritz made a particularly fine bow, and went off; but turned back after a little, and asked:--
"Does Herr von Rambow wish the women to come also?
"No, merely the men. However,--wait a moment,--yes, you may tell the housewives to come."
"To command," said Fritz, and went to the village, and told the housewives and the men who were at work about the farmyard, to put on their best clothes. It was eight o'clock already, and if the farm-laborers who were at work in the fields were to be there by nine, and also in state, they must be called. So he started for the fields.
Habermann had walked a little way with his old friend, and was now crossing the field to join the laborers, when Fritz came hurrying over the hill, as fast as his slovenly gait and the broken ground of the ploughed field would allow.
"Herr Inspector, you must let them stop work, the people are all to be at the manor-house by nine o'clock, the Herr is going to deliver an oration."
"What is he going to do?" asked Habermann, in astonishment.
"Deliver an oration," was the reply, "the laborers have already been notified, and the woman also. He had forgotten them, but I reminded him of them in time."
"You might----" have been in better business, Habermann was going to say, but controlled himself, and said quietly, "then do your errand to the people."
"You are to come, too."
"Very well," said the old man, and turned, quite out of humor, towards the house. He had pressing work for his teams, and they would be taken out of the field for the whole morning; however he could have got over that, that was not the trouble. His master had issued orders, the very first day, without taking him into counsel, he had consulted with Triddelsitz instead, and there could be no hurry about the matter; but although he felt the slight, it wasn't that so much which annoyed him; it was the "oration" itself. Why should he talk to the people? Would he admonish them about their duties? The people were good, they did their work as simply and naturally as eating and drinking, they had no idea that they were doing any thing remarkable; and it was a mistake to lecture such people about their duties. If they were much talked to, they would begin to grow discouraged. In one sense laborers are like children, they would soon reckon their duty as a merit. Or was he going to bestow gifts upon them? He was good-natured enough. But what would he give them? They had all that they needed, and he could not give them anything definite, he did not know their circumstances well enough, he could merely give them fair words and general promises, which each would fill out according to his own wishes, and which it would be impossible to make good. And so he would make the people discontented.
These were his thoughts, as he entered his master's room. The young wife was there, ready for the walk agreed upon the night before. She came towards him in a friendly manner: "We must wait a little while, Herr Inspector; Axel will speak to the people first."
"That will not take long," said Axel, who was turning over his papers. There was a knock at the door. "Come in!" and Fritz entered, with a letter in his hand. "From Gurlitz," said he.
Axel broke the seal, and read; it was an odious letter, it was from Slushur, the notary, who announced himself as coming before noon, with David; they were accidentally at Herr Pomuchelskopp's, and had heard from him that Herr von Rambow was returned, and since they must speak with him on necessary business, they begged his permission, etc. The business was very urgent, however, as was mentioned in a postscript. Axel was in great perplexity, for he could not decline the visit; he went out and told the messenger the gentlemen were welcome, and when he came in again, he seemed so disturbed that his wife asked, "What is the matter?"
"Oh, nothing. But I think my talk to the laborers may take longer than I supposed; it will be best for you to go alone with the Herr Inspector to see the fields."
"Oh, Axel, I was so pleased at the thought of going with you."
"Yes; but it cannot be helped, my dear child. I know the fields well enough. Go with the Herr Inspector, dear Frida, and--well, as soon as ever I can, I will follow you."
It seemed to Habermann that he was really in haste to get rid of them; so he helped him in his design, and the young lady finally started, upon his invitation, though a little out of humor.
When they were gone, and the whole village had come together. Axel made his address, although the pleasure of this state occasion was quite spoiled for him by that infamous letter; for, however he might put it to himself, his own pleasure, and the importance which he felt as master, were his chief reasons for the undertaking. As for the speech itself, it happened much as Habermann had feared. Admonitions and promises, in lofty words and fine figures of speech, paraded themselves quite unintelligibly before the old laborers' eyes, and the only things which they saw clearly, though somewhat dizzied by these, were the golden wings of the benefits he promised them, saying that his people were to come to him with every wish; he would care for them like a father.
"Yes," said Päsel to Däsel, "'father;' I like that. He will do it. I shall go to him to-morrow, and ask him to let me wean a calf next year."
"But you had one last year."
"That is no matter; I can sell it to the weaver in Gurlitz."
"Yes," said Kegel to Degel. "I shall go to him to-morrow, and ask him to let me have twenty roods more of potato land next spring; mine will not last through the winter."
"Eh! you didn't hoe your potatoes at the right time; the old man gave you a fine scolding for it."
"No matter;heknows nothing about it, and he is master now, and not the inspector."
So unrest and discontent were in full progress; Axel himself was restless and discontented, because he dreaded the coming visit, and the only being at the Pumpelhagen farm, who, though restless, was yet contented, was Fritz Triddelsitz, so the young Herr had not altogether thrown his pearls before swine.
Slusuhr and David came, and what shall I say about their visit? They sang the same song which they did before, and Axel had to write the notes for it. This time, he did it readily. Borrowing is certainly a bad business; but there is not a business in the world, down to beheading and hanging, so bad that somebody will not pursue it with satisfaction; I have known people who were not contented till they had borrowed money of all Judea and Christendom, and if Axel had not gone quite so far, he was ready enough to improve favorable circumstances; he added a new debt, to-day, to those he already owed David, that he might pay for the new furnishing of his house, "in order not to have to do with so many people, but with one;" but he probably did not reflect that this one was worse than a thousand others.
Meanwhile Habermann and the young Frau were going through the fields. The clear summer morning soon drove away the little shadows of annoyance from her fresh face, and her bright eyes looked at everything with hearty interest, and desire to inform herself, and Habermann saw, with great pleasure, that she understood the business. She had been brought up in the country, and it was natural to her to observe things that lay a little out of her usual way, and that not superficially, she must know a reason for everything. Thus she knew enough about farming to feel quite at home here, although her father's place was a great sand-hill, and Pumpelhagen was the finest wheat soil, and if she saw anything unfamiliar which she did not understand, the old Inspector helped her, with brief, simple explanations. The walk was, for both of them, a real pleasure, and from a pure, mutual pleasure grows the fair blossom, Confidence.
They came to the Gurlitz boundary, and Habermann showed her the Pastor's field, and told her how the late Kammerrath had taken it in lease.
"And the barley, over yonder?" asked the young Frau.
"That is Gurlitz ground and soil; that belongs to Herr Pomuchelskopp."
"Ah, that is the proprietor who greeted us yesterday, with his family," said Frida. "What sort of a man is he?"
"I have no intercourse with him," said Habermann, a little embarrassed.
"But you know him, don't you?" asked the young lady.
"Yes--no--that is, I used to know him, but since he has lived here, we have nothing to do with each other," said the old man, and would have spoken of something else; but Frida laid her hand on his arm, and said,--
"Herr Inspector, I am a stranger in this region,--Axel seems to be acquainted, though only superficially, with this man; are they suitable associates for us?"
"No," said Habermann, short and hard.
They walked on, each occupied in thought. The young Frau stood still, and asked, "Can you, and will you, tell me the reason why you have broken off intercourse with this man?"
Habermann looked at her thoughtfully.
"Yes," said he, finally, rather as if he were speaking to himself, "and if you receive my words with the same confidence that the blessed Kammerrath did, it may be for your profit," and he told her his story, without heat or anger, but also without restraint. The young Frau listened attentively, without interrupting him, and when he had finished said merely:
"I half disliked those people yesterday; I quite dislike them to-day."
They had just come through the Pastor's field, up to the garden fence, when a clear, joyous voice sounded from the other side: "Good morning, father! Good morning!" and the lovely young girl, whom Frida had seen yesterday, came running through the garden gate towards the old inspector. She stopped suddenly as she saw the gracious lady, and stood blushing, so that Habermann must help himself to his good-morning kiss, if he meant to have it at all.
Full of happiness and pride, the old man introduced his dear daughter; the young Frau spoke to her very kindly, and urged her to come often to Pumpelhagen, to visit her father and herself; and when Habermann had sent greetings to the Pastor and the Pastorin, she took leave, and they continued their walk.
"The Pastor and his wife must be very good people?" said Frida.
"Gracious lady," said Habermann, "you ask this question of no impartial man. These people have saved for me all that was left out of my misfortunes; they have given loving protection and nurture to my only child, and taught her everything good; I can only think of them with the highest respect and the deepest gratitude. But ask in the neighborhood, if you will; rich and poor, high and low, will speak of them with respect and affection."
"Herr Pomuchelskopp, too?" inquired the gracious lady.
"If he would speak honestly, and without prejudice, yes," said the old man, "but as he is now--he quarrelled with the Pastor, soon after his arrival here, about this very field, in which we are walking. It was not the Pastor's fault; I gave the first provocation to his anger, because I advised the blessed Herr to rent the field. And, gracious lady," he added, after a moment, "Pumpelhagen cannot spare this field; the advantage is too great for us to give it up."
Frida asked him to explain it more fully, and, when she understood the matter, it was easy to see that she said to herself, she would do what she could to keep the field.
As they came into the Pumpelhagen court-yard Slusuhr the notary and David were just starting off, and Axel stood before the door taking leave of them as politely as if Slusuhr were the colonel of his Regiment, and David a young count.
"Who is that?" asked Frida of Habermann. He told her. Then she greeted her husband, and asked, "But, Axel, what business have you with these people, and why are you so uncommonly polite to them?"
"Polite?" repeated Axel, "why not? I am polite to everybody," with a quick glance at Habermann, who met it quietly and firmly.
"Of course you are," said his wife, taking his arm, in order to go into the house with him, "but towards a common Jew moneylender and----"
"Dear child," interrupted Axel hastily, to prevent her saying more, "the man is a produce-dealer, and wool-merchant, I shall often have business to transact with him."
"And the other?" she inquired.
"Oh, he--he only came along with him accidentally. I have nothing to do with him."
"Adieu, Herr Inspector," said Frida, giving her hand to the old man, "I thank you very much for your friendly company."
With that, she went into the house. Axel followed her; at the door he looked round, the old inspector's eyes rested sadly upon him, and he turned away. He followed his wife into the house.
In this honest and mournful glance lay the whole future of the three persons who had just separated.
Axel had lied; he had betrayed, for the first time, the confidence of his young wife, and Habermann knew it, and Axel knew that Habermann knew it. Here was a stone in the path, over which every one must stumble who passed that way, for the path was darkened by falsehood and dissimulation, and no one could speak to another of the stone, and warn him against it. Frida went onward innocently and trustfully; but how long would it be before she would stumble over this stone? Axel tried to deceive himself, also, he thought he could bring her safely over it, in the darkness, without her being aware of it, and, beyond, the path would be smooth. Habermann saw the danger clearly, and could and would have helped; but if he stretched out his hand to point it out, and warn them against it, Axel repulsed him with coldness, and secret resentment. People say that a bad man will, in time, conceive a hatred for one who has bestowed benefits upon him; it is possible, but that is nothing to the secret gnawing and boring of resentment, which a weak man feels towards one who is the only person in the world conscious of his falsehood. Such a feeling is not developed at once, like downright hatred, born of open strife and contention, but bores slowly and gradually into the heart, like the death-worm into dry wood, and eats deeper and deeper, till the whole heart is full of ill-will and bitterness, as the wood is full of worm-dust.
Bräsig went next morning, as he had designed, to Rexow, to see Frau Nüssler. The crown-prince came to meet him at the door, wagging his tail in such a Christian manner that one must believe him to be a dog of good moral principle, since he bore no malice against Bräsig for his late chasing and drubbing. One would infer, also, from the quiet content expressed in his yellow-brown eyes, that all was well at Rexow, Frau Nüssler in the kitchen, and Jochen sitting in his arm-chair.
But it was not so, for when Bräsig opened the door, Jochen was sitting indeed in his old place; but Frau Nüssler stood before him, delivering a brief but impressive discourse to the effect that he troubled himself about nothing, and said not a word to the purpose, and when she caught sight of Bräsig, she went up to him, quite angrily, saying, "And you, too, notice nothing, Bräsig; for all you care, everything here may stand on its head; and it is your fault, too, we never should have taken those two but for you!"
"Fair and easy!" said Bräsig, "fair and easy! Not quite so fast, Frau Nüssler! What has happened now with the young candidates?"
"A good deal has happened, and I have said nothing about it, because they were Jochen's friends, and it is a bad bird that fouls its own nest; but since the time those two fellows came into my house, there has been no peace nor rest, and if it goes on so much longer, I shall quarrel, at last, with Jochen himself."
"Mother," said young Jochen, "what shall I do about it?"
"Keep still, young Jochen," cried Bräsig, "you are to blame. Can't you rouse up and teach them manners?"
"Let Jochen alone, Bräsig," said Frau Nüssler, hastily, "this time it is your fault. You promised to have an eye to these young men, and see that they did not get into mischief, and instead of that, you have let one go on as he liked, without troubling yourself about him, and you have put the other up to all sorts of nonsense, so that instead of minding his books, he goes off with his fishing-pole, and brings me home at night a great string of perch, as long as your finger. And when I think I have everything tidy, I must go and dress the horrid things, and make it all straight again.
"What? Brings home things a finger long, and I showed him the right place to catch the great fellows! oh, you must--no, hold on!"
"Ah, what!" cried Frau Nüssler. "You should forbid his fishing altogether, he did not come here for that purpose. He was to learn something, his father said, and he is coming here to-day, too."
"Well, Frau Nüssler," said Bräsig, "I am very greatly annoyed that he should do so little credit to my instructions, in his fishing. Has he done anything else amiss?"
"Ah, yes, indeed! both of them have. But, as I said before, I have said nothing about it, because they were Jochen's friends, and at first, it seemed as if everything would go on well. At first, there were merry, lively times here, and my little girls enjoyed it uncommonly; it was Mining here and Rudolph there, and Lining here and Gottlieb there, and they talked with Gottlieb, and romped with Rudolph, and the two old fellows were very industrious at their work, and Gottlieb sat up stairs in his room, and studied until his head swam, and Rudolph, too, read in his books; but it was not long before they got to disputing and quarrelling about ecclesiastical matters, and Gottlieb, who is much more learned than the other, told him he did not look at things from a Christian standpoint."
"Standpoint, did he say?" asked Bräsig.
"Yes, he said standpoint," replied Frau Nüssler.
"Ho, ho!" cried Bräsig, "I can hear him talk. Where other people stop, at a standpoint, is only the beginning with the Pietists. He wanted to proselyte him."
"Yes," said Frau Nüssler, "so it appeared. Now the other one is much cleverer than Gottlieb, and he began to crack all manner of jokes at him, and got the better of him, and so the strife grew worse and worse, and, I don't know how it happened, but my little girls began to take a part in the business, and Lining, as the most intelligent, was on Gottlieb's side, and talked just as he did, and Mining laughed over Rudolph's jokes, and carried on with him."
"Yes," interrupted Jochen, "it is all as true as leather."
"You should be ashamed of yourself, young Jochen, to allow such doings in your house!"
"Come, Bräsig," said Frau Nüssler, "let him alone; Jochen has done everything he could to keep peace; When Gottlieb talked about the devil, to frighten one out of his wits, then he believed in the devil, and when Rudolph laughed about the devil, and made fun of him, then he laughed with Rudolph. But, when the dispute was at the highest, little Mining happened on a bright idea; she took their books and changed them, and put Rudolph's into Gottlieb's room, and Gottlieb's into Rudolph's, and when they looked at her in astonishment, she said, merrily, they had better exchange studies for awhile, and they might possibly learn to agree. Well, at first they would hear nothing of it; but Gottlieb is always a good-natured old fellow, he soon began to read, and since it was a winter day, and he could not amuse himself out of doors, Rudolph finally began also. And then you should have seen them! It was not long, before it seemed as if they had been exchanged with their books. Gottlieb made bad jokes, and laughed about the devil, and the other old fellow groaned and sighed, and talked of the devil, as if he sat at table with us every day, and eat his potatoes, like other honest people. Now, my little girls were quite perplexed; Mining attached herself to Gottlieb, and Lining to Rudolph, for now it was Rudolph who said Gottlieb did not occupy a Christian standpoint."
"Fie!" said Bräsig, "he should not have said that. And such a fellow as that cannot catch a good-sized perch!"
"Yes," cried Frau Nüssler quite angrily, "and with your confounded old perch-fishing, the whole trouble came again, for when it was spring, and the perch began to bite, Rudolph threw his Christian standpoint aside, and took up his fishing-rod, and ran off into the fields, and Gottlieb took up the devil again, for he was going to pass his examination, and there is no getting through that without the devil. And my two little girls were puzzled to tell which they should stand by."
"They are a pair of confounded rascals," cried Bräsig, "but the proselyter is to blame for it all; why couldn't he let the other alone, with his devil and his standpoint?"
"Well, never mind! He studied well at any rate and passed his examination all right, and can be a minister any day; but the other cousin has done nothing at all at his books, and has made us all this dreadful trouble!"
"Why, what else has he done? He hasn't been catching whitings?"
"Whitings! He caught a sermon. You see, the Rector Baldrian's wife wanted to hear her Gottlieb preach, and she asked the pastor in Rahnstadt about it, and he promised her Gottlieb should preach last Sunday, and she told her sister, Frau Kurz. She is naturally very much annoyed that her boy is not so advanced as Gottlieb, and she goes to the pastor also, and the old pastor is such a sheep that he promised her Rudolph should preach the same Sabbath. Then they drew lots, who should preach in the morning, and who in the afternoon, and Rudolph got the morning. Well, old Gottlieb studied as hard as he could, and sat from morning till night, out in the arbor, in the garden, and because he has a bad memory, he studied aloud, and the other went roving about as usual; but the last two days, he seated himself on the grassy bank behind the arbor, as if he were making a sermon too. And then Sunday came, and Jochen let them ride in to town, and we all rode, and were seated in the pastor's pew, and, I tell you, I was terribly afraid for Rudolph; but he stood there, as if there were nothing the matter, and when it was time, he went up into the pulpit, and preached a sermon, that made all the people open their eyes and mouths, and I rejoiced over the youth, and was going to say so to Gottlieb, who sat by me; but there sat the poor creature, fidgeting with his hands and feet, as if he would like to go up and pull the other out of the pulpit, and he said, 'Aunt, that ismysermon!' And so it was, Bräsig; the wicked boy had learned the sermon by hearing it, because Gottlieb must study it aloud."
"Ha, ha!" laughed Bräsig heartily, "that is a good joke!"
"Do you call that ajoke?" exclaimed Frau Nüssler, greatly excited. "Such a trick as that in the house of God, you call a joke?"
"Eh, now," said Bräsig, still laughing, "what would you have? It is a devil of a joke, it is an infamous trick, to be sure: but I can't help laughing, for the life of me."
"Oh yes!" said Frau Nüssler, bitterly, "that is the way with you; when we others are ready to die with shame and anger, you stand by and laugh!"
"There, don't scold me," said Bräsig, trying to appease her, "tell me what the proselyter did. I wish I could have seen him!"
"What could he do? He couldn't preach the same sermon over again, in the afternoon; the old pastor had to warm up an old sermon for the occasion, but he was fearfully angry, and said, if he should report the matter, Rudolph might as well hang up his gown on the nearest willow."
"Well, and the proselyter?"
"Ah, the good old creature was so confounded, he said nothing at all; but his mother talked all the more, and quarrelled so fiercely with her sister, Frau Kurz, that they have not spoken to each other since. Oh, what a time it was! I was ashamed, and I was provoked, for Kurz and the rector came up, too, and Jochen was lingering with them, but fortunately our carriage drove up, and I got him away."
"But what did the duel-fighter say?"
"Oh, the rogue was clever enough to keep out of the uproar, he made himself scarce after his fine sermon, and ran off home."
"He got a proper good lecture from you, I will wager."
"No," said Frau Nüssler, "he didn't. I don't meddle in the affair. His father is coming, to-day, and he is the nearest to him, as the Frau Pastorin says. And I told Jochen, decidedly, he ought not to talk so much about it, for he has quite changed his nature, of late, and is always troubling himself, and talking about things that are none of his business. Keep still, Jochen!"
"Yes, Jochen, keep still!"
"And my two little girls, I scarcely know them again; after the sermon, they cried all the way home, and now they keep out of the way so shyly, and speak so short to each other, and they used always to go about together arm in arm, and if one had anything on her heart the other quickly knew it. Ah, my house is all topsy-turvy!"
"Mother," said young Jochen, rising suddenly from his chair, "it is what I have said before, but I will say it once more; you shall see, the boys have put something into their heads."
"What should they put into their heads, Jochen?" said Frau Nüssler, rather sharply.
"Love-affairs," said Jochen, sitting down again in his corner. "My blessed mother always said: A candidate and a governess in the same house--you shall see, Gottlieb and Mining.
"Now, Jochen, so you talk and talk! The Lord keep you in your senses! If I thought that was the case, the candidate should be turned out of the house, and the other after him. Come out here, Bräsig, I have something to say to you."
When they were outside, Frau Nüssler took him to the garden, and sat down with him in the arbor.
"Bräsig," said she, "I cannot listen to this everlasting chatter of Jochen's; he has got it from Rudolph, who used to talk with him so much, last winter, in the evenings, and now he has got in the habit of it, and cannot break off. Now tell me honestly,--you promised that you would look after them,--have you ever had any idea of such a thing?"
"Eh, preserve us!" said Bräsig, "not the remotest conception!"
"I cannot believe it is so," said Frau Nüssler, thoughtfully; "at first, Lining and Gottlieb were always together, and Mining and Rudolph,--afterwards, Mining held to Gottlieb, and Lining to Rudolph, and after the examination, Lining went back to Gottlieb again; but Mining and Rudolph are not friends, for since the sermon she will scarcely look at him."
"Frau Nüssler," said Bräsig, "love is a thing which begins in some hidden way, perhaps with a bunch of flowers, or a couple say 'Good morning' to each other, and touch each other's hands, or they stoop, at the same time, to pick up a ball of cotton, and knock their heads together, and a looker-on observes nothing more, but after a while, it becomes more perceptible, the women often turn red, and the men cast sheep's-eyes, or the women entice the men into the pantry, and offer them sausage and tongue and pig's head, and the men come to see the women, dressed up in red and blue neck-ties, or, if it is very far gone, they go out walking on summer evenings, in the moonlight, and sigh. Anything of that sort with the little rogues?"
"I cannot say, Bräsig. They have been in my pantry, off and on; but I soon sent them out, for I won't have people eating in the pantry, and I never noticed that my little girls turned red, though they have cried their eyes red, often enough, of late."
"Hm!" said Bräsig, "this last is not without significance. Now I will tell you, Frau Nüssler, leave it wholly to me, I know how to track them; I detected Habermann's confounded greyhound, in his love-affairs. I am an old hunter; I can track him to his lair; but you must tell me where they have their haunts; that is, where I shall be likely to find them."
"That is here, Bräsig, here in this arbor. My little girls sit here in the afternoon, and sew, and the other two come and sit with them; I never thought any harm of it."
"No harm in that," said Bräsig, and stepping out of the arbor he looked carefully around, and in so doing perceived a large Rhenish cherry-tree, full of leaves, which stood close by the arbor.
"All right!" said he, "what can be done shall be done."
"Dear heart!" sighed Frau Nüssler, as went back to the house, "what a miserable time we shall have to-day! Kurz is coming this afternoon, in time for coffee, he is bitterly angry with his son, and such a malicious little toad. You shall see, there will be a great uproar."
"It is always the way with little people," Bräsig: "the head, and the lower constitution are so close together, that fire kindles quickly."
"Yes," sighed Frau Nüssler, again entering the house, "it is a misery." She had no idea that the misery in her house was already in full course.
While these transactions were going on below stairs the two little twin-apples sat up in their chamber, sewing. Lining sat by one window, and Mining by the other, and they never looked up from their work, they never spoke to each other, as in those old times, at the Frau Pastorin's sewing-school,--they sewed and sewed, as if the world were coming to pieces, and they, with needle and thread, were patching it together again, and they looked so solemn about it, and sighed so heavily, as if they knew right well what an arduous task they had under their fingers. It was strange that their mother had said nothing to Bräsig of how their pretty, red cheeks had grown pale, and it must have been because she had not noticed it herself. But it was so, the two little apples looked as wan as if they had grown on the north side of the life-tree, where no sun-beams pierced to color their cheeks, and it seemed, too, as if they hung no longer on the same twig. At last Lining let her work drop in her lap, she could not sew any longer, her eyes filled, and the tears ran down her white cheeks; and Mining reached for her handkerchief, and held it to her eyes, and great tears dropped in her lap, and so they sat and wept, as if the fair, innocent world in their own bosoms had gone to pieces, and they could not patch it together again.
All at once Mining sprang up and ran out of the door, as if she must get into the free air; but she bethought herself, she could not run off without being seen and questioned by her mother, so she stood there, on the other side of the door, still crying. Lining sprang up also, as if she should comfort Mining, but she bethought herself that she did not know how, so she stood on this side the door, crying.
So is often interposed, between two hearts, a thin board, and each heart hears the other sighing and weeping, and the thin board has on each side a latch, that one needs merely to lift, and what has separated the hearts may be shoved aside; but neither will stir the latch, and the two hearts weep still.
But, thank God! such selfish pride towards each other these little hearts had not yet learned, and Mining opened the door, and said, "Lining, why are you crying?" and Lining reached out her hands, and said, "Ah, Mining, why areyoucrying?" And they fell into each others arms, still crying, but their cheeks grew red as if the sunlight had reached them, and they clung fast to each other, as if they were again growing on the same stem.
"Mining!" said Lining, "I will give him up to you, and you shall be happy with him."
"No, Lining!" cried Mining, "he cares more for you, and you are a great deal better than I am."
"No, Mining, I have made up my mind; uncle Kurz is coming this afternoon, and I will ask father and mother to let me go back with him, for to stay here and look on might be too hard for me."
"Do so, Lining; then you will be with his parents; and I will ask Gottlieb to get me, through his father, a place as governess, somewhere, far, far away, before you come back; for my heart is too heavy to stay here."
"Mining," said Lining, pushing her sister back, and looking earnestly in her eyes,--"with his parents? whom do you mean?"
"Why, Rudolph."
"You mean Rudolph?"
"Yes, of course; whom do you mean, then?"
"I? I meant Gottlieb."
"No, no!" cried Mining, throwing her arms again about her sister's neck, "how is that possible? Why, we don't mean the same one, after all!"
"Dear heart!" exclaimed Lining, "and what misery we have made ourselves!"
"And now it is all right!" cried Mining, dancing about the room, "it is all right now!"
"Yes, Mining, it is all right now," and Lining also danced about the room. And Mining fell upon her sister's neck again, this time in joy.
Yes, when one touches the latch, in time, and shoves back the separating wall, then the hearts come together again, and all is right, even if there is not such a rejoicing as here in the little chamber. First they wept, and then they danced about the room, then they sat down one in the other's lap, and talked it all over, and blamed themselves for stupidity, that they had not noticed how it stood with them, and wondered how it was possible that they should not have come to an explanation before, and then each confessed how far she had gone with her cousin, and that the young men had not yet spoken openly, and they were both half inclined to scold them, as the cause of all the trouble. And Lining said she had been, all along, in great doubt; but since last Sunday, she had been convinced that Mining cared for Gottlieb, for otherwise why should she have cried so? and Mining said she could not help crying, because Rudolph had done such a dreadful thing, and she supposed Lining was crying for the same reason. And Lining said that what troubled her was because her poor Gottlieb was served so. But it was all right now; and when the dinner-bell rang, the little twin-apples tumbled down stairs, rosy-red, and arm in arm, and Bräsig, who had seated himself with his back to the light that he might judge the better of their appearance, stared in astonishment at their bright eyes and joyous faces, and said to himself: "How? they are shy? They are in trouble? They are in love? They look just ready for a frolic."
Upon the ringing of the dinner-bell, entered Bräsig's proselyter, the candidate Gottlieb Baldrian. Lining grew red, and turned away, not in ill humor, but on account of the confession she had made upstairs, and Bräsig said to himself, "This strikes me as a very curious thing; Lining is affected. How can it be possible? and he such a scarecrow!"
Bräsig had expressed himself too strongly, but Gottlieb was no beauty. Nature had dealt niggardly with him, and the little that he had he did not use to advantage. Take his hair, for instance. He had a thick head of hair, and if it had been properly kept under by the shears, it would have been good, respectable light hair, and he might have gone about, without attracting any attention; but he had, in his clerical heart, set up for his model, St. John the beloved, and he parted his hair in the middle, and combed it down on each side, though its natural tendency was to stand upright. Eh, well, I have nothing to say against it if a little rogue of ten or twelve years runs around with curls about his head, and the mothers of the little rogues have still less to say against it, and they turn them about, and stroke the hair out of their eyes, and comb it smooth, too, when a visitor is coming,--silly people sometimes go so far as to put it up in curl-papers, and use hot irons; I should have nothing to say, if it were the fashion for old people to curl their hair in long curls, for the old pictures look very fine so; but he who has no calves ought not to wear tight trowsers, and if a man's hair does not curl, he does better to keep it short. Our old Gottlieb's incongruous wig hung down, tanned by the sun, as if he had tied in a lot of rusty lath-nails, and because he had to oil it very liberally to keep it in its place, it ruined his coat-collar,--farther, it did not reach. Under this rich gift of nature, looked out an insignificant, pale face, which usually wore a melancholy expression, so that Bräsig was always asking him what shoemaker he employed, and whether his corns troubled him. The rest of his figure harmonized with this expression, he was long, and thin and angular; but the part devoted to the enjoyment of the good things of this world seemed quite wanting, and the place which this necessary and useful organ generally occupies was a great cavity, like Frau Nüssler's baking-tray, seen from the inside. He was really a natural curiosity for Bräsig, who ate like a barn-thresher, and couldn't help it. One would almost have believed that the Pietist was nourished in some other way than by eating and drinking. I have known people, and know some people still, whom I never could rival in this respect. It is true these candidates are often very thin, as one may see by the best of the Hanover candidates, who are so plenty among us; but when one gets a fat parish, he often begins to fill out, and so Bräsig did not give up the hope that Gottlieb might come to something, in time, though he puzzled his brains over him a great deal. This was the way Gottlieb Baldrian looked; but the picture would not be complete, if I did not say that over the whole was spread a little, little smirk of Pharisaism; it was a very little, but that Pharisee stuff is like a calf's stomach; with a little, little bit one can turn a whole pan of milk sour.
They sat down to dinner, and Jochen asked,--
"Where is Rudolph?"
"Good gracious, Jochen, what are you talking about?" said Frau Nüssler hastily, "you ought to know by this time, that he never in his life was in season. He has gone fishing; but if people won't come in time, they may go without their dinner."
The meal was a quiet one, for Bräsig did not talk, he lay in wait, with all his senses and faculties, and Frau Nüssler wondered in silence what could have so changed her little girls. They sat there laughing and whispering lightly to each other, and looking so happy, as if they were just awaked from a bad dream, and were rejoicing that it wasn't true, and that the sun shone brightly once more.
When dinner was over, Mining, whose turn it was to help her mother, in clearing up, tidying the room and making coffee, asked her sister, "Lining, where are you going?"
"I am going to get my sewing," said Lining, "and sit in the arbor."
"Well, I will come soon," said Mining.
"And I will come too," said Gottlieb slowly, "I have a book that I must finish reading to-day."
"That is right," said Bräsig, "that will be a devilish fine entertainment for Lining."
Gottlieb wanted to preach him a little sermon upon his misuse of the word devilish, but restrained himself, since he reflected that it would be thrown away upon Bräsig; so he said nothing, but followed the girls out of the room.
"Good heavens!" exclaimed Frau Nüssler, "what has happened to my children? I don't know what to make of it; they are one heart and one soul again."
"Keep quiet, Frau Nüssler," said Bräsig, "I will find out all about it, to-day. Jochen, come out with me; but don't go to talking!"
Jochen followed him into the garden. Bräsig took him under the arm. "Keep quite still, Jochen, and don't look round, and act as if we were taking a walk after dinner."
Jochen did so, very skilfully.
When they came to the cherry-tree before the arbor, Bräsig stopped.
"So, Jochen, now stoop over,--with your head against the tree."
Jochen would have spoken, but Bräsig pushed down his head.
"Keep still, Jochen,--put your head against the tree!" and with that he clambered up on Jochen's back. "So I now stand up! Sure enough, I can just reach,"--and he caught the lowest boughs, and pulled himself up into the tree. Jochen had said nothing as yet, but now he broke out:
"Bräsig, they are not ripe yet."
"Blockhead!" cried Bräsig, looking, with his red face among the green leaves, like a gay basket hung on the branches, "do you think I expect to pick Rhenish cherries on St. John's day? But you must go away now, and not stand there looking at me, like a dog that has treed a cat."
"Yes, what shall I do about it?" said Jochen, and left Bräsig to his destiny.
Bräsig had not long to watch, before he heard a light, quick, step on the gravel-walk, and Lining seated herself in the arbor, with a great heap of needle-work. If she meant to do all that to-day, she should have begun immediately; but she laid it on the table, rested her head on her hand, and, looking out into the blue heaven through Bräsig's cherry-tree, sat in deep thought. "Ah, how happy I am!" said the little, thankful soul, "my Mining is good to me again, and Gottlieb is good to me, else why did he keep touching my foot at dinner? and how Bräsig looked at me! I believe I turned quite red. Ah, what a good old fellow Gottlieb is! How seriously and learnedly he talks, how steady he is, the minister is clearly written on his face! He is not handsome, to be sure, Rudolph is much better looking, but he has something peculiar about him, as if he were ever saying, don't come near me with your pitiable, lamentable nonsense, I have higher thoughts, I am spiritually minded. But I will cut his hair for him, by and by."
It is a merciful providence that the little maidens are not all taken with a fine exterior, else we ugly fellows would be obliged to remain bachelors, and it would be a sad company, for what can be uglier than an ugly old bachelor?
In Lining's closing reflection--that she would cut Gottlieb's hair shorter--was implied such a confident hope, that she blushed to think of it, and, as she heard the gravel creak under slow, dignified steps, she seized her needle-work and begun to sew diligently.
Gottlieb came with his book, and seated himself about three feet from her, and began to read, but often looked off from his book as if he were turning over in his mind what he had just read, or perhaps something else. It is always so with the Pietist candidates, that is, when they have found their right calling, and sincerely believe what they preach to the people; before their examination they have none but spiritual thoughts, but after their examination worldly matters claim their share of attention, and instead of thinking of a parish they think first of a marriage. It was so with Gottlieb, and because, since his examination, no other girls had come in his way but Lining and Mining, and Lining had paid much closer attention to his admonitions than her light-hearted sister, he had happened upon the worldly thought of making her a pastor's wife. He was not very expert at the business, labouring, indeed, under great embarrassment, and had as yet gone no further than treading on her feet, a proceeding which he was quite as bashful in attempting, as Lining in receiving. He had decided, however, to open the matter in proper style, so he said, "Lining, I have brought this book out really on your account. Will you listen to some of it?"
"Yes," said Lining.
"It will be a tedious story," said Bräsig to himself. He did not lie on a bed of roses, up in the cherry-tree.
Gottlieb read an edifying discourse upon Christian marriage, how it should be thought of, and with what feelings entered into, and when he had finished, he moved a step nearer, and asked:
"What do you say to it, Lining?
"It is certainly very beautiful," said she.
"Marriage?" asked Gottlieb.
"Oh, Gottlieb!" said Lining, and bent lower over her needlework.
"No, Lining," said Gottlieb, moving up another step, "it isnotbeautiful. God bless you for it, that you have not placed a light estimate upon this important act of human life. It is terribly hard, that is in a Christian sense," and he gave her a fearful description of the heavy duties and troubles and cares of married life, as if he were preparing her for a residence at the House of Correction, while Bräsig, up in the cherry-tree, crossed himself, and thanked his stars that he had not entered on that sad estate. "Yes, Lining," said he, "marriage is a part of the curse, with which God drove our first parents out of Paradise," and he took his Bible, and read to the little girl the third chapter of the first book of Moses, till Lining trembled all over, and did not know where to go, for shame and distress.
"Infamous Jesuit!" exclaimed Bräsig half aloud, "to distress the innocent child like that!" and he was almost ready to spring down from the tree, and Lining would almost have run away, only that the book out of which he was reading was the Bible, and what was in the Bible must be good; she covered her face with her hands, and cried bitterly. He was now full of spiritual zeal, and threw his arm about her, saying, "I spare thee not, in this solemn hour! Caroline Nüssler, wilt thou, under these Christian conditions, be my Christian wedded wife?"
Ah, and Lining was in such a dreadful confusion, she could neither speak nor think, but only cry and cry.
Then resounded along the garden path, a merry song: