But--as I have said--the new year 1844 had come, and the winter was over, and spring stood at the door, with leaves and grass and flowers, only waiting a nod from the master of the house to begin her decorations; and, as the snow and ice disappeared from the earth, men's hearts were softened, and their eyes grew bright, like the sunshine that lay upon the world.
Old Habermann's eyes, also, grew clearer, and his heart became lighter, and as he worked in the fields in the spring sunshine, and sowed the summer seed in the dark ground, the Lord was sowing his sad heart with fresh hopes. His master had gone with his young wife to visit her relatives, so he could govern his realm after his own pleasure, and he could see his daughter more frequently than in the winter. This very morning he had spoken with her, when he went to church, and now he was sitting comfortably in his parlor, in the afternoon, thinking of various matters; no one disturbed him, for Fritz was in the stable with his mare, which was very agreeable for the old man, since he always knew where he was to be found, which, formerly, had not always been the case.
"Good day, Karl!" said Bräsig, coming in at the door.
"What?" cried Habermann, springing up, "I thought you had the Podagra, and I was just wishing I could go over to see you to-day; but the Herr is not at home, and Triddelsitz is not to be depended upon in these days----"
"No, what ails him?"
"Oh, his old mare is going to have a colt."
"Ha, ha!" cried Bräsig, "and it will be a thorough-bred, and the young Herr is to buy it."
"Yes, it is so. But have you had the Podagra, or not?"
"Karl, it is impossible to tell, in this confounded disease, whether it is the proper Podagra, or not. Really, it is all the same, so far as the torment is concerned; but in respect to the causes there is a great difference. You see, Karl, you get the Podagra by good eating and drinking, that is the proper kind; but if you get it only from these infamous, good-for-nothing, double-sewed wax-leather boots, that is the improper kind, and that is what I have."
"Yes, why do you always wear the old things, then?
"Karl, I used to wear them because of my relations with the count, and I cannot throw them away. But what I was going to ask--have you been at the Pastor's to-day?"
"Yes."
"Well, how is it there?"
"Ah, it looks badly, the old Herr is very weak: when he came out of the pulpit the sweat ran down his cheeks, and it was a long time before he got rested, lying on his sofa."
"Hm! hm!" said Bräsig, shaking his head, "I don't like that; but, Karl, he is getting into years."
"That is true," said Habermann, thoughtfully.
"How is your little girl?" asked Bräsig.
"Thank you, Zachary, she is very well, thank God! She was here last week,--I had no time to spare, I must be out sowing peas, but the gracious lady had seen her, and kept her, and she stayed here until evening.
"Karl!" cried Bräsig, springing up, and walking back and forth, and biting off in his excitement, the knob from the point of his pipe, "you may believe me or not,--your gracious lady is the chief production of the whole human race."
Habermann rose also, and walked up and down, and every time that they met each other, they smoked more violently, and Bräsig asked, "Am I not right, Karl," and Habermann replied, "You are right, Zachary." And who knows how long they would have ruminated upon this topic, if a carriage had not driven up, from which Kurz and the rector descended.
"Good day! good day!" cried Kurz, as he entered the room, "see there, see there, there is the Herr Inspector. Well, how goes it, old friend? Habermann, I came about that clover seed."
"Good day," said Rector Baldrian, to Bräsig, drawing out the word "day," as if the day were to last forever, "how goes it with you, my honored friend?"
"Very well," said Bräsig.
"Habermann," exclaimed Kurz, "Isn't it so? Capital seed!"
"Why, Kurz," said Habermann, "the seed wasn't quite ripe. I tried it on the hot shovel, and if it is the right kind, the kernels will spring up, like flies, from the shovel, but here many kernels lay still."
"You don't look quite so blooming, my honored friend," said the rector to Bräsig, "as at the time when we drank punch together, at the betrothals."
"There is reason for that," said Habermann, throwing his arm over Bräsig's shoulder, "my old friend has bad a touch of Podagra again."
"Yes, yes," laughed the rector, growing quite merry:
"Vinum the father,And cœna the mother,And Venus the nurse,Produce the Podagra."
"Vinum the father,And cœna the mother,And Venus the nurse,Produce the Podagra."
"The seed is beautiful!" cried Kurz, "you will find no better between Grimmen and Greifswald."
"Ho, ho, Kurz," said Habermann, "not go fast! I have a word to say----"
"Listen to me!" said Bräsig, across to the rector. "Don't come near me with your French! I don't understand it. What did you say about Fenus? What have I, and my cursed Podagra, to do with Fenus?"
"My honored friend and benefactor," said the rector, with unction, "Venus was, in antiquity, the goddess of love."
"It is all one to me," said Bräsig, "she might be something very different, for all I care,--now-a-days, every stupid sheep-dog is called Fenus."
"No, Habermann," cried Kurz, again, "if the clover seed has the right lustre, and looks so violet-blue, then----"
"Well, Kurz," said Habermann, "yours didn't look like that."
"My benefactor," said the rector again, to Bräsig. "Venus was, as I have said, a goddess, and as a sheep-dog----"
"Eh, what?" said Bräsig, "you must have imagined all that, about the goddess, Fenus means a sort of bird. Karl, don't you remember the stories we read, when we were children, about the bird Fenus?"
"Ah!" said the rector, as light dawned upon his mind, "you mean the bird Phœnix, which builds itself, in Arabia, a nest of costly spices----"
"That is an impossibility!" exclaimed Kurz. "How can the most skillful bird build a nest out of cloves, pepper-corns, cardamoms and nutmegs?"
"Dear brother-in-law, it is only a fable."
"Then the fable is a falsehood," said Bräsig, "but I don't think you pronounce the word rightly; it isn't Phœnix, it is Ponix, and they are not birds, they are little horses, and they don't come from Arabia, but from Sweden, and Oland, and I know them very well, for my gracious lady the countess had two Ponixes, which she used to drive for pleasure."
The rector wanted to set him right, but Kurz interrupted: "No, brother-in-law, let it go! We all know that you are better informed than Bräsig, in such learned matters."
"No," said Bräsig, "let him come on!" standing before the rector, as if he had no objections to a contest.
"No, no!" exclaimed Kurz. "We didn't come out here, to quarrel about Venuses and clover-seed; we came merely to have a pleasant game of Boston."
"We can have that," said Habermann, beginning to clear the table.
"Hold, Karl," said Bräsig, "I don't like to see you doing that, that is the house-steward's business." And with that he roared across the court, "Triddelsitz!" and Fritz came running in. "Triddelsitz, we are going to play Boston, get the table ready, and a sheet of paper to set down the winnings, and fill the pipes, and make a handful of matches."
And when Fritz had made ready, they sat down, and prepared to begin. They must first decide how high they would play. Kurz was for playing Boston grandissimo, for shilling points; but Kurz was always very venturesome; that was a little too high for the others, and Bräsig declared that he wouldn't sit down to play, to get people's money out of their pockets. At last, through Habermann's interposition, they settled what the game should be, and were ready to begin.
"Who has diamonds?" asked the rector; "he deals."
"Kurz deals," said Bräsig.
So now they could finally begin; but they did not begin, quite yet, for the rector laid his hand on the cards, and said, looking around the circle, "It is worthy of note! We are all pretty reasonable men, and we are going to play a game, namely the game of cards, which, according to authentic information, was invented for the entertainment of an insane king. King Charles of France----"
"Come, children," said Kurz, taking the cards out of the rector's, hand, "if we are going to play, let us play, if we are going to tell stories, we will tell stories."
"Go ahead!" cried Bräsig, and Kurz dealt,--made a misdeal, however in his haste, so "Once more!" This time it was all right, and they began to look at their cards. "I pass," said Habermann, who had the lead. Then it came to the rector; they had to wait for him a little, because he had not yet arranged his cards, for he had a superstition that the cards were better if he took them up, one by one, and because he improved all his opportunities with great conscientiousness he arranged all his cards in order of rank and turned the sevens and fives so that he could see the middle spot, and not mistake them for the sixes and the fours. Kurz, meanwhile, laid his cards on the table, folded his hands over them, looked at him and sighed. "I pass," said the rector.
"I knew you would," said Kurz, for he knew that his brother-in-law must examine his cards closely, before he would commit himself, and, on the other hand, he was afraid of his assisting, because usually he either had nothing, or if he had something, he played it the wrong time.
"Pass!" said Bräsig, whose turn came next.
"Boston grandissimo!" said Kurz. "Who assists?"
"Pass!" said Habermann.
"Dear brother-in-law," said the rector, "I--one trick--two tricks--well I shall find a third--I assist."
"Well," said Kurz, "but we don't pay together. Each pays for himself."
"Come, Karl," said Bräsig, "Out with it! We will break their fiddle in two."
"Well," said Kurz, "don't talk about it."
"God forbid," said Habermann, and led the ten of hearts: "Duke Michael fell upon the land."
"Come, Herr Oberförster," said the rector, playing the knave of hearts.
"Herze mich und küsse mich, und krünkle meine krause nich,"[5]said Bräsig, playing the queen.
"That maid must have a man," said Kurz, playing the king, and, laying the trick aside, he led a low club (kreuz). "Kreuz Kringel und Zweibach!"[6]
"Bite, Peter, they are lentils!" cried Bräsig to Habermann.
"Hold!" cried Kurz, "no telling!"
"God forbid!" said Habermann, and played also a low club.
"A fine singer is our sexton," said the rector, playing the nine.
"A cross and strife, a wicked wife, the Lord hath sent upon me," said Bräsig, and took the trick with the queen.
"Well," said Kurz, "that was a heavy cross, to be sure. What have you next?"
"Pay attention, Karl, now we begin our journey," said Bräsig. "Herr," to Kurz, "I was whist. Here! Pikas was a pointer," and led the pik-as (ace of spades), and followed with the king,--"Long live the king!" and then the queen,--"Respect for the ladies!"
"Good heavens!" cried Kurz, laying down his cards, and looking at the rector, "what a hand! He can't have any more spades."
"Dear brother-in-law," said the rector, "I come yet."
"But too late," said Kurz, taking up his cards, with a deep sigh, as if the rector had treated him unworthily, but he would bear it like a christian.
"Karl," said Bräsig, "how much have we in all?
"Four tricks," said Habermann.
"Come," said Kurz, "that is not fair, no telling!"
"Is it telling," said Bräsig, "when I merely ask a question? Now pay attention, Karl, I shall take one more, and if you take one, then we are out."
"I shall get mine," said Kurz.
"And I shall get mine, too," said the rector.
After a couple of rounds, Kurz laid his hand over his tricks: "So, I have mine." Diamonds were on the table, the rector ventured a cut with the queen, Bräsig followed with the king, and the poor rector had lost his trick: "How that could happen, I cannot comprehend!"
"It wasn't a whist game!" cried Kurz.
"Karl," said Bräsig, "if you had been careful, they would have lost another trick."
"You must blame yourself for that, you didn't play after me in hearts."
"Karl, did I have any? I had nothing but the queen."
"No, brother-in-law," cried Kurz, meantime, "you threw away the game, you had the king of clubs, and you played the nine. It lost the game."
"What would you have?" said Bräsig, with great contempt. "Are you a dunce? Here I sit with a handful of spades, and a couple of queens besides; what would you have?"
"Herr, do you think, when I have said Boston, I am afraid of your trumpery queens?"
"Come, come!" cried Habermann, dealing the cards, "let it go, this old after-play is disagreeable."
In this fashion, they played on, and it seemed as if they would tear each other's hair, and yet they had the best feelings towards each other. The rector won, and he had the best prospect of winning, for he who loses the first game, as is well known, always wins afterward. Kurz sat disconsolate at his bad luck; but that also often finds compensation. "Ten grandissimo!" said he. All were surprised, even he himself, and he looked his cards through once more. "Ten grandissimo!" said he again, laid the cards on the table, and walked up and down the room: "They play like that in Venice, and other great watering places."
In the midst of his greatest triumph, and the greatest distress of the others, Fritz Triddelsitz came to the door, looking quite disturbed and pale: "Herr Inspector, Herr Habermann, oh, do come out here!"
"Good heavens!" exclaimed Habermann, "what has happened?" and was springing up, but Kurz held him back.
"No," said he, "the game must be played first. It happened so to me, once before, at the time of the great fire, I had just put a grand on the table, and they all ran away."
"Herr Inspector," begged Fritz, "you must come."
"What is it?" cried Habermann, dropping his cards, and jumping up. "Is anything on fire?"
"No," stammered Fritz, "I--me--something has happened to me."
"What has happened to you?" said Bräsig, across the table.
"My chestnut mare has a colt," said Fritz, in an anxious tone.
"Well, that has often happened," said Bräsig, "but you make a face like a funeral; it is rather a joyful occasion, under the circumstances."
"Yes," said Fritz, "but--but--it is so queer. You must come with me, Herr Inspector."
"Why, is the colt dead?" asked Habermann.
"No," said Fritz, "it is well enough; but it looks so queer. Krischan Däsel says he should think it was a young camel."
"Well," said Habermann, "we can finish the game afterwards, we will go out with you."
And in spite of Kurz's remonstrances, they all went with Fritz to the stable.
"I never saw such a colt," said Fritz, on the way, "it has ears as long as that," measuring from the wrist to the elbow.
When they came to the stable, there stood Krischan Däsel by the enclosure, where the mare was looking fondly at her little one, and whinnying over it, and the little one was making its first attempts at springing about; he shook his head, and said to Bräsig, who came and stood by him, "Now tell me, Herr Inspector, did you ever see the like of that?"
"Yes," said Bräsig, looking at Habermann, and said with emphasis, "I will tell you, Karl, what sort of an animal it is. Fullblood's colt is a mule."
"That is it," said Habermann.
"A mule?" cried Fritz, and he sprung over into the enclosure, and succeeded, in spite of the whinnying of the old mare, in grasping the colt by the neck, and examined his face and eyes and ears, and as the fearful truth flashed upon him he exclaimed, in fierce anger, "Oh, I could wring the creature's neck, and Gust Prebberow's, into the bargain!"
"For shame, Triddelsitz," said Habermann, seriously, "just see how pleased the mother is, even if it isn't a thorough-bred."
"Yes," cried Bräsig, "and she is the nearest to it, as the Frau Pastorin says. But you may wring Gust Prebberow's neck, for all I care, for he is an out-and-out, double-distilled rascal."
"How is it possible!" said Fritz, as he slowly stepped out of the enclosure, and his wrath had given place to a great melancholy; "he is my best friend, and now he has cheated me with a deaf horse and a mule. I will sue him."
"I told you before, there was no friendship nor honesty in horse-dealing," said Bräsig, taking Fritz under the arm, and drawing him out of the stable, "but I am sorry for you, in your just retribution. You have bought your experience in horse-dealing, and that is what every one must do, but let me warn you against a horse lawsuit, for long after the mule is dead such a lawsuit will be far from ended. You see," he went on, leading Fritz up and down the court, "I will tell you a story, for an example. You see, there was old Rütebusch, of Swensin, he sold a horse to his own brother-in-law, who was inspector here before Habermann's time, an infamous creature of a dapple-gray, as a saddle-horse. Good, or, as you are in the habit of saying, 'Bong!' Three days after, the inspector wishes to try his new acquisition, so he climbs on to the creature, which was very high; but scarcely was he seated, when the old schinder ran off to the village pond--no stopping him!--and there he stood, up to the neck in water, and would move neither back nor forward.
"It was fortunate, both for the dapple-gray and the inspector, else they might both have been drowned; the inspector roared mightily for help, for he couldn't get down there, and he couldn't swim, and old Flegel the wheelwright had to come to his rescue in a boat. Well, then the lawsuit began, for the inspector said the horse was a stupid, what we farmers call a studirten (scholar), and Rütebusch must take him back, for stupidity protects from everything, in horse-dealing as in other matters. Rütebusch wouldn't do it, and the two brothers-in-law first had a falling out, and then quarrelled so bitterly, that they wouldn't go within three miles of each other.
"The lawsuit went on, all the time. All Swensin was called up to testify that the creature was in its right mind when they knew it, and the Pumpelhagen people had to swear that it appeared to them like a studirten. So the lawsuit went on, into its fifth year, and the creature stood quietly in its stable, eating oats, for the inspector never got on it again, since he considered it such a dangerous animal; he dared not kill it, either; for it was thecorpus delictiof the whole concern, as they call it. They brought the most learned horse-doctors to see it, but it did no good, for they were not agreed, three said it was clever, and three said it was stupid. The lawsuit was going on, slowly, all the time, and a whole brood of new lawsuits was hatched out of it, for the learned horse-doctors charged each other with maliciousness and ill-breeding, and sued each other for libel. Then they wrote to a celebrated horse-professor, in Berlin, to see what he thought of the business. He wrote back that they must cut off the old schinder's head, and send it to him, till he could examine the brains; it was hard enough to tell whether a reasonable being was clever or stupid, but it was harder, with an unreasonable beast, because the poor creature had nothing to say for himself.
"Well, that might have been done, but old Rütebusch and his lawyer opposed it, and carried their point, and the suit went on again. Then old Rütebusch died, and six months afterwards, his brother-in-law died also, and they never were reconciled, even on their death-beds, and went into eternity, each obstinate in his own opinion, the one that the old schinder was clever, the other that he was stupid. The lawsuit was suspended, for the time, and soon died out of itself, for the old gray kicked the bucket, three weeks later, out of pure idleness and over-feeding. Then they salted his head nicely, and sent it to the professor, at Berlin, and he wrote back, clearly and distinctly, that the old horse had, all his life, been as little of a studirten as himself, and he only wished that every one of the lawyers had as much intelligence as the beast, so very reasonable had his brains appeared. And the man was right; for I afterwards had the infamous rascal of a boy, who brought out the horse for the inspector, for a servant, and he confessed to me that he had tied a piece of burning tinder under the poor creature's tail, out of pure deviltry, because the inspector had given him a beating the day before. And I ask any reasonable being, how intelligent must not that poor beast have been, to run into the village pond, to extinguish the fire! And so the great lawsuit came to an end; but the little lawsuits, between the learned horse-doctors, are still going on. And now, let me tell you something: Habermann is a good friend of old Prebberow, the rascal's father, and he shall speak to him, and get justice done you. And now you may go, and don't cherish any hatred against the innocent little beast, or against the mother, for they couldn't help it, and the mother is a poor, deceived creature, as well as you."
With that, he followed the others, who had returned to the card-table.
"Come, come!" said Kurz, "so; ten grandissimo! I play myself."
"Karl," «aid Bräsig, "you must talk with old Prebberow, and not let your confounded greyhound get into difficulties."
"I will do so, Zachary, and it shall all be made right; but I am sorry for the poor boy, that he should be so disappointed. Who would have thought of a mule!" (maulesel.)
"I observe," said the rector, laying the cards, which he had arranged in order of rank, upon the table, "that you all speak of this little new-born animal as a maulesel, while according to the natural history use of language, it should be called a maulthier. The difference is----"
"Don't bore us with your natural history!" cried Kurz. "Are we playing natural history, or are we playing cards? Here, ace of diamonds lies on the table!"
Well, there was no help for it, they suited and suited, and Kurz won the game, and with it the right to boast, for four weeks, of his ten grandissimo.
So they played on, in friendly excitement, until the rector, looking over the account, became aware that he had won, in all, three thalers and eight groschen, and since the luck was going rather against him of late, he resolved to stop; so he rose, and said his feet were getting cold, and put his winnings in his pocket.
"If you suffer from cold feet," said Bräsig, "I will tell you a good remedy; take a pinch of snuff every morning, on an empty stomach,--that is good for cold feet."
"Eh, what!" cried Kurz, who had been winning lately, "how can he get cold feet?"
"So?" said the rector, hotly, for he was determined to retain his winnings, "haven't I as good a right to cold feet as you? Don't you always get cold feet, at our club, when you have had good luck?" and he carried it out, he kept his cold feet, and his winnings, and after a little while the two city people drove off, taking Bräsig with them.
Habermann was just going to bed, when there was a loud talking and scolding before the door, and Fritz Triddelsitz and Krischan Däsel came in.
"Good evening, Herr Inspector," said Krischan, "it is all the same to me."
"What is the matter now?" asked Habermann.
"Herr Inspector," said Fritz, "you know how it has gone with--well, with the mule, and now Krischan won't have the beast in the stable."
"What has happened?" said Habermann.
"Yes, Herr, it is all the same to me. But this isn't all the same, I have been used to horses and colts, and not to camels and mules. Why, Herr Triddelsitz might as well bring bears and monkeys into the riding-stable!"
"Well, but if I tell you so, the beastshallstand in the stable, and you shall take just as good care of it as of any other colt."
"Yes, if you command me, then it is all the same to me, and then it shall always be so. Well, good night, Herr Inspector, and don't take it ill of me," and he went off.
"Herr Habermann," said Fritz, "what will Herr von Rambow say to this accident? and the gracious lady too?"
"Make yourself easy, they will not trouble themselves much about it.
"Well," said Fritz, and went out of the door, to go to bed, "it is too provoking, that this should have happened to my mare."
When the Herr came home from his journey, he got the story of the chestnut mare fresh from Krischan, and because he was a good-natured man, and liked Fritz, since in some respects they were a good deal alike, he comforted him and said, "Never mind! This does not interfere with our bargain. You must think that it is only the natural result of amésalliance. We will put the mare and the colt into the paddock, by and by; and you will see they will give us a great deal of pleasure."
It was really so; every one found amusement in the little beast. When the village children strolled through the fields, on Sunday afternoons, they would go to the paddock, and gaze at the little mule: "See, Joching, there he is." "Yes, that is a nice one! See, how he pricks up his ears!" "Now look, see him kick!"
When the maids passed the paddock, on the way to the milking shed, they also stopped: "See, Stina, there is Herr Triddelsitz's mule!" "Come, Fika, let us go round that way." "Not I, what a horrid-looking creature!" "You need not call him horrid, he gives you the least trouble of any of them."
And through the whole region, the mare and the mule and Fritz were renowned, and wherever the latter showed himself he was asked after the welfare of the mule, to his great annoyance. The little old donkey, however, was not at all troubled, he ran about in the paddock all summer, with the other well-born and high-born colts, and, if any of them came too near him, he knew how to stand up for his rights.
This was a very favourable year for Pumpelhagen; and when the harvest came, and the prices of grain went up, Axel von Rambow was relieved from all his anxieties and embarrassments.
He made calculations, and was quite sure, reckoning the rape at such a figure, and the profit of the sheep and of the dairy-farm at so and so much, that, with the quantity of wheat he should have, he could pay the last dollar of his debts. The devil must be in it, if he didn't finish this year, completely out of debt. There was good reason why this year should be prosperous, he had been himself at Pumpelhagen, he had concerned himself in the management of affairs, and every one knows that the eye of the master is for husbandry what the sun is for the world, everything grows and ripens in its light, and the grass grows green beneath the master's tread. So Axel took the gifts and mercies of the Lord coolly out of his hands, and gave himself the credit of the blessed year,--even the high price of grain seemed to him a deserved reward for his industry.
So he sat on his high horse, and although he found it for the moment a little difficult to meet the necessary expenses of the estate, and to pay the notes held by David and Slusuhr, as they fell due, yet it gave him no uneasiness, for he had gained great credit, in the region, for his intelligent and industrious management, as he inferred from the fact that Pomuchelskopp had several times taken occasion to offer him money. He had accepted it, without reflection, to satisfy David and Slusuhr, and he paid them with Pomuchelskopp's money, and they paid it again to Pomuchelskopp, and he again to Axel, and so it went round the circle. This arrangement would have been very fine, if he had not been the only one to suffer by it, and if Pomuchelskopp had not had the inconvenience of unpacking the rouleaux, every time, lest Axel should notice that he got his own money again. But this was unavoidable, unless Pomuchelskopp would come out from his cover, under which he lay in wait for Pumpelhagen; so he yielded to the necessity, especially since he found the business so amusing.
Axel also took pleasure in this business, for he always had money to supply his necessities, and the amount that he gave for it seemed to him quite insignificant, since it had never occurred to him to reckon the interest for a whole year. He also thought seriously of introducing great improvements upon the estate. It is an old story, though a sad one, that these young masters, who understand nothing properly about farming, are always introducing improvements, whereby they ruin themselves in the speediest manner. I mean, particularly, with the live stock. Why is this so? I think it is mainly because the young masters have very little trouble in procuring a new bull or a pair of new-fashioned rams, and because the laws of cattle-breeding are so plainly laid down, that the stupidest person can discourse wisely about them. They need only to shove aside the experience of years, and that is not hard for them, and then they stand there, with their young heads, as important as the old people with their gray ones.
Upon the Pumpelhagen estate, there was a dairy-farm, of Breitenburg cows, which the old Kammerrath had purchased with Habermann's assistance, and upon Habermann's recommendation. Something new must be done here, so Axel journeyed to Sommersdorf, in Pomerania, where there was a cattle-auction, and bought, upon Pomuchelskopp's advice, a wonderful Ayrshire bull. Why? Well, firstly, because he was handsome, secondly, because he came from Scotland, and, thirdly, because he was something new. There was a flock of sheep on the estate, of the Negretti-stock, which yielded a great deal of wool, and were always profitable, but Pomuchelskopp,as he said, had got a thaler and a half more the stone, at the wool-market, so the young Herr let himself be persuaded into buying of his neighbor, for ready money, a pair of very fine Electoral rams. That he could estimate the value of them and reckon it against Pomuchelskopp, to his great advantage, did not occur to him; he had enough else to think of.
Habermann strove, with all his might, against these new arrangements, but in vain; in the eyes of his young Herr he was an old man, who had fallen astern and could not keep up with the times; and although the old man based his opposition on very strong and reasonable arguments, he had always the same answer: "But, good heavens! we can at least try it;" not thinking that, in some things, trying and ruining are the same. The inspector could do nothing, and was only thankful his master had not taken to raising thorough-bred horses, which was the business he detested, of all others. The young wife also, could prevent nothing; she did not know the manner in which Axel relieved himself from his difficulties,--without being an indifferent observer, she must judge by what she saw, and this was just at present with Axel great contentment and golden prospects.
In Gurlitz, also, Pomuchelskopp and his Häuning were in a state of great, though not strictly speaking, family contentment; but this they did not expect, in their modesty, no, they were contented with the smooth progress of the money business, And their prospects became, literally, more and more golden, for the boundary between Pumpelhagen and Gurlitz was growing more and more undefined, and Pomuchelskopp, meanwhile, had only the unpleasant task of clipping his Häuning's wings, lest she should positively fly over the hedge, and scratch for worms on the other side.
In Jochen Nüssler's house, the old lady Contentment had established herself comfortably on the divan, and, if one had spoken of golden prospects there, it must have been in the sense in which the poets speak of the "golden morning sky," not because they think that the glow of the morning sky is like the glitter of gold, but only that they know nothing more beautiful than the latter, possibly because they see it so seldom. Gottlieb was getting rid of his long-haired, Pietistic ways, and beginning to look at the world with his natural eyes, instead of through the blue spectacles he had acquired at Erlangen, or elsewhere.
To Bräsig's joy, he played Boston--very badly; he had been on horse-back once, and had fallen off, without getting hurt, and when he came to Jochen Nüssler's harvest feast, though he did not exactly dance, that is to say, openly, before all the people, he had practised a Schottische with Lining in the parlor, and, at its close, had sung with a clear though rather plaintive voice, "Vivallera!"
But Rudolph? Well, we will only repeat what Hilgendorf himself said to Bräsig about him: "He, Bräsig? Just as I was, true as I live! Bones like ivory! Just looks at a thing, and knows how, just as I used to! And books? Won't touch 'em! Just like me!"
Frau Nüssler was happy in the happiness of her children, and young Jochen and young Bauschan sat together peacefully, for hours, without saying a word, and thought of the time when they should have a new crown-prince, young Jochen Rudolph, and young Bauschan the seventh. That was not exactly a morning sky, but for moderate people, like Jochen and Bauschan, an evening sky often looks golden.
So in every house, in the whole region, there was happiness for each after its kind, but in one house, where Peace had long been an inmate, and had sat in his own place by the warm stove, in winter, and under the lindens before the door, or in the arbor in the garden, in summer, like a good old grandfather, and had kept a watchful eye upon little Louise's joyous bounds, and had guided the Frau Pastorin's duster, and kept the Herr Pastor's papers in order, the good old grandfather was no longer there,--he had silently taken his leave, and had shut the door softly behind him, and was gone to the place whence he came; and, in his stead, unrest and anxiety had entered, for the good old Pastor was daily growing weaker. He was not confined to a sick-bed, and had no particular disease, and Doctor Strump, of Rahnstadt, with the best intentions in the world, could find, out of the three thousand, seven hundred, seventy and seven diseases which humanity is subject to, by good rights, no single one which suited him. So he must minister to himself, and he did so, for good old grandfather Peace, when he took his departure, had laid his hand on the Pastor's head, saying, "I go, but only for a short time; then I will return to thy Regina. Thou dost not need me, for I entered thy heart years ago, in the solemn hour when thou didst choose between God and the world. Now sleep, for thou mayest well be weary."
And he was weary, very weary. His Regina had placed him on the sofa, under the picture-gallery, according to his desire, that he might look out of the window; his Louise had covered him warmly, and they had both gone out on tiptoe, that they might not disturb his repose. Out of doors, the first snowflakes of the winter were falling from the sky, gently, ever gently; and it was as quiet without as within, as within his heart; and it seemed to him as if the outstretched hands of Christ beckoned and pointed,--no one saw it, but so his Regina afterwards explained the matter,--and he got up, and opened his old chest of drawers, which he had from his father, and which his mother had always polished, herself, and had seated himself in the arm-chair before it, wishing once more to look over things which he had valued so much.
The chest was his cabinet of curiosities, for everything that had been important or remarkable in his life had its memento here; it was his family medicine chest, in which he stored his remedies for the troubles and cares of this world, which he used when he was sick at heart; simple remedies, but they always answered the purpose. They were not put up in vials and bottles and boxes, and no labels were fastened on them; they were merely plucked by his hand, in happy hours, and preserved for use. Everything, by which he could recall to his memory the purest joys of his life, was gathered here, and whenever he was sad, he refreshed his soul with them, and he never closed the old chest without deriving strength from his remedies, and expressing gratitude for them. There lay the Bible, which, when a boy, he had received from his father, there was the beautiful crystal glass, which his best friend had given him, when he left the University, there was the pocket-book, which his Regina had embroidered for him, when they were betrothed; there were sea-shells, which a sailor, whom he once directed into the right way, had sent to him, years after; there were little Christmas and New Year notes, from Louise and Mining, and Lining, which they had indited with infinite labor, and also their first attempts at needlework; there was the withered bridal-wreath worn by his Regina on their wedding-day, and the great silver-clasped, pictorial Bible, Habermann's gift, and the silver mounted meerschaum pipe, Bräsig's gift, upon his seventy-fifth birth-day. In the cupboard underneath, were old shoes; the shoes which Louise and Regina and himself had worn, when they first entered the Pastor's house.
Old shoes are not beautiful, but these must have been very dear to him, for he had taken them out, and placed each pair by itself, and looked long at them, and thought much, and then he had taken his first Bible upon his lap, and opened at our Lord's Sermon on the Mount, and read therein. No one saw him, to be sure, but it must have been so; his Regina knew very well how it all happened. And then he grew weary, and laid his head back against the chair, and fell softly asleep.
So they found him, and the little Frau Pastorin sat down by him in the chair, and put her arms around him and closed his eyes, and laid her head against his, and cried silently, and Louise threw herself at his feet, and folded her hands upon his knees, and looked, with tearful eyes, at the two dear, still faces. Then the little Frau Pastorin folded down the leaf in the Bible, and took it gently out of his hand, and she rose up, and Louise rose also, and clung about her neck, and they both broke into loud weeping, and sought protection and comfort in each other, until it grew to be twilight. Then the little Frau Pastorin took the Pastor's boots and her shoes, and put them back into the cupboard, saying, "I bless the day, when you came together into this house;" and Louise put her little shoes beside them, saying, "And I the day, when you first crossed the threshold," and then they locked up the chest, with all its joys.
After three days, good Pastor Behrens was buried, in his churchyard, in a place which he had selected, during his life, which one could see, through the clear panes of glass, from the living-room of the parsonage, and upon which fell the first beams of the morning sun.
The funeral guests had departed, Habermann also had been obliged to go; but Uncle Bräsig had explained that he should spend the night at the parsonage. Through the day, he had lent a helping hand, and now, as he saw the two women standing at the window, arm in arm, lost in sorrowful thoughts, he stole softly out of the room, up to his sleeping-chamber, and looked, through the twilight, over to the churchyard, where the dark grave lay in the white snow. He thought of the man who lay beneath it, how often he had extended the hand, to help and to counsel him, and he vowed to repay the debt he owed him, with all his might, to the Frau Pastorin. And underneath, in the living-room, stood the two bereaved women, also looking over at the dark grave, and vowing silently, in their hearts, each to the other, all the love and friendship, which he had so often enjoined, and so constantly practiced. And the little Frau Pastorin thanked God and her Pastor that she had so sweet a comforter in her sorrow as she held in her arms, and she stroked Louise's soft hair, and kissed her again and again; and Louise prayed to God and her other father, that she might be endowed with all that was good and lovely, that she might lay it all in her foster-mother's lap.
Fresh graves are like hot-beds, which the gardeners plant; the fairest flowers spring out of them; but poisonous toadstools shoot up, also, from these beds.
That same evening, two other people in Gurlitz, were standing at a window, and looking through the panes, in the twilight,--not at the God's acre, that was far from their thoughts, no, at the Pastor's acre,--and Pomuchelskopp said to his Hänning, now they could not fail, now the field fell out of the lease, now they would have it, he would speak to the new Pastor about it, before his appointment.
"Muchel," said Hänning, "the Pumpelhagen people will never allow it, they will not let that field slip out of their fingers."
"Häuning, out of their fingers? I hold it in my own hands."
"Yes, if the young Herr must accommodate you; but how if we should get a young priest here, who will farm it himself?"
"Klücking, I don't recognize you, my dear Klücking! We have the choice; we will choose a Pietist. That kind are all taken up with their Bibles and Psalm-books and tracts, and have no leisure for farming."
"Yes, but you don't choose alone, there are Pumpelhagen, and Rexow, and Warnitz."
"Klücking, Warnitz and Rexow! What can they do against. Pumpelhagen and Gurlitz?--If the Pumpelhagen people and my people agree----"
"Don't trust to your people, you will get nothing but vexation. Don't you know how the Pastor's wife treated you? and she can do anything she pleases with the villagers, they stick to her like burs."
"Can't I get her out of the way? She shall move out of the village! There is no Pastor's-widow-house here, and am I likely to build one? Make the most of your meal, Frau Pastorin, you will have to go further!"
"Kopp, you are a great blockhead! The election of the new Pastor comes first." With that she left him.
"Klücking," he called after her, "I promise you, dear Klücking, I will make it all right."
Yes, many a poisonous weed grows out of a fresh grave, when the heirs reach out impatient hands for the money and goods of the silent man, when a neighbor profits by the distress of the widow and orphan to make his own house and garden and fields larger and finer, and when the coarse fellow sits in his comfortable sofa corner, and grumbles at it, as a great trial, that he must go out to water a new milch cow.