Bräsig had remained at the parsonage through the week. He made all the arrangements rendered necessary by such a change; he made out the inventory, wrote whole heaps of the drollest mourning letters, and carried them to the post himself, in spite of snow and cold and podagra; he settled with the tailor and shoemaker at Rahnstadt, and now, on the Monday after the funeral, he was sitting with the Frau Pastorin and Louise at the breakfast-table, intending to leave immediately after, when a carriage stopped before the door, and Franz von Rambow jumped down, and soon after, healthy and joyous, entered the room. But how his face changed when he saw the black mourning dresses of the two women. "Good heavens!" he exclaimed, in his first surprise, "what has happened? Where is the Herr Pastor?"
The little Frau Pastorin rose from her chair, and going up to the young Herr she gave him her hand, and said, with an effort, "My Pastor has gone a journey to his last home, and he left greetings for all, all"--here she was overcome, and put her handkerchief to her eyes, "all whom he once loved, you also."
And Louise came up, and gave him her hand, without speaking. The color had risen in her face, when she first saw and recognized him, but now she was composed again, and seated herself. And Bräsig shook hands, and talked of this and that, to turn their attention to other subjects, and away from their fresh grief; but Franz did not listen, he stood like one thunderstruck, the news was so unexpected, and fell so heavily upon his joyous hopes.
He had spent two years at the academy in Eldena, had been industrious, and had stored his mind with all the sciences which he would need in the widest field of agriculture, or which could assist him in his chosen calling; the practical part of it he had already acquired, under Habermann's instruction; he was now of age, and could take possession of his property, nothing stood in the way of his establishing a household, but his own consideration. This, and the late Pastor's quiet, sensible letters, which had carefully avoided the remotest question or allusion, and with all their joyous heartiness had showed so much intelligence and reason, had kept him from hasty steps and rash actions. He had not a cold heart, it beat as hotly in his breast as that of any other young man, who falls over head and ears in love at first sight, and at once offers his heart and his hand; but, from his childhood, he had been thrown upon his own judgment, and been accountable for his own actions, and had decided the smallest matters after much reflection,--some said too much reflection,--but it did no harm! In this matter he was right, he would take this important step in life with a warm heart, but with a cool head. He had restrained his heart, had locked all his sweet dreams of joy and happiness in his own breast, like the sweet kernel in a hard nut; he would not crack the nut for his mere pleasure, he would wait patiently, till favorable circumstances, like the sun and rain, should make the shell open gently of itself, and the green sprout should come to light, and a tree should grow from it, beneath whose shade he and his Louise might sit happily together. And when his heart beat faster, and urged him to visit her, and see her again, he strove against it, with a right feeling toward his maiden, she should not be troubled till she had time to learn and to comprehend herself; and he had a feeling of pride, that he would have no match-maker meddling with his happiness. And when his heart often bled in the conflict, he called to it, fresh and strong; "Hands off! We are playing no lottery, here! Such a gain is too easily won, and too easily lost. The reward shall pay for the trouble. No bitter, no sweet!"
But now he was of age, now he was in all respects a man, now his own pride and his honor toward the dearest, sweetest maiden in the world were to receive their reward, now the tender green of the sprouting kernel pushed through the softened shell, and through the dark earth, up to the light, and it was time to care for it, that the tree might grow; and it was not time, merely, it was also duty. Now he threw himself into his carriage, the strife between the cool judgment and the warm heart was at an end, the former he left at home, safely stowed away, so that it might not be lost, for he might need it afterwards, and the latter he took with him, and comforted and soothed it, and sung it sweet song all the way, as if it were a child in the cradle, and he the mother.
And now all this joy was gone, the songs of happiness and love had been sung in vain, between these two sorrowful, black-robed forms, his heart throbbed as restlessly as before, and though he had left his judgment at home, his kind feelings, his reverence for so great a sorrow, and his remembrance of the worthy, silent man, were too strong for him, and against such a power, no honest heart could strive; it surrenders, although with wounds and suffering. Love is full of selfishness, and knows no consideration for others, people say,--and there is truth in it! It is a world for itself, and goes its own way, as if it had no concern for anything else; but if it comes from God, its path is marked out by eternal laws, that it should do no injustice, nowhere give offence, and beam upon other worlds with its sweet, gentle light, like the evening star, when it sheds peace upon the weary heart.
Such was Franz's love, it could not offend, could not bring trouble upon others, it must comfort and heal; so he restrained his heart, and was silent, and when he took his leave of the parsonage, he felt like a wanderer, who has come, with labor and weariness, to the church tower, which beckoned to him in the distance, and when he reaches the first houses in the village, he finds that this is not the right place, and that the end of his journey lies far beyond; he takes one deep, refreshing draught, and travels sturdily on.
It was a lovely, bright winter's day as Franz walked towards Pumpelhagen, letting the carriage follow slowly behind him; Bräsig went with him. The young man was absorbed in his own thoughts, Bräsig quite the contrary, so they did not accord well together. Bräsig should have held his tongue instead of telling all the stories which haunted his brain, but it was one of Uncle Bräsig's happiest peculiarities, that he never observed when he was troublesome. At last, however, he became aware that the young Herr gave him no replies; he stood still, as it happened, in the very place where Axel had treated him so shabbily, and asked, "How? Am I perhaps an inconvenience to you? It has happened to me before, in this very place, with your gracious Herr Cousin; I can go on by myself, as I did then."
"Dear Herr Inspector," said Franz, grasping the old man's hand; "you must not be offended with me; the death of the good Pastor, and the sad change in the dear old parsonage, have affected me very deeply."
"So?" said Bräsig, pressing his hand, "if that is it, then I am not at all offended, and I always said also, to the Frau Pastorin and the little Louise, that you were an educated farmer, like the man in the book, since you keep kind feelings in your heart, and can look out for the good-for-nothing farm-boys; and I have always told Rudolph he should take you for a model. Do you know Rudolph?" And he began to tell about Rudolph and Mining, and Gottlieb and Lining, and brought the whole region into the story, and Franz compelled himself to listen attentively, so that before he reached Pumpelhagen, he knew all about everybody, even about Pomuchelskopp and his Häuning.
"So," said Bräsig, when they reached the court-yard, "you go now to your gracious Herr Cousin, and I to Habermann, and what I have said to you about Pomuchelskopp, and his secret projects must remainpræter propterbetween us, and you may rely upon it, I will keep watch of him, and if he attempts any more scurvy tricks I will let you know."
But Franz did not go into the manor house, he ran before Bräsig into the farmhouse, into the room where he had spent so many quiet, happy hours with his good old instructor, and he fell upon the old man's neck, and old and young lay in each other's arms, as if the time and the years between the two had been blotted out, and the old eyes grew moist, and the young cheeks took a fresher color, as if age were giving its dew and its blessing that youth might grow fresher and brighter. So it was, and so shall it ever be!
Then Franz went up to Fritz Triddelsitz, and offered his hand: "Good-day, Fritz!"
But Fritz had his pride, also, his burgher-pride, and he had also his revenge, the revenge which he had stamped into the pease-field, after the ditch-rendezvous, so he said, coldly, "How do you find yourself, Herr von Rambow?"
"Fritz, have you no sense?" said Franz, and turned away and left him, as if Fritz were an inexplicable riddle, and he would turn to something else; he shook hands with the two old men, and went to his cousin.
"Karl," said Bräsig, sitting down to the table, where the dinner stood ready, "an excellent young man, this Herr Von! And what a beautiful piece of roast pork you have here! I have seen no such roast pork, in seven cold winters."
The reception given Franz, by his cousin Axel, was cordial, and the joy he expressed was sincere, as might well be supposed, for the two cousins were the only male descendants of their race. Frida, whom Franz had previously met at her wedding, was particularly pleased with the kind-hearted, sensible young man, and did everything in her power to make his visit agreeable, and as Habermann, having given Bräsig his company a little way after dinner, was returning across the court, she sent out, and invited him in to coffee, believing rightly that it would please Franz. Upon this occasion, it came out that Franz had gone already to the farm-house, and had made his first call on the inspector. This annoyed Axel a little, he wrinkled up his forehead at the intelligence, and his wife, at least, noticed before long that he began to put on the master. This would have been a matter of indifference, if he had not been so unreasonable and unjust as to punish Habermann, by a cold, ceremonious manner, for the fault of Franz,--if it were a fault.
The company was not quite harmonious; every friendly word, which was exchanged between Habermann and Franz, disturbed Axel; he became stiffer and colder, and the whole conversation, in spite of the lovely warm sunshine which the young wife always diffused around her, was dropping to the freezing-point, when Habermann suddenly sprang up, went to the window, and, without a word, ran out of the room. Axel's face turned a dusky red with the anger that rose in him; "That is very strange behavior!" cried he, "the Herr Inspector seems to consider himself exempt from the ordinary rules of politeness.
"It must be something very important," said Frida, going to the window. "What is he doing to that laborer?"
"That is the day-laborer, Regel," said Franz, who was also looking out of the window.
"Regel! Regel!" said Axel, springing up, "that is the messenger that I sent to Rostock yesterday, with two thousand thalers in gold; he cannot be back so soon."
"That must be what has disconcerted the old man so," said Franz. "Only see, he is laying hands on the fellow! I never saw him so excited!" and he ran out of the door, and Axel after him.
As they came out the old inspector had seized the young, strong day-laborer in the breast, and shook him till his hat fell off into the snow.
"Those are lies!" cried he, as he shook him, "those are miserable lies! Herr von Rambow, this fellow has lost the money!"
"No, they took it from me!" cried the laborer, standing there, pale as death.
Axel also turned pale; the two thousand thalers should have been paid in Rostock, long ago, but he had delayed till the last moment, and then borrowed the sum of Pomuchelskopp,--and now it was gone.
"They are lies!" repeated Habermann, "I know the fellow. They took the money away from you by force? No ten fellows could take even a pipe of tobacco from you by force!" and he attacked him again.
"Hold!" cried Franz, coming between them. "Let the man just tell his story, quietly. How was it about the money?"
"They took it from me," said Regel. "As I was beyond Rahnstadt, this morning, near the Gallin wood, two fellows came toward me, and one of them asked me for a little fire for his pipe, and while I was striking it, the other seized me behind, by the belt, and pulled me off, and they took the black package out of my pocket, and then they ran off into the Gallin wood, and I after them, but I could not catch them."
"What is that?" interrupted Axel, "how did you come to be near the Gallin wood this morning? It lies only half a mile beyond Rahnstadt. Did I not charge you expressly, to get a pass from the burgomeister at Rahnstadt, and ride all night, so that the money might be in Rostock at noon to-day?" (This was the last day on which the note could be paid, it would otherwise be protested.)
"Yes, Herr," said the laborer, "I got the pass, and here it is," and he pulled it out of his hat band, "but to ride all the winter night was too much, and I stayed with my friends in Rahnstadt, thinking I could get to Rostock in time."
"Krischan Däsel!" called Habermann, across the courtyard. He had become perfectly composed, for it was merely the conviction that the laborer was lying to his face, which had roused the old man to such a state of excitement.
"Herr von Rambow," said he, as Krischan came up, "don't you wish the justice to be sent for?" and as Axel assented, he said, "Krischan, take two of the carriage horses, and put them to the chaise. You must bring the Herr Burgomeister from Rahnstadt; I will give you a letter to him. And you, Regel, come with me, I will show you a quiet place, where you can recollect yourself." With that, he went off with the day-laborer, and locked him into a chamber.
When Axel returned to the house with his cousin, he had an excellent opportunity to make the young man acquainted with his pecuniary embarrassments; but, although he knew that Franz could easily and willingly help him, he was silent. It is a strange but indisputable fact, that people who run in debt will turn sooner to the hard heart of the usurer, for assistance, than to the soft ones of friends and relatives. They are too proud to acknowledge their debts, but not too proud to beg and to borrow of the most good-for-nothing Jew money-lenders. But it is not pride, it is nothing but the most pitiable cowardice, which is afraid of the reasonable and well-meant remonstrances of friends and relatives.
So Axel was silent, and walked restlessly up and down the room, while Frida was talking with Franz over this singular occurrence. The business was a very serious one for him, the money must be procured, or he would be sued for it,--his note was probably already protested. He could no longer endure it; he ordered his horse, and, although it was growing dark, he went off for a ride,--so he said, at least,--but he went to Pomuchelskopp.
Pomuchelskopp listened to Herr von Rambow's troubles with a great deal of sympathy, and lamented the wickedness of mankind, and expressed the opinion that Herr von Rambow might as well have no inspector at all as one who had not understanding enough to choose a safe messenger on such an important business,--he would not say anything but there must be something behind; he would say nothing prematurely, but this much he would say, Habermann had always looked out sharply for his own interests, for example, there was the Pastor's acre; he had advised the late Herr Kammerrath to rent it, so that his own salary might be increased; but it was certainly an injury to the Pumpelhagen husbandry, as he could convince the Herr, and he inflicted upon Axel a long chapter of calculations which the latter did not attempt to follow, for, in the first place, he did not understand calculations, and secondly, he was absorbed, for the moment, in thoughts of his troubles. He said "Yes" to everything, and at last came out with the request that Pomuchelskopp should advance another two thousand thalers.
Pomuchelskopp hesitated a little at first, and scratched behind his ear, but at last said, "Yes;" on condition that Axel would not rent the Pastor's acre again, of the new Pastor. This might well have startled the young Herr, and Muchel was conscious of the danger, so he proved to him again, with figures, that it would be much better that the Gurlitz farm should undertake this lease, and that in this way both would be gainers. Axel gave but little attention, and finally consented to give the desired promise in writing; his difficulty was pressing, he must meet the first necessity, and he was just the sort of man to kill his milch cow, in order to sell her skin.
The business was now settled; Axel wrote his bond, and Pomuchelskopp packed up the two thousand thalers, and sent it, with a letter from Axel, by his own servant, to Rahnstadt, to the post. That was the best way; no one in Pumpelhagen need know anything about it. As Axel rode home, he repeated two lies to himself, until he really believed them; first, that Habermann alone was properly to be blamed for the loss of the money, and second, that he ought to be glad to get rid of the Pastor's acre.
Meanwhile, the Rahnstadt burgomeister, who was Axel's magistrate, had arrived at Pumpelhagen, bringing Herr Slusuhr, the notary, as his recording clerk.
The man had acted very discreetly; as soon as he had read Habermann's letter, he had sent policemen round to all the alehouses and shops, where laborers resorted, to inquire whether and when the day-laborer Regel, of Pumpelhagen, had been there, and in this way he found out enough to assist him in the examination. The laborer had come to him, yesterday afternoon, about four o'clock, and had got his pass made out; he had showed him the package of money,--the gold was sewed in black-waxed cloth,--and the burgomeister had looked at it closely enough, to see that the seal had not been tampered with. The man had told him,--he was on the whole, rather talkative,--that he should travel all night; it was pretty hard, to be sure, at this time of year; but the man was a strong, hearty fellow; it would be no darker, for the snow made it light, and, towards midnight, the moon rose; so he had advised him to set off immediately. This however, as he had ascertained, he had not done, he had gone into several ale-houses, and treated himself to liquor; even by nine o'clock he was not out of Rahnstadt, he had stopped before a shop, and drank brandy, and bragged, and talked of his great sum of money, had also showed the packet to the shopman. Where he had stayed, afterwards, he did not know; but so much seemed to be certain, the man was grossly intoxicated; and the justice now asked Axel and Habermann, whether the fellow were in the habit of drinking.
"I do not know," said Axel; "in these particulars, I must rely upon my inspector."
Habermann looked at him, as if this speech seemed to him a very strange one, and he would have said something about it; but he merely remarked to the burgomeister that he had never noticed anything of the kind, or even heard of it; Regel was always the soberest fellow on the place, and in that respect he had no complaints to make of any of the people.
"May be," said the burgomeister, "but it wasn't quite right with the man; there is always a first time,--he had certainly been drinking before he came to me. Let his wife come in."
The wife came. She was a young, pretty woman; it was not long since she had been running about, a young girl, as fresh and bright as only our Mecklenburg country girls can be, but now sickness had washed off the maiden roses from her cheeks, and household labor had made the soft, rounded outlines a little angular,--our housewives in the country grow old early,--moreover she wore mourning, and was trembling all over, with anxiety.
Habermann pitied the poor woman, he went up to her, and said, "Regelsch, don't be afraid; just tell the truth about everything, and it will all come right again."
"Good Lord, Herr Inspector, what is this? What does it all mean? What has my husband done?"
"Just tell me, Regelsch, does your husband often drink more brandy than he can carry?" asked the justice.
"No, Herr, never in his life, he drinks no brandy at all, we don't keep it in the house; only at harvest time, he drinks a glass, when it is sent down from the manor house."
"Had he drank any brandy, yesterday, when he left home?"
"No, Herr! He ate something first, and then he started off, about half past two. No, Herr,--but wait, wait! No, I did not see him, but yet--oh, Lord, yes! Last evening, when I went to the cupboard, the brandy-bottle was empty."
"I thought you didn't keep any brandy in the house," said the burgomeister.
"No, we don't; but this was a little of the funeral brandy; we buried our little girl last Friday, and there was some left over. Ah, and how he grieved! how he grieved!"
"And do you think your husband drank it?"
"Yes, Herr, who else should have done it?"
The evidence was recorded, and Regelsch was dismissed.
"So!" said Slusuhr in an insolent way to Axel, and winked towards the burgomeister, "we have got at the brandy, if we could only get at the money!"
"Herr Notary, write!" said the burgomeister, quietly and with dignity, and pointed with his finger to his place: "The day-laborer, Regel, is brought in, admonished to tell the truth, and gives evidence."
"Herr Burgomeister," said Axel, springing up, "I don't see what this brandy story has to do with my money. The fellow has stolen it!"
"That is just what I want to find out," said the burgomeister, very quietly, "whether he has stolen or, more properly, embezzled the money, and whether he was altogether in a condition to do such a thing," and going up to the young Herr he said, very kindly, but also very decidedly, "Herr von Rambow, a thief, who intends to steal two thousand thalers, does not begin by getting drunk. Moreover, I must tell you, that as a magistrate, I have to consider not only your interests, but also those of the accused."
The day-laborer, Regel, came in. He was deadly pale; but the distress which he had shown in his whole manner, before the old inspector, in the afternoon, had left him, he looked almost like old oaken wood, into which no worm ventures.
He acknowledged that he had drunk the brandy at home, more yet in Rahnstadt, and that he had been with the shopkeeper, about nine o'clock; then he had spent the night with his friends, in Rahnstadt, and about six o'clock had started for Rostock; but there he stuck to his story: by the Gallin wood, two fellows had attacked him, and taken the money by force. While the last of his deposition was being taken down, the door opened, and the laborer's wife rushed up to her husband,--for police-laws are not very strict, in our primitive Mecklenburg tribunals,--and grasped his arm: "Jochen! Jochen! Have you made your wife and children unhappy forever?"
"Marik! Marik!" cried the man, "I have not done it. My hands are clean. Have I ever, in my life, stolen anything?"
"Jochen!" cried the wife, "tell the truth to the gentlemen!"
The laborer's breast throbbed and his face flushed a deep red, but in a moment he was as deadly pale as before, and he cast a shy, uncertain glance at his wife: "Marik, have I ever, in all my life, stolen or taken anything?"
The wife let her hands fall from his shoulder: "No, Jochen, you have not! You have not, truly! But you lie, you have often lied to me." She put her apron to her eyes, and went out of the room. Habermann followed her. The day-laborer, also, was led away.
The burgomeister had not disturbed the interview between the man and wife,--it was not in order, but it might furnish him a clue, by which he could draw the truth to light. Axel had started up at the woman's words, "You lie, you have often lied to me," and walked hastily up and down the room; his conscience smote him, he did not exactly know why, this evening, he only knew that he also had never stolen or taken anything, but he had lied. But so it is with the soul of a man who is not sincere, even at the moment when his conscience troubles him, he lies again, for his own advantage.Hiscase was quite a different one from the laborer's; he had only told a few falsehoods, for the benefit of his wife, that she might not be disturbed, the laborer had lied to conceal his guilt. Yes, Herr von Rambow, only keep on like that, and the devil will surely, in time, reap a fine harvest!
Slusuhr had finished his writing, and again went boldly up to Axel:
"Yes, Herr von Rambow, he who lies will steal."
That was an infamous speech, to a man in Axel's present humor, and when he knew, also, how near Slusuhr's business came to stealing; he was not merely astonished, he was terrified at the fellow's impudence. He might not have been so, if he had known what people said about the notary.
People used to say, that the Herr Notary's father had wished to sell him, when a little boy, to the Grand Duke of Mecklenburg, as a runner, and with this design had taken him to the Herr Doctor and Surgeon Kohlman, at New Brandenburg, to have his spleen cut out, so that he could run the better; but the Herr Doctor, who knew everything else, and claimed to have been appointed by the Lord Minister of the Supreme Wisdom for New Brandenburg, had, in an unfortunate moment, when his eyes were a little dim, cut out the conscience, instead of the spleen, so that Slusuhr had to journey through life, with a spleen, and without a conscience, and not as a runner, but as a notary.
There was nothing more for the magistrate to do at present; the witnesses, and the friends of the laborer, who had last seen him, were not at hand, and the burgomeister gave orders that the prisoner should be kept under guard, for this night, at Pumpelhagen, and taken to Rahnstadt the next day.
"He shall be put under the manor house, in the front cellar," said Axel to Habermann, who had come in again.
"Herr von Rambow," said Habermann, "Isn't it better to leave him in the chamber at the farm-house? There are iron bars--"
"No," said Axel, sharply, "there are iron bars in the cellar, too; I wish to avoid collusions, which might take place at the farm-house."
"Herr von Rambow, I am a very light sleeper, and if you wish it, I can have another person to watch at the door."
"What I have ordered, I have ordered. The business is of too much importance, for me to trust to your light sleep, and to a comrade of the rascal's."
Habermann looked at him inquiringly, and said, "As you command," and went out.
It was nearly ten o'clock, the supper table had long been waiting, Marie Möller was scolding because the baked fish would be cooked to death, Frida was also annoyed over the long delay of the supper, and only through her conversation with Franz was able to muster a little patience, when the gentlemen came in, after the trial. Frida went up to the burgomeister, in her bright way: "Isn't it so? He hasn't stolen the money?"
"No, gracious lady," said the burgomeister, with quiet decision, "the day-laborer has not stolen it, but it has been stolen from him, or he has lost it."
"Thank God!" cried she, out of a full heart, "that the man is no thief! The thought that we had dishonest people on the place, would have been dreadful!"
"Do you think that our people are bettor than all others? They are just such a set as on any other estate, they all steal," observed Axel.
"Herr von Rambow," said Habermann, who had also come in to supper, "our people are honest, I have been here long enough to be fully convinced of it. No thieving has occurred, during the whole time."
"Ah, so you have always said, and now we have this,--now we have this! My foolish credulity had cost me two thousand thalers. And if you knew the people so well, why did you send this particular man?"
Habermann looked at him in astonishment. "As it seems," said he, "you wish to put the blame upon me; but if there has been a fault in the matter, I do not take it upon myself. It is true," he added hastily, and his face flushed with anger, "I sent this man; but only because you had employed him constantly as a messenger, in carrying money; he has already been sent by you more than ten times to Gurlitz, and the Herr Notary, here, can testify how often he has been to him on such errands."
Frida looked hastily over to Slusuhr, upon these words, and the Herr Notary had turned his eyes towards her; they said nothing, but, different as their thoughts were, it seemed as if each had read the very soul of the other. Frida read, in the secret, malicious joy in the notary's eyes, that he was the chief enemy of her happiness, and the notary read, in the dear, sensible eyes of the young wife, that she was the chief obstacle in the way of his and Pomuchelskopp's plans. Axel would have given a hasty answer to Habermann's words, but he held his peace when he saw the old man's steadfast gaze, and then Frida's questioning glance resting upon him. Slusuhr was also silent, and lay in wait; he was the only one who could see through the thorn-bush, which was growing in this garden, and now he lay behind the thorn-bush, and watched, to see if a hare would not run in his direction.
The justice and Franz were the only ones who had no suspicion of the disturbance caused by Habermann's hasty words, and they alone carried on the conversation at table. When the company rose from the table, they separated; the justice remained through the night.
All were asleep in Pumpelhagen, only two married couples were still waking; one couple was the Herr von Rambow and his wife, the other was the day-laborer, Regel and his wife. The one pair sat close together, in a warm room, and the night was so silent about them that one might well have a desire to open his heart, and find courage to speak the truth. But it was not so. Frida begged her husband earnestly to confide in her, she knew already that he was in great pecuniary embarrassment; they would retrench, but the dealings with Pomuchelskopp and Slusuhr must be given up; he should talk with Habermann, he would show him the right way.
Everything went by halves with Axel, he did not exactly lie, but neither did he tell the truth. That he was in temporary embarrassment, he would not deny; when a man had two thousand thalers stolen, he might well be embarrassed; he had exchanged nothing as yet, had also been able to sell nothing,--that he had sold a fine crop of wheat, in anticipation, and got the money for it, he did not tell her. His dealings with Pomuchelskopp and Slusuhr--he said nothing about David--could do him no harm, those were old, made up stories,--he did not speak of the new loan from Pomuchelskopp,--and the people were prejudiced against him; as for Habermann,--and here he became excited for the first time,--he could not consult about money matters with his inspector, it was not suitable for him, as master. Axel did not exactly tell falsehoods, and when he put his arm around her, and said that it would all come right again, he said what at the moment he believed to be the truth. She left him with a heavy heart.
The other pair were not sitting in a warm room; the laborer lay in the cold cellar, and his wife crouched on her knees outside, before the cellar-window, in the fine, cold November rain; they were not close together, an iron grating divided them. "Jochen," whispered she, through the broken window-panes, "tell the truth."
"They took it from me," was the reply.
"Jochen, who?"
"Eh, do I know?" said he, and it was the truth; he did not know who the woman was who had taken the black packet, in broad daylight, and on the public road, out of his waistcoat pocket, as he, not yet recovered from the intoxication of yesterday, and having just taken a couple of glasses on an empty stomach, was tumbling along towards Gallin. He did not lie, but he could not tell the truth; how could he confess that from him, a young, strong fellow, a woman had taken the two thousand thalers, on the open street? He could not do that, if it should cost him his life.
"Jochen, you are lying. If you will not tell me the truth, tell it to our old inspector."
No, to him, of all others, he could not tell the truth, for he had promised him he would not lie any more, and he had admonished him so earnestly,--he could not tell him.
"Marik, get me my chisel, and a couple of thalers in money."
"Jochen, what are you going to do?"
"I will go away."
"Jochen, Jochen! and leave me here, with the poor little ones?"
"Marik, I must go; it will never go well with me here again,"
"Jochen, tell the truth, and it will be all right."
"If you don't bring me the chisel and the money, I will take my life, this very night!"
And here, also, there was much begging and pleading and talking, as there was upstairs in the warm room, but the truth would not come out, no more here than there, it was kept back, here as there, by the shame of confessing inconsiderate and disreputable actions, and here, also, the wife left her husband with a heavy heart.
The first thing next morning came the news, setting all Pumpelhagen in an uproar, that the day-laborer, Regel, had broken out, and run away. The justice made preparations to have him arrested again, and rode off, homewards, with the Herr Notary. Axel was in a rage,--no one knew why; but it was with himself; and because he could shove the blame upon nobody else, for he himself had given orders that the man should be locked up in the cellar.
After breakfast came Pomuchelskopp, to inquire about the matter, of which he had heard, as he said. Franz greeted him coldly, but so much the warmer was Axel's reception. He knew well how to talk of the matter, the laws were too easy towards these low fellows, and the burgomeister at Rahnstadt was much too good to the rascals; he told thief-stories, out of his own experience and that of his acquaintances, and finally said that he believed, like Habermann, that the fellow had not done it. "That is to say," he added, "not of his own accord, he can merely have been the tool of another, for no day-laborer would venture to steal two thousand thalers which had been entrusted to him; there must be a cleverer rogue in the background. And therefore," said he, "I advise you, Herr von Rambow, to have an eye on the people who may have assisted his flight, and especially on those who take his part."
Axel's feelings, through the loss and through his anger, were like freshly prepared soil, and whatever seed fell therein, even were it darnel and cockles, must sprout up finely. He walked up and down the room; yes, Pomuchelskopp was right, he was a practical old fellow, who knew the world, that is to say, the agricultural world; but who could have been concerned with Regel in such a business? He knew of no one. Who had taken Regel's part? That was Habermann, he had said expressly, from the first, that he must have lost the money. But he had been so angry with the fellow, at the first news. Well, that might all have been acting! And why had he been so anxious to have the laborer close by his room, in the chamber? Perhaps that he might have intercourse with him, perhaps that he might be better able to help him off.
For an intelligent man, these were very stupid thoughts, but the devil is a cunning fellow, he does not seek out the prudent and strong, when he wishes to sow darnel and cockles in the fresh furrow, he takes the foolish and weak.
"What is the Herr Inspector doing with that woman?" asked Pomuchelskopp, who had stepped to the window.
"That is Regelsch," said Franz, who stood near him.
"Yes," said Axel, hastily, "what has he to do with her? I must find out."
"That is very singular," said Pomuchelskopp.
Habermann stood in the yard, with the laborer's wife, apparently persuading her to something; she resisted, but finally yielded, and came with him towards the manor house. They entered the room.
"Herr von Rambow," said Habermann, "the woman has confessed to me that she helped her husband away in the night."
"Yes, Herr," said the woman, trembling all over, "I did it, I am guilty; but I could not do otherwise, he would have taken his life else," and the tears started from her eyes, and she put her apron to her face.
"A pretty story!" said Axel, coldly,--and he was usually so kindhearted--"a pretty story! This seems to be a regular conspiracy!"
Franz went up to the woman, made her sit down, and inquired, "Regelsch, didn't he confess to you what he had done with the money?"
"No, young Herr, he told me nothing, and what he said was false; I know that; but he hasn't taken it."
"How came you," said Axel roughly to Habermann, "to be questioning this woman without my orders?"
Habermann was startled at this question, and still more at the tone in which it was expressed; "I believed," said he, quietly, "that it would be well to find out how and when the prisoner got away, in order to obtain some hint of his present place of concealment."
"Or perhaps to give some!" exclaimed Axel, and turned quickly about, as if he had done something which might cost him dear. The result was not quite so bad as he had reason to fear, for Habermann had not understood the meaning of his words, he heard merely the tone, but that was enough to lead him to say, with serious emphasis, "What you mean by your words, I do not know, and it is a matter of indifference to me; but the manner and tone in which you have spoken to me, last evening and this morning, are what I will not take from you. Yesterday I was silent, out of consideration for the gracious lady, but in the present company"--here he glanced at Pomuchelskopp--"I need not exercise such consideration," and with that he left the room. The laborer's wife followed him.
Axel was going after him; Franz stepped in his way: "What are you going to do, Axel? Recollect yourself! You are in fault, you have bitterly wronged the old man, as he evidently thinks."
"That was a bold move," said Pomuchelskopp, as if he were talking to himself, "that was a bold move, for an inspector," but he must be going home, he said, and called, out of the window, for his horse. He had got things started finely.
The horse was brought, Axel accompanied his Herr Neighbor out of the door; Franz remained in the room. "Certainly a very good man, your Herr Cousin," said Pomuchelskopp, "but he does not know the world yet, does not know yet what is proper for the master, and what for the servant." With that, he rode off. Axel came back into the parlor, and threw the cap, which he wore because the morning was cold, into the sofa corner, exclaiming, "Infamous cheats! The devil take the whole concern, if one can no longer rely upon anybody!"
"Axel," said Franz, going up to him kindly, "you do your people great wrong, you do yourself wrong, dear brother, if you cherish such an unjust hatred in your benevolent heart."
"Unjust? What? Two thousand thalers have been stolen----"
"They are lost, Axel, through the inconsiderate fault of a day-laborer."
"Oh, what,lost!" exclaimed Axel, turning away, "you come with the same story as my Herr Inspector!"
"Axel, all intelligent people are of this opinion, the burgomeister himself said--"
"Don't talk to me of that old nightcap! I should have conducted the examination myself, then we should have come to quite a different conclusion, or if I had only got hold of the woman first, this morning, her story would have been quite another thing; but so? Oh, it is all a contrived plot!"
"Listen to me, Axel, you have made that allusion once before," cried Franz sharply and decidedly; "fortunately, it was not understood; now you make it for the second time, and I, for my part, must understand."
"Well, then you may understand that it is not made without sufficient grounds."
"Can you make such a declaration to your own conscience? Would you, in your unjust excitement and with wanton cruelty, cast such a stain upon sixty years of honorable life?"
This touched Axel, and cooled him off a little, and he said peevishly, for his unnatural excitement was wearing off, "I have not said that he has done it; I only said he might have done it."
"The suspicion," said Franz coldly, "is as bad as the other, as bad foryourselfas for the old man. Remember, Axel," said he, impressively, laying his hand on his cousin's shoulder, "how long the old man has been, to your father and yourself, a faithful, upright steward! To me," he added, in a lower tone, "he was more, he has been my friend and teacher."
Axel walked up and down, he felt that he was wrong,--at least, for the moment,--but to confess, freely and fully, that he had endeavoured to shove off the blame of his own foolishness and untruthfulness upon another was too much, he had not the clear courage to do it. He began to chaffer and bargain with himself, and availed himself of the expedient which the weak and dishonest are always ready to employ,--he carried the war into the enemy's camp. In every age, up to the present time, truth is yet sold, in a weak human soul, for thirty pieces of silver.
"Oh, toyou!" said he, "he would like to be still more to you."
"What do you mean?" asked Franz, turning round on him sharply.
"Oh," said Axel, "nothing more! I only mean you may call him 'Papa,' by and by."
There was an unworthiness in this speech, in the intention to offend the man who had been firm enough to tell him the truth. Franz flushed a deep red. His deepest, holiest secret was brought to light, and in this insulting manner! The blood rushed to his face; but he restrained himself, and said, shortly:
"That has nothing to do with the matter."
"Why not?" said Axel. "It at least explains the warmth with which you defend your Herr Habermann."
"The man needs no defence of mine, his whole life defends him."
"And his lovely daughter," said Axel, striding up and down, in great triumph.
A great passion rose in Franz's soul, but he restrained himself, and asked, quietly, "Do you know her?"
"Yes--no--that is to say, I have seen her; I have seen her at the parsonage, and she has often been here, with my wife, and my wife also has visited her. I know her merely by sight; a pretty girl, a very pretty girl, 'pon honor! I was pleased with her, as a child, at my father's funeral."
"And when you learned, that she was dear to me, did you not seek a nearer acquaintance?"
"No, Franz, no! Why should I? I knew, of course, that nothing serious could come of such an attachment."
"Then you knew more than I."
"Oh, I know more still, I know how they set traps and snares for you, and were always contriving ways to catch you."
"And from whom did you learn all this? But why do I ask? Such childish gossip could have been hatched in but one house, in the whole region. But since we have mentioned the matter, I will tell you frankly, that I certainly do intend to marry the girl, that is, if she does not refuse me."
"She would better beware! She would better beware!" exclaimed Axel, springing about the room, in his anger. "Will you really commit this folly? And will you give me this affront?"
"Axel, look to your words!" cried Franz, whose temper was getting the upper hand. "What business is it of yours?"
"What? Does it not not concernme, as the oldest representative of our old family, if one of the younger members disgraces himself by amésalliance."
Yet once more Franz restrained himself, and said:
"You yourself married from pure inclination, and without regard for subordinate matters.
"That is quite another thing," said Axel, with authority, believing now that he had the advantage. "My wife's family is as good as mine, she is the daughter of an old house; your beloved is the daughter of my inspector, adopted out of pity and kindness, by the Pastor's family."
"For shame!" cried Franz, passionately, "to make an innocent child suffer for a great misfortune!"
"It is all the same to me," roared Axel, "I willnotcall my inspector's daughter cousin; the girl shall never cross my threshold!"
All the blood which had rushed through Franz's veins and flushed his face, a moment before, struck to his heart; he stood pale before his cousin, and said in a voice, which trembled with intense excitement:
"You have said it. You have spoken the word which divides us. Louise shall never cross your threshold, neither will I."
He turned to go; at the door he was met by Frida, who had heard the quarrel in the next room: "Franz, Franz, what is the matter?"
"Farewell, Frida," said he, hastily, and went out, towards the farm-house.
"Axel," cried Frida, running up to her husband, "what have you done? What have you done?"
"I have showed a young man," said Axel, striding up and down the room, as if he had fought a great battle with the world-out-of-joint, and made everything right again, "I have showed a young fellow, who wanted to make a fool of himself over a pretty face, his true standpoint."
"Have you dared to do that?" said Frida, sinking, pale, into a chair, and gazing with her great, clear eyes at her husband's triumphal march through the room, "have you dared to thrust your petty pride of birth between the pure emotions of two noble hearts?"
"Frida," said Axel, and he knew very well that he had done wrong, and his conscience smote him, but he could not confess it, "I believe I have done my duty."
Any one may notice, if he will, that the people who never in their lives do their duty always make the most use of the word.
"Ah!" cried Frida, springing up, "you have deeply wounded an upright, honest heart! Axel," she begged, laying her folded hands on his shoulder, "Franz has gone into the farm-house, follow him, and repair the injury you have done! Bring him back to us again!"
"Apologize to him, in the presence of my inspector? No, rather not at all! Oh, it is charming!" and he worked himself again into a passion, "my two thousand thalers are stolen, my inspector finds fault with me, my Herr Cousin stands by his dear father-in-law, and now my own wife joins herself to the company!"
Frida looked at him, loosened her hands, and, throwing a shawl over her shoulders, said, "If you will not go, I will," and went out, hearing him call after her, "Yes, go! go! But the old sneak shall clear out!"
As she crossed the court, they were bringing round Franz's carriage, and as she entered the inspector's room Habermann had just been saying to the young man, "Herr von Rambow, you will forget it. You have spent your life hitherto, in our small circle; if you travel,--as I should think advisable,--then you will have other thoughts. But, dear Franz," said the old man, so trustingly, in his recollection of earlier times, "you will not disturb the heart of my child?"
"No, Habermann," said Franz, just as the young Frau entered the room.
"Good heavens!" cried Habermann, "I have forgotten something. You will excuse me, gracious lady!" and he left the room.
"Always considerate, always discreet!" said Frida.
"Yes, that he is," said Franz, looking after the old man. The carriage drove up, but it was kept waiting; the two had much to say to each other, and, when at last Franz got into the carriage, Frida's eyes were red, and Franz also dashed away a tear.
"Greet the good old man for me," said he, "and greet Axel, also," he added, in a lower tone, as he pressed her hand.
The carriage drove off.