Young Jochen sat in his chimney-corner smoking. Young Bauschan lay under his chair, but with his head far enough out to look at young Jochen. Young Jochen looked at him, but said nothing, and Bauschan said nothing.
It was very quiet and peaceful, in the Rexow house, on this December afternoon; there was only one thing which rattled and creaked, that was Frau Nüssler's arm-chair, in which she sat by the window; and every time that she took up a stitch, it made a note of it; for which it should not be blamed, for she squeezed it without mercy, since she had become, with time, what one calls a stout woman. But, to-day, the old chair creaked more than usual, for Frau Nüssler had been knitting, in deep thought, and her thoughts became more and more earnest, and oppressed her soul, and the chair and its creaking became louder and louder. "Dear heart!" said she, laying her knitting in her lap, "why must it be so, in this world, that one's misfortune should be another's happiness! Jochen, do you know what I have just thought of?"
"No," said young Jochen, and looked at Bauschan; Bauschan didn't know, either.
"Jochen, what would you think, if Gottlieb should offer himself for the Gurlitz parish? Gottlieb is but a farthing candle, compared with our old Herr Pastor; but somebody must get the parish, why not he as well as another?"
Jochen said nothing.
"If Pomuchelskopp is against him, and our people and the Warnitzers in his favor, it will depend merely on the Pumpelhagen Herr. What do you say, Jochen?"
"Yes," said Jochen, "it is all as true as leather;" and, because the matter interested him uncommonly, he spoke further, and said, "what shall we do about it?"
"Ah," said Frau Nüssler, "there is no use in talking to you. I wish Bräsig were only here, he could give us advice," and she resumed her knitting.
"Well," she exclaimed, half an hour later, "speak of the wolf, and he is not far off; there comes Bräsig, driving up the yard. And who has he with him? Rudolph,--now just think of it, Rudolph! Why should Rudolph come to-day? Jochen, now do me a single favor,--the old fellow is doing so nicely,--don't go and distress him with your foolish chatter!" With that she ran to the door, to receive her guests.
But she had delayed too long over her preface, for, as she came out, Mining lay in Rudolph's arms.
"Preserve us!" cried Frau Nüssler, "softly, Mining!" and she led Rudolph into the living-room.
"Well," said Jochen, "Bräsig, sit down a little! Rudolph, sit down, too!"
But that was not so easily done. Rudolph had too much to arrange with Mining and Lining, to be in haste to sit down, and Bräsig's head was going round like clock-work, and he trotted up and down the room, as if his legs were the pendulums, to keep the machinery running.
"Young Jochen," said he, "have you heard the news? They haven't caught him."
"Whom," asked Jochen.
"Good gracious, Jochen," said Frau Nüssler, "let Bräsig tell. You are always interrupting people so; let him speak! Bräsig, whom haven't they caught?"
"Regel," said Bräsig; "they tracked him to Wismar, but there they found themselves too late, since he had gone off a week before, on a Swedish oakum ship, and is up in the Baltic sea."
"What a trouble this is for my brother Karl!" sighed Frau Nüssler.
"Frau Nüssler, you are right there; Karl is hardly to be recognized, for he has completely insulated himself, and is surrounded with gloomy thoughts. The business troubles him dreadfully, not on his own account,--no! only on his young Herr's account, for you shall see, the young man must, sooner or later, declare himself insolvent."
"That would kill Karl!" cried Frau Nüssler.
"How can you help it?" said Bräsig. "The young nobleman is ruining himself with his eyes open; he is beginning now the higher style of horse-breeding. For, as I learned from old Prebberow, he has become intimate with Lichtwark, and has bought an old thorough-bred horse, which has got spavin, and swelled sinews, and in short, the whole band in his legs, and he has bought a thorough-bred mare, and he is going to buy Triddelsitz's old, deaf granny, and establish a complete horse-hospital. He has got the little mule too, and I am glad of that, for it is the only sensible creature in the whole company."
"Well, never mind him, Bräsig, he must run his risk," said Frau Nüssler; "but Jochen and I were just talking about the young Herr--Mining, you can take Rudolph out a little while! And Lining, you can go with them!"--and when they were gone she said, "Bräsig, it is about the Gurlitz living. If Gottlieb could only get it!"
"Frau Nüssler," said Bräsig, bringing his pendulums to a stop, and standing before Frau Nüssler, as if the clock had struck, "what you have said is an idea, and nobody in the world is so quick at conceiving ideas as the women folks. Where did you get this idea?"
"Entirely by myself," said Frau Nüssler, "for Jochen does not agree with me, as he used to; he is always contradicting."
"Jochen, keep perfectly quiet!" said Bräsig. "You are wrong, for this opinion of your dear wife is a reasonable one. I will answer for Warnitz; the people will choose my candidate, even if the gracious count and countess should oppose; you for Rexow, young Jochen; Pomuchelskopp won't do it, out of spite; but no matter, it depends on Pumpelhagen. Who shall talk to the young nobleman about it? Habermann? He stands on his apropos with him, just at present. I? Worse, if anything, for he has insulted me. Young Jochen himself? I wouldn't trust young Jochen, he has got into the way of talking too much lately. Gottlieb? A good fellow, but a sheep's-head. Then who? Rudolph! An infernal scoundrel, as Hilgendorf has just written me. Rudolph must go, and you, Frau Nüssler, must go with him, on account of the family connection, that the young fellow may leguminiren."
"Good heavens!" cried Frau Nüssler, "shall I go to see the young Herr!"
"No," said Zachary Bräsig, "you go to the young Frau, and Rudolph to the young Herr. Where is Rudolph? Rudolph must come in immediately."
Rudolph was quite ready to undertake the errand for his cousin Gottlieb, and it was settled that, the next day, he should drive with his aunt to Pumpelhagen.
It so happened; but when the deputation drove up to the manor house, Herr von Rambow was not at home, he had gone out riding; so they were announced to the gracious lady, and met with a very friendly reception.
"Gracious lady," said Frau Nüssler, going up to the young Frau, in her truehearted way, without many compliments, "you will not take it unkindly, if I speak Platt-Deutsch; I know a little High German; but it is almost nothing. We are old-fashioned people, and I always say a bright tin plate pleases me better than a silver one which is tarnished."
Frida herself took off the good Frau's wrappings, and pressed her to sit down by her on the sofa; she motioned Rudolph to a chair, and would have seated herself again, but she was held back by Frau Nüssler, who said to her, quite confidentially:
"You see, gracious lady, this is a nephew of mine, who is going to be my son-in-law; he is a son of Kurz the merchant, in Rahnstadt, with whom you have traded."
Rudolph bowed, as was his place, and the young Frau, with her bright ways, soon made an end of the introduction, and got Frau Nüssler seated on the sofa.
"Yes," said the stout lady, "he has studied too, but he didn't go very far; but now that he has become a farmer, he is doing finely, as Hilgendorf has written to Bräsig."
That was all very fine for Rudolph; but it annoyed him to be talked about, so he interrupted Frau Nüssler.
"But, dear aunt, you don't want to tell about me, you want to tell about Gottlieb."
"Yes, gracious lady, that is properly my errand; you see, I have still another, who is also to be my son-in-law, also a nephew, Rector Baldrian's son, in Rahnstadt, who has studied regularly, and learned everything that he ought, and can be a pastor any day. Now our good old Herr Pastor has gone to heaven,--ah gracious lady, what a man he was!--and you cannot blame me, if I have the wish to keep my Lining in the neighbourhood, and that Gottlieb should get the parish."
"No, dear Frau Nüssler," said Frida, "I do not blame you, and if it depended on me, your future son-in-law should, by all means, have the presentation, on our side; I have heard so much good of you and your daughters."
"Have you really?" asked Frau Nüssler, warmed to the heart. "Yes, they are dear, good little girls!" she exclaimed.
At this moment, footsteps were heard outside, and Herr von Rambow, who had returned from his ride, came in. The young wife undertook the introductions, and Axel looked uncommonly grave, at the names. Rudolph was not disconcerted, however; he had a fine trump to play, which he did not mean to stake for nothing; he went up to the Herr, and said:
"Herr von Rambow, may I be allowed a few words with you in private?"
Axel went with him into the next room.
"Herr von Rambow," said Rudolph, "the week before last, you lost two thousand thalers in gold,--as you have said, all in Danish double louis-d'ors; the day-laborer made his escape, and it seems that he will not be easily retaken; but they are on the track of the money."
"What?" cried Axel. "How do you know that?"
"Since yesterday afternoon, I know that the trial-justice, the burgomeister, at Rahnstadt, has obtained a very clear indication in this direction. I was with my father, in his shop, when a woman came in, a weaver's wife, who is suing for a divorce from her husband, and wanted change for a Danish double louis-d'or. I know the woman, she is miserably poor, and the burgomeister knows also, from the divorce suit, that she has nothing, nothing at all. My father and I gave information of this occurrence, and in the examination it came out that, besides the gold pieces alluded to, she had other money, of which she could give no account, and it also came out--which is the principal thing--that she had gone on the same road with the messenger, on the same morning."
"How is it possible!" cried Axel; "then didn't the fellow steal the money himself?"
"It seems," said Rudolph, "as if it had been stolen from him. Our prudent old burgomeister has had the woman arrested, on other minor charges of theft, and has forbidden my father and me to mention the matter; to yourself, on the contrary, when he heard that I was coming this way, he expressly allowed me to speak of it. You will certainly hear from him, by letter, very soon."
"Herr Kurz," said Axel, "I am extremely obliged to you, for riding over to give me this information," and he gave the young man his hand. Rudolph laughed a little, and said finally, "If this had been all, I should have come alone, but you have noticed my aunt, she has something very much at heart."
"If I can serve you in any way----" said Axel, courteously.
"Come, I will say it right out, a cousin of mine, a theological candidate, proposes himself, through my aunt, for the presentation to the Gurlitz living."
"A cousin? I thought you were a theologue yourself."
"Was! Herr von Rambow, was!" cried Rudolph briskly. "I believe I am not sufficiently highly organized, as they call it now-a-days, and I preferred to become a farmer, and I can tell you," he went on, looking joyously in the young Herr's eyes, "since then, I have been a very happy man."
It must have been a terribly churlish fellow who would not have warmed at contact with such fresh life, and Axel was still, on the whole, a good apple, bruised a little here and there, on the outside, and a little soiled, but inside, yet sound at the core; he exclaimed heartily:
"That is right? That is right! That has been my experience. The life of a Mecklenburg farmer shall yet be worth one's while. Where are you staying, Herr Kurz?"
"With the greatest farmer of the age, with Hilgendorf, at Little Tetzleben," laughed Rudolph.
"A very capable man!" said Axel, "thorough-bred too! that is to say, his horses."
And now they began to talk of Gray Momus, and Herodotus, and Black Overshire, and Hilgendorf received his share of attention, and when Rudolph finally stood up, and offered his hand to Herr von Rambow, it was very kindly pressed, and the Herr said:
"Rely upon it, no other than your cousin shall get the presentation from me."
As they came back into the parlor, Frau Nüssler rose from the sofa, and said to Frida, "He would give his life for you, and for the Herr," and going up to the Herr, she said, "isn't it so? you will do it, Herr von Rambow? It will make me so happy if I can keep my Lining in the neighborhood."
Axel was not disposed to like such a free, off-hand reception, nor was he--though of course without any reasonable ground--disposed to like the Nüssler ways; but the news that there was a possibility of recovering his two thousand thalers, the "thorough-bred" talk with Rudolph, and the really impressive, simple, true-hearted manners of Frau Nüssler, had their effect; he went up to his wife and said:
"Dear Frida, we have a prospect of recovering our two thousand thalers."
"The dear God grant it!" said Frau Nüssler. "Rudolph, have you spoken to the gracious Herr?"
"Yes," replied Axel for him, "the business is settled, he shall have the presentation from me; but--I should like to see him first."
"That is nothing more than right and proper," said Frau Nüssler; "who would buy a cat in a bag? And you shall see, if he is appointed, and preaches, you shall see that hecan; but, dear heart! stupid? Well, everybody is stupid about something; I cannot promise for that."
And so they rode off. Gottlieb would have the presentation.
"So," said Bräsig, "the business is well started; now Gottlieb has only his last execution at Pomuchelskopp's and then the election! But he must strike while the iron is hot, and since neither God nor man can help him with Zamel Pomuchelskopp, he must run his risk, and that quickly."
The opinion was reasonable, and Gottlieb got a letter containing a positive command that he should report himself at Rexow, next day, there to receive further instructions.
He arrived, and, when Bräsig had briefly explained the business, he was ready to undertake the dangerous errand. Krischan the coachman drove the Phantom up to the door, Lining brought a foot-sack and cloak and shawls, and tucked her future husband warmly in.
"That is right," said Bräsig; "wrap him up, Lining, so that he may not freeze, and that the catarrh may not run away with his fine voice; it is showery weather to-day."
Suddenly Jochen Nüssler rose up from his chimney-corner, and said, "Mining, my cloak!"
"Well, this is a fine time of day!" said Bräsig.
"Jochen, what do you want?" asked Frau Nüssler.
"Mother," said young Jochen, "you went with Rudolph, I will go with Gottlieb. I will do my share of the business," and he made such a decided motion of the head, and looked at them all with so much expression, that Bräsig cried out, "May you keep the nose on your face! I never saw the like, in all my life."
"Ah, Bräsig," said Frau Nüssler, "he is always like that lately; but lei him go, there is no use talking."
And Jochen rode on with him. Lining, however, went up to her little chamber, and prayed as earnestly for Gottlieb, on his difficult, errand, as if he were really going to execution.
Jochen and Gottlieb rode on through the deep mud, in silence; neither spoke a word, for each had his own thoughts, and the only remark made was when Krischan looked round over his shoulder, and said, "Herr, if one should drive here in the dark, and slip, he might turn over very conveniently." So, about four o'clock in the afternoon, they arrived at Pomuchelskopp's.
Pomuchelskopp lay like a lump of misfortune on his sofa, rubbing his eyes, for Gustaving had startled him out of his afternoon sleep, when he came in for the key of the granary, for it was Saturday, and he wanted to give out the grain.
"Gustaving," he cried spitefully, "you will be an awkward fellow all your days, you are a regular dunce! Blockhead! I will put you on a pole, for all the people to see what a dunce you are!"
"Yes, father----"
"Eh, what? yes, father! How often have I told you not to make such a clattering with the keys, when your father is trying to rest! What carriage is that, driving up the yard?"
"Good gracious!" cried Gustaving, "that is our neighbor Nüssler, and another Herr."
"Blockhead!" exclaimed Pomuchelskopp. "How often have I told you, you should not call everybody neighbor! The day-laborer, Brinkmann, will be my neighbor next, because he lives near my garden; I will not be neighbor to everybody," and with that he went to the door, to see what was going to happen.
Jochen and Gottlieb, meanwhile, had got down from the carriage, and Jochen came up to him: "Good day, neighbor!" Pomuchelskopp made him a very ceremonious bow, such as he had learned to make at the Landtag, and showed them into the parlor. It was very still in the room, if one excepts the little creaking of the chairs; Jochen thought Gottlieb ought to speak, Gottlieb thought Jochen ought to speak, and Pomuchelskopp thought he ought not to speak, lest he should commit himself to something. Finally, however, Gottlieb began:
"Herr Pomuchelskopp, the good, brave Pastor Behrens has gone to God, and if it seems hard, and almost unchristian, that I should offer myself, so soon after his death, as a candidate for the vacant parish, yet I do not believe that I offend against the common feelings of humanity, or the duty of a true Christian; because I am conscious that I take this step only to satisfy the wishes of my own parents, as well as those of my future father and mother-in-law."
That was a fine speech for Gottlieb, and he was right, in every respect; but Pomuchelskopp had the right of it, also, when he made no other reply than to say to Gottlieb, all that might be, but he wished to know with whom he had the honor of speaking. Jochen motioned with his head to Gottlieb that he should tell him frankly, and Gottlieb said that he was the son of Rector Baldrian, and a candidate. Jochen lay back comfortably in his chair, after this announcement, as if the business were settled, and he could smoke his pipe in peace. But since Muchel had offered him no pipe, he had to content himself with going through the motions, with his mouth, puffing away like a Bohemian carp, when it comes up for air.
"Herr Candidate," said Pomuchelskopp, "there have been several of your sort, already, to see me about this business,"--this was a lie, but he knew no other way of managing a parish business, than if he were selling a lot of fat swine to the butcher,--"but I have let them all go, because the matter with me turns upon one point."
"And that was?" asked Gottlieb. "My examina----"
"That is nothing to me," said the Herr Proprietor, "I mean the Pastor's acre. If you will consent to rent the field to me,--of course for a good, a very good price,--then you shall have my vote, otherwise not."
"I think I have heard," said Gottlieb, "that the field is rented to the Herr von Rambow, and I should not like----"
"You may set your mind at rest on that point, Herr von Rambow will not rent the field again," and Pomuchelskopp looked at Gottlieb in an overbearing way, as if he had sold his fat swine at the highest price. Jochen said nothing, but stopped his puffing for a moment, and looked at his candidate son-in-law, as if to ask, "What do you say now?"
Gottlieb was beyond his depth, for he was very ignorant of worldly affairs, but he reflected, and his honorable nature was strongly opposed to entering upon his clerical office by means of such a bargain; he said, therefore, frankly:
"I cannot and will not give such a promise; I do not wish to procure the living by such means. It will be time enough to settle that business when I am in the living."
"So?" asked the Herr Proprietor, grinning at Gottlieb and Jochen, "then, let me tell you, the fox is too wise for you; what comes after, the wolf seizes, and if Herr von Rambow should not change his mind about the field, you can rent it to your Herr father-in-law. Isn't it so, to your Herr father-in-law?"
That was an infamous speech of Pomuchelskopp's. Jochen rent the field! Jochen, who from morning to night bore such a heavy burden, should take this also on his shoulders! He sprang quickly to his feet, and said, "Herr Neighbor, if a man do what he can do, what can he do more; and what can I do about it? If the Pumpelhagen Herr will not have the field, neither will I, I have enough to do."
"Herr Nüssler," said Pomuchelskopp, craftily, "will you give me that in writing, that you will not rent the field?"
"Yes," said Jochen readily, and he sat down again comfortably in his chair, and smoked on. Pomuchelskopp walked up and down the room, and calculated: Herr von Rambow gave up the lease, Jochen would not take it, they were the only ones who could use it, the field was too small to rent as a farm by itself, and he, as the proprietor, need not allow it; it came to this, whether Gottlieb could farm it himself, and Pomuchelskopp examined him with reference to that question, looking at him sideways, as he walked back and forth.
There are all sorts of men in the world, and every one has his peculiar talents, and most people have a good deal of one kind of talent, and other kinds in much smaller proportions; in Gottlieb's case, however, nature seemed to have made a little mistake, she sent him into the world, at least to all appearance, without the slightest trace of agricultural talent. Bräsig had done his utmost to educate Gottlieb a little in these matters, but all in vain; what isn'tina man cannot be brought out of him. Gottlieb could not tell the difference between oats and barley, he did not know which was ox and which was bull, and Bräsig finally gave him up in despair, sighing, "Good heavens, how will the poor fellow ever get through the world!"
Pomuchelskopp, the practical old fellow, detected this failing of Gottlieb's, and was much pleased. "He knows nothing whatever of farming," said he to himself, "that is my man. But I mustn't let him know it!"
"Herr Candidate," said he aloud, "I am pleased with you, you are a very sensible man, and a man of morality--you will not comply with my request--good! neither will I promise to grant yours. But if Herr Nüssler will give me a written statement that he will not rent the Pastor's acre, we need talk no further about the business; for, as I said, I am pleased with you."
So then Jochen signed his name, and the two old dunces rode off, very well satisfied with the transaction. They had got nothing, nothing at all, but a partial promise from the Herr Proprietor, and for that Jochen had been obliged to give his signature; but they were quite contented. Jochen was strongly of the opinion, and remained so till his death, that he had obtained the parish for his son-in-law by his signature.
Jochen and Gottlieb would have been glad to stop a little while at the parsonage; but Krischan the coachman opposed it violently, saying it would never do, it was pitch dark already; so the old Phantom labored along, in the night and the mist, through the deep country roads. To night and mist and a phantom, sleep is appropriate, and whoever finds this four-leaved clover, has the prospect of all sorts of good fortune. Sleep was not long absent. Jochen slept before they were fairly put of Gurlitz, and if it had been daylight, one could have seen, from the way Krischan dragged his whip, that he was beginning to doze, and though Gottlieb did not sleep he was farther off, in his thoughts, than the others; for he was dreaming of his Lining, and his parish, and his election sermon, and his entrance sermon. And when they came to the place where Krischan had made his intelligent remark, as they were going, and as the influences of sleep and darkness combined with its dangers, and Gottlieb had come in his dream to the last election vote, which gave the decision in his favor, the confounded old Phantom began to totter, the fore-wheel was up, high and dry, on the shore, and the hind-wheel, over which Gottlieb sat, fell into a deep hole; so, two steps further, and splash! the whole company lay in the ditch.
I see, from my window, a great many farmers of the Grand Duke's lands getting down from their carriages, at my Frau Neighbor's, the landlady Frau Lurenz, at the "Prince's Arms," but I never in my life saw any one get down so quickly as Jochen; he shot out, in a great curve, over Gottlieb, who was lying beneath him, directly, in the soft mud, and Krischan, old, honest, faithful soul, who could not think of deserting his master in such a crisis, also shot head-foremost from his seat, and lay at his master's side.
"Purr--Oh! Herr, just lie still!" cried the honest old fellow, "the horses will stand!"
"You blockhead!" cried Jochen.
"Praise God!" exclaimed Krischan, getting on his feet, "I am all right. But Herr, just lie perfectly still, I will hold the horses."
"You blockhead!" said Jochen again, scrambling up, while Gottlieb splashed and waded about in the deep mire, "how could you turn us over here?"
"Yes, it is all as true as leather," said Krischan, who, in his long years of service, had caught his master's expressions, "what could a body do, on such a road, in such pitch darkness?"
Since Jochen's words were taken out of his mouth in this way, he didn't know what to say for himself, so he asked, "Gottlieb, are your bones whole?"
"Yes, uncle," said the candidate, "and yours too?"
"Yes," said Jochen, "except my nose, but that seems clean gone out of my face."
The carriage had been righted by this time, and, as they got in again, Krischan turned half round and said:
"Herr, didn't I tell you, this afternoon, this was the place to tip over?"
"Blockhead!" cried Jochen, rubbing his nose, "you were asleep."
"Asleep, Herr, asleep? In such pitch darkness, it is all the same whether one sleeps or wakes; but I said so before. I know the road by heart, and I said so."
And when he afterwards related the story to the other servants, he always said that he had prophesied it, but the Herr would not listen to him; holding up Jochen in the light of a venturesome fellow, who would risk his neck for nothing, against all opposition.
They arrived at the house, and Gottlieb first got down from the carriage. Lining had been sitting all this time on thorns and nettles of impatience, and had listened, through the darkness, for every sound which could bring her certainty of happiness or misfortune. Now she heard something--that must be--no, it was only the wind in the poplars; but now! yes, that is a carriage, it came nearer, it drove up,--she sprang up, she ran to the door, but must stop to press her hand against her throbbing heart,--how it beat, with hope and fear I would Gottlieb bring happiness or misfortune? She opened the door.
"Don't touch me!" cried Gottlieb, but it was too late, Lining, although the oldest, was still very thoughtless, she threw her arms around Gottlieb, and pressed him to her warm heart; but such a chill struck through her, that she felt as if she had taken a frog in her arms, she let him go, exclaiming,--
"Good heavens! what has happened?"
"Overturned," said Gottlieb, "we were, by God's gracious help, overturned; that is to say, Krischan took care of the overturning, but God's gracious help preserved us from serious injury."
"How you look!" cried Bräsig, who came out with a light, just as Jochen entered the door.
"Yes, Bräsig," said Jochen, "it is all as, true as leather; we were tipped over."
"Eh, where?" said Bräsig, "how could a reasonable man, of your years, get tipped over, on his own roads? You were asleep, Jochen!"
"Good gracious, Jochen!" cried Frau Nüssler, "how you look!" and she turned him round, before the light, as if he were a piece of roast veal, on the spit, which she had just finely basted with gravy. "Gracious, Jochen! and your nose----"
"And how does the clerical gentleman look?" inquired Bräsig, holding the light to Gottlieb, in front and rear. "Well!" he said, leaving him, "and now Lining! Why, Lining, you were not tipped over! Frau Nüssler, just look at her! She has half the road from here to Gurlitz upon her clothes!"
Lining blushed deeply, and Mining wiped off the mud from her, and Frau Nüssler did the same for Jochen.
"Gracious, Jochen, how you have muddied yourself! Now, just look at it, the nice new cloak!" Jochen had purchased it for his wedding, some twenty years before. "Well, it can't be helped; I must rip it all out, and to-morrow the whole thing must be washed in the brook."
Orders were issued accordingly, and, after a little while, the two travellers were seated, in dry clothes, at the table, in the living-room. Now, for the first time, Frau Nüssler saw her Jochen's nose, in a clear light.
"Jochen," said she, "how your nose looks!"
"Yes, they said so," replied Jochen.
"Jochen," said Bräsig, "I must be an infamous liar, if I ever said that your nose was particularly handsome; but--may you keep the nose on your face!--what a nose you have on your face!"
"For shame, Bräsig, how can you wish he should keep such a nose as that? Preserve us! it grows bigger and bigger! What can be done for it?"
"Frau Nüssler," said Bräsig, "he must go to the water-cure."
"What?" said Frau Nüssler, "my Jochen go to the water-cure, because he has bumped his nose?"
"You don't understand me," said Bräsig, "he need not go, wholly and entirely, body and bones, to the water-cure; he shall only send his nose there; we must make him cold bandages. Or, Jochen, could you bleed a little from the nose? It would refresh you very much."
But Jochen could not do that, so they prepared the cold bandages, and Jochen sat there, very stately and contented, with his nose wrapped up in wet linen, and, under his nose, his pipe of tobacco.
"But," said Bräsig, "no mortal knows yet how you succeeded with Zamel Pomuchelskopp."
"Yes," said Lining, "how was it, Gottlieb?" So Gottlieb described their interview with the Herr Proprietor, and when he had finished, Jochen said,--
"Yes, it is all settled, I have signed my name."
"Jochen, what have you signed your name for?" asked Bräsig, angrily.
"About the Pastor's acre, that I will not rent it."
"Then you have done something very foolish. Oh, the Jesuit!Hewants the Pastor's acre. Nightingale, I hear thee singing, from the little brook wilt drink. That was his great end and aim! But--but"--he sprang up, and stalked about the room, "I will spoil your game. Hear to the end, says Kotelmann. Zamel Pomuchelskopp, we will talk about this! What does the celebrated poet say, about David and Goliath? I consider myself David, and him Goliath. 'He took the sling into his hand, and smote him on the brow, headlong he fell.' And how finely the same celebrated poet says, in his grand concluding words, 'So ever does the boaster fall, and when he thinks he firmly stands, then lies he in the ditch.' And so it shall be with you, Zamel! And, Frau Nüssler, now I have got myself angry, and can eat no supper, so I will say 'Good night,' for I have all sorts of things to think about."
He took his candle and departed, and after supper they all went early to bed, and Lining lay a long time, wakeful through care and anxiety, and listened to the wind in the trees, and the steps in the room beneath, which went back and forth, back and forth, in the same measure; for there Uncle Bräsig lodged, and--as he said next morning--was planning campaign that night.
The year 1845 had arrived, and the world went on in its old course, and turned itself over, as usual. Day and night, and joy and sorrow, succeeded each other, just as they have done since time began, since the Lord appointed day and night, and placed man in the garden of Eden, and then expelled him from it. How many days and nights, and how much joy and sorrow! The day always dawns, and the night always comes; there is no difference. But is it even so with joy and sorrow? Are they as impartially divided? I think so! The Lord's hand stretches over all, and from his hand falls happiness and unhappiness, comfort and anxiety, upon the world, and every one has his share; but men are perverse, they will call their misfortunes happiness, and their happiness they take for misfortune; they push aside the cup of comfort, as if it were filled with gall, and they laugh away their anxieties.
The people, whom I have written about in this book, were no better than others, they did just like the rest; but there are two things which the Lord sends into the world as joy and sorrow, and no gall can embitter the one, and the other cannot be laughed away,--these are birth and death, beginning and ending. In my little world also, there was beginning and ending, birth and death; the fair, young Frau sat in Pumpelhagen, and held a little child, a little daughter, upon her lap, and the door of her heart stood wide open, for God's clear sunlight to shine in. She could not help it. The dark shadows which had been closing around her were no longer visible to her eyes,--she must rejoice! and before the parsonage at Gurlitz, lay a grave, and two figures in black went silently back and forth, and when spring came, they planted flowers upon it, and when the linden leaved out, before the house, and the lilacs blossomed, they sat together on the bench, and leaned against each other, as in the old time, when the Frau Pastorin had wrapped the little Louise in her shawl. Now it was reversed, now Louise threw her shawl around the little Frau Pastorin. And so these two mourners sat together, and looked over at the churchyard, and when Habermann came, there were three, and they sat patiently in the shadows, and did not push aside the cup of comfort, and when they separated, the evening star was shining.
The first, violent grief was gone from the parsonage, but its marks were yet to be seen, beautiful marks, which the death-angel leaves upon human faces. He had kissed Louise upon her clear, high forehead, and the kiss remained there, lighting her face like an earnest thought; he had embraced the little, round Frau Pastorin, at his departure, and had taken away almost all her own quick, eager vivacity, and had left in its place only loving thoughts of her Pastor. She lived entirely in these. All must remain as it had been in his life; in his study, the arm-chair stood before the writing-table, the last sermon which he had written lay upon it, and the pen by its side, and the Bible of his childhood lay open, where she had turned the leaf at his death. Every morning she went first into this room, with her duster, and dusted and put everything in order, and stood long in thought, and looked at the door, as if he must come in, in his dressing-gown, and give her a kiss, and say, "I thank you, dear Regina." And at dinner, Louise put plates for three; and her Pastor's chair was always in its place, and it seemed to her as if he were sitting opposite, and talking in the most cheerful manner, and the remains of her own vivacity, which grief had left, reappeared at these times, for she did not push aside the cup of comfort.
But how long could this last? The parish must be supplied with a new pastor, and then she must leave the house, she must leave the village, she must sever herself from the grave; for there was no widow's house, and Pomuchelskopp would not build one, for he had no occasion for one.
For the last time she watched the blooming of the fruit-trees, which her Pastor had planted, for the last time she sat under the fragrant lilacs, where she had sat so happily with him, for the last time came the spring, and wound its wreath around the peaceful dwelling, for the last time came the summer, and strewed its golden blessing upon it: "Louise, when the swallows fly, in the autumn, we must be flitting too," she said, sadly, and she felt that it would be like another death.
Habermann was her truest friend, and she gave herself wholly into his hands, what he did must be right. He thought and thought, but could think of no way to spare them the removal; but he would make it easier. Kurz the merchant had a roomy house, near his own, with a garden attached, which could be altered to resemble the parsonage. And Louise must secretly measure the rooms at the parsonage, how large the parlor was, and how long the wall, and then drive with her father to Rahnstadt, and Schultz the carpenter was sent for, to draw a plan after Louise's measurements. But he wouldn't do it, for "in the first place," said he, "I couldn't draw a plan after a woman's ribbon and apron-string measuring, and, secondly, it is not necessary; plan-drawing is plan-drawing. I don't believe in plan-drawing, I carry my plans in my head." And Kurz said, if it were arranged differently it would be much better, but Habermann was firm; it should be so, and if it could not be made so, the business was settled; and Schultz the carpenter said there was no sort of difficulty, and, if it could only be managed, he would go over, and take the measurements himself. This was arranged, and he came before daylight while the Frau Pastorin was still sleeping, and measured the rooms, talking to himself the while: "Seven--seven--five and twenty, five and twenty,--Kurz--Habermann--Kurz--Habermann--awkward, awkward,--here there must be a projecting beam,--too great a strain, a bolt carried through,--so, so,--all right,--so, now out! out!"--and he went out to his brown ponies, and drove softly away, with the finest building-plan in his head that ever a man could make. The building began immediately, and Habermann, who took a diligent supervision, was, on the whole, very well satisfied, only he did not quite understand the projecting beam, but he yielded, when he observed that Schultz himself felt strongly about the matter, and when he came to know that that architect never in his life put up a building without a "projecting beam." Kurz also yielded his opposition, and so the removal was made as easy as it was possible for him to make it.
At Pumpelhagen, as I have said, there was great joy: the clear eyes of Frida rested on her little daughter, and before these clear eyes, mother-love had woven a light, sweet veil, as if it would conceal from the mother the future of the little one, and leave her undisturbed to dream and create. And there was nothing in her way, one happy dream succeeded another; and now again the clear sunlight beamed from her heart to Axel, when she held up to him her child. Axel's heart was also full of joy, he came continually to inquire after mother and child; but yet he had a slight feeling of disappointment; he had wished for a son, an heir of his ancient name. It is a horrible thing that a little innocent girl, from the first moment she opens her eyes to the daylight, should have to contend with the unjust wishes and prejudices of other people, and suffer on account of them. It any one had said this to Axel, he would have been very angry, for he was really glad, in spite of his disappointment; he had seated himself directly, and announced the "happy event" to all his acquaintances, even his horse-acquaintances, and Pomuchelskopp; three people only, he had intentionally omitted; his cousin Franz,--"that stupid boy,"--the Frau Pastorin at Gurlitz,--"that matchmaker,"--and Frau Nüssler,--"that uncultivated old woman." And when he laid the letters on his wife's bed, and she wondered that these three were forgotten, he said coldly, he had nothing to do with these people, if she wished to do it, she must do it on her own responsibility.
She did it, accordingly; and after a few days came Louise, to offer congratulations, in the name of the Frau Pastorin, and Axel came into the room, and seeing the inspector's daughter said, "Ah, Mademoiselle Habermann! I beg you will excuse me," and went quickly out of the room. And again after a few days, Frau Nüssler came, with Krischan and the Phantom, driving into the yard, and Axel went off to the fields, when he saw them coming; and when he returned, and learned from Daniel that Frau Nüssler was still with the gracious lady, he exclaimed impatiently: "I do not comprehend my wife, how she can take any pleasure in the society of such uneducated people!"
That was a very droll thing for him to say, for only a few weeks before, in a company of horse-raisers, he had pronounced his friend, Herr von Brulow, of Brulowshof, a very cultivated man of science, and when a young doctor, who was accidentally present, had remarked that his education and science were not carried to a very great extent. Axel rose up, and said, over his shoulder, to the mistaken young man, if one had, in any direction whatever, such an experience as the Herr von Brulow in raising thorough-bred horses, and especially in the management of colts, he must be allowed, by the most envious person, the name of an educated and scientific man, even if he understood nothing else; for that business was one of the greatest importance. And yet in his eyes, this good woman was uneducated, though nobody in the world was better qualified to advise his wife in the nursing and management of his own little infant. Pomuchelskopp also had come, in his blue dress-coat, with gilt buttons, and the coach with the coat of arms, and the four brown horses, and had brought his congratulations. That was another thing, that was a genteel equipage! And he was very cordially received by Axel, and must stay for luncheon, and afterwards Axel showed him his thorough-bred mares with their colts, and Pomuchelskopp was highly delighted, and laying his hand impressively on Axel's arm, and looking up in his eyes, he said, "All very fine, Herr von Rambow, very fine for a beginning, but if you want to do something worth while, in horse-raising, you should have paddocks. The young animal should naturally be brought up in the open air. Freedom, freedom, Herr von Rambow! That is the first condition, if you mean to do anything of importance. And, you see, you have here the finest opportunity, if you take off four paddocks here, behind the park, for your thoroughbred mares, and let the field, up as far as the hill, be sowed with grass and clover, instead of grain; there is the brook down there, and you have the finest water. Something can be done. Of course," he added, as Axel looked a little thoughtful, "your inspector will not like the idea."
"My inspector has nothing to say, if I command anything," said Axel hotly.
"I know that," said Pomuchelskopp, pacifying him, "he knows nothing about such matters."
"But the meadow will be too small, if I take off this corner of the best soil," said Axel.
"Yes," said Pomuchelskopp, and shrugged his shoulders, "you must make a change with the meadow, for you have had the pastor's acre, hitherto, for meadow land, and the lease is out; and a little more or less will not signify."
"That is true," said Axel, with some hesitation, for what he had promised in an emergency had often annoyed him since, and it always puts a man out of humor, when he must give up something from which he has derived advantage and pleasure. But Pomuchelskopp was so friendly, so well-meaning and upright; he gave him so much good advice,--and--this he said by the way--if things didn't go right, he was always at hand,--that Axel shook hands with him cordially, as he took leave, and sat down to his reflections, with his head full of paddocks.
Habermann was crossing the courtyard; Axel opened the window, and called to him: "Herr Habermann," said he, "how far have you gone with the barley-sowing, behind the park?"
"I think we shall finish the meadow day after to-morrow; to-morrow we begin down here, by the brook."
"Good! From there up to the hill--I will tell you about the rest afterwards--you may sow Timothy, rye-grass, and white clover, with the barley. Send Triddelsitz to Rahnstadt, in the morning, to get the seed from David."
"But pasture grass does not follow barley."
"Do you hear me? I wish this piece of ground sowed for a pasture. I am going to put up paddocks there, for the brood-mares."
"Paddocks? paddocks?" asked the old man, as if he could not believe his ears.
"Yes, paddocks," said Axel, preparing to close the window.
"Herr von Rambow," said Habermann, laying his hand on the window-seat, "this is the finest soil in the whole meadow, if you take it away, there will not be enough for grain. That was the very reason the late Herr Kammerrath rented the pastor's acre."
It was the very thing which Axel had said to himself, and he knew very well that the inspector was right; but it is very irritating for a master, to acknowledge his inferior in the right.
"I shall not rent the pastor's acre again," said the young Herr.
The old man let his hands fall to his sides.
"Not rent the Pastor's acre again?" said he, "Herr, the field has brought us--I have kept a special book for it----"
"It is all one to me! You hear me, I shall not rent it again."
"Herr von Rambow, it cannot be possible----"
"Did you hear me?I shall not rent it again!"
"But Herr, I beg of you, reflect----"
"Eh, what!" exclaimed Axel, and closed the window. "A tedious old fellow!" he exclaimed, "an old fogy!" and he went back to his chair, and thought about his paddocks; but the fine pictures which his fancy had painted would not return, he must first get rid of the thought that he had again committed an injustice.
And the old man? How deeply grieved he went back to the meadow! How his attachment and gratitude to the late Kammerrath struggled against the mortification he had so often endured from the only son of his old master! And of what use was this struggle? Of what use was he to the young Herr? None at all! Step by step, the young man went forward to his destruction, and his hand which could save him, and so gladly would, was thrust aside, and his heart which was brimful of love and friendliness to the young Herr, and his whole household, was treated as if it beat in the breast of an unfaithful servant, who thought merely of his own reward.
"Triddelsitz," said he, when he came to the meadow, "this corner, between the brook and the hill, the Herr will have sowed with grass; he will come out himself, and show you about it; let them sow the barley a little thinner."
"What is he going to do with it?" asked Fritz.
"He will tell you himself, when he sees fit. There he comes, from the garden," said the old man, and went out of his master's way.
"Triddelsitz," said Herr von Rambow, "this piece of ground, up to the hill, is to be sowed with grass; you shall get the seed from David to-morrow; I am going to have paddocks here."
"Famous!" cried Fritz. "I have always thought of that, whether we couldn't have paddocks, or something of the kind."
"Yes, it is necessary."
"To be sure, it is necessary," said Fritz, fully convinced. For no one must think that he was a flatterer; he really meant what he said, and if he had known what an expense and what trouble these paddocks would cost, he would certainly not have expressed this opinion; but--as I have said before--in all such crazy performances, he was united, with his whole soul, to his master.
"Have you a measuring-rod here?" asked Axel.
"A measuring-rod? No," said Fritz, laughing, in a rather contemptuous and yet shamefaced manner, "I have myself invented a measuring instrument. If you will allow me, I will show you," and he ran to the nearest ditch, and brought out a great barrel-hoop, which was all entangled with strings; into the midst of these strings he put his walking-stick, as in the axle of a wheel, and let the machine run.
"The circumference of the hoop is just the length of the rod," said Fritz, "and this hammer strikes on the board, when it has turned completely round."
"See! see!" cried Axel, his old delight in inventions reviving. "And did you invent that, all by yourself?"
"All by myself," said Fritz, but he should have said his laziness invented it, for he had a great dislike to stooping his long body.
"Well, you can measure the land for me," said Axel, and went back to the house, saying to himself, Triddelsitz was a skilful farmer, and a wide-awake fellow, he would rather have him for a manager than Habermann.
After a while, the old inspector returned to Fritz, very much out of humor.
"Triddelsitz," said he, "what are you doing? You have let them sow the barley much too thick."
"God forbid!" said Fritz, "I arranged the machine just as you ordered, I measured the land myself."
"It isn't possible!" cried Habermann, "then my eyes must deceive me. Where is your measuring-rod?"
"I haven't a measuring-rod," said Fritz, "and don't need one either," he added, spitefully, for the great approbation of the young Herr had gone to his head. "I measure everything with my instrument," pointing to his invention which lay at his feet.
"What?" cried Habermann, "what is that?"
"An invention of mine," said Fritz, looking as proud as if he had set up the first steam-engine.
"Ah!" said Habermann, "well, take the trumpery, and measure me ten rods."
Fritz took his invention in hand, and let the thing run. Habermann walked by his side, and asked:
"How much have you?"
"Ten rods," said Fritz.
"And I have nine, and two feet," said the old man.
"It isn't possible," said Fritz, "you must have counted wrong, my instrument is right."
"Five of my steps are a Mecklenburg rod," said the old man hotly, "but because you are a fool you have spoiled the whole field of barley. How can such trumpery measure in the fresh furrow, when it could hardly do upon perfectly even ground. Oh, laziness, laziness! Go in directly, and bring me out a proper measuring-rod!" and he took his knife out of his pocket, and cut Fritz's invention into little pieces, and then went to the machine, and arranged it differently.
Fritz stood there, looking first at him, and then at his invention, which lay about him, in little bits; it is really a hard thing for a man, who wishes to accomplish something in the world, to be so taken down, at his first attempt. He had such benevolent intentions,--of course towards himself first, but also towards all his colleagues, and all the clerks in Mecklenburg,--that that infamous stooping might go out of fashion, and now his good intentions lay in fragments at his feet.
"I must bring the measuring-rod," said he, "there is no help for that; but I would a thousand times rather manage with the gracious Herr, than with old Habermann." And as he went up to the house after the rod, a great bitterness came over him towards Habermann, and he forgot all that he had promised him in a happy hour,--the best rooms in his house, two carriage horses, and a saddle horse,--and as he was speaking, for a moment, with Marie Möller, who had again taken possession of his vacant heart, and learned from her that the young Herr had spoken sharply to Habermann at the window, he comforted himself, and went off with the rod over his shoulder, and a bit of sausage in his hand, saying:
"Well, the old man will not do for us much longer; he is getting too old; he has no capacity for new ideas."