Seed-time passed, and summer came; the young Frau went out but little, and the comfort which the old inspector would have taken from her bright eyes and cheerful disposition he must do without, for she had something dearer, something of more importance to do, even if all this importance lay wrapped up in a bundle of flannels; she knew how precious were the hopes and wishes which she cradled in her arms, and, for the time, all other duties were sacrificed to these.
Over Axel also, came with his fatherhood a vague, undefined feeling, as if it were his sacred duty and obligation to labor for his child; he began to manage his estate with great diligence; instead of superintending matters, in a general way, as he had hitherto done, like a sort of field-marshal, he conducted himself more like a corporal, who concerns himself about all the little details of his corporalship, and he stuck his nose into everything, even into the tar-barrel. He might have done that, and it is very well for a master to be interested in everything, but he should have left the commanding alone, for he didn't understand it.
He took hold of the management in the most unintelligent way, broke up the old man's arrangements, and when he had brought everything into confusion, he went into the house, and scolded the old man: "The old man has not the leastmethod! He is too old for me. No, we cannot go on so any longer!" And Krischan Segel said to Diedrich Snäsel: "Well, what shall we do now, the Herr saysso, and the inspector saysso?"
"Well, neighbor," said Diedrich, "if the Herr says----"
"Yes, but it is all stuff and nonsense."
"Then you need not do it, and if he has said it, it is no matter."
So the harvest ripened, and the blessing of the fields must be gathered into barns, the rye was cut, and had stood three days in sheaves.
"Herr Inspector," called Axel from the window, and as Habermann came up he said, "to-morrow, we will bring in the rye."
"Herr von Rambow, it will not do yet, yesterday and to-day it has been cloudy, and it has not dried; the grain is still soft, and some stems are quite green."
"Well, it will do. How will you bring it in?"
"If it must be brought in, we should begin right behind the village, and go with two gangs, one to drive into the great barn, the other into the barley barn."
"Begin behind the village? With two gangs? Why?"
"The nearer we begin to the village the more we can get in in one day and the weather looks suspicious; and we must bring it in in two gangs, and into two barns, or the people will get in each other's way, and the wagons will interfere."
"Hm!" said Axel, closing the window, "I will think about it." And he thought, and came to the conclusion that he would get in this harvest with Fritz Triddelsitz alone; Habermann should have nothing whatever to do with it, and they would show him that he was the fifth wheel of the coach. They would begin at the other end of the field, and bring it in with one gang. What one gang or two gangs were, he was not quite clear in his own mind, but they were only subordinate matters, probably nothing more than some whim of the old inspector's, and he would have nothing to do with these, he meant to free himself from them entirely.
The next morning, at six o'clock, he was on his feet, and went up in a very friendly way to the old man, who was busy in the yard.
"Dear Herr Habermann, I have considered the matter,--you must not take it unkindly,--but I have decided to get in this harvest, with young Triddelsitz, quite by myself, and to give all the necessary orders in person."
The old man stood before him, confounded and dismayed. At last came, heavily and constrained from his breast, the words: "And I, Herr, am I merely to look on? And do you prefer the help of a stupid apprentice to my help?"
He held his walking-stick in front of him, and looked at the young man with eyes which shone in his old face with as much youthful fire, as if all the energy and activity of his long life were concentrated in them, and said frankly:
"Herr, you were a little boy, when I devoted my whole abilities to your good father,--he thanked me, on his dying bed he thanked me! but you? You have filled my cup to the brim, with your ingratitude, and now you wish to disgrace me!"
Then he went off, and Axel called after him:
"Dear Herr Habermann, it is not so intended. I only wanted to try myself." But it was so intended, as he knew very well; he did not want the old man in his way, he looked after him too sharply, and he felt ashamed before him.
The old inspector went to his room, opened his desk, and seated himself before it; but it was long before he could think and begin anything, and meanwhile there was great commotion in the yard. "Triddelsitz!" "Herr von Rambow!" "Where are you going, Jochen?" "Eh, I don't know, nobody has told me." "Fritz Päsel, what are you doing with the plough?" "Eh, what do I know? I was going to plough in the field." "Blockhead!"--this was Fritz's voice--"we are going to get in the rye." "It is all the same to me, if I am not to do it, I will not,"--and he tumbled the plough out of the wagon,--"what the inspector tells me, I do."
"Flegel!" called the young Herr. "Fritz Flegel!" repeated Triddelsitz, after him.
"What do you want?" roared a voice from the workshop.
"Where are the harvesting straps?" asked Fritz Triddelsitz. "There, where you stand," said the wheelwright; "and nobody has said anything to me about them."
"Well, what shall we do?" asked the day-laborer Näsel. "Lord knows," replied Pegel, "nobody has told us." "Flegel!" cried Fritz again, "we are going to bring in the rye; the wagons must be greased." "For all me," called Flegel from his shop, "the tar-barrel stands there."
"Herr von Rambow," said Fritz, "where is Habermann? shall I not call the inspector?"
"No," said Axel slowly, turning to go away.
"Well," said Fritz, who was growing distressed, "we cannot do anything about it this morning."
"It isn't necessary, we can begin this afternoon."
"But what shall the day-laborers be doing meanwhile?"
"Good gracious, the day-laborers!" said Axel, "always the day-laborers! The men can employ themselves usefully here, about the yard. Do you hear?" and he turned round, "you can help grease the wagons."
Meanwhile the old inspector sat at his desk, trying to write something, something difficult, which clutched at his inmost heart, he was going to separate himself from his master, to break down the bridge, which, between the late Kammerrath and himself, had united heart to heart; he would give notice to quit. He heard,--though not distinctly,--the stupid commotion outside, once he sprang to the window, as if he would give an intelligent order; no; that was all over, he had nothing more to do with it! He tore up the letter which he had written, and began another, but that also did not suit him, he pushed aside his writing materials, and closed his desk. But what now? What should he begin? He had nothing to do, he was superseded; he threw himself into the sofa-corner, and thought and thought.
When the afternoon came, by the help of the old wheelwright and a couple of intelligent old laborers, the wagons and the barns were so far ready that the harvesting could begin; and it began accordingly. Axel was on horseback, commanding the whole; Fritz, by his master's order, must also be on horseback; because his old, deaf granny was lame, he rode the old thorough-bred Wallach, which was also a springer; he himself was a sort of adjutant.
Now they could begin. Six spans of horses were fastened to six harvest wagons, and driven in a row, up to the yard,--order is the principal thing,--on one side stood the pitchers and stackers for the barns, on the other the pitchers, loaders and rakers for the field, and, on a given sign, the stackers marched off to the barns, and the field people climbed into the wagons; Axel and Fritz rode on, the wagons followed, and never in the world had there been such order, in the Pumpelhagen farm-yard, as on this fine afternoon; and we must have order.
The old wheelwright, Fritz Flegel, stood in his workshop, and looked at the procession: "What is all that for?" said he, scratching his head, for he had no appreciation of this beautiful order. "Well, it is none of my concern," he said and went back to his work, "but where is our old Herr Inspector?"
He was sitting in his room thinking; the first heat had passed, he stood up and wrote a brief letter, resigning his post at the next Christmas, and asking leave of absence, during the harvest, since he was superfluous under these circumstances; then he took his hat and stick, and went out, he could stay in doors no longer. He sat down on a stone wall, under the shade of a lilac bush, and looked along the road to Warnitz, from which the harvest wagons must come; but they came not, only Bräsig came along the road.
"May you keep the nose on your face, Karl, what sort of performances are you carrying on here? How can you get your rye in yet? it is green as grass! And how can you bring it in with six wagons in one gang? and what keeps the loaded wagons down there in the road?"
"Bräsig, I don't know, you must ask the Herr and Triddelsitz."
"What?"
"Bräsig, I have nothing more to say."
"What? How? What did you say?" cried Bräsig, elevating his eyebrows.
"I have nothing more to say," said Habermann quietly, "I am shoved aside, I am too old for the young Herr."
"Karl," said Bräsig, laying his hand on his old friend's shoulder, "what is the matter? Tell me about it!"
And Habermann told him how it all happened, and when he had finished Bräsig turned round, and looked savagely at the beautiful world, and ground his teeth together, as if he had the world between his teeth, and would crack it, like a tough hazelnut, and called, with a voice half-choked with rage, down the Warnitz road: "Jesuit! Infamous Jesuit!" and turning back to Habermann said, "Karl, in this Triddelsitz also, you have warmed a snake in your bosom!"
"Bräsig, how can he help it? He must do as he is told."
"There he comes racing along, and the six wagons behind him, making a procession--of loaded wagons! This is a comedy, this is an agricultural comedy! Go ahead! and when you get to the old bridge turn over!" cried Uncle Bräsig, dancing around, recklessly, on his poor gouty legs, as if they had brought about the whole mischief, and must be punished accordingly, for his fierce anger had given place to malicious joy.
"Here we have it!" he exclaimed, in great delight, for it happened just as he had said, as the first full wagon came up to the bridge, at a slow trot, it overset. "Stop!" they cried, "thunder and lightening, stop!" Fritz looked round,--well, what, now? He had not the slightest idea what to do; fortunately, he saw Habermann and Bräsig, on the stone wall, and rode up to them hastily.
"Herr Inspector----"
"Herr, you have crumbled your bread, and now you may eat it!" cried Bräsig.
"Dear Herr Inspector, what shall we do? The wagon lies right across the bridge, and the others cannot get by."
"Ride quickly----"
"Karl, hold your tongue, you are laid aside as a sheep for the slaughter, you have nothing to say," interrupted Bräsig.
"Ride quickly"--said Habermann, "no, let them alone, the servants are more intelligent than you are, they will soon get the sheaves out of the way."
"Herr Inspector," said Fritz anxiously, "it is not my fault. Herr von Rambow has ordered it all so, the wagons should drive in a row, and the men should drive quickly with the full loads."
"Drive on then, till your tongues hang out!" cried Bräsig.
"And he is on horseback, on the hill, overseeing and commanding the whole."
"Has he a sperspective in one hand, and a commander's staff in the other, like old Blücher, in the Hop-market, at Rostock?" said Bräsig mockingly.
"Ride up to the court," said Habermann, "and see that the first loaded wagon drives out again quickly."
"I must not do that," said Fritz, "the Herr has expressly commanded that the wagons should drive in again in a row, he says he will have order in the business."
"Then you may tell him the finest donkey I ever saw in my life----"
"Bräsig, take care!" cried Habermann.
"Was--was your little mule, Herr Triddelsitz," concluded Uncle Bräsig, with great presence of mind.
Fritz rode up to the court.
"Karl," said Bräsig, "we might go too, and observe the beautiful order from your window."
"Well, it is all the same," said Habermann, and sighed deeply, "here or there."
They went; the wagons drove into the yard, the first up to the barn-floor, the others waited behind, in a row. The men who unloaded were scolding that they must work themselves to death, the day-laborers were scolding about the damp rye and asking who should thrash it, in the winter, the servants were laughing and cracking jokes, in idleness, and Fritz rode up and down with an uncommonly easy conscience, for he was doing his duty, and following his master's orders. When all was finished he placed himself again at the head of the empty wagons, and the procession moved off. The pitchers and stackers came round into the shade of the barns, laid themselves down, and took a nap; they had time enough now.
"A very fine, peaceful harvest, Karl," observed Bräsig, "the whole court is as still as death, not a leaf stirs. It is very pleasant for me, for I never saw such an one before."
"It is not very pleasant for me, Bräsig," said Habermann, "I see trouble coming. Two or three more such pieces of stupidity, and the people will lose all respect for their master; when they see that he orders things that he does not understand, they will do what they please. And the poor, unhappy young man! and especially, the poor, poor young Frau!"
"There comes your gracious lady, just now, out of the house, and the nursemaid follows, with the baby-carriage, in which lies the little sleeping beauty. But Karl! come quick to the window! What is this?"
And it was really worth his while to go to the window, for Fritz Triddelsitz, who led the procession again, came gallopping across the court, on old Bill, and about ten rods behind him raced Axel, and shouted, "Triddelsitz!"
"Directly!" cried Fritz, but raced out of the other gate, and Axel after him.
"What the devil is this?" inquired Bräsig, and had scarcely time to express his astonishment, when Fritz and Bill and Axel came in again, at the water-gate, and raced again across the yard: "Triddelsitz!" "Directly!"
"Herr, are you crazy?" cried Bräsig, as Fritz rode past the farm-house, but Fritz gave no reply, and sat, all bent up, on his horse, laughing, amid the distress and sorrow around him, and would have greeted the gracious lady, but merely took off his cap, for the young Frau was asking anxiously, "Axel, Axel, what is this?" but got no answer, for Axel was very busy. And, all at once, Bill took the hurdle, before the sheepfold, and Fritz shot off headforemost, into a heap of straw, and Axel turned his horse, and called again, "Triddelsitz!" "Directly, Herr von Rambow," said Fritz, out of the straw-heap.
"What devil rides you?" cried Axel.
"He didn't ride me," said Fritz, as he stood--thank God!--on his own feet again, "I rode him; I believe Bill took a leap with me."
"He was trained for that," said Krischan Däsel, who came running out of the stable; "you see, gracious Herr, the Herr Count used to ride Bill to steeple-chases, and when he takes the notion he runs until he comes to some sort of hedge or gate, and then he springs over, and whenever he has done that trick, he stands like a lamb. You see, there he stands."
"Axel," said the young Frau, coming up, "what does all this mean?"
"Nothing, my child, I had given an order to the steward, and, when he had ridden off, something better occurred to me, and I wished to recall my order, and so followed him; his horse took a leap with him, and I rode back again."
"Thank God," said she, "that it is all right. But will you not come in and take luncheon?"
"Yes," said he, "I have rather fatigued myself to-day. Triddelsitz, everything goes on in the usual order."
"To command!" said Fritz, and Axel went into the house with his wife.
"Axel," she asked, as they sat at the table, "what does it mean? With us, at home, in the harvest, only one loaded wagon came into the yard at a time, and here you had six at the same time."
"Dear Frida, I know the old method well enough, but in that way, disorder is unavoidable; we have much better order, by having all the wagons driven in a row."
"Did Habermann arrange it so?"
"Habermann? No, he had nothing to do with it; I felt the necessity of emancipating myself finally from the supervision of my inspector, and I have signified to him that I would get in this harvest without his help."
"Axel, what have you done! The man cannot suffer that."
"Hemust, though! He must become aware that I am the master of the estate."
"He has always recognized you as such. Dear Axel, this will be a source of bitter sorrow to us," and she leaned back in her chair in deep thought, looking straight before her. Axel was not in a good humor: then the door opened, and Daniel Sadenwater brought a letter: "With the Herr Inspector's compliments."
"There it is!" said Frida.
Axel read the letter: "The Herr Inspector gives notice to leave at Christmas. May go at once. I need no Inspector. Can get a hundred for one. But it provokes me that he should give me notice, and that I did not get the start of him!" and with that he sprang up, and ran up and down the room. Frida sat still, and said not a word. Axel took that for a reproof, for he knew very well that he was in a dangerous path; but he would not allow himself to confess it, he must lay the blame of his fault upon other shoulders, and so he said, in his injustice:
"But that comes from your prejudice in favor of the old, pretentious hypocrite!"
Frida said not a word, but she rose quietly, and left the room.
She sat that evening, by the cradle of her little daughter, and rocked her darling to sleep. Ah, if thoughts could only be rocked to sleep! But a child comes from our Lord, and has yet a bit of heaven's own peace in itself, which it has brought from above; human thoughts come from the earth, and care and sorrow dog their uncertain, weary feet, and an over-wearied man can not sleep. Yes, Axel was right, he could get another inspector, a hundred for one. But Frida was also right: a true heart was to leave her.
In Jochen Nüssler's house, there was great joy and pleasure: Gottlieb was elected, was really chosen to be a pastor, and whom had he especially to thank for it? Who else, but our good, old, simple Pomuchelskopp; he gave the decisive vote. "Häuning," said our old friend, in the church, while the three young candidates, in anguish and fear, were taking their turns in the pulpit, contending for the parish; "Häuning," said he, as Gottlieb concluded, and wiped the sweat from his pale face,--"Klücking, we will choose this one, he is the stupidest."
"If you are only sure of it," said his dear wife, "how can you tell one blockhead from another?"
"Klücking," said Pomuchelskopp, taking no notice of his wife's pleasantry, perhaps because he was so accustomed to it, perhaps because Gottlieb's sermon had touched him, for Gottlieb had preached from the text, "Forgive your enemies,"--"Häuning, the first, the one with the red face, is a son of old Pächter Hamann, and like goes to like, you should see, he would farm it himself; and the second, see! he is a sly one, Gustaving saw him looking at the field, a little while ago, and he asked the Pastor's coachman who took care of the Pastor's barn, the thing was tumbling to pieces. Neither of them would do; the rector's son is our man."
"He who reckons wrong, reckons twice," said Häuning.
"I am not reckoning wrong," said Pomuchelskopp, "the Herr von Rambow and Nüssler have declined the business, in writing; the young man cannot farm it himself, he is too stupid, and I need not allow an under-pächter; he must rent the field to me, and I have it in my own hands, I can say, 'So much, and not a shilling more!'"
And so Gottlieb was elected, for nearly all the votes were given for him, only a couple of day-laborers from Rexow voted for their master, Jochen Nüssler. It was merely a mistake, for they believed it was all the same, and it was done in friendship.
And in Jochen Nüssler's house, there was great joy and pleasure, and the two little twin-apples were floating in bright sunshine, down a clear brook, and nestled close to each other, and Mining floated joyously with her sister, although her own prospects were not so brilliant. But she had a little personal ground of rejoicing; her father, young Jochen, had come in from the field one day, and said this everlasting working was too hard for him, he wished Rudolph were there; and Mother had said he ought to be ashamed of himself, he was still a young fellow; and father had said, "Well, he would manage a little longer;" but it was the beginning of the final blessedness, and the thing was a little hook for her hopes to hang upon.
With Lining, however, all was settled and arranged, and the outfit was purchased, and Frau Nüssler's living-room looked like a spinning-room and cotton factory; here was spinning, and there was knitting, there was sewing and embroidering, and twisting and reeling, and skeins were wound on and wound off, and every one had his share, even young Jochen, and young Bauschan. Young Jochen was employed as yarn-winder, and sat up stiffly, with his pipe in his mouth, and held out his arms with a skein of yarn, and his wife stood before him and wound it off, and when he believed he was to have a little relief, there came Lining, and then Mining, and he was a conquered man; but young Bauschan had his share, also, they were always treading on his toes, and no one had so much reason to curse this wedding as young Bauschan, till, at last, he retired from the business altogether, esteeming the rubbish-heap in the farm-yard a more comfortable place than a room where an outfit was being prepared.
"So," said Frau Nüssler one evening, folding her hands in her lap, "Bräsig, for all I care, they may be married to-morrow, I am ready with everything."
"Well," said Bräsig, "then make your preparations, for the Pietist and Lining are sure to be ready too."
"Ah, Bräsig, how you talk! The principal thing is still wanting, the government has not given its assent to the parish--What do you call the thing?"
"Ah yes, I know. You mean the vocation, as it is generally called, but I think vocations is the right word, because the blessed Pastor Behrens, in my younger days, always said vocations."
At this moment, Krischan the coachman came in at the door: "Good evening, Madam, and here are the papers."
"Are there no letters?" asked Frau Nüssler.
"Yes," said Krischan, "there was a letter."
"Why didn't you bring it then?"
"Well," said Krischan, tossing his head, as if such stupidity could not be laid to his charge, "there was some trespass-money charged for it, and I hadn't so much by me."
"What did it cost?"
"Now just think of it, eight thalers! And they said there was a post-express or a post-payment, or something of that sort,--perhaps it was brought with post-horses,--and it was for a young Herr, who is our bridegroom."
"Good gracious, Krischan, such an expensive letter as that! From whom could it be?"
"I know something," said Krischan, "but I daren't say it," and he looked at Bräsig.
"Before the Herr Inspector, you may say anything," said Frau Nüssler.
"For all I care!" said Krischan. "It was from some woman-creature, but I have forgotten the name."
"From a woman!" exclaimed Frau Nüssler, "to my son-in-law! and eight thalers to pay!"
"Everything comes to light!" said Bräsig, "even the Pietists get found out!"
"Yes; it all comes out!" said Krischan, going out of the room.
"Krischan," Frau Nüssler sprang up, "you must go to Rahnstadt to-morrow with the rye; ask particularly about the name, and I will give you eight thalers, I must have the letter."
"Good, Madam," said Krischan, "I will get it."
"Bräsig," cried Frau Nüssler, throwing herself into her arm-chair, so that the poor old thing groaned with her weight, "what has my son-in-law to do with a woman?"
"I don't know," said Bräsig. "I am wholly unacquainted with his affairs, since I don't trouble myself about secrets. Hear to the end, says Kotelmann, to-morrow we shall know."
"But this Gottlieb, this quiet man!" exclaimed Frau Nüssler.
"The Pietists are not wholly to be trusted," said Bräsig. "Never trust a Jesuit!"
"Bräsig!" cried Frau Nüssler, and the old chair shrieked aloud, as she sprang up, "if there is something concealed here, I shall take back my child. If Rudolph had done it, I could have forgiven him, for he is a rough colt, and there is no secrecy about him; but Gottlieb? No, never in my life! One who can set himself up for a saint, and then do such a trick--don't come near me! I want nothing to do with such people!"
And when Gottlieb came to the table that evening, his future mother-in-law looked at him askance, as if she were a shop clerk, and he were trying to cheat her with a bad groschen. And when he asked Lining, after supper, if she would take a glass of fresh water up to his room, she told him Lining had something else to do, and when Gottlieb turned to Marik, the waiting-maid, she told him he might go to the pump himself, he could do it as well as Marik. And so she speedily drew a magic circle around him, over which no woman might pass.
As they sat at table next morning, Krischan came to the door, and beckoned to Frau Nüssler; "Madam, Oh, just a word." And Frau Nüssler motioned to Bräsig, and the two old lovers went out with Krischan into the hall.
"Here it is," said Krischan, pulling out a great letter, from his waistcoat pocket, "and I know the name of the woman, too."
"Well?" asked Frau Nüssler.
"Yes," whispered Krischan privately into Frau Nüssler's ear. "Mine is her own name, and Sterium is her father's name."
"What? Is her name Mine Sterium?"
"Hoho!" cried Bräsig, snatching the letter from Frau Nüssler's hand, "that comes from ignorance of outlandish names, that is the vocation of the Ministerium," and he opened the door, and shouted into room: "Hurrah! You old Pietist, you! Here it is, and next week is the wedding!"
And Frau Nüssler fell upon old Gottlieb's neck, and kissed him, and cried, "Gottlieb, my dear Gottlieb, I have done you a great wrong: never mind, Gottlieb, Lining shall take up water for you, every evening, and the wedding shall be whenever you please."
"But what is it?" asked Gottlieb.
"No, Gottlieb, I cannot tell you yet; it is too shameful, but when you have been married three years, I will tell you all about it."
The wedding was celebrated, and a great deal might be told about it, how Mining and her sister Lining wept bitterly after the ceremony, how Gottlieb looked really handsome, since Lining had cut off the long locks, like rusty wheel-nails, out of his neck. But I will tell nothing about this wedding, but what I saw myself, and that was, the next morning, at half-past three, the two old friends young Jochen and young Bauschan, lying on the sofa, arm in arm, asleep.
Habermann was at the wedding, very silent, his Louise was there also, her inmost heart full of love for her little Lining, but she was also silent, quietly happy; Frau Pastorin had declined her invitation, but when the guests were crowding about the bride and bridegroom, and Jochen, afterwards, was trying to say a word also, the door opened, and the Frau Pastorin came in, in her widow's mourning, into the bright marriage joy, and she threw her arms around Lining's neck saying:
"I bless you, I bless you from my heart, and may you be as happy there as I have been. You are now the nearest to him." and she kissed and caressed her, and then turned quickly away, and went, without greeting any one, to the door; there she said, "Habermann!"
But she need not have spoken, for he stood by her already, and when she was in the carriage, he sat by her side, and they drove back to Gurlitz.
At Gurlitz, they got out of the carriage, the pastor's coachman, Jürn, must wait,--and went to the churchyard, and they held each other by the hand, and looked at the green grave, on which bright flowers were growing, and as they turned away, she said with a deep, deep sigh, as when one has drained a full cup, "Habermann, I am ready," and he placed her in the carriage, and drove with her to Rahnstadt.
"Louise is discreet," she said, "she took charge of everything for me, this morning."
They went together through the new house, and the little Frau Pastorin thanked him, and kissed him, for his friendship, that he had arranged everything just as it was in Gurlitz, and she looked out of the window, and said, "Everything, everything, but no grave!"
They stood for a long time at the window, then Habermann pressed her hand, and said, "Frau Pastorin, I have a favor to ask, I have given notice to Herr von Rambow, and shall leave next Christmas; can you spare me the little gable room, and will you take me at your table?"
At a less agitated moment, she would have had much to ask, and much to say; but now she said merely.
"Where Louise and I live, you are always the nearest."
Yes, so it is in the world, what is one's joy is another's sorrow, and weddings and graves lie close together, and yet the distance between them is wider than between summer heat and winter cold; but there is a wonderful kind of people in the world,--if one seeks one can find them,--who can throw a kind of wonderful, heaven-climbing bridges, from one heart to another, over the gulfs which the world has torn open, and such a bridge was built between the little, round Pastors' wives, Lining of Rexow, and Frau Pastorin of Rahnstadt; and when the key stone was dropped into place, exactly over the parsonage at Gurlitz, they fell into each other's arms, and held so fast together that to their life's end they were never parted.
And our old Gottlieb! He did his share, he brought stones and mortar,--he had but a brief experience in the pastoral office; but I must say that, when he preached his entrance sermon, he thought less of himself than of his faithful predecessor, the old Pastor Behrens.
"He sticks to common sense," said Bräsig, as he came out of the church, and he patted Lining's cheek, and gave Mining a kiss. "The pietists often become very reasonable people; but they think too much of the devil. I have a very good pietist acquaintance, that is the Pastor Mehlsack, a really clever man, but he is so taken up with the devil that he says scarcely anything about the Lord; and there is the pastor in the beautiful Krakow region, who has paddagraphically discovered that there are three hundred, three and thirty thousand different devils running about the world, not counting the regular devil and his grandmother. And you see, Lining, what an inconvenience it is for us: you sit down in Rahnstadt with your good friends around a punch bowl, and you drink to this one, and to that one, and then to another, and at your side sits a gentleman in a brown dress-coat,--for the devil always wears a brown dress-coat, he must, that is his uniform,--and he talks, the whole evening, very friendly things to you, and when you wake up next morning there he stands before you, and says, 'Good morning! you signed yourself to me last evening,' and then he shows you his cloven foot, and if he is polite he takes out his tail, and slaps you over the ears with it, and there you are, his rightful property. So it is with the honest Pietists, the others are a great deal worse."
And so Gottlieb and Lining were settled in the pastor's house, and Mining was naturally much with them, and it often happened that good old Gottlieb embraced Mining, in the twilight, and gave her a kiss, instead of Lining; but it was all in friendship, he had no other design.
But Pomuchelskopp had a design, when he came with his wife and Malchen and Salchen to make their first call on the young Herr Pastor. And this design was the pastor's acre, and the blue dress-coat with the gilt buttons said to the black coat he would take the field, and offered him just half the sum which the Herr von Rambow had given, and our old Häuning stood up and said, that was all it was worth, and it could not be otherwise disposed of, for Jochen Nüssler had declined it, and old Gottlieb stood there bowing to the blue dress-coat, and was going to say "yes," when Lining sprang up like a ball, out of the sofa-corner, and said, "Hold! In this business, I have a word to say. We must consult other people," and she called, from the door, "uncle Bräsig, will you come in, a moment?"
And he came, placing himself audaciously in a linen frock, before the blue dress-coat, and asked, "How so?"
And Lining sprang towards him saying, "Uncle Bräsig, the field shall not be rented. It will be my chief pleasure."
"So it shall not, my dear Frau Pastorin Lining," and he bent down, and gave her a kiss, "I will farm it for you my personal self."
"I am not obliged to allow an under-pächter," cried Pomuchelskopp.
"Nor shall you, nor shall you, Herr Zamel! I will merely manage it as inspector for the Herr Pastor himself."
"Herr Nüssler gave it to me in writing."
"That you are a blockhead!" said his Häuning, and drew him angrily out of the room.
"My dear Herr Pastor," said uncle Bräsig, going with Gottlieb into the garden, "you have not to thank me for this arrangement, but only your dear wife, Lining. It is really worthy of notice, how positive these innocent little creatures become, after they are married. Well, never mind, perhaps they know best. You, from your Christian stand-point, about the blows on the right and left cheeks, you will read me a lecture about hatred, but hatred must be,--where there is no hate, there is no love, and the story of the blows is all nonsense to me. I have a hatred, I hate Zamel Pomuchelskopp! Why? How? What? He says 'Sie' to you, and wouldn't you hate him?"
"My dear Herr Inspector, this wicked axiom----" and he would, in his new office of pastor, have preached the old man a sharp sermon, as he had before about fishing if, Lining had not fortunately come along, and throwing her arms around his neck cried, "uncle Bräsig, uncle Bräsig, how shall we repay you for giving up your leisure for us?"
"Don't trouble yourself about that, Lining, where there is hate there is also love; but did you notice how I called him merely Herr Zamel, although he was christened by the more distinguished name, 'Zamwel?'"
"You mean Samuel," interrupted Gottlieb.
"No, Herr Pastor, 'Samuel' is a Jew's name, and although he is a real Jew,--that is, a white one,--he was baptized by the Christian name of Zamwel, and his wife by the name of Karnallje."
"Uncle Bräsig," cried Lining, laughing heartily, "how you mix things together! Her name is Cornelia."
"It is possible, Lining, that she lets herself be called so now, because she is ashamed of it, but I have seen it with my very eyes. The old pastor at Bobzin had died; and the sexton had to keep the church books, and there it stood; 'Herr Zamwel Pomuchelskopp to Fräulein Karnallje Klätterpott,' for she is a born Klätterpott, and she is a Karnallje too. But, Lining, let her go; they shall not trouble us, and we two will have a pleasant time together, and you shall give me the little corner room, that overlooks the yard, and the devil must be in it, if in a year and a day, our young pastor isn't in a condition to farm his land himself. And now, adieu," and he went off, the old heathen, who could not give up his hatred.
Bat he who will hate, must expect to be hated in turn; and nobody was more hated that day than uncle Bräsig. When the Pomuchelskopps had reached home, Häuning stroked the quiet, simple father of a family, and Mecklenburg law-giver, the wrong way, and stung his poor knightly flesh with thorns and nettles, and the constant conclusion of her satirical remarks was: "Yes, Kopp, you are as prudent as the Danish horses, that come home three days before it rains!"
At last, our old friend could bear it no longer, he sprang up out of his sofa-corner, and cried:
"Malchen, I beg of you, have I not always cared for you as a father?"
But Malchen was as deep in the Rostock Times, as if her own betrothal were recorded there.
"Salchen, is it my fault that the world is so bad?"
But Salchen embroidered earnestly on the flesh of a little cupid, and sighed, as if it were a pity that her dear father were not the little cupid; and to fill his cup, Gustaving came in, and rattled the keys on the board, as if he was attempting to set this lovely family scene to appropriate music.
But too much is too much! Human nature can bear only a limited amount; our old friend must show his refractory family that he was master in his own house, so he ran out of the room, and left them alone; he ran into the garden, as far as the sundial, but what good did it do? He had exercised his rightful power on his own flesh and blood, but he himself was no happier, for before his eyes lay the pastor's acre, the beautiful pastor's acre. And beyond lay Pumpelhagen, fair, fair Pumpelhagen, which rightfully belonged to him, for he had given for the Pastor's acre two thousand thalers, payment in advance, and how much more to Slusuhr and David, and that beggar, the Herr von Rambow! He could not bear the sight, he turned away, and looked up into the blue harvest heaven, and asked, was there no righteousness left in the world?
Then came Phillipping, and tugged at his blue dress-coat,--for out of spite to his Häuning, he had kept it on, against all law and order,--and said the Herr von Rambow was there, and wished to speak to him.
The Herr von Rambow? Come, wait! now he had one whom he could torment in turn, upon whom he could avenge the sufferings his family had caused him; the Herr von Rambow? wait! he was going in, but there he came himself, towards him.
"Good morning, my respected Herr neighbor, how are you? I wanted to learn how it has gone about the pastor's acre."
So? Pastor's acre? No, wait, don't let him see it! Pomuchelskopp looked down at the little bit of a nose which nature had given him, and said not a word.
"Now, how has it been?" asked Axel. But Pomuchelskopp said neither good nor bad, and looked along his nose, as if it extended for miles.
"My dear Herr Neighbor, what is the matter? It is all right, I hope?"
"I hope so," said Muchel, stooping to pull a weed out of the potatoes; "at least your note for the two thousand thalers is all right."
"What?" asked Axel, astonished, "what has that to do with it?"
Wait, Axel! that is all coming right; keep still! he only wants to tease you a little. What must be, must.
"You, Herr von Rambow," said Muchel, still plucking weeds, and turning a red face up to the young Herr, "you have the two thousand thalers, and I the Pastor's acre,--that is to say, I haven't it."
"But, Herr Neighbor, you were so sure"----
"Not nearly so sure as you, you have the two thousand thalers--haven't you? You got them? and I"--and he shook his left leg, and thrust the words out from his chest, "and I--I have--the devil!"
"But----"
"Ah, let your 'Buts' alone, I have heard 'Buts' enough this morning; our business is about these notes," and he felt in his pocket, "So! I have another coat on, and have not the pocket by me where they are. One was due three weeks ago."
"But, my dear Herr Neighbor, how came you to think of it just to-day? It is not my fault, that you have not been able to rent the acre."
It does you no good, Axel, keep still! He'll not do anything, only torment you a little. Pomuchelskopp had heard too much already to-day, about that cursed field, to trouble himself about it any longer, so he passed by Axel's remark, and took another turn at the screw.
"I am an amiable man, I am a friendly man; the people say, also, that I am a rich man, but I am not rich enough to throw my money into the street, I cannot afford that yet. But, Herr von Rambow, I must see something, I must see something. I must see that the soul stays in a gentleman, and when one has signed a note, then he must also see----"
"My best Herr Neighbor," interrupted Axel, in great distress, "I had clean forgotten it. I beg you--I had not thought of it at all."
"So?" asked Muchel, "not thought of it? But a manshouldthink, and"--he was going on, but his eye fell upon Pumpelhagen; no I don't let him notice! why should he shake the tree, the plums were not yet ripe. "And," he continued, "I owe all this to my friendship for that miserable fellow, that Bräsig. So he has repaid the kindnesses I did him in his youth. I lent him money when he wanted to buy a watch, he has worn trousers of mine when his were torn, and now? Ah! I know well how it all hangs together,--that old hypocrite, Habermann, is behind."
Give the devil a finger, and he soon takes the whole hand, and then he leads you whither he will, and if it suits his humour, he holds you before him, and you must pray in distress and sorrow, in anguish and pain.
So it was with Axel; he must agree, in a friendly way, with the Herr Proprietor, he must hew at the same timber, against his honor and conscience, he must slander Bräsig and Habermann. Why? Because the devil, with his note in his hand, pressed him down on his knees. And he did it, too; the gay, careless lieutenant of cuirassiers lay on his knees before the devil, and talked all sorts of malice and detraction concerning Bräsig and Habermann, to appease his old Moloch, in the blue dress-coat; he was a traitor to his best friends, he was a traitor to his God. But when he came to himself sufficiently to be aware of what he had done, he was full of self-contempt, and rode hastily away from the house, where he had left a great part of his honor.
He rode home, and as he came to the boundary of his fields, he saw Habermann, in the oppressive heat of the sun, following the sowing-machine, and preparing everything for the seed-time, and for whom? Forhimself, he must answer, and the coals of fire burned his head. And when he had ridden a little farther, a linen frock appeared before him, and Uncle Bräsig came toiling up, shouting across the field, "Good day, Karl! I am on the right apropos, that is to say on a preliminary cow business and it is all right; we are going to farm it ourselves, and Zamel Pomuchelskopp may go hang;" and then he heard Axel's horse, and turned round, and the worm, that was gnawing in Axel's breast, made him a little more friendly to the old fellow, and he said:
"Good day, Herr Inspector! What? always on your legs?"
"Why not, Herr Lieutenant? They still hold out, in spite of the Podagra, and I have undertaken to procure an inventory for the young pastor people, and am on my way to Gulzow, to Bauer Pügal; he has a couple of milch cows, that I want to acquire for the Herr Pastor."
"You understand all the details of farming, Herr Inspector?" asked Axel, in order to be friendly.
"Thank God," said Bräsig, "I am so well acquainted with all the details, that I don't need to learn them at all. One of our kind needs only to cast an eye at anything, and he knows just how it is. Do you see, I was yesterday," and he pointed over to Axel's paddocks, "down by your Podexes, and I saw that the mares and the colts were all down in the lowest one, and why? They steal the oats out of the crib, and if you want them to come to anything, you must put a padlock on."
Axel looked sharply at him: was this a piece of pure malice on the old fellow's part? Of course! He gave his horse the spur: "Adieu!"
"If the blockhead won't take it, he need not!" said Bräsig, looking after him. "I meant it well enough. It looks to me as if the young nobleman--well, take care! You will yet come, on your hands and feet, to your senses. Karl," he cried, across the field, "he has pushed me off again!" and he went away, on his cow business.