Chapter VII…

Chapter VII

The winter passed away without any special incidents. Habermann was accustomed to a uniform life, and desired no other, for himself; but the young people were sometimes wearied by it, and by their seclusion, especially Franz von Rambow. Fritz Triddelsitz had his aunt, the Frau Pastorin, close by, and a little farther off, his dear mother at Rahnstadt and, nearer than either, Marie Moeller the house-keeper, who often comforted him with a bit of roast goose, or a morsel of sausage, so that they soon came into friendly relations. Sometimes they were together like mother and child, for Marie was seven years older than Fritz,--she was four and twenty; sometimes they seemed more like lovers, for four and twenty is no great age, after all; and Fritz instead of learning his Latin at school, had fed upon romances, and had been a regular customer at the circulating library, so that he was quite well informed about such matters, and as his father had advised him to study human nature, and Habermann often repeated the advice, he thought it a good opportunity to improve his knowledge of love-affairs; but don't be alarmed, there is nothing serious coming--nothing more tender than roast goose and sausage.

Habermann had no occasion to trouble himself about Fritz; it was only for Franz he felt anxious. He had taken him already once to the parsonage, and when Christmas time came, they were invited there to spend Christmas eve. The young Herr accepted,--Fritz had gone home to Rahnstadt for the holidays--and as they drove up in the sleigh--for it was fine sleighing--to the front door, which opened into the living-room, there stood the little, plump Frau Pastorin, motioning with both hand and foot:--

"No, Habermann, no! you mustn't come in here! Herr von Rambow, if you will have the kindness, just go round to my Pastor's study."

And, as they entered the study, Louise sprang towards her father, and kissed him, and whispered in his ear what presents she had made, and how she had arranged them, and who was to knock the Yule raps, and had scarcely time to give Herr von Rambow a hasty courtesy. But the Pastor made up for her neglect; he shook the young man's hand, and said that he was heartily glad that he had come to celebrate this joyous feast with them. "But," he added, "we must be under subjection; my Regina takes the rule to-day, and her head is never clearer and brighter than on Christmas eve."

He was right in that; for every few moments her head was thrust in at the door: "Wait just a minute longer! Sit perfectly still! The bell will ring directly." And once she whisked through the room, with a blue package peeping from under her apron, and then in the next room they heard her merry laugh.

At last, at last, the bell rung, and the door flew open, and there stood the Christmas tree, in the centre of the room, on the round table, and under the tree were as many dishes full of apples and nuts and ginger-bread as there were members of the family, and two more, for Habermann and the young gentleman. The Frau Pastorin fluttered about the tree, and then taking Habermann and Herr von Rambow by the hand, she led them up to the table. "This is your dish, and this is yours, and Louise and my Pastor have already found theirs!" then turning around, she cried, "Now all come in!" for the Pastor's man, George, and the two maids, Rika and Duerten, were all standing at the door, waiting for their Christmas boxes,--"now all come in! Where the bright dollars are sticking in the apples, those are your dishes, and the red cloth lying here is for the two maids, and this red vest is for George. And Louise--yes, yes, yes!" She could go no further, for Louise had grasped her about the neck, and was kissing the words from her lips, and in her hand she held a bright cherry merino dress: "This is from you, mother!"

Here it must be confessed, the Frau Pastorin so far forgot herself as to equivocate, not in words, to be sure, but by shaking her head, and nodding towards her Pastor, and Louise sprang upon him: "Then it is you!"

But he also shook his head, and professed to know nothing about it, and Louise grasped her own father by the arm, and cried: "No, no! It is from you!"

The good old inspector was much affected at receiving from his child the thanks which were due to others; he stroked her soft hair, and his eyes grew moist, as he took her hand and led her back to the Frau Pastorin, saying, "No, darling, no! Your thanks belong here."

But the Frau Pastorin had no time now to receive thanks. She was busy with her Pastor, whom she had drawn aside to see how his new dressing-gown fitted. It was fortunate that it did not happen to be a pair of pantaloons, for in the joy and excitement of this evening, the impropriety would never have occurred to her mind. The gown fitted well, and looked finely, and she drew back a couple of steps and looked at her Pastor, like a child when it has set up a new doll in the sofa-corner, and as she turned round she saw a package lying on her dish, which her Pastor had secretly placed there. Hastily she untied the string, and took off the wrappings, chattering all the while. What could it be? How strangely it felt! Somebody was surely playing a joke on her,--and at last, there was a beautiful black silk dress. Now the joy was at its height. Habermann had found a new pipe on his plate, and held it in his mouth, puffing contentedly, although it was quite cold, the Pastor lay back in the sofa-corner, like the new doll, and the Frau Pastorin and Louise walked up and down the room holding up the stuff for their new dresses, and looking down at them, as if the dresses were already finished.

And Franz! Franz sat a little aside, and a slight sadness stole over him, at the thought of the joys he had missed since his childhood. He rested his head on his hand, and the Christmas eves of his life passed before him; kind friends and relatives brought him their greetings, but the two faces which hung in his room, under the wreath of immortelles, were missing. He felt that he did not belong here, but he would not disturb their joy; he recalled his thoughts, and as he raised his head he looked into a pair of great, beautiful, childish eyes, full of thought and compassion, as if they had read his heart.

"Yule rap!" cried Rika's loud voice, and a package flew in at the door, "For the Frau Pastorin." It was a nice roller, and nobody knew where it came from. "Yule rap!" again; and this time it was a new stuffed cushion for the Pastor's arm-chair; but nobody had made it. Oh, what fibs they told that evening at the parsonage! "Yule rap!" There was a letter for the Frau Pastorin, and in it a ticket with a number, referring to another ticket up-stairs, and when she had got this, it referred her to another down in the cellar, and that to another, and another,--and if the Frau Pastorin wanted the pretty embroidered collar designed for her, she must chase it all over the house, to find it, at last, close by, in her husband's boot-leg. Another "Yule rap!" All, that was a great package! "To the Herr Pastor," it was addressed, but when the first wrapper was taken off, it was for the Frau Pastorin, and then for George, and then for Rika, and finally for Louise, and when the last paper had been taken off, there was a little work-table, exactly such a work-table as her father had given years ago to her dead mother. He knew where it came from, no one else.

Then another "Yule rap!" Books for Louise. "Yule rap!" again--an embroidered foot-cover for Habermann. All this time Rika had not been visible. Now she came in and gathered up the wrapping paper and string. Then the door opened once more, a clear bell-like voice cried "Yule rap!" and, as the package was examined, it was found to be "For the Honourable Herr Franz von Rambow," and while they were looking, a little maiden crept softly in on tip-toe, a great joy beaming in her face.

Franz was taken by surprise, but when he opened his package, he found a letter from his youngest cousin Fidelia, and the three unmarried daughters of the Kammerrath had sent him their Christmas gifts--Albertine a smoking-cushion, and he never smoked on a sofa,--Bertha a saddle-cover, and as yet he had no horse,--and Fidelia a cigar-case, and in fact he never smoked at all. But what of that? Whether one can use them or not, it is all one; not the gift, but the giver, and the good-will is the important thing at Christmas time. Franz no longer felt so lonely; and as he saw the pleasure in Louise's face, when she returned, he laughed and joked with her about his presents, and, whether she liked it or not, she must receive his thanks, because he had recognized her voice.

Rika came in again, saying, "Frau Pastorin, they are all here."

"So? Then we will go out."

"No, dear Regina," said the Pastor, "let them come in."

"Oh, Pastor, they will bring in so much snow on their feet!"

"Never mind! Rika will get up early to-morrow morning, and clean it all up. Eh, Rika?"

To be sure, Rika would do it gladly; so the door was opened, and in came head after head, flaxen heads and dark heads, all the little people in the village, and they stood there rubbing their noses, and opening their eyes wider and wider, and stared at the apples and ginger-nuts, with their mouths also wide open, as if to invite the dainties to walk in.

"So!" said Frau Pastorin, "now let the godchildren come first. Habermann," added she, "we are next to their parents, my Pastor and I, in fact we are nearest to our godchildren." And more than half of the company pressed forward, for the Pastor and his wife had stood godparents to at least half the village children. One boy, who wanted to deceive, pushed forward with the others, that was Jochen Ruhrdanz, who had said last year that the godchildren got more than the others; but Stina Wasmuths noticed him, and pushed him back, saying, "You are not a godchild," so that his impudent attempt was unsuccessful.

Then the Herr Pastor came forward, with a pile of books under his arm, and all the godchildren, who had during the winter come to him for instruction, received every one a hymn-book, and the others received writing-books and slates and primers and catechisms, according as they needed them, and all the children said, "Thank you, godfather!" but those who had hymn-books said, "Thank you very much, Herr Pastor." That was an old custom.

Then came the Frau Pastorin. "So! I will take the nuts; Louise, you take the ginger-nuts, and, Herr von Rambow, will you take the apple-basket? And now, each in his turn! Come, children, put yourselves in rows, and hold your dishes ready."

It was not a very quiet proceeding, there was some pushing and shoving, for each one wished to be in the front row, and each held out whatever he had brought, to receive his Christmas gift. The little girls had their aprons, but the boys had brought anything they could lay hands on; one had a platter, another a peck-measure, a third his father's hat, and one a great corn-sack, which he evidently expected to get almost if not quite full. Now began the dividing.

"There, there, there--hold!" said the Frau Pastorin, as she came to a mischievous rogue of a boy. "Herr von Rambow, that boy is to have no apples, because he helped himself from the garden, last summer."

"Oh, Frau Pastorin----"

"Boy, didn't I see you myself, up in the great apple-tree by the wall, knocking off the apples with a stick?"

"But, ah, Frau Pastorin----"

"Not a word! Boys who steal apples can't expect to have any at Christmas." So she went on, but stopped again when she came to Jochen Ruhrdanz. "Didn't I see you, last week, fighting with Christian Rusborn, before the parsonage, so that my Rika had to go out and separate you?"

"Yes, Frau Pastorin, but he said----"

"Hush! Louise, he gets no ginger-nuts."

"Yes, Frau Pastorin, but we made it all up again."

"Ah! Then you may give him some, Louise."

So they went through the rows, and then the children went off with their Christmas boxes, saying only, "Good evening!" for thanks were not the custom, at this stage of the proceedings.

When they were gone, quite a different set of people came coughing and limping in at the door; these were the old spinning-women, and broom-tyers, and wooden-shoemakers, out of the village, and also some, who were no longer capable of any work. With these the Pastor spoke a few friendly, Christian words, and the Frau Pastorin gave each one a great loaf of plain, wholesome cake, and they went away, wishing God's blessing upon the Pastor and his wife.

About nine o'clock the Pastor's George brought Habermann's sleigh to the door, and the two guests said "Good night!" and, as Habermann came out, he went up silently to the horses, and took off their bells, for up in the church-tower other bells were ringing which rung for the whole world.

They drove slowly through the village. Here and there burned a Christmas candle in the cottages of the poor laborers, and up in the heavens God had lighted up his great Christmas tree with a thousand shining lamps, and the world lay stretched out beneath like a Christmas table, and winter had spread it with a cloth of whitest snow, that spring, summer and autumn might cover with Christmas gifts.

As they came out of the village, Franz noticed the lighted windows of Pomuchelskopp's house; "They are keeping Christmas there, too," said he. They gave presents; but it was not a real Christmas after all.

Pomuchelskopp had bought nothing at Rahnstadt; everything came from Rostock. "Always noble!" said he. He told also how much Malchen and Salchen's clothes had cost, and when Malchen heard that Salchen's dress was two dollars dearer than her's, she felt badly, and Salchen thought herself quite superior to her sister. And Philipping and Nanting began to quarrel about a sugar doll, and when Pomuchelskopp said that his favorite, Philipping, should have it, Nanting was angry, and threw a toy-box at Philipping, which unfortunately hit the great looking-glass, and broke it into a thousand pieces. Then their mother took the government into her hands, and got the strap out of the cupboard, and punished Nanting first for his misdeeds, and then Philipping, and afterwards the other boys for company. And not once in the whole evening did she say "Poeking" to her husband; not even when he brought out the new winter hat with great feathers, that he had bought for her; she said only, "Kopp, do you want to make me look like a scarecrow?"

As Franz went to bed that night, he said to himself that he had never spent so pleasant a Christmas eve, and when he asked himself the reason, the joyous face of Louise Habermann appeared before his mind's eye, and he said, "Yes, yes, such a joyous child belongs properly to Christmas time!"

Between Christmas and New Year's, a very unusual event occurred. Jochen Nuessler's blue cloak with seven capes drove over to Pumpelhagen in the "phantom," and when Habermann went out there sat Jochen himself inside the coat. He could not get out,--Oh, no!--he had been from home an hour and a half already; but he had been at the parsonage, and they were all coming to spend St. Sylvester's eve, and Braesig also, and he wanted his brother-in-law to come, and bring the two young people with him, and he would do what he could to entertain them with a big bowl of punch.

Having uttered this long speech, he stopped abruptly, and when Habermann had accepted the invitation, and Christian had turned the horses' heads, a murmur came out of the seven capes, which sounded like, "Good-bye, brother-in-law!" but Christian looked back and said, "You must all come to coffee, Herr Inspector! The Frau told me so expressly."

Franz forwarded the invitation to Fritz, who was still at Rahnstadt, and wrote him that, as his vacation would be over, he could come to Rexow the last day of the year, and go home with them to Pumpelhagen.

As Habermann and Franz drove up to the Rexow farm house, at the appointed time,--it was a wet day,--there stood Jochen in the door, in his new black dress-coat and trousers, a Christmas present from his wife, and the red smoking-cap which Mining had given him, looking for all the world like a stuffed bullfinch.

"Look alive, Jochen," called Braesig from within, "and do the 'honneurs,' that Karl's young nobleman may have some opinion of your manners."

After Jochen had received them, and the greetings with the family and the Pastor and his wife were over, Frau Nuessler began to talk to her brother about her domestic affairs, the Pastor engaged in conversation with the young Herr von Rambow, the Frau Pastorin asked the little girls about their Christmas presents. Jochen sat silently in his old corner by the stove, and Braesig in his great seal-skin boots which came nearly up to his waist, went from one to another, as if it were Christmas eve over again, and he were playing St. Nicholas, to frighten the children.

The sun looked in at the window now and then, the room was warm and comfortable, the coffee-steam rose in little clouds and mingled with the smoke-wreaths from the Pastor's pipe, till it seemed like a summer day, with light, feathery clouds floating in the sunshine. Only, near the stove, it looked as if a thunder-shower was coming up, for there sat Jochen, smoking as if for a wager. His wife had taken away the "Fleigen Markur" from his tobacco-pouch, and filled it for the occasion with "Fine old mild," and he could not get the strength of the "Markur" from this more delicate quality of tobacco, without using a double portion.

But a cloud was coming up outside, not exactly in the heavens, nor yet from the earth beneath,--which would disturb the repose of this quiet room.

One of Frau Nuessler's maids came in to say that there was a man outside with a cart, who had brought a travelling trunk from the apothecary at Rahnstadt, and where should it be put?

"God bless me!" cried the Frau Pastorin, "that is Fritz's trunk. You will see, Pastor, my brother-in-law is so inconsiderate, he has let the boy come on horseback again. Nobody ought to ride that wild horse, Habermann."

"Oh, don't be troubled, Frau Pastorin," said Habermann, laughing a little, "the horse is not so bad----"

"Ah, Habermann, but I saw him before, when he first came to Pumpelhagen; the creature would not stir a step."

"Frau Pastorin," said Braesig, "it is not so bad if a beast is balky as when the rascal takes to running; then the Latin riders used to fall off."

But the little Frau Pastorin could not rest; she opened the window, and asked the man who had driven the cart whether Fritz was riding, and was the horse very vicious?

"Like a lamb," was the reply. "If he does nothing to the horse, the horse will do nothing to him. He will be here directly."

That was comforting, so the Frau Pastorin seated herself again on the sofa, saying, with a sigh,--

"My poor sister! I tremble for her, whenever I set eyes on the boy. He plays too many stupid jokes."

"He will be up to something of the sort, now?" said Braesig.

Braesig was right. In the time between Christmas and New Year's Fritz had accomplished a great deal of folly, all the time in his wonderful inspector suit; for, though the weather had been cold and disagreeable, he had worn the green hunting-jacket, white leather breeches, and yellow top-boots, not merely in the day-time, but occasionally through the night. Once, at least, after he had come home late from a lively company of young farmers, the maid-servant found him next morning lying in bed in his boots and spurs. He had met an old friend that evening, Gust Prebberow by name, who went round half the year in yellow top-boots, and the pleasure of seeing him, together with the lively, agricultural conversation, had been a little too much for Fritz. Gust Prebberow had given him all sorts of useful advice, how to manage "the old man," as he called Habermann, and to pull the wool over his eyes, and had told incidents from his own experience in the management of farm-boys; and, after discussing these branches of agriculture, they came to the subject of horses. Fritz related his adventures with the old chestnut, who was naturally a very gifted horse, and good-natured, for the most part, but like his own father the apothecary, old Chestnut had always been suspicious of him, and on the look-out for mischief. He had evidently made up his mind that Fritz knew nothing about the management of horses, although Fritz had made repeated efforts to bring him to a better way of thinking. His greatest fault was that he positively would not stir a step farther than he pleased, neither kicks nor kindness, whipping nor spurring, could alter this determination when once he had taken it into his stupid head.

"And do you allow that?" said Gust Prebberow. "Now, brother, I will tell you what to do. See, next time you mount him, take a good sized earthen pot full of water, and ride gently along just as usual, till you come to the place where he balks, and then give it to him with the spurs in the ribs, and break the pot over his head,--all at once!--so that the fragments of the pot will clatter down, and the water will run into his eyes."

Fritz paid close attention to this advice, and when he started to-day in his smart inspector suit, he took the bridle in his left hand, the riding-whip under his left arm, and in his right hand a great jar full of water. He could not ride fast, without spilling the water, and old Chestnut had no desire to run away, so they jogged along very peaceably until they reached Rexow farm.

Here Fritz wished to ride up to the house in a brisk trot, so he drove the spurs into old Chestnut's ribs, but Chestnut, having a bad disposition and still bearing Fritz malice, on account of his adventure in the Pastor's mud-puddle, all of a sudden stood still. Now was the time. A stroke of the whip behind, spurs in his ribs, and crash! the pot between his ears. "Uff!" grunted Chestnut, shaking his head, in token that he would not stir a step, but the blow must have stunned him a little, for he lay down directly. Fritz went too, of course, and though he had sense enough to fall clear of the horse, he could not prevent himself from lying at his side.

The company in Frau Nuessler's parlor had witnessed the scene, and at first the little Frau Pastorin had lamented her poor sister's misfortune, but as she observed old Chestnut's quiet behaviour, and saw Fritz safely landed upon the soft and somewhat cold "bed of honor," which the rain and dew of heaven and Jochen Nuessler's dung-heap had prepared for him, she was compelled to join in the general laughter, and said to her Pastor, "It is good enough for him!"

"Yes," said Braesig, "and if he takes cold, it won't hurt him. What business has he to behave so with that old creature!"

Fritz now approached, looking on one side like a plough-boy, black and muddy, on the other still smart and shining.

"You are a dainty sight, my son," cried the Frau Pastorin, from the open window. "Don't come in here like that! Fortunately, your trunk has arrived, and you can change your clothes."

He followed her advice, and entered the room, before long, in his most distinguished apparel, a blue dress-coat and long black trousers, like a young proprietor, but in great vexation, which Braesig's jokes and his aunt's observations did not tend to diminish. Franz, on the contrary, was in the most cheerful temper. He joked to his heart's content with the three little girls, and looked at their Christmas gifts, laughing himself half dead as the little twins finally dragged forward a great foot-sack, which Uncle Braesig had given them, "that the little rogues might keep their toes warm, and not get the cursed Podagra." Franz had never in his life enjoyed opportunities of intercourse with little girls younger than himself, and this confidential chatter and contented mirthfulness, making merry over things which in his eyes seemed nothing at all, made such an impression upon him, that when they sat down to supper, he kept among the little folks, decidedly refusing the pressing invitations of Frau Nuessler, who wished him, as a nobleman, to take a higher place.

That was a joyous evening meal; talk went briskly back and forth, every one taking his share except Fritz and Jochen. Fritz could not get over his annoyance, and was vexed that he could not enjoy himself as Franz was doing. Jochen said nothing to be sure, but he laughed continually; if Braesig merely opened his mouth, Jochen stretched his from ear to ear, and when the punch was brought in, and Lining, as the most judicious of the little ones, undertook the task of serving it out, he found a voice, and endeavored to discharge his duties as host, saying now and then very quietly, "Lining, help Braesig!"

The punch helped Fritz, also, to the use of his tongue. He was still in ill-humor, especially at Franz's undignified behavior. The little girls had hitherto seemed to him very small fry, but if one talked to them at all, one should employ a higher style of conversation. Accordingly he took up the role which he had played at the Rahnstadt ball, when he had danced with the burgomeister's daughter, aged twenty-seven, and addressed Louise as "Fraeulein Habermann." The child looked at him in astonishment, and as he again uttered his "Fraeulein," she laughed innocently in his face: "I am no Fraeulein, I am only Louise Habermann,"--and Franz could not help laughing also.

That was annoying for Fritz, but he knew what was proper, and how one should converse with ladies; he refused to be snubbed, and went on relating his experiences at the ball, what he said to the burgomeister's daughter, and what she had said to him, "fraeulein" ing also the little twins, right and left. And as this caused a great tittering and giggling among the little folks, he naturally talked louder and louder, in order to be heard, till at last the whole company were looking at him in silence. Jochen, who sat next him, had turned round and stared at him, as if to see how it were possible that one human being could talk so much. Braesig looked over Jochen's shoulder with an uncommonly happy face, rejoicing at his own knowledge of human nature, and nodding now and then to Habermann, as if to say, "You see, Karl, didn't I say so? A good-for-nothing puppy!"

Habermann, annoyed, looked down at his plate, Frau Nuessler was in great perplexity to know what she ought to do as hostess, in such an emergency, the Pastor gently shook his head back and forth; but the most excited of all was the little Frau Pastorin. She bent down her head till the cap-strings rustled under her chin, and moved uneasily on her chair, as if the place were too hot for her, and as Fritz finally attempted to give a visible illustration of the schottische, how the gentleman embraced the lady, she could no longer contain herself. She sprang up and cried, "All keep still! As his aunt, I am the nearest to him! Fritz, come here directly!" And as he slowly rose, and very coolly and politely walked round to her, she took hold of his coat and pulled him along: "My dearest boy, come out here a moment!" With that, she drew him out of the door. The company inside heard fragments of a short sermon, which was interrupted by no reply, and then the door opened and the Frau Pastorin led Fritz back again, and, pointing to his place, said, "Now sit down quietly, and behave like a reasonable being."

Fritz followed her advice, that is to say the first part of it; the second was not so easy, and ought not to have been expected. After fashionable talk, reasonable talk seemed to him very tame, and why should he spoil a good beginning by a bad ending?

As Franz and the little girls gradually resumed their lively chatter, and the older people travelled on in the country road of reasonable talk, with a jolt now and then, when Braesig drove against a stone, Fritz sat and grumbled to himself, feeding his anger with punch, which served as oil to the flame, and inwardly called Franz "a crafty rascal," and the little girls, "foolish children," who understood nothing of polite conversation.

In spite of this, and of the contempt which he felt for such childish intercourse, his anger was mingled with a little jealousy at not being himself "cock of the walk," and as he perceived that Franz seemed most taken with Louise Habermann, he vowed secretly that that should come to an end; he himself, Fritz Triddelsitz, would see what he could do, provided, that is, that his aunt would keep out of the way.

By this time it was growing late, but no one thought how late it was, until suddenly a strange figure appeared in the room, wrapped from top to toe in all sorts of warm garments, and he blew a horn, which was fearful to hear, and then began to sing, which was more fearful still. It was Gust Stoewsand, who was not more than half-witted, and, because he was fit for nothing else, Jochen Nuessler had made him night-watchman. And the boys and girls looked in at the door, to see how Just would manage his business, and they laughed, and pushed and pulled one another back and forth. Then congratulations began, and all wished each other "Happy New Year!" and after all was quiet again, the Herr Pastor made a little speech, which began quite playfully but ended seriously, how with every year one came a step nearer to the grave, and one must comfort oneself by this, that with every year new knots were tied, and friendship and love bound more closely together. As he finished his good words, he looked around the circle; the little Frau Pastorin had slipped her arm in his, Jochen stood by his wife, Habermann and Braesig held each other by the hand, the two little twin-apples had their arms around each other, and Franz stood by Louise Habermann. Fritz was nowhere to be seen, he had gone off in his vexation.

So ended the year 1839.

Spotted a typo or a problem in this chapter? Tell us

Chapter VIII

When Easter came, Braesig set out for the water-cure, and the Kammerrath arrived at Pumpelhagen, with his three daughters, Albertine, Bertha, and Fidelia.

"He will never go away again, he is near his end," said Habermann to himself, and Franz thought the same, and they spoke sadly of it to each other as they sat together the evening after his arrival. Franz naturally took his meals after this with his uncle and cousins, and Habermann found himself very lonely in the old farm-house, he had become so accustomed to the young man's society, and found it so pleasant.

During the first week the Kammerrath had a visitor. Pomuchelskopp came, in his blue dress-coat with bright buttons, and in his new coach, which was rendered more splendid than ever, since it was adorned with a coat of arms, which he had ordered from Vienna for half a louis-d'or. It represented a haddock's head (Dorsch Kopp) on a blue field (Fell), which the stupid laborers, who understood nothing about haddocks and blue fields called "a block head (das Kopp) in a blue coat" (Fell); having possibly discerned a personal resemblance between the escutcheon and their master.

He had given up the idea of intercourse with Braesig's Herr Count, and no other families of nobility lived in the neighborhood, so he found the Kammerrath's arrival quite apropos. But the man was unfortunate. As he made known his errand to Daniel Sadenwater, the Kammerrath's old servant, in a melancholy tone--that he felt constrained to make personal inquiries after the Herr Kammerrath, and added that he had known the Herr Kammerrath very well at Rostock,--old Daniel went off with a peaceful face to announce him, but came back with a face quite as placid to say that the Herr Kammerrath regretted he was not in a state of health to receive callers. That was truly vexatious for Pomuchelskopp, and he sat all the afternoon sulking in the sofa-corner, and his dear wife, who always became so cheerful and affectionate on such occasions, called him "Poeking" incessantly, which certainly should have amply compensated for his disappointment.

The Kammerrath, in his illness, felt the need of no other society than he found at home. His two oldest daughters thought of nothing else from morning to night but to amuse and comfort him, and the youngest, who was the pet child of the whole family, and who continued a little too young to suit her elder sisters, and perhaps prided herself a little upon her childlike joyousness, sought for means to enliven him. Franz, in the kindness of his heart, had assumed the office of secretary to his uncle, and took upon himself all the little annoying cares, which are not wanting in a household where sickness has entered; but the Kammerrath took especial pleasure in the society of Habermann, and consulted him not only about farming matters, but in all his affairs and perplexities.

Habermann had little time, now, to visit at the parsonage, and if Louise wished to speak to her father, she must seek him in the fields, or at noon in the farm-house. So it happened that she often came in the way of the Fraeulein Fidelia, and as it is an old story that young girls who are growing to be rather old girls, hovering on the line between youth and age, always incline to the youthful side, and enjoy the society of those younger than themselves, it was quite natural that Fraeulein Fidelia should take a great fancy to Louise, and in a little while they were the closest friends.

It is generally a good thing for a young girl to have such a friend, older than herself, but I would not say it is always so. It depends greatly upon the circumstances of the older lady. Louise took no harm from the intimacy, for Fraeulein Fidelia was very kind-hearted; she was also a little tired of the frivolity and ceremony of high society, and when her blessed mama--the gracious old lady, as Daniel Sadenwater called her,--had endeavored to make her more ceremonious and dignified, the Kammerrath had always taken his darling's part. He was a little to blame for her childishness; she had always frolicked with him, from her babyhood, and had laughed away his cares and troubles, and she kept on doing so from force of habit.

She spoke of this daily task of amusing her father in such a manner that Louise thought of nothing but how to comfort and assist her; and what might have been dangerous under different circumstances became now rather a preventive of contagion. Louise had too much good sense to look among Fraeulein Fidelia's little fripperies of behavior for manners suitable to herself. But she not only received benefit, she gave it. If Louise had little knowledge of the world of fashion, Fraeulein Fidelia had as little of the world in which she lived and moved--and there Louise could give the best instruction.

But a vexatious thing was first to occur, which gave Fraeulein Fidelia great annoyance. It happened in this way. The Kammerrath had sent to Schwerin for a beautiful dress, for her birth-day present, Fraeulein Albertine had given her a new summer hat, and Fraeulein Bertha, a pretty shawl, and when the presentation was over, the two elder sisters had arrayed their pet in the new finery, and stood looking at her right and left, admiring her fine appearance, and Fraeulein Bertha exclaimed, "She is a little fairy!" (fee).

Corlin Kegels, one of the maids, was going through the room at the moment, and had nothing better to do than to say in the kitchen: "What do you think, girls? Fraeulein Bertha says that our little Fraeulein looks like a little cow (vieh)." The joke took, and Fraeulein Fidelia was soon known among the servants only as "the little cow." Of course it must come to her ears, sooner or later, and then there was a great uproar and a great investigation, and Corlin Kegels, in spite of her weeping and begging, was turned out of doors. Louise came in just then, and met Corlin crying on the door-steps, and found Fraeulein Fidelia crying in the parlor. One word led to another, and when Louise knew the whole affair, she said, placing her hands compassionately on the Fraeulein's shoulders, "Ah, the poor things didn't mean any harm."

"Yes, indeed they did," cried the Fraeulein, hastily. "The rough, unmannerly common people!"

"No, no! Don't say that!" exclaimed Louise, really distressed. "Our people are not rough; they have as much feeling as distinguished people. My father says one must learn to know them, and that is not so easy, their language separates them from their masters."

"Very likely," said Fidelia. "I call 'little cow' a rough, coarse expression."

"It was a misunderstanding," said Louise. "The word 'fee' is unknown to them, and this sounds like it, and seemed comical to them. They had no idea of offending you. Dear Fraeulein, you are the idol of all your servants."

This last sugar-plum, which Louise administered with no thought of flattery, pacified the Fraeulein, and at last, in the kindness of her heart, she resolved upon a nearer acquaintance with her people, and Corlin Kegels was taken again into favor.

The Fraeulein made inquires of Franz, and he praised the Pumpelhagen people highly, the Kammerrath, also, gave them a good character, and said that their ancestors had lived on the estate since the memory of man. "The first Herr von Rambow of whom we have intelligence," said he, "bad two servants, one of whom was called 'Asel' and the other 'Egel.' These had many namesakes, and in time a great confusion arose among the different 'Egels' and 'Asels.' One Egel would take home the bushel of wheat, which another Egel should have had, and one Asel would get the load of hay which properly belonged to another. This confusion had reached such a point under one of my forefathers, who--I am sorry for the family to confess--had a very short memory, that the Frau von Rambow, who was a good deal quicker-witted than her husband, undertook to remedy matters. She had an idea, and as she had the rule she could carry it out. All the fathers of families in the village were called together, One Sunday morning, and every one must tell his christened name and his father's name, and she wrote them down,--for she knew how to write,--and then took the first letter of the christened name, and the father's name together, and baptized the whole village. So 'Karl Egel' became 'Kegel,' and 'Pagel Egel' 'Pegel' and 'Florian Egel' 'Flegel,' and 'Vullrad Asel' was changed to 'Vasel,' and 'Peter Asel' to 'Pasel,' and 'David Asel' to 'Daesel,' and so on. And, it is a thing to be noted, the old story said the ancestor of the Egels was a flax-head, and that of the Asels a black-head, and so it is among their namesakes to this day. And the resemblance was not merely external, they inherited mental peculiarities as well; for the first Egel was greatly skilled in cutting spoons and ladles, and making rakes and wooden shoes, while the first Asel was an uncommonly fine singer, and the gifts have remained in the families,--the night-watchmen have always been chosen from the Asels, and the wheelwrights from the Egels; you know at this day, Fidelia, David Daesel is the watchman, and Fritz Flegel is the wheelwright."

Fraeulein Fidelia was excessively pleased with this story, and in her restless and frolicsome humor she ran about to all the laborer's cottages, chatting with the housewives by the hour, and keeping them from their work, and bestowing cast-off finery upon the children. If Louise Habermann had not been with her, she would have given Pasel's eleven-year-old Marie a riding-hat with feathers and veil, and Daesel's Stina, who watched the goslings in the duck-pond, would have got a gorgeous pair of light blue satin slippers. The old fathers of the village shook their heads over such doings; but the old mothers defended her, saying that if she were not so sensible as she might be, yet she meant well; and instead of calling her merely "little cow," as before, they called her "a nice good, pretty little cow."

Pastor Behrens shook his head, also, when he heard of this new sort of beneficence. The Pumpelhagen people were the best in his parish, he said, and they had good reason to be, in having such a good old master, the Gurlitz people had suffered greatly from the change of proprietors; but nothing was so bad for people as indiscriminate and unmerited beneficence,--he must talk to the Fraeulein about it.

He did so at the next opportunity; he told her that the Pumpelhagen people were so situated that unless in case of sickness, or the death of a cow, or some other misfortune, an industrious fellow and a tidy housewife could take care of themselves, and that unnecessary favors only taught them to look too much to others for assistance. These people must go their own, free way, just like others and one must be careful of intruding into their concerns, even to benefit them.

I am glad to say that Fraeulein Fidelia saw the justice of these remarks, and limited her benefactions in future to the people who could no longer help themselves, to the old and the sick, and for these she was changed from a little "vieh" to a little "fee." Louise helped her in these Good-Samaritan labors, and as Franz now and then met them in the cottages, he saw to his surprise that the little maiden had a good deal of experience, and was both wise and skilful in action, and that the lovely eyes rested with as much sweetness and compassion upon a poor old sick laborer's wife, as upon him, that Christmas eve. He rejoiced at this, without rightly knowing why.

The spring was over, summer had come, and one Sunday morning Habermann received a letter from Braesig, at Warnitz, saying that he must stay at home that day; Braesig had returned from the water-cure and was coming to see him in the afternoon. So it happened; Braesig came on horseback, and dismounted with a spring, as if he would send both feet through the causeway.

"Ho, ho!" cried Habermann. "How active you are, you are as quick as a bird!"

"Freshly sharpened, Karl! I have made a new beginning."

"Well, old fellow, how did it go?" asked Habermann, when they were established on the sofa, and had started their pipes.

"Listen, Karl! Damp, cold, soaking wet, that is only the beginning. They make a man into a frog, and before human nature changes to frog-nature a man suffers so much that he wishes he had come into the world as a frog, to begin with; but it is good, for all that. You see, the first thing in the morning is generally sweating. They wrap you up in cold, wet cloths, and then in woolen blankets, so tightly that you can move nothing but your toes. After that they take you into a bathing room, ringing a bell to keep the ladies away, and then they put you into a bathing-tub, and pour three pailfuls of water over your bald head, if you happen to have one, and then you may go where you please. Do you think that is the end? You may think so, but it is only the beginning; but it is good, for all that.

"Well, then you go walking, for exercise. I have done a good deal of walking in my time, raking and harrowing and sowing peas, and so forth; but I always had something to do. Here, however, I had nothing at all. And then you drink water from morning to night. It is just like pouring water through a sieve, and they stand there and groan, and say, 'Ah, the beautiful water!' Don't you believe them, Karl, they are hypocrites. Water is bad enough, outside, but inside it is fearful; it is good, though, for all that.

"Then you take a sitz-bath--can you imagine how that feels, four degrees above freezing point? Just as if the devil had got you on a red-hot iron stool, and kept putting fresh fire under; but then it is good for you. Then you walk again, till noon, and then you eat your dinner.

"But you have no conception, Karl, how people eat at a water-cure! The water must sharpen the stomach famously. Karl, I have seen ladies, as slender and delicate as angels, who would eat three great pieces of steak, and potatoes--preserve us! enough to plant half an acre! The water-doctors are to be pitied, for one must eat them out of house and home. After dinner, you drink water again, and then you can talk with the ladies; for in the morning they won't speak to you, they go about in strange disguises, some with wet stockings, as if they had been crabbing, others with their heads tied up in wet cloths, and their hair flying. You can talk to them as you please, but you will find it hard to get answers, unless you inquire about their diseases, whether they have had an eruption, or swellings or boils, for that is polite conversation at a water-cure. After you have amused yourself in this manner, you must go to the 'Tuesche,'[2] but don't think that it is black,--no, nothing but clear cold water; it is good, though. You must take notice, Karl, everything that is particularly disagreeable and a man's especial horror, is good for the human body."

"You should be cured of your gout, then, Braesig, for you have a special horror of cold water."

"One may see very well, Karl, that you have never been at a water-cure. You see, the doctor explained it to me at length, this confounded Podagra is the chief of all diseases,--it is the mother of all mischief,--and it comes from the gout-stuff that lodges in the bones and ferments there, and the gout-stuff comes from the poison stuff that you swallow by way of nourishment, for example, Kuemmel and tobacco, or the things you get from the apothecary. And if you have the gout you must be sweated in wet sheets, till all the tobacco which you have ever smoked, and all the Kuemmel you have ever drank, is sweated out. So you see the poison-stuff goes away, and then the gout-stuff, and then the cursed Podagra itself."

"Was it so with you?"

"No."

"No? why didn't you stay longer, then? I would have held out till the end."

"Karl, you may talk. Nobody holds out,--no human being could. They had one man there who was sweated till he smelt so strong of tobacco that the doctor called the patients in, that their own noses might testify, and it was put down in the books; but it came out afterward that the rogue had been smoking a cigar, which is forbidden,--and Kuemmel is forbidden also. But to go on with the daily life. After the Tuesche, you walk again, and by that time it is evening. You may still walk about in the twilight, if you please, and many of the gentlemen and ladies do so, or you may amuse yourself in the house, with reading. I used to read the water-books which a certain Russian has written, his name is Frank, one of the chiefs of the water-doctors. Karl, there is everything in those books, everything in brief. But it is hard for a man to understand, and, on that account, I did not get beyond the second page. That was quite enough for me, for after I had read it I was as dizzy as if I had been standing on my head half an hour. Do you think, Karl, that fresh air is fresh air? Not a bit of it! And do you think that water out of your pump is water? You are quite mistaken! You see, fresh air is composed of three parts, oxygen and nitrogen and carbonic acid gas. And the pump water is composed of two parts, oxygen and hydrogen. The entire water-cure system is founded upon fresh air and water. And you see, Karl, how wisely nature has provided; we go about in the open air, and we breathe in the black carbonic acid, and the nitrogen, for they cannot be separated, and then comes the water-cure and turns these ugly things out of doors, for the oxygen of the water unites with the carbonic acid, and the hydrogen drives out the nitrogen from the body, in the sweating process. Do you understand, Karl?"

"No," said Habermann, laughing heartily, "not a word of it."

"You shouldn't laugh at things that you don't understand, Karl. You see. I know the nitrogen is driven out, I have smelt it myself; but what becomes of the black carbon? That is the point, and I never could get beyond it, in my water-cure science, and do you suppose Pastor Behrens understands it? I asked him yesterday, and he knows nothing at all about it. But you will see, Karl, the black carbonic acid is still in my body, and so I shall have the cursed Podagra again."

"But, Zachary, why didn't you stay a little longer, until you were thoroughly cured?"

"Karl," said Braesig, dropping his eyes, with a confused expression, "it wouldn't do! Something happened to me, Karl," looking Habermann in the face again. "You have known me since I was a child, have you ever noticed any disrespectful behavior to the ladies?"

"No indeed, Braesig, I can testify to that."

"Well, then, just think how it must have troubled me! A week ago this last Friday, I had an infamous grumbling in my great toe,--for it always begins at the extremities,--and the water-doctor said, 'Herr Inspector, you must have an extra packing. Dr. Strump's confounded Colchicum is doing the mischief, and we must have it out.' So he packed me himself, and bandaged me up so tight that I could scarcely draw breath, saying I did not need air so much as water, and upon that he was going to shut the window. 'No,' said I, 'I understand enough to know that I must have fresh air; leave the window open,' and he did so, and went off. I lay there quietly, thinking no harm, when suddenly I heard a humming and a buzzing, and as I looked up, a whole swarm of bees came in at the window, and the leader,--for I knew him, Karl, you know I am a bee-master, I went out one spring at Zittelwitz with the schoolmaster, and took seven and fifty hives--and this leader made straight for the blanket which the doctor had drawn over my head. Well, what was I to do? I could not stir,--I blew and blew at him, till I had no breath left; not the slightest use. The beast fastened himself on my bald head,--for I always left off my peruke, in order not to injure it--and the whole swarm came hovering over my face. I rolled myself out of bed, fell on the floor, struggled out of the blankets and wet sheets, and ran out of the door, with the devils after me, and cried for help. God be praised, the assistant of the water-doctor--the man's name is Ehrfurcht,--met me, and took me to another room, and got me necessary clothing, so that after resting awhile I could go down into the dining-room, that is to say, with half a score bee-stings in my body. I began to talk to the gentlemen, and they laughed. I turned to one of the ladies, and made a friendly remark about the weather, and she blushed. Why should the weather make her blush? I don't know, nor you either, Karl. Why do you laugh? I turned to another lady, who was a singer, and asked her very politely to sing a song, that she had sung every evening. What do you think she did, Karl? She turned her back on me. As I stood there wondering what it all meant, the water-doctor came to me, and said, 'Herr Inspector, don't take it ill, but you made yourself quite noticeable this afternoon.' 'How so?' said I. 'Yes,' said he, 'when you sprang out of the door, Fraeulein von Hinkefuss was crossing the corridor, and she has told it in confidence to all the rest.' 'And on that account, am I to be deprived of all pity? Shall the gentlemen laugh, and the ladies turn their backs on me? I did not come here for that! If Fraeulein von Hinkefuss had got half a score of bee-stings in her body, I should inquire after her every morning, with the greatest interest. But let her go! One cannot buy sympathy in the market. But now come, Herr Doctor, and take the bee-stings out of me.' If you believe me Karl, he couldn't do it. 'What,' said I, 'not take a bee-sting out of my skin?' 'No,' said he, 'I could, to be sure, but I dare not, it would be a surgical operation, and according to the Mecklinburg laws I am not qualified for it.' 'What?' said I, 'you can drive the poison out of my bones, and not draw the stings out of my body? You dare not touch the skin of the outer man, and you clear out his inside with your confounded water? I am obliged to you!' and from that moment, Karl, I lost confidence in the whole concern, and without that it could do me no good, they say so themselves to everybody, when he first arrives. So I came away, and had the stings taken out by old Surgeon Metz, at Rahnstadt. And so ends my story of the water-cure. It is a good thing, though; one gets quite a different view of things, and even if the cursed Podagra is not cured, one gets an idea of what a human being can endure. And, Karl, I brought you home a water-book, you can study the science in the winter evenings."

Habermann thanked him, and the conversation turned to farming matters, and so, by degrees, to the apprentices.

"How does your young gentleman get along?" inquired Braesig.

"Very well indeed, Braesig, he is equally good at everything. I am only sorry that cannot see more of him. He does his duty, wherever he is, and Daniel Sadenwater tells me that he watches many a night with our poor, sick master, though he is very tired. He is a model young man. He has interest in his work, and a kind heart for his friends."

"Well, Karl, and your greyhound?"

"Oh, he is not so bad; he has a good many maggots in his head, but the youth is not vicious. He does what he is told, when he doesn't forget it. Well! we were young once ourselves."

"The best of your young folks is that they are so hearty. I was at Christian Klockmann's, you see, lately, he has a son, fourteen years old, just confirmed. He is tired all day, falls asleep while he is walking, when he ought to eat he won't eat, and if he is sent to the field he perishes with cold."

"Ah, no! my two are not like that," said Habermann.

"And the young gentleman watches at night by the old master?" said Braesig. "It is sad for the young man! The Herr Kammerrath is then very feeble? Give him my respects, Karl, I must say adieu, I have an appointment to meet my gracious Herr Count." Whereupon Braesig departed.

The Kammerrath had indeed grown very feeble, of late; he had suffered another slight shock, but had fortunately retained his speech, and this evening Franz came to ask Habermann to go over and see his uncle, who wished to speak with him.

When the Inspector entered the room, Fidelia was there, chattering to the old gentleman of this and that; the poor child knew not how long she might be able to talk with her good father. The Kammerrath bade her leave him alone with Habermann, and when she was gone he looked at the inspector with deep sadness, and said, feebly, "Habermann, dear Habermann, when that which has always given us pleasure pleases us no longer, the end is near." Habermann looked at him, and could not conceal from himself the sad truth, for he had seen many death-beds; his eyes fell, and he asked, "Has the doctor been here to-day?"

"Ah, dear Habermann, what good can the doctor do me? I would rather see Pastor Behrens once more. But I must speak to you first of other affairs. Sit down here, near me."

He went on hastily, yet with frequent interruptions, as though time and breath were both growing short for him. "My will is at Schwerin. I have thought of everything, but--my illness came so suddenly--my wife's death--I fear my affairs do not stand quite so well as they should." After a short pause, he resumed, "My son will have the estate, my two married daughters are provided for, but the unmarried ones--poor children! they will have very little. Axel must take care of them--God bless him, he will have enough to do to take care of himself. He writes me that he wishes to remain another year in the army. Very well, if he lives carefully, something may be saved to pay debts. But the Jew, Habermann, the Jew! Will he wait? Have you said anything to him?"

"No, Herr Kammerrath; but Moses will wait; at least I hope so. And if not, there is a good deal of money coming in from the farm, much more than last year."

"Yes, yes, and real estate has risen. But what good is it? Axel understands nothing of farming; but I have sent him books, through Franz, books about agriculture,--he will study them; that will help him, won't it, Habermann?"

"God bless the poor old Herr!" thought Habermann. "He was always so practical and reasonable himself, he wouldn't have said that when he was strong and well; but let him take what comfort he can," so he said yes, he hoped so.

"And, dear friend, you will stay with him," said the Kammerrath earnestly, "give me your hand upon it, you will stay with him?"

"Yes," said Habermann, and the tears stood in his eyes, "so long as I can be useful to you or your family, I will not leave Pumpelhagen."

"I was sure of it," said his master, falling back exhausted upon the pillows, "but Fidelia shall write--see him once more,--see you and him together."

His strength was gone, he drew his breath with difficulty.

Habermann rose softly, and pulled the bell, and as Daniel Sadenwater came, he took him into the ante-room, "Sadenwater, our master is worse, I am afraid he cannot last long; call the young ladies, and the young Herr, but say nothing definite about him."

A shadow fell upon the old servant's face, as when the evening wind passes over a quiet lake. He looked through the half-opened door of the sick-room as if it came from thence, and said to himself as if in excuse, "God bless him, it is now thirty years----" turned away, and left the room.

Franz and the young ladies came. The poor girls had no idea that their father was failing so rapidly; they had thought surely the doctor would be able to help him, and the Lord would spare him a little longer. They had taken turns in watching by him, of late, and it struck them strangely that they should all be there at once, with Franz, and Habermann, and Daniel Sadenwater.

"What is it, what is it?" began Fidelia, to the old inspector.

Habermann took her hand, and pressed it. "Your father has become worse, he is very ill, he wishes to see your brother---- Herr von Rambow, if you will write a couple of lines, I am going to send the carriage for the doctor, and the coachman can take the letter to the post. In three days your brother can be here, Fraeulein Fidelia."

"He will not last three hours," said Daniel Sadenwater, softly, to Habermann as they came out of the sick-room.

And the three daughters stood around their father's bed, weeping and lamenting, and would fain hold fast the prop that had upheld them so long, and each was thinking anxiously for something to alleviate and help, and the three hearts beat more and more anxiously and quickly, and the one heart ever more slowly and feebly.

Franz sat in the ante-room, listening to every sound, and now and then going into the sick-room. He had never before seen the departure of human life, and he thought of his own father, whom he had always imagined like his uncle, and it seemed as if his own father were dying a second time. He thought also of his cousin, who was not here, and whose place he filled, and thought that he should love him the more, all his life.

Habermann stood at the open window, and looked out into the night. It was just such a warm, damp, cloudy night as that in which his heart had come so near to breaking. Then it was his wife, now his friend; who would come next? Would it be himself, or---- No, no, God forbid! that could not be.

And Daniel Sadenwater sat by the stove, and did what he had done every evening for thirty years; he had a basket of silver forks and spoons on his lap, and on the chair near him lay a polishing cloth, and a silk pocket-handkerchief; and he rubbed alternately the spoons and forks with the handkerchief, and as he looked at his master's name on the fork which he had polished every evening for thirty years, his eyes were so dim that he couldn't see whether it were bright or not, and he set the basket down, and looked at the fork till his eyes ran over with tears.

Amid all this trouble and sorrow, the pendulum of the old clock moved steadily back and forth, back and forth, as if old Time sat by a cradle and rocked his child safely and surely to sleep.

And he slept. Two eyes closed themselves forever, the dark curtain between Here and Beyond dropped softly down, and this side stood the poor maidens, lamenting and vainly stretching their arms after that which was gone, and wringing their hands over that which was left behind. Fidelia threw herself down by her father's body, and sobbed and cried until she was taken with spasms. Franz, full of sympathy, lifted her in his arms, and carried her out of the room, and her two sisters followed, in new anxiety for their darling, and Habermann was left alone with Daniel Sadenwater. He pressed down the eyelids of the dead, and after a little turned away with a heavy heart; but Daniel sat on the foot of the bed, looking with his quiet face into the still more quiet face of his master, and he held the fork still in his hand.

Spotted a typo or a problem in this chapter? Tell us

Chapter IX

Axel arrived three days after, having travelled by extra post, too late to hear the last words of his father, but not too late to render the last honors to his remains. The postillion blew lustily on his horn, as he drove into the court-yard, and at the door of the mansion-house appeared three pale mourners in black raiment. The young master knew what had happened. Everything came upon him at once,--thoughts for which he was, or was not accountable,--God's providence, his own weakness and frivolity, his sisters' desolate condition and his own inability to help them, more than all, his father's thoughtfulness and kindness, which were never wanting in good or evil times. He was quite beside himself. His nature was one to be easily excited even by less serious causes than the present. He wept and mourned and lamented, and kept asking how this and that had happened, and, when he heard from Franz that the last words of his father had been spoken to Habermann, he took the old Inspector aside and questioned him, and the latter made a clean breast of it, and told him that his father's last earthly care had been about his future, and how he and his sisters might get along by a prudent management of the estate.

Ah, yes, that should be done! Axel swore it to himself, under the blue heavens, as he walked alone through the garden; he would turn the shillings into dollars, he would retire from the world and from his comrades. He could do it easily; but he would not resign from the army immediately, and take up the study of farming, as Habermann advised; he was too old for that, and it did not suit his position as an officer, and there was really no necessity. When he came by and by to live on the estate, he should learn about it, naturally; meantime he would live sparingly, pay up his debts, and study agricultural books, as his father desired. So a man deceives himself, even in the holiest and most earnest hours.

The next day was the funeral. No invitations had been sent out; but the Kammerrath had been too much beloved in the region not to have many followers at his burial. Braesig's Herr Count came, and it seemed as if he thought he was receiving an honor instead of conferring one. Braesig himself was there, and stood in the room by the coffin, and while others bowed their heads and dropped their eyes, he stretched his wide open, and raised his eyebrows, and as Habermann passed by, he grasped his coat-sleeve, and, shaking his head, asked impressively, "Karl, what is human life?" but he said nothing more, and Jochen Nuessler, standing by his side, said softly to himself, "Yes, what shall we do about it?" And the laborers stood around, all the Pegels and Degels, and Paesels and Daesels, and as Pastor Behrens came from the other room, leading the youngest daughter by the hand, and, standing by the coffin, spoke a few words which would have gone to the heart even of a stranger, then many tears fell from all eyes. Tears of thankfulness were they, and tears of anxiety; the one for what they had enjoyed under the old master, the other for their unknown future under the new master.

When his remarks were ended, the procession started for the Gurlitz church-yard. The coffin was placed in a carriage, and Daniel Sadenwater sat by it, with his quiet old face as stiff and motionless as if he were set up for a monument at his master's grave. Then came the carriage with the four children, then the Herr Count, then Pastor Behrens and Franz, who wished to take Habermann with them, but he declined, he would go with the laborers; then Jochen Nuessler and others, and finally Habermann, on foot, with Braesig and the laborers.

Close by Gurlitz, Braesig touched Habermann, and whispered, "Karl, I have it, now."

"What have you, Zachary?"

"The pension from my gracious Herr Count. The last time I was with you, I went round to see him, and he gave it to me, paragraph for paragraph: two hundred and fifty thalers in gold, a living, rent free, in the mill-house at Haunerwiem,--there is a little garden there too, for vegetables,--and a bit of land for potatoes."

"Well, Zachary, I am glad you have such a comfortable provision for your old age."

"Eh, yes. Karl, that does very well, and with my interest from the capital which I have laid up, I shall want for nothing. But what are they stopping for, ahead?"

"Ah, they are going to take the coffin from the carriage," said Habermann, and he turned to the laborers, "Kegel, Paesel! you must come now and carry the coffin." And he went forward with those who should do this office, and Braesig followed.

Meanwhile, the people were getting out of the carriages, and, as Axel and his sisters stepped down, they were met by the little Frau Pastorin and Louise in mourning raiment, and the Frau Pastorin pressed the hands of the two older sisters, with the greatest friendliness and compassion, although she had hitherto held herself rather aloof from them, on account of the difference in rank. But death and sympathy bring all to a level, the lofty bow themselves under the hand of God, knowing that they are as nothing before him, and the lowly are lifted up, because they feel that the pity which stirs in them is divine. Even David Daesel might have taken the gracious Fraeuleins by the hand to-day, and they would have recognized his honest heart in his wet eyes.

Louise held her friend Fidelia in her arms, and knew not what to say or what to do. "There!" she cried, with a deep sob, pressing into her hand a bunch of red and white roses, as if she gave with it the love and sympathy of which her heart was full.

All eyes were turned upon the child of fourteen years,--was she still a child? When the barberry bush turns green after a warm rain, are they buds still which it bears, or are they leaves? And for the human soul, when its time has come, every deep emotion is like a warm rain, that changes the buds to leaves.

"Who is that?" asked Axel of Franz, who looked steadfastly at the child. "Who is that young maiden, Franz?" asked he again, taking his cousin by the arm.

"That young maiden?" said Franz, "do you mean that child? That is Inspector Habermann's daughter."

Habermann had seen his child also, and the thought recurred which had come to him in the night, when the Kammerrath was dying. "No," said he again, "the good Lord will not suffer it." Strange! she was not ill; and yet who could tell? His poor wife had just such beautiful rosy cheeks.

"What comes now?" said Braesig, rousing him from these gloomy thoughts. "Truly! Just look, Karl, Zamel Pomuchelskopp! With a black suit on!"

It was so indeed. Pomuchelskopp came forward and bowed to the young ladies, the most melancholy bow which it was possible for a man of his build to achieve, and then, turning to the Herr Lieutenant: "He would excuse--neighborly friendship--deepest sympathy on this melancholy occasion--highest respect for the departed--hope for a future good understanding between Pumpelhagen and Gurlitz"--in short, whatever he could think of at the moment, and, as the lieutenant thanked him for his friendly interest, he felt as light as if he had discharged himself of all the sympathy that was in him. He looked around over the company and, seeing that there were no proprietors present besides the Count, he managed in the walk through the church-yard to follow closely behind him, and tread in his very footsteps, a proceeding to which the gracious Herr Count was utterly indifferent, but which gave Pomuchelskopp the liveliest satisfaction.

The body was buried. The mourners stopped for a few moments at the parsonage, and partook of a little refreshment. The little Frau Pastorin was quite beside herself, torn into two halves, one part of her would gladly have remained on the sofa by the three daughters, endeavouring to comfort them, the other would be fluttering about the room, offering her guests bread-and-butter and wine, and, when Louise assumed the latter office, and the Pastor the former, the poor Pastorin sat down, quite unhappy, in her arm-chair, as if old Surgeon Metz of Rahnstadt had been putting together her two halves, and she had found the process a painful one.

Louise filled her office well, for it was not long before the followers took leave, one after another; Jochen Nuessler was the last, and, when he had bowed awkwardly to the lieutenant, he went up to the Frau Pastorin, and took her hand and pressed it as affectionately as if she had just buried her father, and said very sadly, "Yes, it is all as true as leather."

The Pastor also had discharged well the office of comforter, but it is easier to fill an empty stomach with bread-and-butter and wine, than to fill an empty heart with hope and joy. He began however, in the right way, touching lightly upon the thought of the love and protection which they had lost, and turning to what should come next, plans for the future, what would be most reasonable to do, and where they should live, so that when the three ladies went back with their brother to the desolate house, their future lay before them like a piece of cloth, which they must cut out with the shears, and turn this way or that as suited the pattern best, and fashion from it such raiment as they could.

Other people were looking at the future, also, and calculating on what might happen and what must happen. Out of the Kammerrath's grave grew not only daisies, but, from the blight upon the fortunes of Pumpelhagen, burdock and nettles and henbane shot up also, and the golden daisies bloomed in strange company. Whoever would harvest here must not be afraid of a little poison, or mind being pricked by the briars and nettles. He who has to do with nettles must grasp them firmly, and the man who stood in the Gurlitz garden, looking over toward Pumpelhagen, had a firm grip, but he could wait till the right time,--the daisies must go to seed first.

"The stone was out of the way," he said to himself, with satisfaction, "and it was the corner-stone. What was left now? The Herr Lieutenant? He would fatten him first, feed him with mortgages and bills of exchange, and processes and procurations, until he should be fat enough, and then knock him on the head. Or, could he do better? Malchen was a pretty girl, or Salchen either,--Herr von Zwippelwitz said the other day, when he borrowed the money for that chestnut colt, that Salchen had a pair of eyes like--now, what was it? like fire-wheels, or like cannon-balls? Well, Salchen would know.

"But no, on the whole, no! He understood the other way best, he would not meddle with this. To be sure, it might do, in case of necessity; but safe was safe, better keep the cork in the bottle.

"Then there was Habermann! Infamous, sneaking scoundrel! That very morning he wouldn't speak to him. Did he think it was for Pomuchelskopp to speak first? To a servant? What was he but a servant? No, let me first have the lieutenant well in my clutches, and then I will see to him.

"Braesig, too, shall he keep putting stones in my way? The fool doesn't know that I have got him out of Warnitz; that upon my suggestion Slusuhr has put a flea in the Herr Count's ear, about the bad management at Warnitz. Now he must stay at Haunerwiem. And then the Herr Pastor! Oh, the Herr Pastor! I shall go round to his house to-morrow, and we shall be so friendly--oh, I know his friendliness! there lies the pastor's field before my eyes! To pretend friendship under such circumstances! Well, only wait a little, I will be even with him yet, for I have it. I have money." And with that, he slapped his fat hand upon his trowsers' pocket, till the golden seals on his watch chain danced merrily; but he quieted down suddenly, as he felt a hard hand on his shoulder, and his Haeuning said, "Muchel, you are wanted in doors."

"Who is there, my Kueking?" asked Pomuchelskopp gently, damped as usual by his wife's presence.

"Slusuhr the notary, and old Moses' David."

"Good, good!" said Pomuchelskopp, throwing his arm around her, so that the pair resembled a basket embracing a hop-pole,--"but just look over at Pumpelhagen and that beautiful field. Is it not a sin and a shame it should be in such hands? But that those two should come to-day, don't it seem like a special providence, Kluecking?"

"You are always dreaming, Kopp! You had better come in and talk to the people. Such plans as you have in your head take too long to carry out to suit me."

"Gently, gently, my Kluecking, slow and sure!" said Pomuchelskopp, as he followed his wife into the house.

Slusuhr and David were standing, meanwhile, in Pomuchelskopp's parlor. David had been suffering torments, for, as ill luck would have it, he had made himself fine with his great seal ring, and his gold watch-chain, and, as he entered the room, and stood with his back to the window, Philipping had spied the ring on his finger, and Nanting the watch-chain knotted across his vest, and they darted on him like a couple of ravens, tugging at the ring, and pulling at the chain, and Nanting trod on poor David's corns, and Philipping, who had got up on his knees in a chair, kept hitting him in the shins, and David's corns and shin-bones were tender points, especially the latter, since they bore the entire weight of his body, and nature had omitted to assist them with appropriate calves.

Slusuhr stood at the other window, before Salchen, who sat there embroidering a landscape painting on a sofa cushion for her father. It represented a long barn and a plum-tree thickly set with blue plums, and before the barn hens were scratching, and a wonderful bright-colored cock, while ducks and geese, beautiful as swans, were swimming in a little pond, and in the foreground lay a fat young porker.

Old Moses was right about the notary; he did look like a rat. His ears stuck out like a rat's ears, he was small and lean, like the rats in Rahnstadt,--exception being made of those who were so fortunate as to have a share in David's "produce business,"--he had grayish-yellow complexion and eyes, and also grayish-yellow hair and moustaches; but Malchen and Salchen Pomuchelskopp said he was "extremely interesting."

Interested, Braesig said; he knew well enough how to talk, only it must be about himself and his own meannesses. Bat was it not quite natural for the notary, to prefer talking about his own cunning craftiness, rather than the stupidity of other people? Was the notary to blame if his wisdom was too great to be concealed under a bushel? It had increased to such an extent, indeed, that he was able to accommodate it only by turning out his entire stock of honesty. We are not competent judges of such people; rat-nature is rat-nature, David himself said,--if you spoke of rats, they were too many for him.

To-day, he was telling Salchen, with great enjoyment, about an uncommonly stupid man, for whom he had promised a rich wife, and how on every journey to see the lady, he had plucked from the poor cock now a wing-feather, and now a tail-feather, until the last journey found him thoroughly stripped. "Extremely interesting," said Salchen, just as Pomuchelskopp entered the room.

"Ah! Delighted to see you, Herr Notary! Good day, Herr David!"

Salchen would have gone on laughing, but Father Pomuchelskopp motioned with his hand toward the door, so she gathered up her plums, chickens, geese and pigs, and saying, "Come, Nanting and Philipping, father has business to attend to," she went out with them.

"Herr Pomuchelskopp," said David, "I came about the hides, and I wanted to ask about the wool. I got a letter----"

"Eh, what? wool and hides!" cried the notary. "You can talk about those afterward. We came for this particular business that you know about."

One may observe that the notary was a cunning business man, who could dispense with preliminaries, he took the bull by the horns, and that was what Pomuchelskopp liked,--he knew how to pull up nettles.

He went up to the notary, shook his hand, and motioned him to the sofa. "Yes," said he, "it is a difficult, far-reaching piece of business."

"Hm? Well, we can make it long or short, as you like. But difficult? I have managed much harder case's. David has a bill for two thousand five hundred; I myself lent him last quarter eight hundred and thirty. Would you like the note? Here it is."

"It is good paper," said Pomuchelskopp, gently and composedly, and he stood up and took the money for it out of his pocket.

"Will you have mine too?" asked David.

"I will take yours also," said Pomuchelskopp, nodding his head with dignity, as if he were doing a great work for humanity. "But, gentlemen," he added, "I take them on this condition. Make out a bill, in my name, that you are indebted to me for the amount, and keep these notes and worry him with them. He must be only worried, for if we carry it too far he will get the money somewhere else, and the right time hasn't come yet."

"Yes," said the notary, "we understand; we can manage the business; but David has something else to tell you."

"Yes," said David, "I have a letter from P----, when he has been with his regiment, from Marcus Seelig, who writes me that he can buy up about two thousand dollars of the lieutenant's paper, and if you would like--what do you say?"

"Hm?" said Pomuchelskopp, "it is a good deal to take at one time; but--yes, you may get it for me."

"But I have a condition, too," said David. "You must sell me the wool."

"Well, why not?" said Slusuhr, slily treading on Pomuchelskopp's toes. "Let him go and look at it."

Pomuchelskopp understood the sign, and complimented David out of doors that he might go and examine the wool, and, when he returned and seated himself on the sofa by the notary, the latter laughed loudly, and said, "We know each other!"

"What do you mean?" asked Pomuchelskopp, feeling as if he had stepped out of his coach into the mud.

"My friend," said the notary, slapping him on the shoulder, "I have known all along what you wanted, and, if you will pull at the same rope with me, you shall not fail of securing it."

Good heavens, what a sly fox! Pomuchelskopp was frightened.

"Herr Notary, I don't deny----"

"No need of words between us. If things go as they should, you shall get Pumpelhagen in time, and David shall have his compound interest, and I--ah, I could manage the business myself, but it is a little too much for me to undertake,--I will take a mill or a farm, and by and by set up as a landed proprietor myself. But it will cost you a good deal of money."

"That it will, God knows, a great deal of money; but that is no matter. It torments me too much to look over at that beautiful estate; isn't it a sin and a shame it should be in such hands?"

The notary looked askance at him, as if to say, "Do you really mean that?"

"Well," said Pomuchelskopp, "what do you look at me so for?"

"Are you sure you are not joking?" said the notary, laughing. "If you want the end, you must use the means. You don't think that you can bring such an estate as Pumpelhagen to bankruptcy with a trumpery thousand thaler note? You must go to work on an entirely different plan; you must buy up all the mortgages on the estate."

"I will do that," whispered Pomuchelskopp, "but there is Moses, with his seven thousand thalers not to be got at."

"I have nothing to do with Moses, and desire nothing to do with him; but there is David, perhaps he can get it for us. But that is not all, by a great deal, that you must do. You must get on good terms with the lieutenant; as a friend, you can assist him in some temporary embarrassment, and then, in a temporary embarrassment of your own, sell his note,--to me, if you like,--so that I can worry him a little, and, finally, when the whole concern is ready to smash, then----"

"I will do it," whispered Pomuchelskopp impressively, "I will do it all; but I must have him here first. You must go to him directly with the notes, so that he may be obliged to leave the army."

"That is a small thing; if there is nothing more----"

"Yes, yes, but there is something more," said Pomuchelskopp, still whispering, as if he feared being betrayed by a listener, "there is that Habermann; and so long as that sly old watch-dog is there, we cannot get him into our power."

"Oh, how stupid you are!" and the notary laughed in his face. "Did you ever hear of a young man in pecuniary difficulties making a clean breast of it to an old friend like Habermann? I take it, the lieutenant is not different from the rest of the world. No, Habermann may stay at Pumpelhagen, for all that; but yet, if it is possible, we must get him away. He is too good a steward, and, if he manages Pumpelhagen as well as he has so far, the lieutenant can afford to keep us waiting a good while yet."

"He a good manager! He didn't manage very well for himself."

"Well, let him go! One mustn't undervalue things. But he must go."

"Yes, but how can we bring it about?"

"I can't do anything," laughed the notary, "but you--when you get the Herr Lieutenant with the bright dollars under his eyes, it will be easy to get an old, worn-out inspector turned off. The devil is in it, if you can't."

"Yes, yes," cried Pomuchelskopp, in a tone of annoyance; "but all that takes so long, and my wife is so impatient."

"She will have to wait," said the notary, very quietly, "such things are not done precipitately. Only think how long Pumpelhagen has been in the Rambow family; the change cannot take place in a hurry. But now, stop! David is coming; not a word of this before David! Do you understand? Say nothing to him but about his money affairs."

As David entered the room, he saw a couple of remarkably jolly faces. Pomuchelskopp was laughing as if the Herr Notary had made an uncommonly witty remark, and the Herr Notary laughed, as if Pomuchelskopp had been telling the best joke in the world. But David was not so stupid as he appeared at the moment; he knew very well that he had been made an April fool of; and that his two colleagues had been discussing something beside jokes. "They have their secrets," said he to himself; "I have mine." He sat down by the table, with the stupidest Jew-lubber face, and nodding to Pomuchelskopp said, "I have looked at it."

"Well?" inquired Pomuchelskopp.

"Well," said David, shrugging his shoulders, "you say it has been washed, and it may have been washed, for all I know."

"What! Don't you believe me? Do you mean to say it isn't white as swan's-down?"

"Well, if it is swan's-down it may be swan's-down for all me."

"What are you driving at?"

"Look here! We got a letter from Loewenthal in Hamburg; the great Loewenthal house in Hamburg--the stone is fourteen dollars and a half."

"I know all that; you are always writing about that nonsense."

"A house like the Loewenthals doesn't write about nonsense."

"Eh, children," interrupted the notary, "this isn't business, this looks like a quarrel. Pomuchelskopp, let us have a couple of bottles of wine."

The Herr Notary was extremely familiar with the Herr Proprietor; but the Herr Proprietor rang, and, as Duerting came, he said in a very friendly and pleasant way, for he was always pleasant in his own house, and especially to the women-kind, from his Haeuning down to the little girls, "Duerting, two bottles of wine, from those with the blue corks."

When the wine stood on the table, Pomuchelskopp filled three glasses, and then emptied his own; but David merely sipped at his. As the notary finished his glass, he said, "Now, gentlemen, let me tell you something," and he winked at David across the table, and under the table he trod on Pomuchelskopp's toes.

"You, David, can have fifteen dollars for the stone, and you, Pomuchelskopp"--here he trod on his toes again--"you don't care for ready money at present, if you can get good bonds you would like it all the better"--

"Yes," said Pomuchelskopp, seeing the drift of the notary's remarks, "if you can get me the Pumpelhagen bonds from your father, I will give you up the surplus of the wool money."

"Why not?" said David, "but how about the knots?"

"The knots!" repeated Pomuchelskopp. "We can compromise----"

"Hold on!" cried the notary, "you can settle about the knots, when you bring the bond."

"Why not?" said David again.

When they had finished their wine, and were getting into their wagon, the notary said softly and very jokingly to Pomuchelskopp, "To-morrow David can begin to worry the Herr Lieutenant, and next week I will tread on his toes."

And Pomuchelskopp pressed his hand as gratefully as if the notary had saved his Philipping from drowning, and, after they were gone, he sat down with his Haenning, and cut and clipped contentedly at the web of the future, and the notary sat in the wagon highly pleased, well satisfied with himself that he was wiser than the others, and David sat at his side, and said to himself, "We shall see! You have the secrets, and I have the knots."

But it was not all right about the knots yet; for when David told the business to his father, and wanted the bond, the old man looked at him sideways, over his shoulder, and said, "So! If you have been with that notary, that cut-throat, and that Pomuchelskopp,--he is another cut-throat,--and bought wool, you may pay for it with your own bonds and not with mine. Do business with rats if you like, but I shall have nothing to do with them."

That was not so favorable for David and the knots.

Spotted a typo or a problem in this chapter? Tell us

Chapter X

But it was worse for the poor Herr Lieutenant next morning, when David entered the room. David was never handsome,--nobody could say that, not even his own mother, but he had not improved since the lieutenant first made his acquaintance. Then, when he got the money for him at the notary's, there was something quite friendly in his appearance; but now, when he wanted the money again, he looked so tough and sour, that the lieutenant, without thinking what he was doing, drew on his gloves before speaking to him.

Speak with him he must, however, though David's face seemed to him as if Moses and all the prophets were looking out from behind it; and when David said, "Take off your gloves, Herr Lieutenant, and write," he took off his gloves, and wrote across the note, and David's face became as friendly as at their first interview.

"Thank God!" said the Herr Lieutenant, "that is done with."

But a few days later a wagon drove into the yard, and in the wagon sat the notary Slusuhr, and Habermann shook his head, and said, "God preserve me, with him too?"

And as the notary entered the room, the Herr Lieutenant said also, "God preserve me, him too?"

But he got on with him a little better than with David; the notary looked like a man of some cultivation, he always dressed well, and appeared outwardly like a gentleman, he understood also how to preserve such an appearance in his language,--that is to say, as long as he liked. This was the case at present; the lieutenant invited him to a seat on the sofa, and ordered coffee, and there followed what seemed a very friendly chat about the weather and the neighborhood and the bad conduct of people in general, for in the latter topic the Herr Notary was well posted, because he had cultivated the habit of looking around him, and never acquired that of looking within. "Yes," said he, telling about a merchant in Rahnstadt, "Just think, Herr von Rambow, how wicked men are! There, out of pure kindness,--that is, on account of the interest which I must pay, for I hadn't so much money lying idle, I had to borrow it myself,--I lent him the money, and helped him out of his difficulties, and he was so thankful,--and now--now that I want it again, must have it, he is rough, he threatens to complain of me for charging illegal interest."

Of course there was not a word of truth in this story, the notary only told it to frighten the Herr Lieutenant, and it answered the purpose. In order to turn the conversation, he asked what sort of business the merchant was engaged in.

But the notary was not to be diverted; he did not answer the question, but went on with his story.

"But I have entered a complaint against him, and now let him look out! His credit is good for nothing,--and then the disgrace! It is not exactly entered yet, to be sure, but I have written it myself. What do you say to that?" The poor lieutenant was terribly distressed, the prospect looked as dark as if this was but the few drops before a heavy storm. He coughed, and cleared his throat, but said nothing, for he could think of nothing to say. It made no difference to the notary, he went on:

"But, thank God! I don't often have to deal with such idiots, this fellow is an exception. And since we are talking of money business,"--here he drew out his pocket-book,--"will you allow me to give you back your note?"

He held out the note for eight hundred and thirty dollars, and the rat-like ears seemed to erect themselves, and the grey eyes to protrude from the grayish yellow face, and the dry lips to moisten, like a rat when he smells bacon. The poor lieutenant took the note, and attempted to put aside the matter with a semblance of indifference.

Yes, he said, he would send him the money; he had started so suddenly, and the occasion of his journey had been so sad, that he had not thought of the matter.

Yes, replied the notary, he believed him, he knew how it was when his own father died; at such a time, a man thinks of nothing but his loss,--and he put on such a melancholy face, that the lieutenant took fresh courage,--but, said the notary, he had thought a great deal of this note lately, he depended on it, for he was under engagements, and to meet them,--he must have money.

"But this is such a trifling matter," interrupted Axel.

"Well, yes," said the notary, taking other papers from his pocket-book; "but then these little matters too!" and he laid on the table the notes for over two thousand dollars, which David had bought up at the lieutenant's garrison town.

The lieutenant was startled out of his show of indifference.

"How did you come by these papers?" he exclaimed.

"Herr von Rambow, I believe the name 'exchange' is applied to such bills because they are transferable by their possessors; you cannot be surprised that I should take them instead of cash payment, all the more since I was saved a good deal of writing and postage money."

The lieutenant became more and more perplexed, but the idea that all this was a concerted game did not yet occur to him.

"But, my dear Herr Notary, I have for the moment no money on hand."

"No?" cried the notary, shrugging his shoulders with an expression which let one look straight into the black depths of his soul, and revealed the compact that he had made with the devil. "No?" he repeated; "I don't believe it." And, in spite of all the lieutenant's assurances the notary stood before him, hard and cold, saying insolently, to his face, that he did not believe him; it was only that he would not pay. Finally, the good old means of prolongation came upon the carpet, to which Axel would gladly have agreed at the first, if it had been proposed to him; but that would not have suited the notary. He wanted more commission than David, and he meant to take his satisfaction in the business, for he was a man who enjoyed a joke, and the best of all jokes to him was when he could say to himself, "No one can match you in craftiness; you set your foot on the necks of high and low, and it is good sport to watch their struggles."

These were the troubles and distresses in which Axel von Rambow sat, up to the neck, and they distracted him from his grief about his father. From a deep sorrow, of God's sending, a soul works itself out fresh and pure, like a man over whom the waves of the sea have rolled; he may have had a hard struggle, but when he comes forth he stands on the beach clean and cool, and ready for new work. But he who has fallen into trouble through his own temerity, is like one who, having fallen into a slough, is covered with filth, and is ashamed to meet the eyes of others. So it was with the young Herr, he was ashamed that he had lived so thoughtlessly, he was ashamed of having involved himself with black and with white Jews, he was ashamed that he could not help himself out of the slough, and that the help which others had given could only sink him deeper. How easily he might have escaped all this, if he had but confided in Habermann! How gladly he would assist him even now, since the reason was gone that had hindered him before, the Kammerrath! But the human heart is a stubborn and also a perverse thing, and this perverse thing believes it will find more rest if miles lie between it and its disgrace; so Axel left his estate much sooner than his sisters had hoped.

At his garrison he found everything as he had left it, only he himself was changed; at least he said so to himself, daily; but if one had asked his comrades they would have said they observed nothing peculiar about him, and quite naturally, for his good resolutions, which were the only respect in which he had altered, had not yet come to light. He meant to be economical, he meant to follow his father's advice, and study agriculture as well as he could from books, he meant to do well in all respects. His economy began the first morning; for a week he drank no sugar in his coffee,--"For," said he, "if a man despises little things, he will not prosper in great ones,"--and he smoked cigars at nineteen instead of twenty dollars the box. His servant got a serious lecture, when he brought the bread and butter for his breakfast, and received orders to give his two horses each half a measure of oats less than usual, "For," he said, "times are hard."

The latter was the only enduring retrenchment--probably because he was not fed at the same crib with his mares; all the others stopped after a week or so; it was of no use, he said, to begin things that one couldn't carry through. It was much in the same way with his agricultural studies. The first three pages of every book, he knew almost by heart, he had read them so often; for he always began at the beginning, because, when he had got so far, some thing would divert his attention from the text. Then, as he felt so sure of these, he would reward himself for his industry by looking up something interesting in the books, and as he read a chapter on the breeding of horses, he would say to himself he knew all that, and more too; there had been great progress in those matters. After all, what good would it do for him to read these books, if he could not take hold of the business practically? he knew very well a farmer should be practical,--nothing if not practical! So he made the acquaintance of a Herr von So-and-So, who owned an estate in the neighborhood; he rode with him over the fields, and asked the inspector what he was doing that day, and when they returned to the house, he knew as well as the Herr von So-and-So that in Seelsdorp on the 15th of June, they were carting manure, and that his gray Wallach was foaled in Basedow from the gray Momus; or he went with Herr von So and So, with a gun over his shoulder, through the barley stubble, and got the information by the way that the barley had been harvested on the 27th of August, shot a brace of partridges, and when he went to bed at night he knew as well as Herr von So and So how the partridges tasted.

He found this sort of practical apiculture very agreeable, and as a man is apt to talk about the things that please him, Axel did not fail to exhibit his attainments, and was soon known among his comrades as a shining light, quite an agricultural tallow candle, four to the pound. Since most of them were the sons of noble landed proprietors, and destined to the same life, and looking forward with horror to the time when they must leave their jolly soldier-life, for the hard work of gentlemen farmers, Axel seemed to them an unusual example of diligence, and they looked upon him as upon some wonderful animal who out of pure love for labor had put his head into the yoke. Most of them admired him accordingly, though a few blockheads turned up their noses, and insinuated that for a lieutenant his conversation savored too strongly of the farm-yard.

Having set himself up as an authority in agricultural matters, it was necessary to sustain his reputation, and to make progress with time. And that was a period of wonderful progress in agricultural science, for Professor Liebig had written a famous book for the farmers, which was brimful and running over of carbon and saltpetre, and sulphur, and gypsum, and lime, and sal-ammoniac, and hydrates and hydropathy, enough to drive one crazy. People who wished to dip their fingers in science procured this book, and sat down to it, and read and read, until their heads were dizzy; and if they tried to recollect, they could not tell whether gypsum were a stimulant or a nutriment,--that is to say, for clover, not for human beings.

Axel bought this book, and it fared with him as with the rest, he read and read, but kept growing dizzier, and his head turned round as if there were screws getting loose in it, and he shut the book. It would probably have stopped here, with him, as with the others, he would have forgotten the whole concern, if he had not had the fortune to know a good-natured apothecary, who could let him take all the drugs, of which the book treated, into his own hands, and smell them with his own nose. This was the practical way, and from that moment he understood the business, yes, as well as Liebig himself, so that he had no occasion to read farther in the book.

The branch of agriculture which gave him particular pleasure was farming-implements and machinery. He had from a child taken great delight in all sorts of inventions; as a boy he had made little mills, he had pasted, and, although his mother had a great dislike to anything that smacked of handicraft, he had, during his school-days, taken private lessons in book-binding. These tastes came into exercise now; he was uncommonly pleased to see a design of a new-fashioned American rake, or a Scotch harrow, and it was not long before he indulged in the innocent amusement of cutting little rakes and harrows and rollers himself.

He did not stop here, however, but went on to design rape-clappers, flax-bruisers, and corn-shellers. He might possibly have rested in these achievements,--and it was surely worthy of honor in a lieutenant to lay aside his uniform and go to work with drawing-knife, auger and glue-pot,--if he had not made the acquaintance of an old half-crazy watchmaker, who had wasted his life and his small property in endeavoring to discover, for an ungrateful world, the secret of perpetual motion. This old benefactor of humanity led him into his workshop, and showed him how one wheel must be made to turn upon another, and this upon a cylinder, and that upon a screw, and the screw upon a winch, and that upon a wheel again, and so on, over and over; he showed him machines that wouldn't go, and others that would go, and yet others which wouldn't go as they should; he exhibited machines which Axel could comprehend, and some which he couldn't comprehend, and some which he didn't comprehend himself; but it was all very interesting to Axel, and he became inspired in his turn with the desire of being a benefactor to mankind. His idea was to invent a machine, which would do all sorts of field labor, which should rake, harrow, roll, and pull up weeds. It was really touching to see the fresh, young lieutenant of cavalry and the withered, wrinkled old watchmaker, sitting together and planning with the lever and screws to elevate mankind.

And so it might have gone on, for all me, and for all him, and he might possibly have elevated mankind, though the constant tugging of securities and discounts and such matters had a tendency to bring him down, for he thought nothing about the payment of his debts, and although there was a good income from Pumpelhagen, according to his father's will it was I to be applied first to the payment of his own debts, and the sisters must be supported out of it; and, as for the rest, he lived without anxiety when his first needs were supplied.

But there are a pair--brother and sister--who shake the most indifferent person out of his dreams, and drive him, without, ceremony, out from the warm chimney-corner, into the storm and rain,--these are hate and love. Hate thrusts one head-foremost out of the door, saying, "There, scoundrel, away with you!" Love takes one gently by the hand, leads one to the door, and says, "Come, with me, I will show you a better place." But it comes to the same thing; one must leave his nice, warm chimney-corner. Axel made the acquaintance of both; and it happened quite accidentally, it was none of his doing.

I don't know whether it is so still; but at that time it was the custom, among the Prussians, for the regimental commanders to send regular deportment lists of the officers to Berlin, and King Frederic William was in the habit of looking into the papers himself, in order to see what his officers were fit for.

Now Axel's good old colonel liked the Herr Lieutenant very much, because he had once owned an estate himself, alongside Buetow and Lauenburg, which he had got rid of through his singular methods of farming; and because he still owned one, on which he could carry out these methods, one of them being never to enrich the soil, because he thought it not good for the land. He had a great opinion of his own methods, and as he was like the old carrier who, when they can no longer drive, still like to crack the whip, he enjoyed talking about them, and as Axel listened attentively, and was too polite to contradict him, the old colonel conceived a high opinion of his wisdom. For this reason Axel's testimonials were always very good; but unfortunately the old Colonel paid little attention to orthography, and so he wrote once, "Lieutenant von Rambow is a thoroughly 'feiger' officer," when he meant to say "faehiger" (capable). The king himself saw it, and wrote on the margin, "I have no occasion for a 'feiger' (cowardly) officer; let him be dismissed at once." It was a stupid thing in the old colonel; the mistake must be corrected; but he did not know how to do it without taking his adjutant into counsel. With his assistance, the orthography and the business were made right; but the rogue could not hold his tongue, and before long the whole set were aiming their poor jokes at our innocent Axel. Especially one thick-headed fellow, of "very old family," who had all along poked fun at him on account of his agricultural pursuits, not because he managed them foolishly, but because he took to them at all,--now applied the screw so insolently that all his comrades observed it; Axel alone took no notice, because he had not the slightest suspicion of the cause.

There was another matter, in addition. The Herr von So and So, with whom Axel took practical lessons in farming on horseback and with a shot-gun, had a wonderfully pretty daughter,--nobody need laugh! she was really a fine girl,--by whom the Herr Lieutenant of the "old family" was strongly attracted. She, however, treated him quite coolly, and was much more gracious to Axel, who also turned his best side out in her presence. Whether it was that the young lady took no pleasure in the stupidly forward behavior of the Herr Lieutenant of "old family," and if she were going to marry preferred a man gifted with more brains, or that she was pleased with Axel's good-temper and modesty, it was not long before Axel was evidently "cock of the walk," and the Herr Lieutenant of "old family," sat upon the nettles of jealousy.

It happened, about this time, that the officers of the corps gave a ball, and the Herr Lieutenant of "old family" adorned himself for this festivity with a pair of false calves. Looking at his legs, his own comrades scarcely knew him, and as there is always a mischief-maker among so many frolicsome young people, who in this case happened to be the adjutant, he converted the cotton-wool calves of Axel's rival into a pincushion, and stuck them full of butterflies, with which the unconscious lieutenant hopped about quite merrily. People could not help looking and laughing, and the Herr Lieutenant, discovering how his calves were ornamented, became fearfully angry, as he had reason to be, and his wrath broke loose upon the first laughing face he chanced to meet, which happened to be Axel's. "If you were not already designated upon the colonel's conduct list, I should have the satisfaction of applying the epithet myself!" exclaimed he, in his rage. Axel did not hear the words distinctly, the insolent tone, however, was not to be misunderstood; and as he was really no poltroon, and very easily excited, he turned with equal anger to his rival, saying that "he did not understand what he said, but the tone he had used made an explanation necessary;" and with that he went to his captain, with whom he stood on good terms, and asked an account of the matter, and what he heard from him did not tend to diminish his anger. He fell into a terrible passion, and challenged the lieutenant of "old family," and also the adjutant, because he had brought the matter about, and the lieutenant challenged the adjutant, an account of the butterflies, and so the three rode out one fine Sunday afternoon, with a crowd of seconds and witnesses and impartial observers and doctors and surgeons, and they cut each other's faces, and shot at each other's limbs, and then there was peace again. Axel got a scar on his nose, because he was stupid enough to parry a thrust with his face instead of his sword. If this did not exactly beautify him, it certainly did him no harm. Herr von So and So's pretty daughter heard of the matter, she put together many little pleasantries which she had noted between the rivals, and who can blame this intelligent girl if she believed herself the innocent cause of such heroic deeds, and liked Axel afterward better than before?

Here I might relate the entire love-story of Axel and Frida, and I leave it to any unprejudiced person if I should not have a pair of characters for a love-story, such as cannot be found even in the Bible, a lieutenant of cuirassiers, and a young lady of the nobility; but no, I will have nothing to do with it. For, in the first place, I never do more than I am obliged, and who can compel me to give private instructions to the burghers' daughters, who may possibly read this, about falling in love with a lieutenant of cuirassiers, or to teach young mechanics how they may ingratiate themselves with noble young ladies? Who would give me anything for that? And, secondly, I may as well say, once for all, I do not write with any regard to young people, I write merely for the old folks, who lie down of an afternoon on the sofa, and take a book to drive the flies from their faces, and the cares out of their heads. Thirdly, I have already three young maidens to dispose of, and any one who wants to know what a task that is may inquire of any mother of three unmarried daughters. Louise Habermann must have a husband, and would it not be a shame to leave the two little twin-apples to trundle through the world as old maids? Fourthly and lastly, I am not fitted to describe correctly the love of a lieutenant of cuirassiers, it is a touch beyond me, it requires the pen of a Shakespeare or a Muehlbach, and who knows whether Shakespeare himself were adequate to the task, for so far as I am informed he never ventured upon it.

In short, they were betrothed, and the wedding was held at Whitsuntide, 1843, and the Herr von So and So gave his blessing as a dowry, because it was all he had to give. Well, we will treat him like a Christian, and give him something, to wit a name,--for since he is become our father-in-law he must have a name,--so he shall be called Herr von Satrup of Seelsdorp, of which estate he owned still less than Axel of Pumpelhagen.

Frida von Satrup was an intelligent girl, and understood before her marriage that a "Herr Lieutenant" was only a large piece of a small apple, and that a "Frau Lieutenant" would be a small piece of a large apple; she stipulated, therefore, that Axel should leave the army. Axel was not unwilling, for the foolery about the "feiger" officer was not by any means over, although he bore the mark of the old colonel's blunder in red ink on his face, and he had also a great desire and purpose to turn his agricultural science into ready money, at Pumpelhagen, and therewith to pay his debts.

He took his discharge, therefore, packed his uniform, sash and epaulettes in a box, delivered, with tears in his eyes, a touching farewell address to his brave sword, laid that also in the box, nailed and sealed the box, and wrote on the top, "In case of sudden death, to be opened by my heirs," sent the whole to Pumpelhagen, was married in a black dress-suit, and started with his young bride for a journey up the Rhine.

How he made his entrance into Pumpelhagen, in the midsummer of 1843, shall be told in another place.

Spotted a typo or a problem in this chapter? Tell us

Chapter XI

The three years which, since his father's death, Axel had spent in garrison, occupied with agriculture, heroic deeds and love-affairs, had been passed by the dwellers in Pumpelhagen and the vicinity in much the same occupations. The agriculture was a matter of course; but the heroic deeds and the love affairs would have been wanting, if Fritz Triddelsitz, in his hours of leisure, had not turned his attention that way. His relations with Marie Moeller had slipped gradually out of the motherly into the brother-and-sisterly, and from thence, on her part at least, into the tenderly affectionate, and although they were still based on a foundation of ham and sausage, Marie Moeller indulged in all sorts of uncertain heavenly hopes touching priest and sexton, bridal wreath, and farming and house keeping for herself, if in process of time the business should take a serious turn, while Fritz lived in fear of being discovered by Habermann at some of these private repasts, and suspected that, if his aunt and is father and mother knew of his foolish behavior, the business might take a disagreeable turn for himself. In short, his love-affairs were not altogether satisfactory, and though he thought no harm of throwing his hook here and there, for example, to the little twin-apples, and, when his aunt was off duty, to Louise Habermann, yet he was forced to confess, when he dealt honestly with himself, that his only success was with Marie Moeller.

The heroic deeds of Pumpelhagen were also confined to his department. He had at first attempted them merely against the farm-boys, and that in a quiet way, for if Habermann had known of it, the renown which he achieved upon their shoulders would have been sadly interfered with; now, however, as all went well, he grew bolder, and in an evil hour ventured to strike a stable-boy, and the rascal was so insolent as to forget all the respect due to his station, and gave him such a thrashing, in broad day-light, and Palm Sunday at that, that Marie Moeller must spend the whole Sunday afternoon cooling his shoulder-blades. And the most disagreeable of all was that with every cold bandage that Marie Moeller laid on his shoulders she sent a sting to his conscience, while she reminded him of all her kind deeds, and inquired about his plans and prospects, trustfully assuring him that she believed in his affection and would faithfully share his future. It was very annoying, because, for his part, he believed more in his appetite for ham and sausage than in his affection, and he preferred keeping his prospects to himself. He stammered out something which she did not or would not fully comprehend, and the cooler his blisters became the cooler became their relations; he tried to change the subject, she was not disposed to do so; she still applied the wet cloths, but with a less and less gentle hand.

"Triddelsitz," said she finally, "what am I to think of you?"

With that, she came round from her position behind him, and placed herself before his face, with arms akimbo.

"Mariken," said he, alarmed and confused, "what do you mean?"

"What do I mean? shall I, speak out more clearly?" exclaimed she, and the sweet, tender expression was quite gone from her eyes. "Am I a person to be made a fool of?"

Then she went back again, and slapped a cold bandage on his shoulders, with emphasis.

"Oh! Thunder!" cried Fritz, "that hurts!"

"So? It hurts, does it? Do you think it doesn't hurt me, to find that a man for whom I have done so much means to betray me?"

"Mariken, I ask you, what do you mean?"

"What do I mean? I mean"--with another emphatic bandage--"will you tell me what to think of you?"

"Thunder and lightning! That burns like fire!"

"I hope it does! I should think your conscience would burn you, deceiving a poor girl with all sorts of promises and prospects and then backing out in this way!"

"Good heavens, Marie, I am only nineteen years old."

"Well, what then?"

"I must serve somewhere else for a time, and then----"

"Well, and then?" with another wet cloth on his shoulders.

"Good heavens! You might be a little more careful, Marie."

"You might be a little more careful! Well, what then?"

"Then, I must get me a farm; and all that will take ten years or more."

"Well, and then?" pursued Marie Moeller, with truly infamous persistency.

"And then," stammered Fritz finally, in his distress, "by that time, you will be too old for me."

Marie Moeller stood at first as if thunder-struck; poisonous glances shot from her eyes; then she bent round and threw the cloth that was in her hand right in his face, so that the water spattered over his ears.

"Too old? Impertinence! Too old, do you say?" and grasping the washbowl full of water she threw it over his head, and ran out of the room. And as Fritz stood there, gasping and snuffling, she opened the door again, and putting her head in, said,--

"Don't let me see you in my pantry again!"

Love had now received its death-blow; there was an end also of the pantry indulgences; and as Fritz stood there dripping, it seemed to him, among his confused thoughts, that the whole story did not exactly harmonize with his ideas of love, still less with the romances he had read, and he uttered in his vexation the selfsame words he had spoken at the beginning of his apprenticeship, when he was working on the road in the November rain: "It is quite different from what I thought! A good, thing, though, that the old man is not at home," added he, "or he might have heard the uproar."

Habermann had gone with Franz this morning to the Gurlitz church. He always took this walk, with still, pious thoughts, but to-day his heart was brimful of thankfulness to God, whose fatherly hand had led his child so far on her life journey, for, on this Palm Sunday morning, Louise was to be confirmed. He walked, silent and absorbed in thought, along the foot-path, his eye resting on the pleasant landscape, where the snow still lay in white streaks along side the ditches and under the shade of the dark fir-trees, and where the green, springing rye in the bright sunshine told of Easter, and preached the Resurrection. The chimney-smoke lay over the little villages, and the sun seemed to press it down, as though this token of human care and labor ought not to darken the bright world, as if there would not be room enough else for the joyous sound of the church bells, which echoed, far and wide, over field and forest.

"Ah, if she had only lived to see this day!" said the old man aloud, and as if he thought himself alone.

"Who?" asked Franz, a little shyly, as if he feared to be too inquisitive.

"My poor wife, the mother of my dear child," said the old man, softly, and looked at the young man with such friendly, honest eyes, that seemed to say, "Look into our depths and read this simple, true heart! We will answer all thy questions, and it shall echo long in thy memory." "Yes," said he, "my good wife! But what do I say? She sees more, to-day, than I can of her child, and she does more than I can for her child; for her thoughts are higher than the blue heavens, and her joys brighter than the golden sun."

Franz walked silent by his side, he was careful not to disturb the Inspector; this old man, whom he loved, to-day seemed to him so worthy of reverence,--his white hair lay across his broad forehead, as pure as the white snow on the earth, his fresh countenance and bright eyes spoke as trustfully of the resurrection as did the springing rye, and the whole face shone with such a sunlight of love, that the young man, after a while, could no longer restrain himself, he grasped his friend's hand:

"Habermann, my dear Habermann, you have certainly lived through much sorrow."

"Not more than other people," was the reply, "and yet enough to think of, all one's life."

"Will you tell me about it? I do not ask from curiosity."

"Why not?" and he told his story; but he did not mention Pomuchelskopp's name, and he closed his narration with this remark about his child: "Yes, she was then my only comfort, and she is now my only joy!"

They came to the parsonage. The little Frau Pastorin had become a little older, and a little fuller, with time, and could not fly round quite so quickly as before; and to-day she was unusually quiet, running in nobody's way, and the duster lay unnoticed in its corner, as lonely as a dog under the table, for to-day the approaching solemn ceremony forbade her usual bustling about, for, as the Pastor's wife, she was the nearest.

But it was impossible for her to keep quite still, if she did not buzz about, she must at least run a little, now to fasten her Pastor's bands and bring him a glass of wine, now to Louise, to set her ruffle straight, and whisper a loving word in her ear; and when young Jochen and Frau Nuessler and the little twins and Braesig all arrived together, she would certainly have forgotten herself, if the sexton had not exercised his judgment, and commenced ringing for the last time. The twins were also to be confirmed to-day, and as the company were going to the church, and the Frau Pastorin looked at the three lovely children walking together across the church-yard, Louise in the middle, half a head taller than her little cousins, she said to Habermann, while tears stood in her friendly eyes, "Habermann, our child has no gold chain and brooch to wear, as is the foolish custom now-a-days; and that black silk dress, dear Habermann, is all of thirty years old. I wore it last the first time I went to church here after I was married, and a happy heart beat under it, for in that heart dwelt my Pastor; it was too small for me afterwards, for, you see, I was already growing rather stout, but it is as good as new, and nobody would know that it was pieced down. And, Habermann, I put the money that you gave me for a dress into Louise's money-box. You won't take it ill of me? I was so glad to see my old dress in use again."

Just before the church door Braesig pulled Habermann by the coat, and as he turned round he said, quite moved with emotion, "Karl, it is remarkable, it is really remarkable, such a confirmation! See, when I look at those three little girls walking along it reminds me of my own, and how I had got through the infamous sheep-keeping for my sainted father, and was going to begin farming. We went along just like the three little girls, Karl Brandt and Christian Guhl and I, to the church, only we didn't have black silk dresses on; no, Christian had a green, Karl a brown, and I a gray coat; and instead of the bouquets of flowers, that the little girls carry in their hands, we had little sprigs of green stuck in our buttonholes; and instead of walking three abreast we went one behind the other, like geese in the barley. Yes, it was just so."

After a hymn had been sung by the congregation, Pastor Behrens preached his sermon. He had grown older in his appearance, but his voice was strong, and his thoughts clear as ever, and a mild and gentle spirit breathed in every word. It is certain there is no profession in which age is less of a drawback than in the ministry, when the man who holds this office has discharged it faithfully. The people do not listen to his words merely, they look at his long, upright, honorable life, and he stands before them a living example of the truth which he utters. So it was with this Pastor.

Then came the examination. The young maidens laid aside their outside wrappings, Louise embraced, with tearful eyes, her father and her foster-mother, Frau Nuessler affectionately kissed her little twins, young Jochen tried to say something, but did not succeed, and the three children stepped out from the Pastor's seat, up to the altar. "I wonder if the rogues know their lessons," said Braesig to Franz, who was next him; "I believe my godchild--that is Mining--will stumble." And with that, he blew his nose, and wiped, not his eyes, but his eyebrows.

Franz did not answer; everything around him had disappeared for the time, he saw only one face, a familiar face, and yet he saw it as for the first time; he saw but one form, a form which he had seen springing joyously about, but now a wonderful, solemn thrill trembled through it; he saw a pair of hands which had been joyfully extended to him, now reached up to the Most High; and it seemed to him as if the Lord looked down, and upheld this trembling form, in the simple black dress, in which a happy heart had once throbbed, and showed him this pure virgin heart, and said, "Watch thine own, that it may be worthy to unite with this." He was like a man who had long ago seen a beautiful region, in bright sunshine, and who had rambled about therein, thinking of nothing but his own enjoyment, and coming again after a long time saw the same region under the silent moon, and could scarcely recognize it, because over hill and forest, over thatched roof and church-tower, lay the thick veil of the evening mist, upon which rested the silver moonlight, so that he saw only this, and not the pleasant region that he knew. It seemed to him as if his soul was stretching out imploring hands, from a deep abyss, and a profound self-pity came over him, because is own heart was so poor a gift to bestow. And this deep self-pity, this secret longing for a better heart, that falls upon us, like a moonbeam woven out of mist and light, we children of men call "Love."

Braesig stood near him, and whispered now and then a couple of words, which Franz did not hear and which, if he had heard, he would probably have considered very stupid, and might have been annoyed by them; and yet the old Inspector's remarks had their origin in the same feeling which had come over himself, only that it was not so heavenly blue and rosy red as in his case, but old age had given it a tinge of gray.

Braesig was in the greatest distress lest his godchild, Mining, should fail; and with every question that she answered properly, such a great sigh was heard that Pastor Behrens, if he had been of the new-fashioned style of preachers, must have thought he had brought a great sinner to repentance in sackcloth and ashes. "God be praised!" said this sinner, half aloud, "Mining knows it;" and after a while he touched Franz: "Now it is coming, just listen, now it is coming;" and he punched Habermann on the other side: "Karl, you will see Mining has got it. Mining has the great water-question. I knew it, Christian Guhl couldn't say it, and it came to me; but I have forgotten it all now, except just the beginning: 'Water indeed avails nothing of itself, but the Spirit of God'"--and as Mining repeated the answer, without faltering, the old man whispered after her the whole "water-question," and when the sexton came round with the poor-box, he put in a silver thaler, as if it were a relief to his feelings; and he turned round, and pressed Frau Nuessler's hand, and said almost aloud, "Frau Nuessler, did you hear our little rogue?" and blew his nose with so much emphasis, that Frau Pastorin secretly pronounced him an irreverent sinner, for disturbing the holy ordinance.

If one should follow up the cord which bound Braesig to little Mining, and go a little way beyond Mining, he would find the end made fast, in Frau Nuessler's heart, where it was tied in a great double knot, which could never be parted. It seemed to be sure, quite another thing, and much rougher than the delicate, silken, rosy noose, which Franz would fain have knotted about Louise Habermann's little heart and which seemed to him too rough and hard for that tender heart. Love is everywhere, the world over, but she takes strange forms; she flies like an angel upon rosy pinions, and she shuffles about on wooden shoes; she speaks with tongues, like the apostles on the day of Pentecost, and she sits in the corner like a sulky child, whom the schoolmaster has struck on the mouth with the primer; she gives diamonds and coronets, and old Inspector Schecker sought to win the hand of my Aunt Schoening, with a fat turkey.

When the confirmation was over, and the Lord's Supper had been administered to the young communicants, Pastor Behrens went into his vestry. Samuel Pomuchelskopp, in his blue dress-coat, followed after him, for his Gustaving had also been confirmed, and opening the door of the vestry stood before it, instead of going in,--"so that all the people may see what a blockhead he is," said Braesig to Habermann,--and invited the Pastor to "a spoonful of soup, and a morsel of roast meat, and a bottle of red wine," in as loud a tone, as if they were at a fair,--"that everybody may know what a confounded hypocrite he is," said Braesig,--but the Pastor thanked him, and said he was too much fatigued to-day, and besides he had company at home.

Pomuchelskopp went back, and threw over his left shoulder a glance into the parsonage-pew, making most elaborate attempts at distinguished behavior, but they were quite discomfited as he met Braesig's venomous face, for Braesig was such a bad Christian--as the Frau Pastorin would have said had she seen it--that even in the Lord's own house he could not keep his wicked feelings from showing in his face. But how quickly was his old face changed when the three little girls came back, with happy tearful faces, to give him also their hands, and offer their lips to be kissed, as they had done to their parents and foster-parents! How he lifted his eyebrows, and wrinkled his forehead, giving himself a really paternal expression! This was his manner to Louise and Lining, but when his little pet Mining came, he looked as comical as if he were a child himself, he put his arms round her and whispered in her ear, "You shall see, Mining, you shall see, I will give you something!" And since he did not know what, at the moment, and chanced to have his handkerchief in his hand, he said, "I will give you a dozen handkerchiefs, bright ones!" for he wanted to do the business thoroughly.

Each of the company had now offered his kind wishes, and each had taken his thanks in kisses from the fresh, red lips, two only excepted,--young Jochen never got more than half a kiss, and Franz got none at all. Young Jochen could, of course, blame no one but himself, for he need not have squeezed himself into the farthest corner of the pew, so that the long left side of his mouth was quite out of their reach, and the little girls must content themselves with the short right side, which was not quite half of it. And Franz? He never thought of the matter, he had not yet returned to earth, but was still in heaven, and it did not occur to him, till they were leaving the church, and he found himself near Louise at the door, to take her hand and say something, which he could not recollect a moment after. He was certainly in love! That beautiful face in deep devotion was imprinted upon his heart and imprinted for ever-more!

I may be interrupted here, possibly, by some pious lady, or some experienced maiden,--I do not mean old people here, but also middle-aged,--who will inquire, "Could not this young man find some other place to concern himself with such worldly matters as falling in love?" And I reply, "Honored madame, and especially honored mademoiselle, this young man was as yet so stupid in a business with which you are quite familiar from early experience, that he had never thought of love as belonging to worldly matters. And pray, where should a young man fall in love? Only in an arbor, in the summer twilight, or in a cotillion at a ball in winter? Many roads lead to Rome, but many more to marriage, and he who starts on his bridal journey does better to begin it in a church than in a ball-room; for he finds the marriage altar close by, and the path is straight and clean; but between the ball-room and the altar stretches the long, dusty, dirty street, and many enter with soiled boots and shoes upon the holy path of marriage. Is it not true, honored madame? Do you not agree with me, respected mademoiselle?"

A simple dinner was waiting at the parsonage. Braesig was very lively, and smiled like sunshine after rain; the old Pastor was also very cheerful, for he knew with Solomon that everything has its time, there is "a time to gather stones, and a time to cast them away;" but they were all quiet, the church bells still chimed in their hearts, and only with the hot coffee did Frau Pastorin and Frau Nuessler find their tongues unlocked.

Immediately after dinner, the old Herr Pastor took a little nap on the sofa in his study, to rest from the fatigue of the morning. Habermann had gone out into the fresh air, with his daughter and his two nieces, that the sweet influences of the secretly awakening spring might compose these young agitated souls, and Franz had gone with them, also to enjoy the secretly awakening spring, but the one which was budding and blooming in his own breast. Jochen Nuessler had found a corner, which was almost as convenient as his own particular corner, by the stove, at home. Braesig went up and down the room, with his short legs and his long pipe, his feet turned out in an extraordinary manner, for since he had received his pension his gait had acquired a peculiar, swing, and he used his little feet broad side out, so that people might see that no man was his master, and he stood in his own shoes, and that his long years of farming had not prevented him from appearing what he was, an elderly gentleman, living on his own income. Frau Pastorin and Frau Nuessler sat under the picture gallery, upon the sofa.

"Yes, dear Frau Nuessler," said the Frau Pastorin, "thank God! we have got on so far with our children. Louise is seventeen years old, and your twins are six mouths older. My Pastor says, and I know it too, they have learned much; and with a little more help here and there, they could earn their bread as governesses, any day."

Braesig stopped, lifted his eyebrows, and blew a cloud of smoke toward the sofa, and young Jochen also turned himself about, in that direction.

"Yes, indeed," exclaimed Frau Nuessler, "and the little girls owe it all to you and the Herr Pastor!" and she grasped the Frau Pastorin's hand, "my brother Karl said, and I say too, we could do well enough for them in some respects, we could get them their daily bread and see that they were neatly dressed, and teach them to tell the truth, and how to take care of themselves, and keep house; but for all which makes a human being of real worth, we were not capable. Isn't it so, Jochen?"

From behind the stove came a low, comfortable, assenting growl, such as a faithful old watch-dog gives, when he has his head scratched.

"You hear, Frau Pastorin, Jochen says so too."

"Oh, I have done nothing," said the little Frau Pastorin, turning off the compliment, "that is to say, for your two; of course it was different with Louise, for I was the nearest to her. But--what I was going to say,--we have never spoken about it,--had you thought of having your children, or one of them, perhaps Mining, become a governess?"

"What?" said Frau Nuessler, looking at the Frau Pastorin, as if she had told her Mining had a prospect of becoming a Papist; and as the Frau Pastorin was about to explain her project, she was interrupted by a singular burst of laughter: "Ha, ha, ha! A good joke! Did you hear that, young Jochen? Our little Mining to teach children! Ha, ha, ha!"

That was Braesig; but he made a great mistake. The Frau Pastorin sat there, like a puppet on a wire, her red face grew pale with anger, and under her little chin the little cap-ribbons fluttered quite indignantly:

"What are you laughing at, Braesig? You are laughing at me, perhaps? You laugh because I thought Mining might be a governess? Oh, Herr Inspector," and she drew herself up, stiffly, "I have been a governess myself, and it is quite a different thing to teach children, from what it is to cudgel farm-boys."

"To be sure! You mustn't mind me, Frau Pastorin, but our little Mining a school-mistress! Ha, ha, ha!"

But the Frau Pastorin was carried away by her feelings, and went on to say: "And it makes a great difference whether one has learned something, or whether one knows nothing at all; a man like you could never be a governess!"

As she uttered these words, her Pastor entered the room, having been awaked by Braesig's laughter, and it struck him as so ludicrous that they were talking about Braesig's qualifications as a governess--and, being short-sighted, he did not notice his wife's anger--that he joined in the laugh: "Ha, ha! Braesig a governess!"

The entrance of her Pastor made a singular impression upon the Frau Pastorin, at first the waves of passion rose higher than ever, but then it seemed as if oil were poured on the troubled waters; she had indeed often allowed herself a momentary ebullition of anger in his presence; but to break out into flaming wrath! that was quite contrary to her principles, and a droll conflict began in her spirit and gleamed through her round honest face, like the light through a basket lantern; the flame of anger blazed up once more, and then sank down into the deep red glow of shame, that she, a Pastor's wife, and on such a day as this, had so far forgotten herself, and the glow died out in the gray ashes of a wholesome anger with herself, and as her own last words, that Braesig could never be a governess, recurred to her, and she saw her Pastor laughing, the ashes were blown away by a little gust of merriment, but she held her handkerchief before her face, that the others might not see it.

Frau Nuessler had meanwhile been sitting on thorns, and, as the Pastor came in, she sprang up and said, quite distressed, "Herr Pastor, I am the innocent cause of all this trouble. Braesig, stop your stupid laughing! Frau Pastorin thinks our Mining should be a governess. Dear heart, yes! If you and the Frau Pastorin think it best, it shall be so; you have always advised us for the best. Isn't it so, Jochen, it shall be so?"

Jochen slowly emerged from behind the stove. "Yes, it is as true as leather; if she must, she must," and with that, he went out of the room, probably to get the business through his head, in solitude.

"But what is all this?" asked the Pastor. "Regina, are you really in earnest?" And Frau Nuessler went up to the little Frau Pastorin. "It shall be just as you say, Frau Pastorin. Braesig, for shame! Frau Pastorin, don't cry any longer!" and she drew away the handkerchief, and started back in surprise as she met the laughing face. "What does it mean?" she exclaimed.

"Only a misunderstanding, dear neighbor," said the old gentleman. "Nobody has thought of Mining being a governess. No! our children shall not swell the number of poor, unhappy maidens thrust out into the world, to earn their bitter bread in this hard calling, with weariness of mind and sickness of body. No, our children shall, with God's blessing, first become fresh, healthy and skilful housewives, and after that they may be governesses, if they like,--that is, to their own children."

"Herr Pastor, dear Herr Pastor," cried Frau Nuessler, as if a stone had been lifted from her heart, "God bless you for these words! Our Mining shall not be a governess. Jochen--where are you, Jochen? Ah, he has gone out in his grief! Yes, Herr Pastor, and they shall learn housekeeping! You shall see, I will do my best for them."

"Yes," interrupted Braesig, "and they must learn to cook a good dinner."

"Of course, Braesig. Ah, Herr Pastor, I have had so much trouble with governesses, myself; and only last week, I went to see the new Frau Amtmann,--she was a governess,--you see she totters and staggers, and sighs and gasps around the house, and looks as pale as a corpse--what you call interesting."

"Interesting people always look as if they needed tying up to a stake," said Braesig.

"But you Bee, Frau Pastorin, she cooks her eggs too hard, and burns her roast meat. I have nothing to say against learning, a great deal of learning if one likes--it is very nice to read the papers, and to know something about old Fritz and such people, and to know where the oranges and the spices grow; but even if one doesn't know such things, one can wait till one meets learned people, and then ask them; but about cooking, Frau Pastorin, you can't wait for that, for you must have your dinner, and who can you ask about that,--in the country? the stupid maid-servants? That would be a fine story!"

"You are right, neighbor," said the Pastor, "it is very important that girls should be well trained in housekeeping."

"So I say, Herr Pastor. To think of that poor little Frau Amtmann! She has the best will in the world, but knows nothing at all. She asked questions that my children could answer at seven years of age, whether the swine were milked, and how the little chickens cut open the shell. And Louise will not be a governess either, Herr Pastor?"

"No, not with our consent, and Habermann is of the same opinion; she shall learn housekeeping. Regina is getting a little too lazy, and--isn't it so?" sitting down by his wife on the sofa, and putting his arm about her,--"a little too old also, she will be glad of a young assistant, and could not bear to be parted from her Louise."

"You mean you could not bear it, Pastor! Really, I feel myself quite set aside; from morning to night, it is, 'Louise, get this!' and 'Louise, bring me that!'"

"Well, we will not quarrel, I should miss the child sorely, if she were away."

Meanwhile, Habermann had returned, with Franz and the children, and had met young Jochen wandering about in a state of unusual agitation. He ran to Mining, took her in his arms and kissed her, saying, "Mining, I can do nothing to prevent it;" and when Habermann asked what was the matter, he said only: "Brother-in-law, what must be, must." And as they took their departure from the parsonage, and he sat in the carriage, he felt as if he were carrying a lamb to the slaughter, and although his wife explained the whole matter fully, and told him Mining should never be a governess, the whole thing had made such a deep impression upon him, that he ever afterward looked upon Mining as an unhappy maiden, and treated her accordingly. She must always sit next him at the table, and, he gave her the best of everything, as if every meal were her last.

Spotted a typo or a problem in this chapter? Tell us

Chapter XII

So now, for the first time, the future of the little maidens was marked out, so far, that is, as one human being can arrange the course of life for another; but destiny is a strange fellow for a godfather, and he interferes often in the most quiet and reasonable plans that old, serious, white-haired people can think out, with some stupid trick that nobody could dream of. The worst of this plan-making is, that generally the very wisest prove the stupidest in the end, because the good, old, white-haired people think merely of their own white heads, and do not take into account the black ones which they had in their youth.

It had never seriously occurred to the old Herr Pastor that his foster-child might be taken off his hands by a young man; and the Frau Pastorin, who, after the fashion of women, had thought much and often upon this chapter in the woman's catechism, had always comforted herself with the reflection that Louise was not acquainted with any young men; since, on account of his nobility, she did not consider Franz as a young man, and Fritz, with his stupid jokes and her own motherly authority over him, seemed like a little, undeveloped boy. But her eyes were to be opened, she was to discover that a young, pretty maiden, even if she is hid in a parsonage, will attract young people as surely as a flower the butterflies. The gay-colored caterpillar, which had crept across her path so often to her annoyance, had popped out of its chrysalis, a gorgeous, yellow, swallow-tailed butterfly, which fluttered around the flower in her garden, and settled upon it, and devoted himself to it, in a way which would have amused her extremely, if the butterfly had not been her sister's son, and the flower Louise Habermann.

Fritz came to Gurlitz, a few days after the confirmation, with a great and righteous hatred in his heart, against the whole race of womankind.

The wash-bowl full of water, which he had got over his head, and the banishment from his pantry-paradise, had exercised a damp, cold, hungry influence upon him, and as he had learned from his romances that every young man in love, when he quarrels with his loved one, has a right to hate all other women too, he made use of his right. He had not been at Gurlitz for a long time, because he wished to punish his aunt a little for the everlasting fault-finding in which she allowed herself toward him. Now, as he sat in the parsonage, feeding his hatred, and speaking to no one but the Pastor, the Frau Pastorin rejoiced over his serious behavior, and said to Louise, out in the kitchen, "Fritz is really quite sensible. Thank God! he is coming to years of discretion."

Louise said nothing, but she laughed, for though she had not much acquaintance with young people, she knew Fritz for the scapegrace that he was. In undertaking to represent a new character, he was like the donkey who attempted to play the guitar, and, however painful his efforts had been to assume a strange role,--as for example, to-day, that of a woman-hater,--it was not long before he stripped off the whole disguise, and appeared in his proper person, as Fritz Triddelsitz, much to the chagrin of his dear aunt. He had been but a little while in the society of Louise, before he threw overboard the whole cargo of hatred of the sex, and painful recollections of Marie Moeller, the washbowl and pantry, and took in, beside the ballast of romantic ideas, "a fresh, budding love for Louise,"--as he described to himself his new lading,--and when he had stowed it away under the hatches of his heart, and taken in his cable and made everything clear, he set sail. At first he tacked and cruised about, and his aunt, standing on the shore, could not tell thither he was steering, but that did not last long, his course became more direct, and as he was now fairly out on the high sea of "his feelings," and hoisted his topsail, she saw to her dismay in what direction he was steering, and that her beloved sister's son was no better than a reckless sea-rover, pirate and corsair, who was pursuing, in a scandalous manner, the pretty little brig, in which all her motherly hopes were embarked.

She spoke the strange craft, and asked "whence?" and "whither?"--but the pirate paid no attention; she hung out signals of distress to her Pastor, but the matter seemed only to amuse him, probably because he foresaw no danger for the little brig; he sat there, and laughed to himself, though he shook his head a little, now and then.

The little Frau Pastorin was disgusted beyond measure, with the behavior of her nephew; "Stupid fellow, scape-grace, rascal!" she kept saying to herself,--and when the pirate began to bombard the little craft with honey-comb speeches, and bonbon verses, she put to sea herself, and grappled the pirate, and when she had him fast, she sailed away with him, out of the room. "Come with me, my son, come! I have something to tell you, Fritz! And take your hat, too!" And when she had got him into the pantry, she man[oe]uvred him into a corner, from which, on account of the pots and pans, egress was difficult, and she seized a loaf of bread and cut off a thick slice, with the words, "You are hungry, Fritz, you have an empty stomach, my little son, and an empty stomach leads to all sorts of mischief, see I have spread butter on it, and here is cheese for you too, now eat!"

Fritz stood there, hardly knowing what had happened; he had designed to win a heart, and he had got a piece of bread and butter; he attempted to say something, but his aunt gave him no time: "I know, my boy, what you would say; never mind, my child! But here,--if you will do me the favor,--here is a bottle of beer,--Habermann is back of our garden, sowing peas in the Pastor's field, take it to him, come along! and greet him from me. I know he will be glad to get some of the Stauenhagen burgomeister's beer." And with that she had him through the kitchen, and out of the back-door, and before she shut the door, she called to him, through the crack, "You will be too busy, Fritz, to visit us much at present, for seed-time is coming,--no, never mind, my boy, it is no matter,--but when you do come again, perhaps in the autumn, Louise will be seventeen then, and you mustn't talk such nonsense to her as you did to-day, she will be too sensible for such folly. So, my son, now eat your bread and butter." And she shut the door, and Fritz stood there, in one hand a great slice of bread and butter, in the other a bottle of beer!

Fie! It was really infamous treatment on the part of his aunt! He was very angry, and at first had a great mind to throw the bread and butter through the kitchen-window, and send the beer-bottle after it, and he swore never to set foot in the parsonage again; but reflection is a man's best teacher, and he started at length, along the garden path, looking alternately at his bread and butter and his beer-bottle, and grumbling to himself: "The devil knows I am not hungry, and the old man is not on this side of the field. She only wanted to get rid of me. Just wait, though; you shall not succeed quite yet! I know when and where Louise goes out walking. She must be mine! Whatever opposes, she must be mine!"

Then he sat down on the garden fence, and planned out his new campaign; but how angry he would have been if he had known that Louise was watching him, that very minute, from her chamber window!

But he didn't know it, and as the bread and butter might have fallen into the dirt, if he had laid it down on the fence, he eat it up leisurely, and when he had finished it he said, "I laugh at my aunt, and I laugh at Marie Moeller. Louise is an angel! She shall be mine! My relations do not approve of our love, it is evident. Good! Louise cannot be won without a struggle. I will--well, what shall I do?"

And before he did anything else, he preferred to drink up the beer so he did that, and when he had finished it he went on, with fresh courage, across the field, and with every step he stamped into the soft-ploughed-ground the firm resolve: "She shall be mine!" and when the seed had sprung up, the old peasants in the region often stopped on their way, to look, and to say to each other: "The devil has been sowing thorns and thistles in old Inspector Habermann's peas."

So Fritz was established in a new love, and it had one good effect; he became very dutiful toward the old inspector, since he looked upon him as his future father-in-law. He sat with the old man of evenings, and told him about his expectations from his father, and asked his advice whether he should rent or purchase a farm, or whether he would think it better for him to buy a nice little estate in Livonia or Hungary. The old man tried seriously to dissuade him from such ideas, which were a little too absurd, but he could not help wondering what had wrought such a change in his apprentice; formerly the youngster had talked of nothing but riding, dancing, and hunting, and now he talked entirely about serious matters, although in a foolish way. He wondered still more when Fritz, one evening when Franz had gone to Gurlitz, told him in confidence that if he remained in Mecklenburg, he should look out for a handsome residence to purchase or to rent, with a park attached,--"park," said he, "not garden,--for the latter he would be indebted to his future wife, and she should have a good one; her relations should be the same to him as his own," and with that he looked at the old inspector so touchingly that the latter had much ado not to laugh.

"Don't be a goose, Triddelsitz," said the old man. "Have you been filling your head with love-stories?"

Maybe, said Fritz, maybe not; at all events, his old father-in-law should live with him, and one wing of the house should be set apart entirely for him, and if he wanted out-door exercise, either riding or driving, a pair of horses should always stand ready for his use. And then he got up, and walked about the room with great strides, flourishing with his hands, and Habermann, sitting in the sofa-corner, kept turning his head back and forth like a man with the palsy, to observe the singular behaviour of his apprentice. As he took leave that evening, Fritz pressed the old gentleman's hand with the deepest emotion, and as Habermann cordially returned the pressure, he felt a warm hand on his white hair, his head was bent gently back and a hot kiss was pressed upon his forehead, and, before he recovered from his astonishment, Fritz strode out of the room.

Fritz was a good fellow, he wanted to make everybody happy; his disposition was good, but his discretion was small. Go to Gurlitz again to see his aunt, he positively would not. He raged inwardly, and the grief which he endured, in his separation from Louise, was a bitter-sweet draught in which he indulged daily. But this bitter was mingled with another, as if one should add gall to quassia--a draught for the devil! and the gall was added by whom, of all persons in the world--Franz! Franz ran over to Gurlitz that spring whenever he had time, and when the three unmarried daughters came to Pumpelhagen, in the summer, Louise often came to visit them, and Franz, naturally, was not far away; but he--our poor Fritz--stood afar off, and could look on only from a distance, which was a doubtful gratification for him.

I would not say, and nobody who has read this book so far would say, that Fritz was that sort of a suspicious rascal who ferrets out something for his purposes from any kind of tokens, but he must have been a perfect idiot if he had not noticed that something was the matter with Franz. Even if this had not been the case, a young man in love must be jealous of somebody, it belongs to the business, and a young man who is in love, and has no rival, always reminds me of my neighbor Hamann, when he sits on horseback with only one spur. But it was the case; Franz was truly his rival, and Fritz treated him as such, and so before long he was as much vexed with Franz as with Marie Moeller and his aunt, he scarcely spoke to him, and had friendly intercourse only with his good, old, future father-in-law.

The human heart can hold but a limited measure of woe, what is too much is too much; there must be some relief, and the only relief, for a lover, is intercourse with the beloved object. Fritz must contrive means to this end, and he went craftily to work; he lay in wait everywhere for Louise. Every hollow tree was a sentry-box, from whence he watched for his darling, every ditch on the Pumpelhagen estate was a trench, from which he besieged her, every hill was a look-out, where he stood on picket-guard, and behind every bush he lay in concealment.

Of course this could not last long without his attaining his desired end, and frightening Louise out of her wits, for at times when she was thinking of nothing at all, or perhaps--let us confess it--thinking of Franz, his long body would shoot out from behind a bush, or he would thrust up his head, like a seal, out of the green rye, or suddenly drop down before her feet, from a tree, where he had been lying in wait, like a lynx for a deer. At first, she soon recovered from her fright, for she took those for some of his stupid jokes, such as she knew of old; she laughed, then, and talked with him about ordinary matters; but she soon became aware that the young man was in an extraordinary condition. He was so solemn in his manner, he spoke of common things in such an uncommon tone, he rubbed his head as if the deepest thoughts were struggling for birth, he laid his hand on his heart, when she spoke of the weather, as if he were taken with a stitch in his side, he shook his head sadly, when she invited him to Gurlitz, and said his honor would not allow him to accept; when she spoke of her father, a stream flowed from his lips, as when one takes the tap from a barrel: that was an angel of an inspector, never was such an old man born before; his father was good, but this father was the father of all fathers; if she asked after Fraeulein Fidelia, he said he did not trouble himself about the ladies, they were nearly all alike to him, and as she once, unfortunately, inquired after Franz, lightnings shot from his eyes, he cried "Ha!" laughed in a fearful manner, grasped her hand, thrust a paper into it, and darted headlong into the rye, in which he disappeared, and when she opened the paper she found the following effusion.

"To Her.

"When with tender, silvery light, Through the clouds fair Luna beams, When from vanquished shades of night, Sunlight o'er the heaven gleams, Where the whispering waters dance, And the ivy leaves entwine, Ah, bestow one loving glance On a heart that beats for thine!

"Where thou goest with joyous tread, Only truest love can be; Spring flowers twine about thy head, I, unseen, still follow thee; Love is vanished, sweetest flowers Bloom in vain, when thou art gone; Ah, a youth has also hours, Thou, alas! hast never known!

"But revenge will I enjoy, I will lay my rival low! I, who write this poetry, Dream of vengeance only, now.

"Fritz Triddelsitz.

"Pumpelhagen, July 3rd, 1842."

When Louise read "this poetry" for the first time, she did not quite understand it, she read it the second time, and understood it still less, and when she had read it for the third time she did not understand it at all; that is to say, she could not positively decide upon whom the unhappy poet intended to execute vengeance, although she was not so stupid as to be ignorant that the "Her" addressed was herself.

She would gladly have taken the whole thing for a piece of his usual buffoonery, and tried to think it nothing but a joke; but as she called to mind his appearance and language, and his unusual behavior, she had to acknowledge to herself that this was something beyond a joke; and she resolved that, as much as possible, she would keep out of his way. She was innocent enough to think it a great misfortune for Fritz, and to feel profound compassion for his suffering. Compassion is a bridge which leads over to love, and Louise stood for the first time, looking over beyond the bridge into that fair meadow, adorned with rose-arbors and jasmin-hedges,--and that is for a young maiden of seventeen like cherries to a bird,--and who knows but she might have gone a little way beyond the bridge, if she had not, in her mind's eye, seen Fritz, in his yellow top-boots and green hunting-jacket, riding about, among the rose-arbors, on old Chestnut, and sitting under the jasmin-hedges, with a slice of bread and butter and a beer-bottle in his hands, and his legs dangling. She had to laugh, in spite of her compassion, and remained on the safe side of the bridge, preferring to contemplate Fritz from a distance, for old Chestnut might lie down in the mud puddle a second time, or Fritz might smear her with his bread and butter.

The most stupid young man can sometimes lead a girl of seventeen by the nose, and fellows, who carry a puff-ball instead of a heart under their vests, can captivate such young hearts; only the poor fools, who wear harlequin jackets, are never successful, for nothing is so fatal to young love as a touch of the ridiculous. So, finally, she had to laugh over the poetry, a clear, hearty laugh, and as she finished laughing, she was startled, for it seemed to her as if a warm hand had pressed her hand, and a pair of friendly eyes had looked deep into her own, and the thought of Franz came into her mind, probably because he was that moment approaching, in the distance. She tore up the vengeance-poetry into little scraps, and as Franz came towards her, and greeted her, she blushed, and, becoming conscious that she was growing red, she was angry with herself, and grew still redder, and as Franz talked with her about every-day matters, she became embarrassed, gave confused answers, and, in her absence of mind, strewed the fragments of Fritz's vow of vengeance upon the air.

"What can be the matter?" said Franz to himself, when he had accompanied her a little way, and was returning. "She is so different from her usual self. Is it my fault? Has something annoyed her? What paper was that, which she was strewing the bits of to the wind?" With such thoughts he came to the place where she had dropped them, and see! There lay the fragments of paper, and, without picking them up, he read on one of them,--"dreams of vengeance!! only now Fritz Triddelsitz," for Fritz had forgotten to put a period after "now." This excited his curiosity, for he recognized Fritz's handwriting; he looked further, but found only a couple of fragments, and, fitting them together, made out these disconnected words:--

"Entwine--a loving glance--heart that beats for thine--Spring flowers--I unseen, still follow--Love is vanished--Bloom in vain--Ah, a youth--But Revenge!--vengeance!! only now Fritz Triddelsitz;" the wind had carried away the rest.

There was not much to be made out of this; the only thing which after long reflection he believed himself positively to have arrived at, was that Fritz Triddelsitz was in love with Louise, that he was upbraiding her, and threatening her with vengeance. The thing was ridiculous, but Fritz was a creature as full of stupid tricks as a donkey of gray hairs, he was quite capable of doing some crazy thing, and giving annoyance to Louise; so Franz resolved to be on the watch, and if Fritz went toward Gurlitz, not to let him out of his sight.

Fritz had broken the ice now, he had done his part; now it was the turn of Louise, she must speak, if anything was to come of the matter. He waited and watched, but nothing came. "It is very provoking," he said to himself, "but she knows nothing of such affairs, and it is doubtless all right; I must show her the way." So he set himself to work, and wrote a letter in a disguised hand.

Address:--"To One Who Knows."

Superscription:--"Sweet Dream of my Heart!"

"This letter is dumb, it says merely what is necessary, and will be found on the third rose-bush in the second row; other things by word of mouth. This by way of preliminary: when a cross is marked with white chalk on the garden gate, the contents of my heart may be found under the pot of the third rose-bash in the second row. Waving a handkerchief, from the Gurlitz side betokens thy presence, and desire for an interview; my response will be three whistles on the handle of my walking-stick. (Our shepherd taught me that, love is an apt scholar.)

"Rendezvous: the great water-ditch at the right of the bridge.

"Thine ever!!

"One Whom thou Knowest.

"P.S. The loved one will excuse me for writing this in my shirt-sleeves, it is so infernally hot."

This letter fell into the wrong hands; it was the little Frau Pastorin who found it, as she was watering the flowers, while Louise, who was learning housekeeping, was preserving gooseberries. She made no scruple of opening and reading the letter, and when she had made herself acquainted with its contents, she had no doubt that it was intended for Louise, and that it came from Fritz, her precious nephew. She said nothing to Louise of her discovery, that would have been playing into Fritz's hand; but she alluded in a variety of ways to ridiculous correspondence, just to ascertain if Louise had found similar epistles before; it was to no purpose however, the child understood nothing from her hints, and she then resolved to say nothing of the matter to her Pastor,--why should he be worried about it? and then it went terribly against the grain to confess that her own flesh and blood--for so, unfortunately, she must consider Fritz--should perpetrate such a piece of nonsense. She would gladly have spoken her mind to him, but he kept out of her way.

She went about with such thoughts in her mind for a day or two, taking, by the way, the watering of the flowers out of Louise's hands, once for all, that she might suspect nothing. It was wise in her to do so, for it was not long before she found a water-soaked letter, under the third rose-bush in the second row. This spoke more clearly:

Address:--"To the Only One, known to me alone."

Superscription:--"Soul of my life!"

"Snares surround us; I know that the enemy lies in wait. Cowardly spy, I laugh at thee! Have no fear, my dearest, I can rescue thee. One bold deed will give freedom to our love. To-morrow afternoon, at two o'clock, when the DRAGON sleeps, who guards my TREASURE, I will expect thy signal with the handkerchief, I shall be strewing manure, behind the water-ditch, three whistles on the handle of my stick will give thee warning, and though hell itself bursts forth, I have sworn it. Ever

"Thine."

When the Frau Pastorin read this she was quite off her balance. "That! That! Oh, the miserable scamp! 'Dragon Sleeps!' The rascal means me by that! But wait! I will give you a signal, and if hell doesn't burst forth, something shall crack about your ears, let me only get hold of you!"

The next day, before two o'clock, the Frau Pastorin rose from her sofa, and went into the garden. The house-door had creaked, and her Pastor heard the gate-latch also rattle, so he got up and looked out of the window, to see what his wife was doing in the garden, at this unusual hour, for her nap generally lasted until three o'clock. He saw her go behind a bush, and she stood there and waved her handkerchief in the air. "She is beckoning to Habermann, perhaps," said he, and lay down again. She was, however, merely giving a friendly signal to her nephew, till she might get a little nearer to his ears.

But he did not come, nor did she hear the three whistles. Greatly disappointed, she went back to the house, and when it was time for coffee, and her Pastor asked her whom she had been beckoning to in the garden, she was so much embarrassed, that, I regret to confess, she fibbed, although she was a pastor's wife, and said she had been so oppressed by the heat, she was merely waving her handkerchief to get a little fresh air.

On the third day, she found another letter.

Address: "To MY OWN, destined for me by FATE."

Superscription: "Sun of my darkened Soul!!"

"Dost thou know what hell-torments are? I suffered them yesterday afternoon, at two o'clock, when I was strewing manure. The air was free, the enemy was in the clover-field, and thy handkerchief fluttered like one of my white pigeons in the perfumed air. I was just upon the point of giving the pre-arranged signal of three whistles, when that old horned beast of a Braesig came up to me, and stood talking a whole hour, about the manure. When he was gone, I rushed down to the water-ditch, but, vinegar!

"The time had seemed long to thee, and thou wert gone! But now, listen! This evening, punctually at half past eight, when I have eaten my sour milk, I will be at the place of rendezvous; to-day is Saturday, the Pastor is writing his sermon, and the dragon is cleaning house; the opportunity is favorable, and the underbrush will conceal us there. (Schiller.) Wait but a little, thou too shalt rest, (Goethe) in the arms of thy DEVOTED ONE, who would sell all that is dear to him, to buy with it something dear to thee.

"Oh, meeting blest! Oh, meeting blest! Awaiting which I calmly rest, And all my longing, all my dreams, Bury in Lethe's silent stream. I shall behold thee, dear, once more. When the waves wash me to the shore, So farewell, yet not in sorrow, We shall meet again to-morrow!

"The beginning is my own, the middle from Schiller, and the end from a certain Anonymous, who has written a great deal; but I altered it a little to suit my purpose.

"With torments of longing,

"THINE OWN."

"Well!" exclaimed the little Frau Pastorin, when she read this patch work, "This goes beyond everything! Yes, my dear sister, you have brought up a beautiful plant, and it bears fine fruit. But other people must trim and prune it, and I think, as his aunt, I am the nearest to him. And I'll do it!" she cried, in a loud voice, stamping her little foot, "and I should like to see who will hinder me!"

"I for one would not think of it, Frau Pastorin," said Braesig, who had come up, unperceived, behind the bee-hives.

"Have you been listening, Braesig?" asked the Frau Pastorin, still in an excited tone.

"Listening?" said Braesig, "I never listen; I only keep my ears open, and then I hear something, and I keep my eyes open, and see something. For instance, I see now that you are provoked about something."

"It is true; but it is enough to drive an angel wild."

"No, Frau Pastorin, the angels have enough to do with their wings; we need not incommode them about our matters, but if you want to see something wild, I believe the devil has broken loose here in Pumpelhagen."

"Good heavens, has Fritz----"

"No, I didn't say so;" said Braesig; "I don't know what it is; but there is something going on."

"What is it, then?"

"Frau Pastorin, Habermann is irritable, and when that is the case, you may be sure there is some disagreeable business in the wind. You see, a few days ago, I came to Pumpelhagen, when he was busy with the hay and the rape harvest, and I said, 'Good morning,' says I. 'Good morning,' says he. 'Karl,' says I, and was going on to say something, when he interrupts: 'Have you seen my Triddelsitz anywhere?' 'Yes,' said I. 'Where?' asked he. 'Sitting in the great water-ditch,' said I. 'Did you see young Herr von Rambow anywhere?' asked he. 'He is sitting in the next ditch close by,' said I. 'What are they doing?' asked he. 'They are playing,' said I. 'You are joking,' said he, 'playing at this busy time?' 'Yes, Karl,' said I, 'and I have been playing too.' 'What have you played then?' asked he. 'Bo-peep, Karl. See! there is your greyhound peeping over the ditch towards Gurlitz, and your nobleman is peeping after the greyhound, and I was peeping out of the marl-pit after both of them, and when one turned his head, the other ducked, and so we sat there, peeping and ducking alternately, till the thing grew rather tedious to me, so I went boldly up the nobleman. "Good day," said I. "Good day," said he. "Begging your pardon," said I, "what sort of farm-work are you doing here?" "I?" said he, and stammered, "I was looking after our peas, whether they were filling out well." "Hem!" said I. "So?" said I. "Well!" said I, "good morning," and went towards the greyhound.' You won't mind it, Frau Pastorin, I always call your nephew so."

Not at all, said the Frau Pastorin, she called him worse names, herself.

"'Good day!' said I, 'what sort of work are you doing?' 'Oh, nothing just now,' said he, going off, like a whipped hound, 'I have been looking after the peas.' 'Karl!' said I to Habermann, 'if your peas fill up according as they are looked after, you will have a plentiful harvest.' 'The cuckoo knows,' said he, terribly provoked, 'both of them are as stupid as possible; I can't make out the young Herr at all, this summer; he goes about like a man in a dream, forgets everything I tell him, and is no longer always up to the mark, as he used to be; and the other stupid fellow is worse than ever.' You don't mind Habermann calling your Herr Nephew a stupid fellow, Frau Pastorin?"

"God forbid!" said the Frau Pastorin, "Habermann has reason."

"You see, this was, say, a week ago,--now I started out yesterday morning early with my fishing rod, to see if the perch would bite; what do I see? Your Herr Nephew, the greyhound, goes slyly down here into the garden, and after a while comes out again, and behind him creeps along the nobleman among the bushes, and along side the ditch, as if he were tracking a fox, and when he has gone past my place of observation, there comes my good Karl Habermann over the hill, following the other, and when he had passed, I went on behind him, and so we went in a great curve, with wide spaces between us, clear down around the village, each one seeing only the man in front of him, which I found extremely amusing. They will do it again to-morrow probably, and if you would like to see the fun, Frau Pastorin, or the Herr Pastor, you can come in behind me, for Habermann says he shall make thorough work of the business, and he has been after them three times already."

"Thank you very much for the proposal," said the Frau Pastorin; "I have had amusement enough already, from this affair. Can you keep a secret, Braesig?"

"Like a sieve, with a hole in it."

"No; jesting aside, can you be silent?"

"Utterly," said Braesig, striking his hand over his mouth.

"Well, then listen," said the Frau Pastorin, and told him what she knew.

"Why, he really is a stupid fellow, then, your Herr Nephew!" said Braesig, and Frau Pastorin read him the letter.

"But, Frau Pastorin, how did this stupid fellow get such a command of language? He is stupid, to be sure, but his writing is not so stupid, he writes like a poet." And when Frau Pastorin read about the dragon, Braesig laughed merrily: "He means you, Frau Pastorin."

"I know that," said she shortly, "but the horned beast here, in the third letter, means you; and we have nothing to hold us back. The thing to be done is simply this; let me get hold of the fellow, and I will wash his head for him."

"You are right, and nothing is easier. You see, we two, you and I, will hide here in the garden, about eight o'clock; at half past eight, take Louise, and seat her in the water-ditch, and you shall see, he will come, like a bear after honey, and when he has began to lick it, we two will break loose and catch him."

"Ah, you are not very cunning, Braesig. If I am to tie the business to the big bell, I don't need your assistance, It would be a great pity for Louise to have anything to do with it; Habermann too, and even my Pastor himself need know nothing of the matter."

"Hm, hm!" said Braesig, "then--then--hold! I have it; Frau Pastorin you must make yourself as thin as possible, and put on Louise's dress, and go to the rendezvous, and when he comes, and sits down by you, and begins to caress you, you must catch him, so, by the throat, and hold on until I come;" and with that he laid hold of the Frau Pastorin's nearest hand, to illustrate his remarks.

"You are imprudent, Braesig."

"Yes, you say so, Frau Pastorin; but if he doesn't see his dearest sitting in the ditch, he won't come down, and if we don't take him unawares, we may whistle for him, for he is a confoundedly long-legged, thin-ribbed hound, and we can never chase after him with our short legs and our corpulence."

That was true, to be sure; but no! should she go to a rendezvous? Braesig was going quite too far, and, besides, how could she get Louise's clothes? But Braesig was not dismayed, he represented to her that it was merely an interview with her own nephew, and that, if she sat on the edge of the ditch, she need only wear Louise's shawl, and her Italian straw hat: "But you must keep sitting, for, if you should stand up, he will see in a minute that you are a foot shorter than Louise, and that you are a foot larger round the waist."

Finally,--finally, the Frau Pastorin let herself be persuaded, and as she went out about eight o'clock that evening, through the back door, dressed in Louise's hat and shawl, the Herr Pastor, who stood at the window, in deep thought over his sermon, said to himself, "Good heavens! where is Regina going, with Louise's hat and shawl? And there comes Braesig, out of the arbor. Well, he will come in, if he wants to see me; but it is very singular!"

The Frau Pastorin went along the garden walk with Braesig prepared for any emergency, opened the garden gate, and went through it alone, while Braesig remained in the garden, and ensconced himself behind the fence.

"Braesig," said she, as the thought occurred to her, "you will be too far off here; come down with me to the ditch, for when I have caught him, I must have you close by."

"All right!" said Braesig, and followed het down to the ditch.

Such a ditch, as this water-ditch was, is not often seen now-a-days; for out modern system of drains has made them unnecessary; but every old farmer remembers them, how they were dug through a field, sixteen or twenty feet from bank to bank, but narrow at the bottom, bordered right and left with thorn-bushes, nearly always dry, only in spring and fall there was perhaps a foot and a half of water; and occasionally in summer also, after a heavy rain. This was the case at present.

"Braesig," said the little Frau Pastorin, "lie down behind that bush, close by me, so that you can come quickly to my help."

"Why not? all right," said Braesig. "But, Frau Pastorin, you must think up some catch-word, upon which I shall break loose."

"Yes, surely. Yes, that is necessary; but what? Wait a moment! when I cry, 'The Philistines be upon thee,' then you must spring out."

"Good, Frau Pastorin."

"Good heavens!" said she to herself, "I seem to myself like a Delilah indeed. Seated at a rendezvous, at half past eight in the evening! At my time of life! How scandalized I should have been when I was a young girl, at the thought of such a thing, and to be doing it now in my old age! Braesig! Don't sneeze so dreadfully! One might hear you a quarter of a mile off. And all this for that boy, for that miserable boy! God bless me, if my Pastor knew! Braesig, what are you laughing at? I forbid you to laugh!"

"I am not laughing, Frau Pastorin."

"Yes, you were laughing: I distinctly heard you laugh."

"I was merely yawning a little from weariness, Frau Pastorin."

"And can you yawn, over such a matter as this? I am ready to fly, hand and foot. Ah, you miserable scamp! What have you made of me! And I can tell nobody, I must fight it out alone. Braesig is a real godsend."

By and by Braesig spoke--in a whisper to be sure, but one could hear it as distinctly as the cry of the quail in the distance:--"Frau Pastorin, make yourself as long as Lewerenz's child, and as thin as possible, and put on a lovely, shamefaced mien, for he is coming over the hill, I can see him against the evening sky."

And the little Frau Pastorin's heart throbbed, and her wrath rose high against the youth, and she glowed with shame at her own situation, and now she would certainly have run away, if Braesig had not laughed again; but that provoked her, and she meant to show him that she was in earnest.

This time, Braesig really did laugh, for, behind the first dark figure that came over the hill he saw a second, and behind the second a third, and he chuckled to himself, behind his thorn-bush: "So! There is Karl Habermann, too; and now the whole inspectorship of Pumpelhagen is on foot, probably out to see how the peas look in the evening. This looks like a comedy!"

The Frau Pastorin did not see the others, she saw merely her precious nephew, who came straight towards her. Now he ran across the bridge, now he ran along the bank of the ditch, now he sprang forward a couple of feet, and clasped his dear aunt about the waist: "Beloved angel!" "Wait, you rascal!" cried she in reply, and with the grip which Braesig had taught her she seized him, not exactly by the throat, but by the coat-collar, and cried with a clear voice, "The Philistines be upon thee!" and Braesig, the Philistine, scrambled up. Oh, thunder! his foot was asleep! but no matter! He hopped on one leg along the ditch, and almost sprang upon Fritz; but the overtasked leg failed under the weight of the hundred and eighty pounds it dragged after it; Braesig fell backwards into a thorn-bush, lost his balance, and tumbled, a lump of misfortune, into the foot and a half of ditch-water.

There he sat, for a moment, stiff and stark, as if he were at the water-cure, taking a sitz-bath. Fritz, also, stood stiff and stark, and felt as if he were taking a bath, but a shower-bath: he stood fairly under the stream of his aunt's indignant reproaches, which rushed and roared about his ears, ever ending with the words: "The dragon has you now, my son! The dragon has you now!"

"And here comes the horned beast!" growled Braesig, who had scrambled out of the ditch, and was close upon them. But Fritz had come to himself by this time; he broke loose from his aunt, and would have escaped, if a new enemy had not come upon him, from across the ditch. This was Franz, and it was not long before Habermann also was there, and the little Frau Pastorin had scarcely recovered from this shock, when her Pastor stood before her, asking, "For heaven's sake, Regina, what does all this mean?"

The little Frau Pastorin was at the last extremity; but Braesig was not quite so far gone, although he felt as if he were changed into running waters, and on the point of dissolving. "Infamous greyhound!" cried he, giving Fritz a couple of digs under the ribs, "must I go and get my cursed Podagra again, on your account? But they shall all know what a confounded Jesuit you are. Habermann, he----"

"For heaven's sake!" cried the Frau Pastorin, catching breath again, in the gathering storm, and springing between them,--"don't any of you listen to Braesig! Habermann, Herr von Rambow, I beg of you! just go quietly home, the business is over, it is all over, and what isn't finished, my Pastor will attend to; it is a family affair, merely a family affair. Isn't it so, Fritz, my son? It is just a family affair, that concerns only us two. But now come, my son! We will tell my Pastor all about it. Good-night, Herr von Rambow! Good-night, Habermann. Fritz shall come back to you soon. Come, Braesig, we must get you to bed immediately."

And so she dispersed the company. The two who were not to be enlightened went off homewards, each by himself, shaking their heads; Habermann annoyed at the inexplicable behavior of his two young people, and that he could not penetrate its secret; Franz more than suspicious of the whole concern, for he had clearly recognized Louise's hat and shawl, in the half-twilight, and Louise must have some connection with the affair though he could make no sense of it.

Fritz, quite abashed, followed the Pastor and the Frau Pastorin, while the latter, in shame and sorrow, related the whole story. The procession drew near to the parsonage, and the evil-doer had so far recovered his courage, that he showed signs of running away; but Braesig stuck so close to his side that he was compelled to yield outwardly; but he raged inwardly all the more, and when Braesig asked the Frau Pastorin, who it was that had come so opportunely to their aid, and she mentioned the name of Franz, Fritz stood still, and shook his fist over the peas, in the direction of Pumpelhagen, and exclaimed, "I have been betrayed, and it shall be avenged, the Junker shall pay for it."

"Boy!" cried the Frau Pastorin, "will you hold your foolish tongue?"

"Softly, Regina!" said the Pastor, who was getting a tolerable idea of the matter, "go in and see that Braesig is put to bed; I will have a few words with Fritz."

She complied with his request, and as much reason as Fritz was capable of taking in was then, in all kindness, administered by the old Herr Pastor; but one can pour only so much clear wine into a full cask, as the working off of the froth and scum leaves room for, and while the Pastor gently poured in, Fritz was foaming out of the bung-hole: his own relations had conspired against his happiness, and thought more of the rich Junker than of their own sister's child.

Much the same thing was going on inside the house; only the cask, before which the Frau Pastorin stood, neither foamed nor dripped; this was Uncle Braesig, who would not be put to bed.

"I couldn't do it, Frau Pastorin," said he; "that is to say, I could, to be sure, but I oughtn't, for I must go to Rexow. Frau Nuessler has written me orders to report myself at Rexow."

The same spirit and leaven which worked in Fritz sending off froth and scum not of the purest, fermented slowly but strongly in old Braesig, although the old cask had stood long in the cellar, and had become seasoned; and when he at last, out of respect for the Frau Pastorin and the Frau Podagra, suffered himself to be persuaded into bed, his thoughts turned the same corner which those of Fritz were turning, as going through the pease-field, back of the Pastor's garden, he stamped for the second time his heroic resolutions into the earth: "He would renounce her! Renounce her! But the devil take the confounded Junker!"

Spotted a typo or a problem in this chapter? Tell us

Chapter XIII

The next morning--it was Sunday morning--Braesig awoke, and lay stretching himself in the soft bed--"A pleasure," he said to himself, which I have never allowed myself before, but which is very agreeable. However, it is mainly from the novelty of the thing; one would soon get tired of it; "and he was on the point of getting up, when Frau Pastorin's maid-servant whisked in at the door, seized his clothes with one grasp, and ran off with them, leaving in their place a black coat and black trousers, and a black vest, lying on the chair.

"Ho, ho!" laughed he, looking at the black suit. "It is Sunday, and this is the parsonage; can it be possible they think I am going to preach to-day?" He lifted one garment after another, and said, at last, "Now I understand! It is only because of the ditch yesterday; because my own clothes are so wet and dirty, I must make myself comfortable in the Herr Pastor's. Well, here goes!"

But it didn't go quite so easily, and as for being comfortable that was out of the question. The clothes were long enough, to be sure, but as for breadth, he found close quarters in the Herr Pastor's trousers, it was utterly impossible to button the lower buttons of the vest, and when he put on the coat, it cramped him dreadfully between the shoulder-blades, and his arms stood out from his body, as if he were ready on this Sunday morning, to press the whole world to his honest heart.

So he went down stairs to the Frau Pastor in, his legs turned outward, as was his usual manner of walking since he had been pensioned; but his arms also were turned outward now, and the Frau Pastorin had to laugh heartily; but retreated behind the breakfast table, as Braesig came towards her, with open arms, as if she were to be the first subject of the world-embrace.

"Don't come near me, Braesig!" cried she '"If I had dreamed that you would cut such a ridiculous figure in my good, old Pastor's clothes, you should have stayed in bed till noon, for it will be as late as that before yours are washed and dried."

"Ho, ho!" laughed Braesig, "was that the reason? And I was flattering myself that you sent me the Pastor's clothes that I might be more pleasing in your eyes at our rendezvous this morning."

"Just listen to me, Braesig!" said the Frau Pastorin, with a face red as fire. "I will have no such joking as that! And if you go round in the neighborhood--you have nothing else to do now, but carry stories from one to another--and tell about last evening, and that confounded rendezvous, I'll have nothing more to say to you."

"Frau Pastorin, what do you take me for?" cried Braesig, advancing upon her again, with outspread arms, so that she took refuge a second time behind the table. "You need not be afraid of me, I am no Jesuit."

"No, Braesig, you are an old heathen, but you are no Jesuit. But you must tell something. Oh, dear! Habermann must know, my Pastor says so himself. But when he asks you about it, you can leave me out of the story. Only think, if the Pomuchelskopps should get hold of it, I should be the most miserable woman in the world. Oh, heaven help us! And I did it only in the kindness of my heart, for that innocent child, Braesig. I have sacrificed myself for her."

"That you have, Frau Pastorin," said Braesig, earnestly, "and therefore don't worry yourself about it the least in the world; for, you see, if Karl Habermann asks me what we were doing there, then I can say--then--then I will say you had appointed a rendezvous with myself."

"With you? For shame, Braesig!"

"Now, Frau Pastorin, am I not as good as that greyhound? And surely our years are more suited to each other!" And with that Braesig looked up as innocently, as if he had thought of the best excuse in the world. The Frau Pastorin looked keenly in his honest face, and folded her hands thoughtfully on her lap, and said, "Braesig, I will trust you. But, Braesig, dear Braesig, manage it as quietly as you can. And now come, sit down, and drink a cup of coffee." And she grasped one of his stiff arms, and turned him round to the table, as a miller turns about a windmill to the wind.

"Good!" said Braesig, taking the cup, which he held out with his stiff arm as if he were a sleight-of-hand performer, and the cup a hundred-pound weight, and he was holding it before an appreciative public in the open air; he tried to seat himself also; but as he bent his knees something cracked, and he sprang up,--whether it was the Pastor's chair, or the Pastor's trousers, he did not know; but he drank his coffee standing, and said, "It was just as well; he could not wait long, for he must go to Rexow, to Frau Nuessler."

All the Frau Pastorin's entreaties that he would wait till his own clothes were dried were of no avail; Frau Nuessler's least wish was for him a command, registered in the memorandum book of his conscience, and so he sailed off,--the long, black flaps of the priestly garment flying behind him in the summer morning,--toward Pumpelhagen and Rexow, slowly and heavily, like the crows we used to catch, when I was a boy, and then let fly again.

He came to Pumpelhagen, and there he was accosted by Habermann, who saw him over the garden fence. "Good heavens, Zachary, how you look!"

"The result of circumstances, Karl! You know I fell into the mud, last night,--but I haven't time, I must go to your sister."

"Braesig, my sister's business can afford to wait better than mine, I have noticed for some time, there has been a great deal going on behind my back, which I was to know nothing of. That wasn't so much; but, since last night, I am sure that the Herr Pastor and the Frau Pastorin know all about the matter, and if they are keeping anything from me, I know it can be merely out of kindness."

"You are right, Karl; it is out of kindness," interrupted Braesig.

"I am sure of it, Braesig, and I am not disposed to be suspicious, but for some time it has lain heavy on my heart that this is a matter which concerns me very nearly. What did you have to do with the business last evening?"

"I, Karl? I only had a rendezvous with the Frau Pastorin, in the water-ditch."

"What did the Herr Pastor have to do with it?"

"Karl, we did not know anything about it, he surprised us."

"What had the Herr von Rambow to do with it?"

"He caught your greyhound by the collar, because I had tumbled into the ditch."

"What had Fritz Triddelsitz to do with the business?" asked Habermann with terrible emphasis. "And what had Louise's hat and shawl to do with it?"

"Only this Karl, that they didn't fit the Frau Pastorin at all well, because she is much too large for them."

"Zachary," said Habermann, reaching his hand over the fence, "these are merely evasions. Will you not tell me,--and we such old friends,--or dare you not tell me?"

"Karl--the devil take the whole rendezvous business, and the Frau Pastorin's worry besides!" cried Braesig, and grasped Habermann's hand across the fence, and shook it in the tall nettles that grew by the fence, until both were stung, and drew back. "Karl, I will tell you. The Pastor will tell you himself--why shouldn't I? Your Fritz Triddelsitz, the cursed greyhound, loved you, doubtless because you have been like a father to him, and now his love has gone on to Louise, for love always goes on, for instance, mine for your sister and Mining."

"Braesig, speak seriously."

"Am I not speaking seriously, when I speak of your sister and Mining?"

"I know that," said Habermann, reaching after Braesig's hand again, in spite of the nettles, "but what had Franz to do with it all?"

"For all I know, he may love you too, for your fatherly kindness, and for all I know, his love may have gone on to your daughter."

"That would be a misfortune!" cried Habermann, "a great misfortune! To put that right again, is more than I can do; the Lord himself must help us!"

"I don't know about that, Karl: he has two estates----"

"Not a word, Zachary: come in, and tell me all you know."

And when Braesig had told all that he knew, and was again under way, and steering toward Rexow, Habermann stood looking after him and talking to himself: "He is a good fellow, his heart is in the right place; and, if I found it was really so, I should like it right well,--but--but----" He did not mean Braesig this time, however, he meant Franz.

On this Sunday morning young Jochen was sitting, about breakfast time, in his usual chimney-corner, and in his arm-chair. Lining and Mining had spread the table for breakfast, and had brought in the dishes of ham, and sausage, and bread, and butter, and when all stood ready on the table, Frau Nuessler herself came in, and set down a platter of hot scrambled eggs, saying: "There, Jochen, don't let it get cold!" and went out again, to see about some thing or other.

The eggs were still crackling in the dish,--they were really splendid--but young Jochen did not stir. Whether it was, that he had not yet smoked out his pipe, and wanted to finish it, or that he was lost in thought over two letters, which were lying in his lap, he did not stir, and his eyes remained fastened upon one particular spot. And on this spot, under the stove, close by him, lay young Bauschan, looking at his master. Young Bauschan was the latest new-comer of the whole Bauschan race, which had been brought up and weaned in the house, since old Jochen's time; when one spoke to him he was called "Bauschan," but when one spoke of him, he was called the "Thronfolger" (crown-prince,) not on his own account, but on Jochen's account, because, so far as anybody could recollect, this was the only joke he had ever perpetrated.

So, as I said before, these two young people, young Jochen and young Bauschan, sat and looked at each other, each thinking his own thoughts; young Jochen's suggested by his letters, and young Bauschan's by the savory smell which came to his nose. Jochen did not move, but the crown-prince stroked himself with his paw over his thoughtful face, his nose grew sharper, and the nostrils quivered, he crept out from under the stove, put on a courteous mien, and made his compliments to young Jochen with his tail. Young Jochen took no notice, and young Bauschan inferring that everything was in its usual condition, went nearer to the table, looked round sideways, more after Frau Nuessler than for young Jochen, then laid his head against the table and indulged in blessed hopes, as young folks will. Hope kept him quiet for a time, but--one really needs something more substantial, for one's stomach,--the crown-prince returned to put his two paws--merely the fore paws--in a chair, and bring himself a little nearer. His nose came directly over the dish containing the red bacon, and--now, young folks--Bauschan snapped at it, exactly as we should in our youthful days, when a pair of red lips smiled up to us; and--just like us--he was frightened, in an instant, at his wickedness, and crept away, but--that I should have to say it! with the bacon in his teeth.

"Bauschan!" cried young Jochen, as impressively as the mother, who keeps guard over the red lips; but for all that, he did not move; meanwhile Bauschan--whether that as crown-prince he believed himself possessed of a species of regal right over all the red lips in his realm, or that he was so spoiled that even such a sweet, clandestine titbit made no impression upon him--looked Jochen boldly in the face, licked his chops, and hankered for more. Jochen looked him right in the eye, but did not stir, and after a little while Bauschan got up again on a chair, this time with his hind legs, and ate up a plate full of sausage. "Bauschan!" cried Jochen. "Mining, Bauschan is eating up the sausage!" but he didn't stir. The crown-prince bestirred himself, however, and when he had made way with the sausage, he addressed himself to his chief dainty, the dish of scrambled eggs. "Mother, mother!" cried young Jochen, "he is eating up the eggs!" But young Bauschan had burned his moist nose against the hot dish, he started back, upset the platter, knocked the Kuemmel bottle over with his tail, and disordered the whole table, young Jochen never stirring the while, only calling from his corner, "Mother, mother! The confounded dog! he is eating up our eggs!"

"What are you roaring about, young Jochen, in your own house;" cried one, who just then entered the door, but it was such a singular figure, that Jochen was frightened. He let his pipe fall from his mouth, in his terror, put out both hands before him, and cried, "All good spirits praise the Lord! Herr Pastor, is it you, or, Braesig, is it you?"

Yes, it was Braesig, at least one who looked at him near enough, and had time to consider, would recognize the yellow-topped boots as belonging to an inspector's uniform, but Jochen had no time to consider, for the figure which entered the door at once perceived Bauschan's misdeeds, and ran into every corner of the room, in search of a stout stick for the crown prince's back, and behind him fluttered in the air two long, long black coattails, like the wings of a dragon, and out of the high black coat-collar, and under the high black hat, which had slipped down half over his eyes, shone a red, angry face, as if a chimney-sweep had taken a glowing coal in his mouth, to frighten the children. Young Jochen was no longer a child, to be sure, but yet he was frightened, he had started up, and held on with both hands to the arms of his chair, and exclaimed alternately, "Herr Pastor! Braesig! Braesig! Herr Pastor!" and the crown-prince, who was still in his childhood, was terribly frightened, he also ran into all the comers, and howled, and could not get out of the room, for the door was shut, and when the black figure beat him with the yellow stick--necessity works wonders--he sprang through the window sash, and took half the glass along with him.

This made uproar enough to raise the dead, why, then, should not Frau Nuessler hear it in the kitchen? and, just as she opened the door, Braesig was shoving up his hat with one hand, and pointing with the other, still holding the stick, to the broken window, while he uttered the remarkable words, "You can thank nobody but yourself, young Jochen! For what does the dumb creature of a crown-prince understand? All the beautiful Kuemmel!"

"Good heavens!" cried Frau Nuessler, coming in. "What is all this, Jochen? Bless me, Braesig, how you look!"

"Mother," said young Jochen, "the dog and Braesig--what can I do about it?"

"For shame, young Jochen," cried Braesig, going up and down the room with great strides, his long coat-tails almost dipping in the Kuemmel, "who is master of this house, you, or young Bauschan?"

"But, Braesig, why in the world are you dressed so horribly?" asked Frau Nuessler.

"So?" said Braesig, looking at her with great eyes, "suppose you had gone to a rendezvous with the Frau Pastorin, last night, and tumbled into the ditch, so that your clothes were all damp and muddy, this morning? And suppose you got a letter, that you must come here to Rexow, to a family council? And what was I to do? Is it my fault that the Herr Pastor is tall as Lenerenz's child, and as thin as a shadow, and that his head is so much bigger than mine? Why did the Frau Pastorin rig me out in his uniform this morning, so that all the old peasants going to church called out to me, from a distance, 'Good morning, Herr Pastor!' but that I might come here, out of pure kindness, to your family council?"

"Braesig," said young Jochen, "I swear to you----"

"Don't swear, young Jochen! You will swear yourself into hell. Do you call this a family council, with all the Kuemmel running about the room, and I in the Pastor's clothes, to be made a laughing-stock of?"

"Braesig, Braesig," exclaimed Frau Nuessler, who scarcely knew her old friend in his anger, and who had been picking up the broken fragments and setting the table-cloth straight, "don't mind such a trifle! Sit down, it is all right again, now."

Under Frau Nuessler's friendly words, Braesig quieted down, and allowed himself to be seated at the breakfast-table, only growling to himself, "The devil knows, young Jochen, I have always lived in the hope that you would grow a little wiser with years, but, I see well, what is dyed in the wool will never wash out. Meanwhile though--what is the matter here?"

"Yes," said Frau Nuessler--"Yes," said Jochen also, and his wife was silent, for she thought Jochen was really going to say something; he said nothing, however, but "It is all as true as leather." So Frau Nuessler began again: "Yes, there is Rector Baldrian's Gottlieb, Jochen's sister's son, a right good fellow, and well-educated, and has studied his Articles as a Candidate--you have seen him here a great many times."

"Yes," nodded Braesig, "a right nice young fellow, a sort of Pietist, combed his hair behind his ears, and instructed me that I did wrong to go fishing Sunday morning."

"Yes, that is the one. And he has got through with his schooling, and the Rector wants us to take him here, for a while, till he studies some last things into his head, and we wanted to ask you what we should do about it."

"Why not? The Pietists are quiet people, their only peculiarity is their love of instructing; and you, Frau Nuessler, are likely to give them opportunity for it, and young Jochen, too,--God be praised!--since he will not allow himself to be instructed by Bauschan and me."

"Yes, that is well enough, Braesig, but there is something else; there is Kurz's Rudolph, he has studied for the ministry, too, and he also is Jochen's nephew; he heard that the other wanted to come here, and he wrote yesterday, saying he had wasted his time dreadfully at Rostock, and he would come here to Rexow, and review what was necessary. Just think of it! there in Rostock he has all the learned professors, and here at Rexow only Jochen and me."

"Oh, I know him," cried Braesig, "he is an exceedingly fine fellow! When he was first beginning to study, he caught me half a dozen perch out of the Black Pool; the very smallest weighed a good pound and a half."

"Eh! How you remember everything! And he was the one who got Mining, when she had climbed up on the ladder to the old stork's nest, and stood there clapping her hands for joy, and we down below frightened out of our wits, and he brought her down, safe and sound. Yes, he is bright enough about such matters, but not so good at his books, and Rector Baldrian says, there at Rostock he is always getting into fights. Just think, they fought with bare swords, and he was in the midst of it all, and it was all on account of a rich merchant's pretty daughter."

"May you keep the nose on your face!" cried Braesig. "In a real, regular fight, and about a pretty merchant's daughter! Well, young Jochen, all the troubles come from the women!"

"Yes, Braesig, you may well say so; but what shall we do about it?"

"Why, where is there any difficulty? If you don't want the two young ecclesiastics, write and say so, and if you do want them to come, write and say so; you have room enough, and plenty to eat and drink, only look out for the expenses for the books, for those make fearful holes in the pocket. And if you wish to take only one, take the fighter, for I, for my part, would much rather fight with the one, than be instructed by the other."

"Yes, Braesig, that is all very well," said Frau Nuessler, "but we have already written to Gottlieb Baldrian, and now we cannot refuse to take Rudolph, without affronting the Kurzes."

"No? Well, then, take both."

"Yes, Braesig, it is easy to say so; but our two little girls--they have just been confirmed--there, Jochen, you tell him!"

And Jochen really began to speak: "It is all as true as leather,--you see, Braesig. Mining is just like--you know all about it--educated just like a governess, and my old mother used to say, a governess and a candidate in the same house--that would never do."

"Ho, ho! Young Jochen! Now I understand you. You are afraid of love-affairs. But that little rogue and love-affairs!"

"Well, Braesig," said Frau Nuessler, hastily, "it is not so improbable! I, as a mother, should know that. Why, I was not so old as they are, when----" Frau Nuessler stopped suddenly, for Braesig had pulled a terribly long face, and was looking very keenly in her eyes. Fortunately, Young Jochen took up the conversation, and said; "Braesig,--mother, fill Braesig's glass,--Braesig, you can understand something about it, and now, what ought we, as parents, to do?"

"Let them alone, young Jochen! Why has the Lord put young people into the world, and what else have they to do but make love to each other? But that little rogue!"

"You are jesting, Braesig," interrupted Frau Nuessler. "You ought not to talk so about such a serious matter, for out of a smooth egg many times crawls a basilisk."

"Let him crawl," cried Braesig.

"So?" asked Frau Nuessler. "Do you say so? But I say otherwise. Jochen is not accustomed to trouble himself about such things; for all he cares, every one of our servant-maids might fall in love. Idle about, and get married; and I--God bless me! I have both hands full of work, and enough to find fault with before my eyes, without looking after what goes on behind my back."

"What am I for, then?" asked Braesig.

"Oh, you!" said Frau Nuessler, off hand, "you have no experience in such matters."

"What!" exclaimed Braesig. "I, who once had three sweethearts----" He went no further, for Frau Nuessler put on a long face, and looked at him with so much curiosity, that he covered his embarrassment by drinking the Kuemmel in his glass.

"A miserable piece of business!" he cried, standing up, "and who is to blame for it all? Young Jochen!"

"Eh, Braesig, what have I to do with it?"

"You let the crown-prince eat up the breakfast, under your very nose, and take two ministerial candidates into your house, and don't know what to do about it! But, never mind, Frau Nuessler, take the two young fellows in, and don't be afraid. I will look after the little rogue, and the two confounded rascals shall catch thunder and lightning. The fighter, the duel-fighter--I will take care of him; but you must keep an eye on the proselyter; they are the slyest."

"Well, we can't do otherwise," said Frau Nuessler, also rising.

And at Michaelmas the two clerical recruits arrived at head-quarters, and Franz went away to the agricultural college at Eldena, and as he went out of the Pastor's garden, there looked after him, over the fence, in the same place where Fritz had sat, with his bread and butter and his beer-bottle, a dear, beautiful face, and the face looked like a silken, rose-red purse, out of which the last groschen had been given for a dear friend.

When Louise came back into the parlor, in the twilight, that evening, the Frau Pastor in took the lovely girl upon her lap, and kissed the sweet mouth, and pressed the pure heart to her own. Well the women-folks can't help doing such things!

Spotted a typo or a problem in this chapter? Tell us

Chapter XIV

The evening before St. John's day, 1843, David Daesel's oldest boy was sitting with Johann Degel's youngest girl, in the pleasure-garden at Pumpelhagen, enjoying the moonlight, and Fika Degel said to Krischan Daesel, "Say, did you see her, that time, when you took the horses to the young Herr?"

"To be sure I saw her; he took me into the parlor, and shewed her to me, and said, 'See, this is your gracious lady!' and she filled me a glass, that I should drink there."

"What does she look like?"

"Well," said Krischan, "it is hard to describe her; let me see, she is about your size, and has such light hair as yours, and just such a pink and white face, and she has grey eyes also, as you have, and just such a little, old, sweet, pouting mouth," and with that, he pressed a hearty kiss on the red lips.

"Gracious, Krischan!" cried Fika, freeing herself from his arm, "then does she look just like me?"

"Child, have you no more sense than that?" said Krischan. "No, don't flatter yourself to that extent! You see, that sort of people have always a something about them, quite different from our sort. The gracious lady might sit here with me, till she were frozen to death in midsummer, it would never come into my head to give her a kiss."

"So?" said Fika Degel, standing up, and tossing her pretty head, "then you think I am good enough for you?"

"Fika," said Krischan, throwing his arm round her again, though she made a show of resistance, "that sort are too slender-waisted, and have too weak bones for us, if I should hug her as I do you, I should always be afraid of dislocating her spine, or knocking her down. No," said he, stroking her soft hair, "like must mate with like." And as they separated, Fika was quite gracious again towards her Krischan, and looked as friendly as if she were his gracious lady.

"Well, I shall see you to-morrow," said she, "I am going to help the girls tie wreaths, in the morning."

And so she did. Yes, they were tying wreaths in Pumpelhagen, and a great gate of honor was constructed, and while Habermann was overseeing the preparations, and Marie Moeller was running hither and thither, with greens and flowers, and Fritz Triddelsitz, as a volunteer of the first class, in his green hunting-jacket, and white leather breeches, and yellow top-boots, and a blood-red neck-handkerchief, strutted about among the farm-boys and day-laborers, there arrived upon the scene Uncle Braesig also, neat as wax, in light-blue, tight summer trousers, and a brown dress-coat, of unknown antiquity, which covered his back very well, down to the calves, but in front he looked as if the lightning had struck him, and torn off his brown bark, leaving exposed a long strip of yellow wood, for he wore under it a fine, yellow pique vest. On his head he had, of course, a silk hat, three-quarters of an ell high.

"Good morning, Karl! How are you getting on? Ha, ha! There stands already the whole concern. Fine, Karl! The arch should be a little higher, though, and right and left you should have a couple of towers; I have seen them so in old Friedrich Franz's time, at Gustrow, when he came home in triumph. But where is your flag?"

"Flag?" said Habermann, "we have none."

"Karl, bethink yourself! How can you celebrate without a flag? The Herr Lieutenant is a military character, of course he must have a flag. Moeller!" he went on, without hesitation, "go into the house, and bring me out two sheets, and sew them together lengthways; Krischan Paesel, bring me a nice, smooth, straight beanpole; and you, Triddelsitz, get me the brush that you mark bags with, and an inkstand!"

"What under heaven are you going to do, Zachary," said Habermann, shaking his head.

"Karl," said Braesig, "it is a mercy he was in the Prussian army, if he had been in the Mecklenburg, we couldn't have got the colors; but the Prussian--black ink, white linen, and there are your colors!"

Habermann would have entered a protest, but he thought: "Well, let him work, the young Herr will understand that it is all meant well."

So Braesig worked away, and painted a great "Vivat!!!" with the brush. "Hold it tight!" he cried to Marie Moeller, and Fritz Triddelsitz, whom he had pressed into the service as assistants, "so that the 'Herr Lieutenant' and 'Frau Lieutenant' may come out nice and clear on the flag!" for he had decided upon these words to put under the "Vivat," instead of "A. von Rambow" and "F. von Satrup" which had been his first thought: for these were merely a couple of names of the nobility, and having lived among noblemen all his life he held them for nothing remarkable; but he had not had so much to do with lieutenants, and considered the title a very high one.

When he had finished his flag, he ran up to fasten it on the highest point of the manor-house, then puffed down stairs again, to see the effect from outside, and placed himself at the door of the granary, and then at the sheep-barn, but nowhere did it seem to satisfy him.

"It don't look right, Karl," said he, much annoyed; but, after a little reflection, he placed himself before the green archway, and called out, "Karl, what am I thinking of? This is the right spot, from which they will perceive it!"

"But, Braesig," remonstrated Habermann, "it would cover our triumphal arch entirely, and under the tall poplars there wouldn't be a breath of air for the flag, and the two heavy old sheets would hang down on the bean-pole like a great icicle."

"I'll make it all right, Karl," and Braesig pulled out from his pocket a long string, which he proceeded to fasten to the upper, outer end of his flag. "Gust Kegel," he called to one of the swineherds, "are you a good climber?"

"Yes, Herr Inspector," said Gust.

"Well, my dear swine-marquis," said Braesig, laughing at his own joke, and all the men and boys and girls laughed with him, "just take this end of the string, and climb into that poplar, and draw it tight." And Gust did the business very skilfully, and drew the string tight and hauled up the sail, as if all Pumpelhagen were making ready to sail off and Braesig stood by the bean-pole, as if he were standing by the mast of his ship, an admiral commanding a whole fleet: "They may come now, Karl, whenever they like; I am ready."

But Fritz Triddelsitz was not ready yet, for he had appointed himself commander of the land-forces, and wished to draw them up in military array, by the sheep-barn, on one side the old day-laborers, and the servants, and farm-boys, and on the other, the house-wives, servant-maids and little girls. After much instruction, he had got his breeches-company about half-drilled, but with the petticoat-company he could do nothing at all. The house-wives' carried, instead of a weapon, a baby each, upon the left arm, that little Jochen and Hinning might be able to see too, and man[oe]uvred with them in a highly irregular manner; the maid-servants declined to recognize Fritz as their commander, and Fika Degel called out to him that Mamselle Moeller was their corporal, and the light-troops of young girls skirmished behind poplars and stonewalls, as if the enemy were in sight, and they in danger of being taken prisoners. Fritz Triddelsitz struck fiercely at his troops with his cane, which he carried as a staff of command, and told them they were not worth their salt, and, going up to Habermann, vowed he would have nothing more to do with the concern; but if Habermann had no objections he would take his gray pony, and ride off to see how soon the Herr lieutenant and his lady would arrive. Habermann hesitated, mainly out of consideration for the old Gray; but Braesig whispered quite audibly, "Let him go, Karl, then we shall be rid of the greyhound, and it will be much nicer."

So Fritz rode off on the Gray, towards Gurlitz; but a new annoyance intruded itself in Braesig's plan, that was schoolmaster Strull, who came marching up with the school-children, descendants of Asel and Lgel, with open psalm-books in their hands. The order which Fritz had not been able to accomplish with an hour's training, Master Strull had held for a whole year; he advanced his troops in two divisions, in the first stood the Asels, whose singing could always be relied upon, in the second, were the Egels, of whom he was--alas! but too well aware, that each one had his own idea of time and melody.

"Preserve us, Karl, what is all this?" asked Braesig, as he saw the schoolmaster approaching.

"Now, Zachary, Master Strull wishes to show honor to the young Herr, as well as the rest of us, and why shouldn't the children have a chance to show what they have learned?"

"Too ecclesiastical, Karl; altogether too ecclesiastical for a lieutenant? Haven't you got a drum or a trumpet?"

"No," laughed Habermann, "we don't keep that sort of agricultural implement."

"Very unfortunate," said Braesig, "but hold! Krischan Daesel, come and hold the flag a moment! It is all right, Karl," said he, as he went off. But if Habermann had known what he had in his mind, he would have called it all wrong. Braesig beckoned the night-watchman, David Daesel, to step aside, and asked him where his instrument was. David bethought himself a little, and finally answered, "Here!" holding up his staff, for Fritz Triddelsitz had ordered all the day-laborers to bring them along, "that they might do the honors to the Herr Lieutenant," as he said.

"Blockhead!" cried Braesig, "I mean your musical instrument."

"You mean my horn? That is at home."

"Can you play pieces on it?"

"Yes," said David Daesel, he could play one.

"Well," said Braesig, "bring your instrument, and come out behind the cattle-stall, and I will hear you play."

And when they were alone, David put the horn to his mouth, and blew, as if the whole cattle-stall were in flames: "The Prussians have taken Paris. Good times are coming now,--toot! toot!" for he was very musical. "Hold!" said Braesig, "you must blow quietly now, for I want to give Habermann a pleasant surprise; by and by, when the lieutenant comes, you can blow louder. And when the schoolmaster is through with his ecclesiastical business, then keep watch of me; I will give you a sign, when I wave the flag three times, then begin."

"Yes, Herr Inspector; but the old watch-dog ought to be tied fast in his kennel, for we are not on good terms of late, and whenever he sees me with my horn, he flies at me."

"It shall be attended to," said Braesig, and he went back with Daesel, to the celebration, and grasped his flag-staff again, just at the right moment, for Fritz Triddelsitz came riding over the hill, as fast as old Gray could gallop: "They are coming! They're coming! They are in Gurlitz already!"

They were coming. Axel von Rambow and his lovely young wife rode slowly on, in the lovely morning; the chaise-top was down, and Axel pointed over the wide green fields, full of sunshine, to the cool shadows of the Pumpelhagen park: "See, dearest Frida, this is our home." The words were few, but much happiness lay in them, and much pride, that he was in circumstances to spread a soft couch for the dearest one he had on earth; if he had said it in a thousand words, she could not have understood him more clearly. She felt the happiness and pride in his heart, and a great wave of love and thankfulness broke over her own. Everything about her was cool, and fresh, and clear; she was like a cool brook, which, until now, had flowed under green, silent shadows, aside from the highway, through hills and forests, and now springs forth suddenly into golden sunshine, and sees in its own depths bright pebbles and close-shut mussels, treasures of which it had never dreamed, and bright little fish darting hither and yon, like wishes and longings for working and waking, and green banks and flowers mirrored in the clear water, like her joyous future life.

And outwardly, she was cool, and fresh, and clear, and agreed in all respects with Krischan Daesel's description; but if one had seen her at this moment, as she looked over toward the Pumpelhagen garden, and back again into her young husband's face, he would have seen the fresh cheeks take on a deeper glow, and the clear light that shone from her gray eyes, a softer, warmer radiance, as when the summer evening bends over the bright world, and hushes it to sweet sleep with a cradle-song.

"Ah," she cried, pressing his hand, "how beautiful it is here, at your home! What rich fields! Only see, how stately the wheat stands! I have never seen it so before."

"Yes," said Axel, happy in her pleasure, "we have a rich country, much richer than your region."

He might have kept silence, now, and it would have been quite as well; but she had touched unwittingly upon his favorite province, that of agriculture, and he must needs show her that he knew something of it, so he added: "But that must all be altered. We are lacking in intelligence, we don't know how to make the most of our soil. See! yonder there, over the hill, where the wheat is growing, that belongs to Pumpelhagen, wait a couple of years, and we will have all sorts of commercial products growing here, and bringing us three times the profit." And he began to harvest his hemp and hops and oil-seeds, and anise and cummin, and sprinkled among them, like an intelligent farmer, lucerne and esparcet also, "to keep his cattle in good condition," and while he was among the dyer's weeds, and selling his red madder, and blue woad, and yellow weld for a good price, and well in the saddle on his high horse, up shot a living example of all these bright colors, close by the turn, on this side of Gurlitz, who was also on a high horse, that is the gray pony. This was Fritz Triddelsitz, who went up like a complete rainbow, and disappeared like a shooting star.

"What was that?" cried Frida, and Axel called "Hallo! hallo!"

But Fritz never looked round, he must carry tidings to the gate-of-honor, and he had barely time, as he galloped through Gurlitz, to call out to Pomuchelskopp, who stood in his door, "They are coming! They will be in Gurlitz in five minutes!" and Pomuchelskopp called over the garden fence, toward the arbor: "Come, Malchen and Salchen! It is time now!"

And Malchen and Salchen threw down the landscape paintings they were embroidering, among the nettles by the arbor, and tied on their straw hats, and fastened themselves one on each side, to Father Pomuchelskopp's elbows, and Father Pomuchelskopp said, "Now don't look round, for pity's sake, for it must appear as if we had just gone out walking, for all I care, to see the beauties of nature."

But misfortune was impending. As Muchel and his young ladies stepped out of the door, and Axel rode slowly through the village, while his young wife asked him "who was that lovely girl, who just greeted us?" and he replied that it was Louise Habermann, his inspector's daughter, and the house where she stood was the parsonage, the devil of housekeeping possessed old Haeuning to come out, in her white kerchief and old black merino sacque,--for it still held together, and was plenty good enough,--to feed the little turkeys with malt grains. When she saw Pomuchelskopp walking off with his two daughters, she thought it a great piece of impertinence for her Muchel to go off without her; she wiped her hands on the old black merino, and hastened after, black and white, stiff and straight, as if one of the old, mouldering tombstones, in the church-yard near by, had taken a fancy to go walking for pleasure.

"Muchel!" she called after her husband.

"Don't look round!" said Muchel, "it must all appear quite natural."

"Kopp," she cried, "will you stop? shall I run myself out of breath for you?"

"For all I care," said Pomuchelskopp angrily. "Don't look round, children, I hear the carriage, it must seem quite off-hand."

"But, father," said Salchen, "it is mother."

"Ah, mother here, and mother there!" cried Pomuchelskopp, downright angry, "she will spoil the whole business! But, my dear children," he added, upon a little reflection, "you need not tell mother I said so."

And Kluecking came puffing up: "Kopp!" but she had not time for fuller expression of her feelings, for the carriage came opposite, and Pomuchelskopp stood, bowing: "A-a-ah! Congratulations--best wishes, God bless them!" and Malchen and Salchen courtesied, and Axel bade the coachman stop, and said he was very happy to see his Herr Neighbor and his family looking so well, and Muchel tugged secretly at the old black sacque, to make Haeuning courtesy also, but she stood stiff and straight, puffing away, as if the reception was too warm to suit her, and Frida sat there, very cool, as if the thing was not much to her taste. And Muchel began to speak of the wonderful coincidence, that he should have just started out walking with his two daughters, but he got a poke from his Haenning's elbow, and heard a venomous whisper, "So your wife is of no account, is she?" so that he lost the thread of his discourse, and went rambling about in a distressed manner, until Axel bade the coachmen drive on, saying he hoped to see Herr Pomuchelskopp again soon.

Pomuchelskopp stood in anguish, by the roadside, hanging his head, and Malchen and Salchen took hold of his arms again, and instead of going on naturally with their walk they went back to the house. Blind behind him marched Haenning, and led him, with gentle reproaches, back to his duty again; but he remembered this hour for a year and a day, and her reproofs he never forgot while his life lasted.

"Those seem very disagreeable people," said Frida, as they drove on.

"They are, indeed," replied Axel, "but they are very rich."

"Mere riches are a small recommendation," said Frida.

"True, dear Frida, but the man is a large proprietor, and since they are such near neighbors, we must keep up some intercourse with these people."

"Do you really mean it, Axel?"

"Certainly," he replied.

She sat a little while, reflecting, and then inquired, suddenly;--

"What sort of man is the Pastor?"

"I know very little of him, myself, but my father thought very highly of him, and my inspector reveres him wonderfully. But," he added, after a moment, "that is natural enough, the Pastor has brought up his only daughter, since she was a little child."

"Oh, yes, that charming girl, at the door of the parsonage; but the Pastor's wife must have had the most to do with that. Do you know her?"

"Why yes,--that is to say, I have seen her,--she is a lively old lady."

"They are certainly good people," said Frida, with decision.

"Dear Frida," said Axel, drawing himself up a little, "how you women jump at conclusions! Because these people have brought up a strange child, and--we will take it for granted that they have brought her up well--you--" and he was going on, in his shallow wisdom, which he called "knowledge of human nature,"--for it is an old story that those who have come into the world as blind as young puppies, and have only nine days' experience, are the very ones to pride themselves on their "knowledge of human nature; "--but, unfortunately for the world, he had no opportunity, for his Frida sprang up suddenly, crying,--

"See, Axel, see! A flag, and a triumphal arch! The people mean to give us a grand reception."

And Degel, the coachman, looked round over his shoulder, with a grin of delight: "Yes, gracious lady. I was not to speak of it; but now you can see it for yourself, and it is a great pleasure. But I must drive slowly, or else the horses will be frightened."

Spotted a typo or a problem in this chapter? Tell us