Chapter XV…

Chapter XV

And now they were come; and Habermann stepped up to the carriage, and spoke a few words, which sprang from his heart to his lips, and the clear eyes of the young wife shone on the white hair of the old man like a sunbeam, full of friendly warmth, and before Axel noticed,--for with his surprise and his interrupted discourse, he was not prepared for the occasion,--she reached out her hand to him, and with the grasp of the hand a friendship was settled, without a word, for each had looked into the eyes of the other, and had read there clearness, truth and confidence. And now Axel was ready with his hand, and Schoolmaster Strull came forward with his Asels, and struck up a song of "Thanksgiving for particular occasions," No. 545, out of the Mecklenburg Psalm-book, "After a heavy thunderstorm," beginning, like a sensible man, with the second verse, because it seemed to him particularly appropriate,--

"We praise Thy might, Oh Lord,"--

and Braesig was trying to wave the flag, but Gust Kegel held it fast.

"Let go of the string, you rascal!" cried Braesig.

"We know Thine anger's power,"

sung the schoolmaster.

"Boy, let go the string out of your hand!" screamed Braesig again.

"Protect us by Thy grace In sorrow's gloomy hour,"--

sung the schoolmaster.

"Boy, when I get hold of you, I'll break every bone in your body!" roared Braesig.

"They who rest within Thy arm, Shall be safe from every harm,"

sang the schoolmaster.

"Herr, it sticks fast in the poplar," cried the boy, and Braesig tugged at the flag, and brought down with it part of a branch, while the schoolmaster sung,

"How it roars and crashes!"

and Fritz Triddlesitz ran for the dinner-bell, which hung in the door-way, and played a storm, and Braesig waved the flag, and the men and women, and servants and maids, and boys and girls shouted "Vivat!" and "Hurrah!" and David Daesel blew on his horn: "The Prussians have taken Paris, good times are coming now, toot! toot! toot!" and it was all so festive that no dog could help howling, and at the last "toot!" out sprang the old watch-dog, which Gust Kegel had mischievously unfastened, so that he might enjoy himself with the rest, and made straight for David Daesel's legs, and the two brown coach-dogs also began to sniff and howl in such a singular manner that it was really a piece of good fortune that Degel the coachman had his reins well in hand, and was prepared for emergencies.

As it was, all passed off well, and the carriage soon arrived safely at the manor-house, and Axel lifted out his lovely young bride. Inside the house, there was the same preparation and adornment, with flowers and greens, as outside, and among the wreaths and garlands, Marie Moeller in a new red jaconet dress, with a fiery red face, moved her fiery red arms hither and thither, and when she had cooled off a little among the greens, ran back into the kitchen, to the cooking stove, as if she were a flatiron-heater, which must be kept constantly red-hot,--and when the gracious young lady stepped across the threshold, she came towards her, with her fiery arms outspread, as if she were a priestess of Moloch, and placed a wreath of bright red roses on the young lady's head, and then, falling back a couple of paces, and gesticulating with the fiery arm, as if striking out brilliant flames, she repeated a verse, which she had been learning for the last three months, under Braesig's tuition,--

"Hail, beauteous lady, sweet and bright, Accomplished, virtuous, wise and bland, Deign to accept this offering slight, From your devoted, humble servant's hand."

And when she had said her lesson, she threw wide open the door of the dining-room, and there stood a table spread for dinner, in good season, for it was high noon, and Axel said a word or two to his wife, and she nodded in a pleased way under her wreath of roses, and turned to the old inspector: he must be her guest today, and also the schoolmaster, and the young farmer, and would the old gentleman who had waved the flag honor them with his company also? Then she went to Marie Moeller, and thanked her for her fine speech and all that she had done to welcome them, and would she have time to enjoy with them the nice things she had prepared? And Marie Moeller became as red with delight as if there were a cooking stove in her heart, filled with glowing coals.

Of before long, they all came in. Habermann brought up Braesig, and introduced him as his old friend of many years' standing, who had also been well acquainted with the late Herr Kammerrath, and would by no means be found wanting in taking his part in the rejoicing at Pumpelhagen. And Braesig went to Axel, and got hold of his hand, will he, nill he, and squeezed it, and, shaking his head back and forth, assured him of his friendship for life and death: "Herr Lieutenant, very dear and welcome, as I just said to Karl, how glad I shall be if you only take after your good father!" And then he turned to the young lady: "Gracious Frau Lieutenant," and fumbled after her hand, which he succeeded in grasping, and it looked as if he intended to kiss it; but he held it for moment, and then said, "No! not that! I always kissed the hand of my gracious countess, and it was proper, as a token of service; I will not take that liberty, you are so lovely to look at; but if you ever need an old man's service--my name is Zachary Braesig--just send for me,--a short mile from here--Haunerwiem,--and the day shall not be too hot for me, or the night too dark."

Braesig's speeches were peculiar things; honest folks have a way of talking right out of their hearts, without thinking, at the moment, how they will be understood. Axel did not take it as it was meant. That such an one as Inspector Braesig should presume to hold up an example to him,--even if it were his own father, to whom he was so deeply indebted,--did not suit him; he was put out of humor. Frida, who went to the heart of every thing, took the old inspector's speech in her hand, like an onion, and shredded off the old, dry skins, one after another, and found a bright, hard kernel inside, and, as she cut it across, there was such a sound heart disclosed that she took the old fellow by the hand, and made him sit next to her at table.

Then came Fritz Triddelsitz, in the guise of a young proprietor, for he had arrayed himself in his blue coat with gilt buttons, which looked, for all the world, like a young son of Pomuchelskopp's. And then came Schoolmaster Strull, a great, strong fellow, whom the Lord had made fitter to be a hewer of wood than a trainer of children. The old boy looked, with his big head and his black suit, which was getting rusty, like a stout wheel-nail, which Fate had shoved to the wall, and which had quietly rusted there. His face was rather rusty, too, and the only thing which looked gay about him was his shirt-bosom, which his old mother, because it was a little yellow, had dipped so generously in the blueing, that a fine sea-green color was the result.

These two were treated with special attention by Axel, and when he heard that Fritz's father was an apothecary in Rahnstadt, and could make chemical analyses (Analysen), he asked Fritz to sit next him, and as Uncle Braesig heard the word "Analysen" he snapped it out of the Herr Lieutenant's mouth, and said, aside to Habermann, "Alleluesen? Alleluesen? What does he mean by Alleluesen? Some kind of vermin?" and without waiting for an answer, he said to Axel: "Gracious Herr Lieutenant, for such stuff you must let the apothecary's son bring you a pot of 'ungewendten Napoleon,'" (unguentum Neapolitarum), which was, naturally, quite incomprehensible to Axel. But if he had understood it, he had no time to explain, for as soon as they were fairly seated,--the schoolmaster not more than a quarter, for he balanced himself on the edge of his chair,--he launched forth into his favorite subject, the farming of the estate, and began to enrich the fields with bone-dust, and Chili saltpetre and guano, and laid out behind the garden a great plantation of hops; while old Habermann said to himself, he had not thought the young Herr knew so little about farming, and wondered how Braesig could sit there and laugh at it all. But that was very natural, since Braesig took all these brilliant plans of Axel's for a good joke, and when the young Herr had got his hop-field in working order, Braesig laughed heartily, and said, "Of course the soil must first be prepared,--and when we are through with this preparation, we can fertilize it a little more, and then we can raise raisins and almonds, to feed the pigs with; you have no idea, gracious Frau Lieutenant,"--turning to the lady--"how sweet a pig tastes, that is fatted on raisins and almonds."

This was not pleasing to Axel; he looked down, and knitted his brows in vexation; but he was too fairly started in his agricultural progress to be turned back for such a trifle; he began on tillage, and told about his invention of a machine for a clod-breaker, and with that he turned graciously to his neighbor, to Fritz Triddelsitz, who gave such uncommonly intelligent answers that Marie Moeller sat listening, with open mouth, and inwardly smote on her breast, and cried, "God be merciful to me sinner! Ignorant worm that I am, to stretch out my hand toward him! No! a goose might as well seek to mate with an eagle."

When the dinner was over, the gracious lady arose, took her leave of the company, and said to Habermann that Axel and herself proposed going over the estate, the next morning, and reckoned on his company to show them the way. Habermann assented with pleasure, and when she had left the room the bottle went round the table once more, and Daniel Sadenwater brought cigars.

At Frida's request. Axel had retained the old servant, and Daniel had put on the old master's knife and fork, and so consecrated them, in his mind, to the new master, and every time he presented a dish on the salver to his young Herr, he laid himself with it as an offering, and his old eyes said clearly, his young master might do with him whatever he liked, he had given him all.

Braesig accepted a "Zichalie," as he called them, and informed Herr von Rambow that he smoked such a thing, now and then, of Koester Broeker's make, though they were a little strong to be sure. Axel made no reply; he did not like Braesig, he thought he had been laughing at him, and did not appreciate his knowledge of agriculture. Fritz Triddelsitz was a much more agreeable listener; he had nodded, and shaken his head, and admired so much, and ah'd and oh'd and wondered, till Axel appeared to himself a great light in agriculture, set up on a lofty candlestick, to enlighten Pumpelhagen and the country round about, and, for all I know, the world itself.

As I have often said. Axel was a good fellow, he liked to make everything bright and pleasant about him; the good dinner, the costly wine, the feeling that he was master, had excited benevolent thoughts, to which he must give expression. He called Habermann to the window, and asked him how he was satisfied with Fritz. Habermann said, pretty well; he had learned a good many things, and he hoped, in time, he might become a skilful farmer. This was quite enough, in Axel's gracious mood; he asked, farther, how much salary Fritz received, and whether he had a horse. No, said Habermann, he had neither horse nor salary, as yet; he gave nothing, and he got nothing.

Axel then turned to Fritz, and said, "Dear Triddelsitz, I am glad to hear from the Herr Inspector that he is very much pleased with you; I shall do myself the pleasure of offering you, for the next year, a small salary of fifty thalers, and the keeping of a horse."

Fritz could not believe his ears; that Habermann was very much pleased with him was sufficiently wonderful,--fifty thalers, that would be very nice; but a horse! that took away his breath and his senses, so that he could scarcely thank Axel. The latter left him little time, however, but turned back to Habermann, at the window. And now galloped through Fritz's brain all the old horses of the whole region, black and brown and gray and chestnut, and he held parley with each one of them, as if the Rahnstadt horse-market were going on in his head, and Braesig sat opposite and grinned.

All at once, this blessed child of fortune cried out, "Herr Inspector, next month the Grand Duke makes his entry into Rahnstadt, I must have her by that time, for the reception, for we young country-people are to receive him."

"Whom must you have?" asked Braesig.

"The chestnut mare, the Whalebone mare. Gust Prebberow has her."

"I know her," said Braesig, very coolly.

"Famous horse!"

"An old sch----" he couldn't say schinder (carrion,) he bethought himself in time that he was in a distinguished house, so he said, "she is an old shyer, and you can't do anything with her when the Grand Duke comes to Rahnstadt, for she cannot hear a 'Hurrah!'"

That was fatal, for a great many hurrahs would be necessary on that occasion; but Fritz knew that Braesig delighted in contradicting him, on every opportunity, and he would not let him see his disappointment.

Meanwhile, Axel had favored the old inspector with a brief discourse upon the progress recently made in the science of agriculture, and at the close, put into the old man's hand a book, with the words, "I have the pleasure of giving you this book; it should be the Bible of every farmer."

Habermann thanked him gratefully, and, as it was now beginning to grow dark, the company broke up. The two old inspectors and Schoolmaster Strull, who was invited to accompany them, went to Habermann's house; Fritz Triddelsitz went to the stables.

What he wanted there, nobody knew, certainly not himself, but a sort of instinct drew him toward the horses, as if to bring his inner man into harmony with the outward world, and so he went, in the half-twilight, up and down behind the old farm-horses, that he had seen a thousand times, and examined their legs. This one had spavin,--nobody should sell him a spavined horse, he would take care of that,--bones shaped like a ship; this one was balky,--he found out what a balky horse was, two years ago; this had fits,--a man must be a fool to be imposed upon by such a horse; this had swellings, not dangerous, blistered a little by the crupper-iron; and then came wind-galls, and other ills which horse-flesh is heir to; and through all this his thoughts were dwelling on a friendly smile, and a wonderfully fair face, that of his gracious lady, with whom, since dinner, he had fallen desperately in love, and the ungrateful rascal was conspiring against the happiness of the master who had just been so kind to him.

"Yes," said he, as he stood in the stable-door, and the evening light sunk softly into darkness, "what is Louise Habermann compared with this angel! No, Louise, I am sorry for you! But I cannot imagine how I came to fall in love with you. And then Mining and Lining! A pair of little goslings! And Marie Moeller, to be sure! A lump of misfortune! How she looked to-day beside the gracious lady, like a wild plum beside a peach. And when I get the chestnut mare, then--'Gracious lady, any commands?' Perhaps a letter for the post? or when she is coming home from some ball at Rahnstadt, and old Daniel Sadenwater is not at hand--down with the carriage steps, hand her out--'Ah, I have forgotten my handkerchief,' or 'my overshoes,'--'They shall be sent for immediately,' and then I mount my chestnut,--hs--hsch--off we go,--in half an hour I am back again. 'Gracious lady, here are the overshoes,' and then she says, 'Thanks, dear Triddelsitz, for this kindness,'--thunder and lightning! the confounded pole!" for as he went back to the house, in the dark, absorbed in these charming anticipations, he stumbled over a carriage-pole, left there by his own negligence, and lay, in all his gorgeous attire, upon something which felt very soft. What it was, he didn't know, but his nose had a sort of suspicion, and he thought he should do well to examine himself by the light, before going into Habermann's room.

Meanwhile the three old men had gone in, and, as they were sitting in the twilight, Braesig asked:

"Karl, is the book a story-book, to read in the winter evenings?"

"Eh, Zachary, I don't know. I will light a candle, and we can see."

When it was light, Habermann was going to look at the title; but Braesig took the book out of his hand:

"No, Karl, we have a scholar here, let Strull read it."

Strull began to read, all in a breath, as if he were reading the Sunday's lesson out of the Gospels, stopping only for a strange word: "'Printed by Friedrich Vieweg and Son in Brunswick Chemistry in its Relation to Agriculture and Phy-si-o-logy.'"

"Hold!" cried Braesig, "that word isn't right, it should be 'fisionomy.'"

"No," said Strull, "it is spelled 'physiology.'"

"For all I care, Strull," said Braesig; "let them spell their outlandish words as they please, at one time this way, another time another way. Go ahead!"

"'By Justus Liebig, Doctor of Medicine and Philosophy, Professor of Chemistry at the Ludwig's University at Giessen, Knight of the Grand Ducal Hessian Ludwig's Order, and of the Imperial Russian St. Annen, Order of the Third Class, Corresponding Member of the Royal Academy of Science at Stockholm,'--now comes some Latin which I cannot read,--'Honorary Member of the Royal Academy at Dublin----'"

"Stop!" cried Braesig, "Lord preserve us, what is all this fellow?"

"But that isn't all, by a great deal, there is ever so much more."

"We will give him the rest. Go ahead!"

"'Fifth Revised and much Enlarged Edition. Brunswick published by Vieweg and Son 1843.' Now comes a preface."

"Let that go, too," said Braesig. "Begin at the beginning."

"The heading runs in this way: 'SUBJECT' with a line underneath."

"Well!" said Braesig. "Go on!"

"'Organic Chemistry has for its purpose the investigation of the chemical conditions of life, and the complete development of all organisms.' Period."

"What sort of things?" asked Braesig.

"All organisms," said the schoolmaster.

"Well," exclaimed Braesig, "I have heard a great many outlandish words, but 'organisms,' organ---- Hold! Karl, don't you know 'Herr Orgon stood before his door,' that we used to learn by heart, with Pastor Behrens, out of Gellert? Do you suppose this organ can be any connection of his?"

"Let it go, for the present, Braesig, we don't understand it yet."

"No? why not, Karl?" said his old friend, "We can learn. You will see, this is a water-book; they always begin with something you can't understand. Go ahead!"

"'The existence of all living beings is carried on by the reception of certain materials into the system, which we call means of nourishment; they are expended by the organism for its own improvement and reproduction. Period."

"The man is right there," said Braesig; "Means of nourishment belong to living beings, and"--taking the book out of Strull's hands, "'they are expended by the organism,'--now I know what organism means; it means the stomach."

"Yes," said the schoolmaster, "but then here is 'reproduction.'"

"Ah," said Braesig, off hand, "production! We have got used to that of late years; when I was a child, nobody knew anything about production; but now they call every bushel of wheat and every ox a production. It is only an ornamental way of speaking, that they may appear learned."

So they went on for a little while, until the schoolmaster went home, and when he had gone, the two old friends sat together, quietly and trustfully,--for Braesig was to spend the night at Pumpelhagen,--until Habermann gave a deep sigh, and said:

"Ah, Zachary, I am afraid there are hard times coming for me."

"Why so? Your young Herr is a lively, witty fellow; what amusing things he said about farming!"

"Yes, that is the very thing; you took it for jest, but he meant it for earnest."

"He meant it for earnest?"

"Certainly he did. He has studied farming out of new-fashioned books, and they don't agree with our old ways, and though I should be very glad to understand the new methods, I can't do it, I haven't the requisite knowledge."

"You are right there, Karl! See, the sciences always seem to me, like seafaring. When one has been used to it from a child, going up the mast, and out on the shrouds, he can do it when he is old without being dizzy-headed, and so a school-boy, who is trained in the sciences from his youth up, won't be dizzy either and can run out with ease, even in his old age, on any rope that science stretches out for him. Do you understand me, Karl?"

"I understand you. But we did not learn in our young days, and for dancing on such ropes," pointing to the book, "my old bones are too stiff. Ah, I would not say a word against it, he can farm in the new fashion, for all me, and I will help him to the best of my power; but this kind of farming needs a long purse, and that is something we haven't got. I supposed, at first, he would get something with his wife; but it couldn't have been much, for even the new equipage and the new furniture were ordered from Rahnstadt, and the first shilling is not yet paid for them."

"Well, Karl, never mind; he hasn't made a bad bargain. The lady pleased me uncommonly."

"She pleased me, too, Braesig."

"And you can see by your own dear sister, what the right sort of woman can accomplish, in a family. I must go and see her to-morrow, for the two confounded divinity students will be getting into all sorts of mischief. And so, good-night, Karl."

"Good-night, Braesig."

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Chapter XVI

Fritz Triddelsitz darted about the Pumpelhagen court-yard next morning, like a pickerel in a fish-pond, for he had put on his little uniform, the green hunting-jacket, and gray breeches, to please the gracious lady,--as he said,--that her lovely eyes might have something agreeable to look upon. His own eyes, which were usually directed to Habermann's window like the compass to the north star, wandered this morning over the whole front of the manor-house, and when a window was raised, and the young Herr put his head out and called to him, he darted across the court-yard, like a pickerel, as if Axel in his silver-gray dressing-gown were a flat-fish, and the red handkerchief about his neck were the fins.

"Triddelsitz," said Herr von Rambow, "I have decided to make a little address to my people this morning; get them together here at nine o'clock, before the house."

"To command," said Fritz, using this form of speech to do honor to the Herr Lieutenant.

"Where is the inspector? I wish to speak to him; there is no hurry, however."

"He has just gone out with Inspector Braesig."

"Very well. When he comes back."

"Fritz made a particularly fine bow, and went off; but turned back after a little, and asked:--

"Does Herr von Rambow wish the women to come also?

"No, merely the men. However,--wait a moment,--yes, you may tell the housewives to come."

"To command," said Fritz, and went to the village, and told the housewives and the men who were at work about the farmyard, to put on their best clothes. It was eight o'clock already, and if the farm-laborers who were at work in the fields were to be there by nine, and also in state, they must be called. So he started for the fields.

Habermann had walked a little way with his old friend, and was now crossing the field to join the laborers, when Fritz came hurrying over the hill, as fast as his slovenly gait and the broken ground of the ploughed field would allow.

"Herr Inspector, you must let them stop work, the people are all to be at the manor-house by nine o'clock, the Herr is going to deliver an oration."

"What is he going to do?" asked Habermann, in astonishment.

"Deliver an oration," was the reply, "the laborers have already been notified, and the woman also. He had forgotten them, but I reminded him of them in time."

"You might----" have been in better business, Habermann was going to say, but controlled himself, and said quietly, "then do your errand to the people."

"You are to come, too."

"Very well," said the old man, and turned, quite out of humor, towards the house. He had pressing work for his teams, and they would be taken out of the field for the whole morning; however he could have got over that, that was not the trouble. His master had issued orders, the very first day, without taking him into counsel, he had consulted with Triddelsitz instead, and there could be no hurry about the matter; but although he felt the slight, it wasn't that so much which annoyed him; it was the "oration" itself. Why should he talk to the people? Would he admonish them about their duties? The people were good, they did their work as simply and naturally as eating and drinking, they had no idea that they were doing any thing remarkable; and it was a mistake to lecture such people about their duties. If they were much talked to, they would begin to grow discouraged. In one sense laborers are like children, they would soon reckon their duty as a merit. Or was he going to bestow gifts upon them? He was good-natured enough. But what would he give them? They had all that they needed, and he could not give them anything definite, he did not know their circumstances well enough, he could merely give them fair words and general promises, which each would fill out according to his own wishes, and which it would be impossible to make good. And so he would make the people discontented.

These were his thoughts, as he entered his master's room. The young wife was there, ready for the walk agreed upon the night before. She came towards him in a friendly manner: "We must wait a little while, Herr Inspector; Axel will speak to the people first."

"That will not take long," said Axel, who was turning over his papers. There was a knock at the door. "Come in!" and Fritz entered, with a letter in his hand. "From Gurlitz," said he.

Axel broke the seal, and read; it was an odious letter, it was from Slushur, the notary, who announced himself as coming before noon, with David; they were accidentally at Herr Pomuchelskopp's, and had heard from him that Herr von Rambow was returned, and since they must speak with him on necessary business, they begged his permission, etc. The business was very urgent, however, as was mentioned in a postscript. Axel was in great perplexity, for he could not decline the visit; he went out and told the messenger the gentlemen were welcome, and when he came in again, he seemed so disturbed that his wife asked, "What is the matter?"

"Oh, nothing. But I think my talk to the laborers may take longer than I supposed; it will be best for you to go alone with the Herr Inspector to see the fields."

"Oh, Axel, I was so pleased at the thought of going with you."

"Yes; but it cannot be helped, my dear child. I know the fields well enough. Go with the Herr Inspector, dear Frida, and--well, as soon as ever I can, I will follow you."

It seemed to Habermann that he was really in haste to get rid of them; so he helped him in his design, and the young lady finally started, upon his invitation, though a little out of humor.

When they were gone, and the whole village had come together. Axel made his address, although the pleasure of this state occasion was quite spoiled for him by that infamous letter; for, however he might put it to himself, his own pleasure, and the importance which he felt as master, were his chief reasons for the undertaking. As for the speech itself, it happened much as Habermann had feared. Admonitions and promises, in lofty words and fine figures of speech, paraded themselves quite unintelligibly before the old laborers' eyes, and the only things which they saw clearly, though somewhat dizzied by these, were the golden wings of the benefits he promised them, saying that his people were to come to him with every wish; he would care for them like a father.

"Yes," said Paesel to Daesel, "'father;' I like that. He will do it. I shall go to him to-morrow, and ask him to let me wean a calf next year."

"But you had one last year."

"That is no matter; I can sell it to the weaver in Gurlitz."

"Yes," said Kegel to Degel. "I shall go to him to-morrow, and ask him to let me have twenty roods more of potato land next spring; mine will not last through the winter."

"Eh! you didn't hoe your potatoes at the right time; the old man gave you a fine scolding for it."

"No matter; he knows nothing about it, and he is master now, and not the inspector."

So unrest and discontent were in full progress; Axel himself was restless and discontented, because he dreaded the coming visit, and the only being at the Pumpelhagen farm, who, though restless, was yet contented, was Fritz Triddelsitz, so the young Herr had not altogether thrown his pearls before swine.

Slusuhr and David came, and what shall I say about their visit? They sang the same song which they did before, and Axel had to write the notes for it. This time, he did it readily. Borrowing is certainly a bad business; but there is not a business in the world, down to beheading and hanging, so bad that somebody will not pursue it with satisfaction; I have known people who were not contented till they had borrowed money of all Judea and Christendom, and if Axel had not gone quite so far, he was ready enough to improve favorable circumstances; he added a new debt, to-day, to those he already owed David, that he might pay for the new furnishing of his house, "in order not to have to do with so many people, but with one;" but he probably did not reflect that this one was worse than a thousand others.

Meanwhile Habermann and the young Frau were going through the fields. The clear summer morning soon drove away the little shadows of annoyance from her fresh face, and her bright eyes looked at everything with hearty interest, and desire to inform herself, and Habermann saw, with great pleasure, that she understood the business. She had been brought up in the country, and it was natural to her to observe things that lay a little out of her usual way, and that not superficially, she must know a reason for everything. Thus she knew enough about farming to feel quite at home here, although her father's place was a great sand-hill, and Pumpelhagen was the finest wheat soil, and if she saw anything unfamiliar which she did not understand, the old Inspector helped her, with brief, simple explanations. The walk was, for both of them, a real pleasure, and from a pure, mutual pleasure grows the fair blossom, Confidence.

They came to the Gurlitz boundary, and Habermann showed her the Pastor's field, and told her how the late Kammerrath had taken it in lease.

"And the barley, over yonder?" asked the young Frau.

"That is Gurlitz ground and soil; that belongs to Herr Pomuchelskopp."

"Ah, that is the proprietor who greeted us yesterday, with his family," said Frida. "What sort of a man is he?"

"I have no intercourse with him," said Habermann, a little embarrassed.

"But you know him, don't you?" asked the young lady.

"Yes--no--that is, I used to know him, but since he has lived here, we have nothing to do with each other," said the old man, and would have spoken of something else; but Frida laid her hand on his arm, and said,--

"Herr Inspector, I am a stranger in this region,--Axel seems to be acquainted, though only superficially, with this man; are they suitable associates for us?"

"No," said Habermann, short and hard.

They walked on, each occupied in thought. The young Frau stood still, and asked, "Can you, and will you, tell me the reason why you have broken off intercourse with this man?"

Habermann looked at her thoughtfully.

"Yes," said he, finally, rather as if he were speaking to himself, "and if you receive my words with the same confidence that the blessed Kammerrath did, it may be for your profit," and he told her his story, without heat or anger, but also without restraint. The young Frau listened attentively, without interrupting him, and when he had finished said merely:

"I half disliked those people yesterday; I quite dislike them to-day."

They had just come through the Pastor's field, up to the garden fence, when a clear, joyous voice sounded from the other side: "Good morning, father! Good morning!" and the lovely young girl, whom Frida had seen yesterday, came running through the garden gate towards the old inspector. She stopped suddenly as she saw the gracious lady, and stood blushing, so that Habermann must help himself to his good-morning kiss, if he meant to have it at all.

Full of happiness and pride, the old man introduced his dear daughter; the young Frau spoke to her very kindly, and urged her to come often to Pumpelhagen, to visit her father and herself; and when Habermann had sent greetings to the Pastor and the Pastorin, she took leave, and they continued their walk.

"The Pastor and his wife must be very good people?" said Frida.

"Gracious lady," said Habermann, "you ask this question of no impartial man. These people have saved for me all that was left out of my misfortunes; they have given loving protection and nurture to my only child, and taught her everything good; I can only think of them with the highest respect and the deepest gratitude. But ask in the neighborhood, if you will; rich and poor, high and low, will speak of them with respect and affection."

"Herr Pomuchelskopp, too?" inquired the gracious lady.

"If he would speak honestly, and without prejudice, yes," said the old man, "but as he is now--he quarrelled with the Pastor, soon after his arrival here, about this very field, in which we are walking. It was not the Pastor's fault; I gave the first provocation to his anger, because I advised the blessed Herr to rent the field. And, gracious lady," he added, after a moment, "Pumpelhagen cannot spare this field; the advantage is too great for us to give it up."

Frida asked him to explain it more fully, and, when she understood the matter, it was easy to see that she said to herself, she would do what she could to keep the field.

As they came into the Pumpelhagen court-yard Slusuhr the notary and David were just starting off, and Axel stood before the door taking leave of them as politely as if Slusuhr were the colonel of his Regiment, and David a young count.

"Who is that?" asked Frida of Habermann. He told her. Then she greeted her husband, and asked, "But, Axel, what business have you with these people, and why are you so uncommonly polite to them?"

"Polite?" repeated Axel, "why not? I am polite to everybody," with a quick glance at Habermann, who met it quietly and firmly.

"Of course you are," said his wife, taking his arm, in order to go into the house with him, "but towards a common Jew moneylender and----"

"Dear child," interrupted Axel hastily, to prevent her saying more, "the man is a produce-dealer, and wool-merchant, I shall often have business to transact with him."

"And the other?" she inquired.

"Oh, he--he only came along with him accidentally. I have nothing to do with him."

"Adieu, Herr Inspector," said Frida, giving her hand to the old man, "I thank you very much for your friendly company."

With that, she went into the house. Axel followed her; at the door he looked round, the old inspector's eyes rested sadly upon him, and he turned away. He followed his wife into the house.

In this honest and mournful glance lay the whole future of the three persons who had just separated.

Axel had lied; he had betrayed, for the first time, the confidence of his young wife, and Habermann knew it, and Axel knew that Habermann knew it. Here was a stone in the path, over which every one must stumble who passed that way, for the path was darkened by falsehood and dissimulation, and no one could speak to another of the stone, and warn him against it. Frida went onward innocently and trustfully; but how long would it be before she would stumble over this stone? Axel tried to deceive himself, also, he thought he could bring her safely over it, in the darkness, without her being aware of it, and, beyond, the path would be smooth. Habermann saw the danger clearly, and could and would have helped; but if he stretched out his hand to point it out, and warn them against it, Axel repulsed him with coldness, and secret resentment. People say that a bad man will, in time, conceive a hatred for one who has bestowed benefits upon him; it is possible, but that is nothing to the secret gnawing and boring of resentment, which a weak man feels towards one who is the only person in the world conscious of his falsehood. Such a feeling is not developed at once, like downright hatred, born of open strife and contention, but bores slowly and gradually into the heart, like the death-worm into dry wood, and eats deeper and deeper, till the whole heart is full of ill-will and bitterness, as the wood is full of worm-dust.

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Chapter XVII

Braesig went next morning, as he had designed, to Rexow, to see Frau Nuessler. The crown-prince came to meet him at the door, wagging his tail in such a Christian manner that one must believe him to be a dog of good moral principle, since he bore no malice against Braesig for his late chasing and drubbing. One would infer, also, from the quiet content expressed in his yellow-brown eyes, that all was well at Rexow, Frau Nuessler in the kitchen, and Jochen sitting in his arm-chair.

But it was not so, for when Braesig opened the door, Jochen was sitting indeed in his old place; but Frau Nuessler stood before him, delivering a brief but impressive discourse to the effect that he troubled himself about nothing, and said not a word to the purpose, and when she caught sight of Braesig, she went up to him, quite angrily, saying, "And you, too, notice nothing, Braesig; for all you care, everything here may stand on its head; and it is your fault, too, we never should have taken those two but for you!"

"Fair and easy!" said Braesig, "fair and easy! Not quite so fast, Frau Nuessler! What has happened now with the young candidates?"

"A good deal has happened, and I have said nothing about it, because they were Jochen's friends, and it is a bad bird that fouls its own nest; but since the time those two fellows came into my house, there has been no peace nor rest, and if it goes on so much longer, I shall quarrel, at last, with Jochen himself."

"Mother," said young Jochen, "what shall I do about it?"

"Keep still, young Jochen," cried Braesig, "you are to blame. Can't you rouse up and teach them manners?"

"Let Jochen alone, Braesig," said Frau Nuessler, hastily, "this time it is your fault. You promised to have an eye to these young men, and see that they did not get into mischief, and instead of that, you have let one go on as he liked, without troubling yourself about him, and you have put the other up to all sorts of nonsense, so that instead of minding his books, he goes off with his fishing-pole, and brings me home at night a great string of perch, as long as your finger. And when I think I have everything tidy, I must go and dress the horrid things, and make it all straight again.

"What? Brings home things a finger long, and I showed him the right place to catch the great fellows! oh, you must--no, hold on!"

"Ah, what!" cried Frau Nuessler. "You should forbid his fishing altogether, he did not come here for that purpose. He was to learn something, his father said, and he is coming here to-day, too."

"Well, Frau Nuessler," said Braesig, "I am very greatly annoyed that he should do so little credit to my instructions, in his fishing. Has he done anything else amiss?"

"Ah, yes, indeed! both of them have. But, as I said before, I have said nothing about it, because they were Jochen's friends, and at first, it seemed as if everything would go on well. At first, there were merry, lively times here, and my little girls enjoyed it uncommonly; it was Mining here and Rudolph there, and Lining here and Gottlieb there, and they talked with Gottlieb, and romped with Rudolph, and the two old fellows were very industrious at their work, and Gottlieb sat up stairs in his room, and studied until his head swam, and Rudolph, too, read in his books; but it was not long before they got to disputing and quarrelling about ecclesiastical matters, and Gottlieb, who is much more learned than the other, told him he did not look at things from a Christian standpoint."

"Standpoint, did he say?" asked Braesig.

"Yes, he said standpoint," replied Frau Nuessler.

"Ho, ho!" cried Braesig, "I can hear him talk. Where other people stop, at a standpoint, is only the beginning with the Pietists. He wanted to proselyte him."

"Yes," said Frau Nuessler, "so it appeared. Now the other one is much cleverer than Gottlieb, and he began to crack all manner of jokes at him, and got the better of him, and so the strife grew worse and worse, and, I don't know how it happened, but my little girls began to take a part in the business, and Lining, as the most intelligent, was on Gottlieb's side, and talked just as he did, and Mining laughed over Rudolph's jokes, and carried on with him."

"Yes," interrupted Jochen, "it is all as true as leather."

"You should be ashamed of yourself, young Jochen, to allow such doings in your house!"

"Come, Braesig," said Frau Nuessler, "let him alone; Jochen has done everything he could to keep peace; When Gottlieb talked about the devil, to frighten one out of his wits, then he believed in the devil, and when Rudolph laughed about the devil, and made fun of him, then he laughed with Rudolph. But, when the dispute was at the highest, little Mining happened on a bright idea; she took their books and changed them, and put Rudolph's into Gottlieb's room, and Gottlieb's into Rudolph's, and when they looked at her in astonishment, she said, merrily, they had better exchange studies for awhile, and they might possibly learn to agree. Well, at first they would hear nothing of it; but Gottlieb is always a good-natured old fellow, he soon began to read, and since it was a winter day, and he could not amuse himself out of doors, Rudolph finally began also. And then you should have seen them! It was not long, before it seemed as if they had been exchanged with their books. Gottlieb made bad jokes, and laughed about the devil, and the other old fellow groaned and sighed, and talked of the devil, as if he sat at table with us every day, and eat his potatoes, like other honest people. Now, my little girls were quite perplexed; Mining attached herself to Gottlieb, and Lining to Rudolph, for now it was Rudolph who said Gottlieb did not occupy a Christian standpoint."

"Fie!" said Braesig, "he should not have said that. And such a fellow as that cannot catch a good-sized perch!"

"Yes," cried Frau Nuessler quite angrily, "and with your confounded old perch-fishing, the whole trouble came again, for when it was spring, and the perch began to bite, Rudolph threw his Christian standpoint aside, and took up his fishing-rod, and ran off into the fields, and Gottlieb took up the devil again, for he was going to pass his examination, and there is no getting through that without the devil. And my two little girls were puzzled to tell which they should stand by."

"They are a pair of confounded rascals," cried Braesig, "but the proselyter is to blame for it all; why couldn't he let the other alone, with his devil and his standpoint?"

"Well, never mind! He studied well at any rate and passed his examination all right, and can be a minister any day; but the other cousin has done nothing at all at his books, and has made us all this dreadful trouble!"

"Why, what else has he done? He hasn't been catching whitings?"

"Whitings! He caught a sermon. You see, the Rector Baldrian's wife wanted to hear her Gottlieb preach, and she asked the pastor in Rahnstadt about it, and he promised her Gottlieb should preach last Sunday, and she told her sister, Frau Kurz. She is naturally very much annoyed that her boy is not so advanced as Gottlieb, and she goes to the pastor also, and the old pastor is such a sheep that he promised her Rudolph should preach the same Sabbath. Then they drew lots, who should preach in the morning, and who in the afternoon, and Rudolph got the morning. Well, old Gottlieb studied as hard as he could, and sat from morning till night, out in the arbor, in the garden, and because he has a bad memory, he studied aloud, and the other went roving about as usual; but the last two days, he seated himself on the grassy bank behind the arbor, as if he were making a sermon too. And then Sunday came, and Jochen let them ride in to town, and we all rode, and were seated in the pastor's pew, and, I tell you, I was terribly afraid for Rudolph; but he stood there, as if there were nothing the matter, and when it was time, he went up into the pulpit, and preached a sermon, that made all the people open their eyes and mouths, and I rejoiced over the youth, and was going to say so to Gottlieb, who sat by me; but there sat the poor creature, fidgeting with his hands and feet, as if he would like to go up and pull the other out of the pulpit, and he said, 'Aunt, that is my sermon!' And so it was, Braesig; the wicked boy had learned the sermon by hearing it, because Gottlieb must study it aloud."

"Ha, ha!" laughed Braesig heartily, "that is a good joke!"

"Do you call that a joke?" exclaimed Frau Nuessler, greatly excited. "Such a trick as that in the house of God, you call a joke?"

"Eh, now," said Braesig, still laughing, "what would you have? It is a devil of a joke, it is an infamous trick, to be sure: but I can't help laughing, for the life of me."

"Oh yes!" said Frau Nuessler, bitterly, "that is the way with you; when we others are ready to die with shame and anger, you stand by and laugh!"

"There, don't scold me," said Braesig, trying to appease her, "tell me what the proselyter did. I wish I could have seen him!"

"What could he do? He couldn't preach the same sermon over again, in the afternoon; the old pastor had to warm up an old sermon for the occasion, but he was fearfully angry, and said, if he should report the matter, Rudolph might as well hang up his gown on the nearest willow."

"Well, and the proselyter?"

"Ah, the good old creature was so confounded, he said nothing at all; but his mother talked all the more, and quarrelled so fiercely with her sister, Frau Kurz, that they have not spoken to each other since. Oh, what a time it was! I was ashamed, and I was provoked, for Kurz and the rector came up, too, and Jochen was lingering with them, but fortunately our carriage drove up, and I got him away."

"But what did the duel-fighter say?"

"Oh, the rogue was clever enough to keep out of the uproar, he made himself scarce after his fine sermon, and ran off home."

"He got a proper good lecture from you, I will wager."

"No," said Frau Nuessler, "he didn't. I don't meddle in the affair. His father is coming, to-day, and he is the nearest to him, as the Frau Pastorin says. And I told Jochen, decidedly, he ought not to talk so much about it, for he has quite changed his nature, of late, and is always troubling himself, and talking about things that are none of his business. Keep still, Jochen!"

"Yes, Jochen, keep still!"

"And my two little girls, I scarcely know them again; after the sermon, they cried all the way home, and now they keep out of the way so shyly, and speak so short to each other, and they used always to go about together arm in arm, and if one had anything on her heart the other quickly knew it. Ah, my house is all topsy-turvy!"

"Mother," said young Jochen, rising suddenly from his chair, "it is what I have said before, but I will say it once more; you shall see, the boys have put something into their heads."

"What should they put into their heads, Jochen?" said Frau Nuessler, rather sharply.

"Love-affairs," said Jochen, sitting down again in his corner. "My blessed mother always said: A candidate and a governess in the same house--you shall see, Gottlieb and Mining.

"Now, Jochen, so you talk and talk! The Lord keep you in your senses! If I thought that was the case, the candidate should be turned out of the house, and the other after him. Come out here, Braesig, I have something to say to you."

When they were outside, Frau Nuessler took him to the garden, and sat down with him in the arbor.

"Braesig," said she, "I cannot listen to this everlasting chatter of Jochen's; he has got it from Rudolph, who used to talk with him so much, last winter, in the evenings, and now he has got in the habit of it, and cannot break off. Now tell me honestly,--you promised that you would look after them,--have you ever had any idea of such a thing?"

"Eh, preserve us!" said Braesig, "not the remotest conception!"

"I cannot believe it is so," said Frau Nuessler, thoughtfully; "at first, Lining and Gottlieb were always together, and Mining and Rudolph,--afterwards, Mining held to Gottlieb, and Lining to Rudolph, and after the examination, Lining went back to Gottlieb again; but Mining and Rudolph are not friends, for since the sermon she will scarcely look at him."

"Frau Nuessler," said Braesig, "love is a thing which begins in some hidden way, perhaps with a bunch of flowers, or a couple say 'Good morning' to each other, and touch each other's hands, or they stoop, at the same time, to pick up a ball of cotton, and knock their heads together, and a looker-on observes nothing more, but after a while, it becomes more perceptible, the women often turn red, and the men cast sheep's-eyes, or the women entice the men into the pantry, and offer them sausage and tongue and pig's head, and the men come to see the women, dressed up in red and blue neck-ties, or, if it is very far gone, they go out walking on summer evenings, in the moonlight, and sigh. Anything of that sort with the little rogues?"

"I cannot say, Braesig. They have been in my pantry, off and on; but I soon sent them out, for I won't have people eating in the pantry, and I never noticed that my little girls turned red, though they have cried their eyes red, often enough, of late."

"Hm!" said Braesig, "this last is not without significance. Now I will tell you, Frau Nuessler, leave it wholly to me, I know how to track them; I detected Habermann's confounded greyhound, in his love-affairs. I am an old hunter; I can track him to his lair; but you must tell me where they have their haunts; that is, where I shall be likely to find them."

"That is here, Braesig, here in this arbor. My little girls sit here in the afternoon, and sew, and the other two come and sit with them; I never thought any harm of it."

"No harm in that," said Braesig, and stepping out of the arbor he looked carefully around, and in so doing perceived a large Rhenish cherry-tree, full of leaves, which stood close by the arbor.

"All right!" said he, "what can be done shall be done."

"Dear heart!" sighed Frau Nuessler, as went back to the house, "what a miserable time we shall have to-day! Kurz is coming this afternoon, in time for coffee, he is bitterly angry with his son, and such a malicious little toad. You shall see, there will be a great uproar."

"It is always the way with little people," Braesig: "the head, and the lower constitution are so close together, that fire kindles quickly."

"Yes," sighed Frau Nuessler, again entering the house, "it is a misery." She had no idea that the misery in her house was already in full course.

While these transactions were going on below stairs the two little twin-apples sat up in their chamber, sewing. Lining sat by one window, and Mining by the other, and they never looked up from their work, they never spoke to each other, as in those old times, at the Frau Pastorin's sewing-school,--they sewed and sewed, as if the world were coming to pieces, and they, with needle and thread, were patching it together again, and they looked so solemn about it, and sighed so heavily, as if they knew right well what an arduous task they had under their fingers. It was strange that their mother had said nothing to Braesig of how their pretty, red cheeks had grown pale, and it must have been because she had not noticed it herself. But it was so, the two little apples looked as wan as if they had grown on the north side of the life-tree, where no sun-beams pierced to color their cheeks, and it seemed, too, as if they hung no longer on the same twig. At last Lining let her work drop in her lap, she could not sew any longer, her eyes filled, and the tears ran down her white cheeks; and Mining reached for her handkerchief, and held it to her eyes, and great tears dropped in her lap, and so they sat and wept, as if the fair, innocent world in their own bosoms had gone to pieces, and they could not patch it together again.

All at once Mining sprang up and ran out of the door, as if she must get into the free air; but she bethought herself, she could not run off without being seen and questioned by her mother, so she stood there, on the other side of the door, still crying. Lining sprang up also, as if she should comfort Mining, but she bethought herself that she did not know how, so she stood on this side the door, crying.

So is often interposed, between two hearts, a thin board, and each heart hears the other sighing and weeping, and the thin board has on each side a latch, that one needs merely to lift, and what has separated the hearts may be shoved aside; but neither will stir the latch, and the two hearts weep still.

But, thank God! such selfish pride towards each other these little hearts had not yet learned, and Mining opened the door, and said, "Lining, why are you crying?" and Lining reached out her hands, and said, "Ah, Mining, why are you crying?" And they fell into each others arms, still crying, but their cheeks grew red as if the sunlight had reached them, and they clung fast to each other, as if they were again growing on the same stem.

"Mining!" said Lining, "I will give him up to you, and you shall be happy with him."

"No, Lining!" cried Mining, "he cares more for you, and you are a great deal better than I am."

"No, Mining, I have made up my mind; uncle Kurz is coming this afternoon, and I will ask father and mother to let me go back with him, for to stay here and look on might be too hard for me."

"Do so, Lining; then you will be with his parents; and I will ask Gottlieb to get me, through his father, a place as governess, somewhere, far, far away, before you come back; for my heart is too heavy to stay here."

"Mining," said Lining, pushing her sister back, and looking earnestly in her eyes,--"with his parents? whom do you mean?"

"Why, Rudolph."

"You mean Rudolph?"

"Yes, of course; whom do you mean, then?"

"I? I meant Gottlieb."

"No, no!" cried Mining, throwing her arms again about her sister's neck, "how is that possible? Why, we don't mean the same one, after all!"

"Dear heart!" exclaimed Lining, "and what misery we have made ourselves!"

"And now it is all right!" cried Mining, dancing about the room, "it is all right now!"

"Yes, Mining, it is all right now," and Lining also danced about the room. And Mining fell upon her sister's neck again, this time in joy.

Yes, when one touches the latch, in time, and shoves back the separating wall, then the hearts come together again, and all is right, even if there is not such a rejoicing as here in the little chamber. First they wept, and then they danced about the room, then they sat down one in the other's lap, and talked it all over, and blamed themselves for stupidity, that they had not noticed how it stood with them, and wondered how it was possible that they should not have come to an explanation before, and then each confessed how far she had gone with her cousin, and that the young men had not yet spoken openly, and they were both half inclined to scold them, as the cause of all the trouble. And Lining said she had been, all along, in great doubt; but since last Sunday, she had been convinced that Mining cared for Gottlieb, for otherwise why should she have cried so? and Mining said she could not help crying, because Rudolph had done such a dreadful thing, and she supposed Lining was crying for the same reason. And Lining said that what troubled her was because her poor Gottlieb was served so. But it was all right now; and when the dinner-bell rang, the little twin-apples tumbled down stairs, rosy-red, and arm in arm, and Braesig, who had seated himself with his back to the light that he might judge the better of their appearance, stared in astonishment at their bright eyes and joyous faces, and said to himself: "How? they are shy? They are in trouble? They are in love? They look just ready for a frolic."

Upon the ringing of the dinner-bell, entered Braesig's proselyter, the candidate Gottlieb Baldrian. Lining grew red, and turned away, not in ill humor, but on account of the confession she had made upstairs, and Braesig said to himself, "This strikes me as a very curious thing; Lining is affected. How can it be possible? and he such a scarecrow!"

Braesig had expressed himself too strongly, but Gottlieb was no beauty. Nature had dealt niggardly with him, and the little that he had he did not use to advantage. Take his hair, for instance. He had a thick head of hair, and if it had been properly kept under by the shears, it would have been good, respectable light hair, and he might have gone about, without attracting any attention; but he had, in his clerical heart, set up for his model, St. John the beloved, and he parted his hair in the middle, and combed it down on each side, though its natural tendency was to stand upright. Eh, well, I have nothing to say against it if a little rogue of ten or twelve years runs around with curls about his head, and the mothers of the little rogues have still less to say against it, and they turn them about, and stroke the hair out of their eyes, and comb it smooth, too, when a visitor is coming,--silly people sometimes go so far as to put it up in curl-papers, and use hot irons; I should have nothing to say, if it were the fashion for old people to curl their hair in long curls, for the old pictures look very fine so; but he who has no calves ought not to wear tight trowsers, and if a man's hair does not curl, he does better to keep it short. Our old Gottlieb's incongruous wig hung down, tanned by the sun, as if he had tied in a lot of rusty lath-nails, and because he had to oil it very liberally to keep it in its place, it ruined his coat-collar,--farther, it did not reach. Under this rich gift of nature, looked out an insignificant, pale face, which usually wore a melancholy expression, so that Braesig was always asking him what shoemaker he employed, and whether his corns troubled him. The rest of his figure harmonized with this expression, he was long, and thin and angular; but the part devoted to the enjoyment of the good things of this world seemed quite wanting, and the place which this necessary and useful organ generally occupies was a great cavity, like Frau Nuessler's baking-tray, seen from the inside. He was really a natural curiosity for Braesig, who ate like a barn-thresher, and couldn't help it. One would almost have believed that the Pietist was nourished in some other way than by eating and drinking. I have known people, and know some people still, whom I never could rival in this respect. It is true these candidates are often very thin, as one may see by the best of the Hanover candidates, who are so plenty among us; but when one gets a fat parish, he often begins to fill out, and so Braesig did not give up the hope that Gottlieb might come to something, in time, though he puzzled his brains over him a great deal. This was the way Gottlieb Baldrian looked; but the picture would not be complete, if I did not say that over the whole was spread a little, little smirk of Pharisaism; it was a very little, but that Pharisee stuff is like a calf's stomach; with a little, little bit one can turn a whole pan of milk sour.

They sat down to dinner, and Jochen asked,--

"Where is Rudolph?"

"Good gracious, Jochen, what are you talking about?" said Frau Nuessler hastily, "you ought to know by this time, that he never in his life was in season. He has gone fishing; but if people won't come in time, they may go without their dinner."

The meal was a quiet one, for Braesig did not talk, he lay in wait, with all his senses and faculties, and Frau Nuessler wondered in silence what could have so changed her little girls. They sat there laughing and whispering lightly to each other, and looking so happy, as if they were just awaked from a bad dream, and were rejoicing that it wasn't true, and that the sun shone brightly once more.

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Chapter XVIII

When dinner was over, Mining, whose turn it was to help her mother, in clearing up, tidying the room and making coffee, asked her sister, "Lining, where are you going?"

"I am going to get my sewing," said Lining, "and sit in the arbor."

"Well, I will come soon," said Mining.

"And I will come too," said Gottlieb slowly, "I have a book that I must finish reading to-day."

"That is right," said Braesig, "that will be a devilish fine entertainment for Lining."

Gottlieb wanted to preach him a little sermon upon his misuse of the word devilish, but restrained himself, since he reflected that it would be thrown away upon Braesig; so he said nothing, but followed the girls out of the room.

"Good heavens!" exclaimed Frau Nuessler, "what has happened to my children? I don't know what to make of it; they are one heart and one soul again."

"Keep quiet, Frau Nuessler," said Braesig, "I will find out all about it, to-day. Jochen, come out with me; but don't go to talking!"

Jochen followed him into the garden. Braesig took him under the arm. "Keep quite still, Jochen, and don't look round, and act as if we were taking a walk after dinner."

Jochen did so, very skilfully.

When they came to the cherry-tree before the arbor, Braesig stopped.

"So, Jochen, now stoop over,--with your head against the tree."

Jochen would have spoken, but Braesig pushed down his head.

"Keep still, Jochen,--put your head against the tree!" and with that he clambered up on Jochen's back. "So I now stand up! Sure enough, I can just reach,"--and he caught the lowest boughs, and pulled himself up into the tree. Jochen had said nothing as yet, but now he broke out:

"Braesig, they are not ripe yet."

"Blockhead!" cried Braesig, looking, with his red face among the green leaves, like a gay basket hung on the branches, "do you think I expect to pick Rhenish cherries on St. John's day? But you must go away now, and not stand there looking at me, like a dog that has treed a cat."

"Yes, what shall I do about it?" said Jochen, and left Braesig to his destiny.

Braesig had not long to watch, before he heard a light, quick, step on the gravel-walk, and Lining seated herself in the arbor, with a great heap of needle-work. If she meant to do all that to-day, she should have begun immediately; but she laid it on the table, rested her head on her hand, and, looking out into the blue heaven through Braesig's cherry-tree, sat in deep thought. "Ah, how happy I am!" said the little, thankful soul, "my Mining is good to me again, and Gottlieb is good to me, else why did he keep touching my foot at dinner? and how Braesig looked at me! I believe I turned quite red. Ah, what a good old fellow Gottlieb is! How seriously and learnedly he talks, how steady he is, the minister is clearly written on his face! He is not handsome, to be sure, Rudolph is much better looking, but he has something peculiar about him, as if he were ever saying, don't come near me with your pitiable, lamentable nonsense, I have higher thoughts, I am spiritually minded. But I will cut his hair for him, by and by."

It is a merciful providence that the little maidens are not all taken with a fine exterior, else we ugly fellows would be obliged to remain bachelors, and it would be a sad company, for what can be uglier than an ugly old bachelor?

In Lining's closing reflection--that she would cut Gottlieb's hair shorter--was implied such a confident hope, that she blushed to think of it, and, as she heard the gravel creak under slow, dignified steps, she seized her needle-work and begun to sew diligently.

Gottlieb came with his book, and seated himself about three feet from her, and began to read, but often looked off from his book as if he were turning over in his mind what he had just read, or perhaps something else. It is always so with the Pietist candidates, that is, when they have found their right calling, and sincerely believe what they preach to the people; before their examination they have none but spiritual thoughts, but after their examination worldly matters claim their share of attention, and instead of thinking of a parish they think first of a marriage. It was so with Gottlieb, and because, since his examination, no other girls had come in his way but Lining and Mining, and Lining had paid much closer attention to his admonitions than her light-hearted sister, he had happened upon the worldly thought of making her a pastor's wife. He was not very expert at the business, labouring, indeed, under great embarrassment, and had as yet gone no further than treading on her feet, a proceeding which he was quite as bashful in attempting, as Lining in receiving. He had decided, however, to open the matter in proper style, so he said, "Lining, I have brought this book out really on your account. Will you listen to some of it?"

"Yes," said Lining.

"It will be a tedious story," said Braesig to himself. He did not lie on a bed of roses, up in the cherry-tree.

Gottlieb read an edifying discourse upon Christian marriage, how it should be thought of, and with what feelings entered into, and when he had finished, he moved a step nearer, and asked:

"What do you say to it, Lining?

"It is certainly very beautiful," said she.

"Marriage?" asked Gottlieb.

"Oh, Gottlieb!" said Lining, and bent lower over her needlework.

"No, Lining," said Gottlieb, moving up another step, "it is not beautiful. God bless you for it, that you have not placed a light estimate upon this important act of human life. It is terribly hard, that is in a Christian sense," and he gave her a fearful description of the heavy duties and troubles and cares of married life, as if he were preparing her for a residence at the House of Correction, while Braesig, up in the cherry-tree, crossed himself, and thanked his stars that he had not entered on that sad estate. "Yes, Lining," said he, "marriage is a part of the curse, with which God drove our first parents out of Paradise," and he took his Bible, and read to the little girl the third chapter of the first book of Moses, till Lining trembled all over, and did not know where to go, for shame and distress.

"Infamous Jesuit!" exclaimed Braesig half aloud, "to distress the innocent child like that!" and he was almost ready to spring down from the tree, and Lining would almost have run away, only that the book out of which he was reading was the Bible, and what was in the Bible must be good; she covered her face with her hands, and cried bitterly. He was now full of spiritual zeal, and threw his arm about her, saying, "I spare thee not, in this solemn hour! Caroline Nuessler, wilt thou, under these Christian conditions, be my Christian wedded wife?"

Ah, and Lining was in such a dreadful confusion, she could neither speak nor think, but only cry and cry.

Then resounded along the garden path, a merry song:

"Little fish in silver brook, Swimming off to a shady nook, Little gray fish Seeking a wife."

And Lining made a desperate effort, and started out of the arbor, spite of the Bible and Christian conditions, to meet Mining, who was coming out, with her sewing; and Gottlieb followed, with long, slow steps, and his face looked as wonder-stricken as that of the young preacher, when in the midst of his long sermon, the sexton laid the church-door key on the pulpit, saying that when he had finished he might lock up, himself, for he was going to dinner. And he might well looked astonished, for, like the young preacher, he had done his best, and his church stood empty.

Mining was a little, inexperienced child, being the youngest, but she was sufficiently acute to perceive that something had happened, and to ask herself whether she would not cry under similar circumstances, and what sort of comfort would be necessary. She seated herself quietly, in the arbor, arranged her needle-work, and, reflecting upon her own unsettled circumstances, began to sigh a little, for want of anything else in particular to do.

"Preserve me!" said Braesig, in the tree, "now the little rogue has come, and my legs are perfectly numb, and the business is getting tedious."

But the business was not to be tedious long, for soon after Mining had seated herself, there appeared around the corner of the arbor a handsome, young fellow, with a fishing-rod over his shoulder, and a basket of fish suspended around his neck.

"This is good, Mining," cried he, "that I find you here. Of course you have had dinner long ago?"

"You may well think so, Rudolph," she replied, "it is just two o'clock."

"Aunt will certainly be very angry with me."

"You may be sure of that, she is so already, without your being late to dinner; but your own stomach will be the worst to you, for you have cared for it poorly, to-day."

"So much the better for yours, this evening. I could not come sooner, it was out of the question, with the fish biting so finely. I have been to the Black Pool today. Braesig will never let me go there, and I understand the reason; it is his private pantry when he cannot find fish elsewhere; the whole pond is full of tench, just look! See there, what splendid fellows!" and he opened his basket, and showed his treasures. "I have got ahead of old Braesig, this time!"

"Infamous rascal!" exclaimed Braesig, to himself, and his nose peered out between the leaves, like one of the pickled gherkins, which Frau Nuessler was in the habit of putting up for the winter, in these same cherry-leaves. "Infamous rascal! he has been among my tench, then! May you keep the nose on your face! what fish the scamp has caught!"

"Give them to me, Rudolph," said Mining. "I will take them in, and bring you out something to eat."

"Oh, no! no! Never mind.

"But you must be hungry.

"Well, then, just a little something, Mining. A slice or two of bread and butter!"

Mining went, and Rudolph seated himself in the arbor.

He had a sort of easy indifference, as if he would let things come to him, but yet, when they touched him nearly, he would not fail to grapple with them. His figure was slender, and yet robust, and with the roguery in his brown eyes was mingled a spark of obstinacy, with which the little scar on his brown cheek harmonized so well, that one could safely infer he had not spent all his time in the study of dogmatic theology. "Yes," said he, as he sat there, "the fox must go to his own hole. I have beaten about the bush long enough; to be sure there has been time to spare, there was no hurry about settling matters until now; but, to-day, two things must be decided. To-day the old man is coming; well for me that mother does not come too, else I might find myself wanting in courage, at last. I am as fit for a parson as a donkey to play on the guitar, or Gottlieb for a colonel of cuirassiers. If Braesig were only here, to-day, he would stand by me. But Mining! If I could get that settled first."

Just then, Mining came along, with a plate of bread and butter.

Rudolph sprang up: "Mining, what a good little thing you are!" and he threw his arm around her.

Mining pulled herself away; "Ah, let me be! What a naughty boy you are! Mother is dreadfully angry with you."

"You mean on account of the sermon? Well, yes! It was a stupid trick."

"No," said Mining, earnestly, "it was a wicked trick. It was making light of holy things."

"Oh, ho! Such candidates' sermons are not such holy things,--even when they come from our pious Gottlieb."

"But, Rudolph, in the church!"

"Ah, Mining, I acknowledge it was a stupid trick, I did not consider it beforehand; I only thought of the sheepish face Gottlieb would make, and that amused me so that I did the foolish thing. But let it go, Mining!" and he threw his arm about her again.

"No, let go!" said Mining, but did not push it away. "And the pastor said, if he should report the matter, you could never in your life get a parish."

"Let him report it then; I wish he would, and I should be out of the scrape once for all."

"What?" asked Mining, making herself free, and pushing him back a little way, "do you say that in earnest?"

"In solemn earnest. It was the first and last time I shall enter a pulpit."

"Rudolph!" exclaimed Mining, in astonishment.

"Why should that trouble you?" cried Rudolph, hastily. "Look at Gottlieb, look at me! Am I fit for a pastor? And if I had whole systems of theology in my head, so that I could even instruct the learned professors, they would not let me through my examination; they demand also a so-called religious experience. And if I were the apostle Paul himself, they would have nothing to do with me, if they knew about the little scar on my cheek."

"But what will you do, then?" asked Mining, and laid her hand hastily on his arm. "Ah, don't be a soldier!"

"God forbid! Don't think of such a thing! No, I will be a farmer."

"Confounded scamp!" said Braesig, up in the tree.

"Yes, my dear little Mining," said Rudolph, drawing her down on the bench beside him, "I will be a farmer, a right active, skilful farmer, and you, my little old dear Mining, shall help me about it."

"She shall teach him to plough and to harrow," said Braesig.

"I, Rudolph?" asked Mining,

"Yes, you, my dear, sweet child,"--and he stroked the shining hair, and the soft cheeks, and lifted the little chin, and looked full in the blue eyes,--"if I only knew, with certainty, that in a year and a day you would be my little wife, it would be easy for me to learn to be a skilful farmer. Will you, Mining, will you?"

And the tears flowed from Mining's eyes, and Rudolph kissed them away, here and there, over her cheeks, down to her rosy mouth, and Mining laid her little round head on his breast, and when he gave her time to speak, she whispered softy that she would, and he kissed her again, and ever again, and Braesig called, half aloud, from the tree, "But that is too much of a good thing! Have done!"

And Rudolph told her, between the kisses, that he would speak with his father, to-day, and remarked also, by the way, it was a pity Braesig was not there; he could help him finely in his undertaking, and he knew the old man thought a great deal of him.

"Confounded scamp!" said Braesig, "catching away my tench!"

And Mining said Braesig was there, and was taking his afternoon nap.

"Just hear the rogue, will you?" said Braesig. "This looks like an afternoon nap! But it is all finished now. Why should I torment my poor bones any longer?" And as Rudolph was saying he must speak to the old gentleman, Braesig slid down the cherry-tree, until his trousers were stripped up to his knees, and caught by the lowest branches, saying, "Here he hangs!" and then he let himself fall, and stood close before the pair of lovers, with an expression on his heated face, which said quite frankly he considered himself a suitable arbiter in the most delicate affairs.

The young people did not conduct themselves badly. Mining did like Lining in putting her hands before her face, only she did not cry, and she would have run away like Lining, if she had not, from a little child, stood on the most confidential footing with her Uncle Braesig. She threw herself, with her eyes covered, against her Uncle Braesig's breast, and crept with her little, round head almost into his waistcoat pocket, and cried,--

"Uncle Braesig! Uncle Braesig! you are an abominable old fellow!"

"So?" asked Braesig. "Eh, that is very fine."

"Yes," said Rudolph, with a little air of superiority, "you should be ashamed to play the listener here."

"Monsieur Noodle," said Braesig, "let me tell you, once for all, I have never in my life done anything to be ashamed of, and if you think you can teach me good manners you are very much mistaken."

Rudolph had sense enough to see this, and, although he would have relished a little contest, it was clear to him that on this occasion he must yield to Mining's wishes. So he remarked, in a pleasanter tone, that if Braesig were up in the tree by chance--he would take that for granted--he might at least have advised them of his presence, by coughing, or in some way, instead of listening to their affairs from A to Z.

"So?" said Braesig, "I should have coughed, should I? I groaned often enough and if you had not been so occupied with your own affairs, you might easily have heard me. But you ought to be ashamed, to be making love to Mining without Frau Nuessler's permission."

That was his own affair, Rudolph said, and nobody's else, and Braesig knew nothing about such matters.

"So?" asked Braesig, again. "Did you ever have three sweethearts at once? I did, sir; three acknowledged sweethearts, and do I know about such matters? But you are such a sly old rascal, fishing my tench out of the Black Pool, on the sly; and fishing my little Mining, before my very eyes, out of the arbor. Come, leave him alone, Mining! he shall have nothing to do with you."

"Ah, Uncle Braesig," begged Mining so artlessly, "be good to us, we love each other so much."

"Well, never mind Mining, you are my little goddaughter; though that is all over now."

"No, Herr Inspector!" cried Rudolph,--laying his hand on the old man's shoulder, "no, dear, good Uncle Braesig, that is not over, that shall last as long as we live. I will be a farmer, and if I have the prospect of calling Mining my wife, and"--he was cunning enough to add--"and you will give me your valuable advice, the devil must be in it, if I cannot make a good one."

"A confounded rascal!" said Braesig to himself, adding, aloud, "Yes, you will be such a Latin farmer as Pistorius, and Praetorius, and Trebonius, and you will sit on the bank of the ditch and read that fellow's book, with the long title, about oxygen and carbonic acid gas, and organisms, while the cursed farmboys are strewing manure, behind your back, in lumps as big as your hat-crown. Oh, I know you! I never knew but one man who had been to the great schools, and was worth anything afterward, and that was the young Herr yon Rambow, who was with Habermann."

"Ah, Uncle Braesig," said Mining, lifting her head, suddenly, and stroking the old man's cheeks, "what Franz can do, Rudolph can do also."

"No, Mining, that he can not! And why? Because he is a greyhound, and the other is a decided character!"

"Uncle Braesig," said Rudolph, "you are thinking of that stupid trick of mine, about the sermon; but Gottlieb had teased me so with his zeal for proselyting, I must play some little joke on him."

"Ha, ha!" laughed Braesig, "well, why not, it amused me, it amused me very much. So he wanted to convert you too, from fishing, perhaps? Oh, he has been trying to convert somebody here, this afternoon, but Lining ran away from him; however, that is all right."

"With Lining and Gottlieb?" asked Mining anxiously, "and have you listened to that, too?"

"Of course I listened to it, it was on their account I perched myself in this confounded cherry-tree. But now come here Monsieur Rudolph. Will you, all your life long, never again go into the pulpit and preach a sermon?"

"No, never again."

"Will you get up at four o'clock in the morning, and three o'clock in the summer-time, and give out fodder grain?"

"Always, at the very hour."

"Will you learn how to plough and harrow and mow properly, and to reap and bind sheaves, that is, with a band,--there is no art in using a rope?"

"Yes," said Rudolph.

"Will you promise never to sit over the punch-bowl, at the Thurgovian ale-house, when your wagons are already gone, and then ride madly after them?"

"I will never do it," said Rudolph.

"Will you also never in your life--Mining, see that beautiful larkspur, the blue, I mean, just bring it to me, and let me smell it--will you," he continued, when she was gone, "never entangle yourself with the confounded farm-girls?"

"Herr Inspector, what do you take me for?" said Rudolph angrily, turning away.

"Come, come," said Braesig, "every business must be settled beforehand, and I give you warning: for every tear my little godchild sheds on your account I will give your neck a twist," and he looked as fierce as if he were prepared to do it immediately.

"Thank you Mining," said he, as she brought him the flower, and he smelled it, and stuck it in his buttonhole.

"And now, come here, Mining, I will give you my blessing. No, you need not fall on your knees, since I am not one of your natural parents, but merely your godfather. And you, Monsieur Rudolph, I will stand by you this afternoon, when your father comes, and help you out of this clerical scrape. And now, come, both of you, we must go in. But I tell you, Rudolph, don't sit reading, by the ditches, but attend to the manure-strewing. You see there is a trick in it, the confounded farm-boys must take the fork, and then not throw it off directly, no! they must first break it up three or four times with the fork, so that it gets well separated. A properly manured field ought to look as neat and fine as a velvet coverlid."

With that, he went, with the others, out of the garden gate.

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Chapter XIX

Towards the middle of the afternoon, the merchant Kurz, and the rector Baldrian were approaching the Rexow farm.

Kurz had invited the rector to be his companion, to his own detriment, for a little man appears to fearful disadvantage beside a long-legged fellow, and nature, in cheating Kurz of his rightful dimensions, appeared to have endowed the rector with the surplus. So they walked along the road, and the rector made a joke; he said that they two together reminded him of the metre, which the Romans called a dactyl, long, short, short; long, short, short. That provoked Kurz, since it was disparaging to his legs and his capabilities as a pedestrian; he took the longest possible steps.

"Now we can pass for a spondee," said the rector.

"Do me the favor, brother-in-law," said Kurz, angrily, and wholly out of breath, "to spare me your learned witticisms. They are altogether too much for me." And he wiped off the sweat from his face, pulled off his coat, and hung it over his stick.

In his belief, Kurz was properly a materialist, but by trade he was a mercer. There were always remnants left over, in this business, which was quite a convenience to a man of his short stature, since he could use them up for himself. When he had cleared out his old stock last year, he had a piece of ladies' dress goods left on hand, on which were represented giraffes plucking at a palm-tree. He could not think of throwing it away, and he could not get rid of it, so he had it made up into a summer coat for himself, and he was now marching on the Rexow farm, with this banner over his shoulder, as if he were the youngest standard-bearer in the army of a German prince, who bore a giraffe and a palm-tree in his shield; and rector Baldrian stalked by his side, in a yellow nankeen coat, like a right file-leader, in the body-guard of the German prince, who might, for a change, have adopted yellow nankeen as a uniform.

"Dear me!" sighed Frau Nuessler, "Kurz is bringing the rector with him."

"Sure enough," said Braesig, "but he shall not incommode us much to-day, I will cut his speeches short." For they both had, not without reason, a great terror of the rector's circumstantiality.

The two guests entered, and the rector delivered a long oration upon his joy in seeing them again, and the happy opportunity of coming with Kurz; to which Braesig replied curtly, that long legs were the best opportunities for one who was going across country, and turned away, so that the rector, while Frau Nuessler was occupied with Kurz, found his audience limited to Jochen, who listened in the most exemplary manner to the whole discourse, and finally said, "Good day, brother-in-law, sit down a little while."

Kurz was out of temper; in the first place, because he had come to give his boy a scolding, secondly, because the rector had walked him off his legs, and, thirdly, because in pulling off his coat he had taken cold, and got a fit of the hiccoughs. His crossness, to be sure, was nothing remarkable, for he was angry year in and year out, because he was a democrat, of course not a state democrat, for they didn't have such then in Mecklenburg; only a city democrat, since he made it the particular business of his life to pull public offices from the grasp of the thick-nosed baker, in the market-place, who was so horribly favored by the burgomeister. He went puffing and hiccoughing about the room, and looked, with his red, moist face and his short grizzled hair, like a fine, red, freshly cut ham, cooked in paste, well sprinkled with pepper and salt, with the gravy following the knife.

The comparison is not strictly accurate, because the knife was wanting, but Braesig took care for that; he ran to the dresser, caught up a long, sharp carving-knife, marched directly up to the ham and said, "So, Kurz, now sit perfectly still."

"What is that for?" inquired Kurz.

"Remedy for the hiccoughs. So! Now you must look right at the point of the knife. Now I come nearer and nearer to you with the point; but you must be frightened, or it will do you no good. Still nearer,--still nearer, as if I were going to split your nose open. Still nearer--close to your eyes."

"Thunder and lightning!" cried Kurz, springing up. "Do you mean to put my eyes out?"

"Good!" said Braesig, "good! You are frightened, and that will help you."

And it did help, truly, that is, as regards the hiccoughs, not as regards the crossness.

"Where is my boy?" he asked. "He shall get a scolding to-day. Nothing but vexations, brother-in-law!" turning to Jochen. "Here with the boy, at the Rathhaus with the public documents, at home with my wife, on account of that confounded sermon affair, in the shop with that beast of an apprentice, selling a half ounce of black sewing silk for a drachm, and here, on the road, with the rector's long shanks."

"Mother," said young Jochen, pushing a coffee-cup towards her, "help Kurz."

"Eh, brother-in-law," said Frau Nuessler, "there is time enough, let us talk it over first; to come down on the boy when you are so heated would be like pouring oil on the fire."

"I'll come down on him----" began Kurz; but he went no further, for the door opened, and Gottlieb entered.

Gottlieb's step was more than usually dignified, as he walked up to his father, and greeted him. He was so excessively solemn, and had such an air of clerical reserve, that he looked as if St. Salbaderus had taken him under his special tuition, and hung him up by a string every night, to keep him out of harm's way.

"Good day, how goes it, papa?" said he, and kissed his father on the cheek, so that the old man kissed in the air, like a carp, when he comes up out of the water.

"How is mamma?" inquired the son.

Gottlieb had been brought up from a child to say "Papa" and "Mamma," because the rector thought "Father" and "Mother," although quite good enough for ordinary burghers, were not suitable for educated people; at which Frau Kurz was naturally very indignant, since her children always said "Daddy" and "Mammy."

"Good day, uncle," said Gottlieb to Kurz, "good day, Herr Inspector," to Braesig, and, turning again to his father, he went on: "I am very glad you have come to-day, for I wish to speak to you particularly, on important business."

"Ha, ha," said Braesig to himself, "it is beginning already."

The rector went out into the court-yard with his son, and Braesig stationed himself at the window, and watched them. Frau Nuessler came up to him: "Braesig, did you find out anything, this afternoon, about my little girls?"

"Frau Nuessler," said Braesig, "don't you be troubled, the business has settled itself."

"What?" cried Frau Nuessler, hastily, "how has it settled itself?"

"You will soon find out, for if you look out of the window you will see it is being settled now. Why do you think the rector is shaking hands with Gottlieb, and embracing him? On account of his Christian belief? Come, I will tell you why; it is because you, Frau Nuessler, are such a good housekeeper."

Braesig had great knowledge of human nature, and could read hearts like a prophet; but he shared the common failing of prophets, he uttered dark sayings. Frau Nuessler did not understand a word: "What? He embraces Gottlieb because I am a good housekeeper!"

Braesig had another prophet's failing; he gave no answer to a reasonable question, if it did not suit his humour. "Can't you see how he gives him his blessing?" he exclaimed. "He knows very well that money answereth all things, and he knows there is plenty of it here."

"What has that to do with my children?"

"You will soon find out. See! now the Pietist is going away, and now look at the old man. Lord have mercy on us! he is learning off a speech by heart; and it will be a long one,--all his speeches are long, but the ceremonious ones are the longest."

Braesig had great knowledge of human nature, as was fully proved on this occasion, for the rector came in, and began immediately:

"Honored friends, a certain wise man of antiquity has uttered the indisputable truth, that the happiest home is that where quiet peace dwells, in company with a comfortable, substantial competency. Here, in this house, this is the case. I have not come here to disturb this quiet peace; my dear brother-in-law, Kurz can do what he pleases,--I have come by accident, but accident is a 'casus' or falling out, whereby important things sometimes fall in a man's way. This is the case with me to-day. This accident may fall out for good, or it may fall out for evil; but I will not anticipate, I will say nothing further about it. Dear Brother Jochen, you as the proper head of this happily situated family"--Jochen made a face as if his brother-in-law had said he was the proper autocrat of all Russia, and ought by good rights to be sitting on his throne in the Kremlin at Moscow, instead of sitting here in the chimney-corner--"yes," repeated the rector, "you, as the proper head of the family, will pardon me if I address myself also to my dear sister-in-law, who has cared for the affairs of her own family with so much love and circumspection, and with such blessed results, and also upon the families related--I refer here particularly to the friendly reception of my Gottlieb--has exerted a highly beneficial influence. You, my dear brother-in-law Kurz, belong also to the family, and although our two families, at least the female members, have been lately a little divided, though--well, on this happy occasion we will say nothing more about it--I am sure you really feel interested in my happiness. But now," going up to Braesig, "how shall I address you, Herr Inspector? You, though you do not, strictly speaking, belong to the family, have yet been so helpful in action, so wise in counsel----"

"Come. I will give you a bit of advice," said the old man; "take a fresh start or you will never get to the end."

"End?" said the rector, with the authority of the clergyman breaking through the crust of the pedant. "End?" asked he, solemnly, raising his eyes to heaven, "will it come to a good or a bad end? Who knows the end?"

"I know it," said Braesig, "for I heard the beginning, this afternoon, up in that confounded cherry-tree. The end of the whole story is, the Pietist wants to marry our Lining."

Then there was an uproar, "Gracious heavens!" cried Frau Nuessler. "Gottlieb! our child?"

"Yes," said the rector, snapping out the word, and standing there like Klein, the head-fireman at Stemhagen, when the engines were being tried, and the hose burst, and he got the whole stream of water over himself.

Kurz sprang up, exclaiming; "The rascal! Gottlieb? That is too much!"

And Jochen also got up, but slowly, and asked Braesig, "Mining, did you say, Braesig?"

"No, young Jochen, only Lining," said Braesig, quietly. And young Jochen sat down again.

"And you knew that, Braesig, and never told us?" cried Frau Nuessler.

"Oh, I know yet more," said Braesig, "but why should I tell you? What difference could it make whether you knew it a quarter of an hour sooner, or not; and I thought it would be a pleasant surprise for you."

"And here he is," said the rector, leading in Gottlieb, who had been behind the door all the time, "and he wishes to receive his answer from your kindness."

And now came old Gottlieb, for once with nothing ludicrous about him, but like any other man. His clerical demeanor, and the exclusiveness of his Levitical calling, he had quite thrown overboard, since he had no room in his heart for such folderols. At this moment it was full of pure human nature, of doubt and hope, of fear and love, and those who could decide his happiness or misery stood before him as human beings in flesh and blood--Jochen to be sure was sitting--and real love, with its proper circumstances of betrothal and marriage, is such a fair, pure, human feeling, that truly no clerical parade can make it fairer. At any other time, Gottlieb himself would have been the first to dispute this assertion, but at this moment he was so overcome by this tender feeling, and expressed himself with so much warmth and confidence toward Frau Nuessler and Jochen, that Braesig said to himself, "How the man has altered! If Lining has done so much in this short time, let her go on, in heaven's name! She will make a good fellow of him yet!"

Frau Nuessler listened to Gottlieb's straightforward story, and indeed she had always liked old Gottlieb, but the thought of losing her child overcame her for the moment; she was much agitated; "Good heavens!" cried she, "Gottlieb, you were always a good fellow, and you studied your books well, but----"

Here she was for the first time in her life, interrupted by Jochen. When Jochen understood that they were not talking about Mining, he became quiet; while Gottlieb addressed him, he was collecting his thoughts and, as he became aware that all eyes were turned upon him, he resolved to speak, and so he took the words out of his wife's mouth, saying, "Yes, Gottlieb, it is all as true as leather, and what I can do in the matter, as a father, I will do, and if mother is willing I am willing; and if Lining is willing I am willing."

"Good heavens, Jochen!" cried Frau Nuessler, "what are you talking about? Just keep quiet! No, I must first speak, to my child, I must first hear what she will say to it." With that she ran out of the room.

But it was not long before she came back, leading Lining by the hand, and behind her followed Mining and Rudolph, probably intending to make a practical use of this occasion; and Lining, red as a rose, dropped her mother's hand, and threw herself upon Gottlieb's breast, and then on her mother's, and then went and sat down on Jochen's knee--for he had seated himself again--and would have kissed him, but could not for coughing, for Jochen in his excitement was puffing violently at his strong tobacco, so she only said "Father!" and he said "Lining!" and when she rose, Braesig was standing beside her, and he caressed her, and said; "Never mind, Lining, I will give you something." Then Gottlieb took her by the hand, and led her up to his father, and the rector bent so low to give her his fatherly kiss, that the others thought he was picking up a pin from the floor, and he began on a new oration, but did not get far in it, for Braesig stood at the window, drumming "The old Dessauer," so that nobody could hear a word. The old man was staring over Jochen's barn-roof, into the clear sunshine, as if there were something quite remarkable to be seen there. And there was, in fact, something remarkable to be seen; he saw, far off, an apple-tree, which had been once covered with rosy bloom; it was his tree, he had propped and trained it, it was his tree, but Jochen had transplanted it to his garden, and he had been compelled to suffer it; but for all that, he had still watched and tended the tree, and the tree had borne fruit, beautiful red, round fruit; and the fruit had grown ripe, and was fair to look upon, and now a couple of boys had climbed over the fence, and one had plucked an apple, and put it in his pocket, and the second was reaching out his hand for the other. Well, boys will be boys, and apples and boys belong together; he knew that, and had often said to himself that it must come; he did not grudge them but it troubled him that the care of his little twin-apples should pass into other hands, especially he could not easily give up the care of his little rogue, so he drummed lustily on the window-frame.

And Kurz, the shop-keeper, blew his nose as fiercely as if he were playing the trumpet to Braesig's drumming. It was not from emotion, that he blew it so impressively, only from anger; for he was the fifth wheel on the wagon amid all this domestic happiness, and yet he had come on an important piece of business; but the circumstances demanded that he should offer friendly congratulations, so with a face like a salt plum that has been steeped in vinegar, he passed by his son Rudolph without looking at him, and congratulated, right and left, as if he stood behind his counter, serving his customers, and must have a friendly word ready for every one, though he heard clearly all the time, behind his back, the whole vinegar barrel running out. But when he came to the rector, and should have poured him out a measure of oil for his pathetic oration, there was the vinegar, which his boy had left running, close at his heels, and he could talk to his customers no longer; he turned quickly on his heel, and cried to Rudolph, "Are you not ashamed of yourself?" then turning back to the customers, "I beg your pardon! but this business must be attended to--are you not ashamed of yourself? Have you not cost me more than Gottlieb his father? Have you learnt anything? Just tell me!"

"Dear brother-in-law," said the rector, and laid his hand with friendliness on Kurz's head, as if he had done his Latin exercise uncommonly well, "what he has learned, he cannot tell you in a moment."

"Eh, what!" cried Kura, twitching out from under the hand, and stumbling backward, "did you bring me along, or did I bring you along? I think I brought you along; it is time for my business to be attended to now. Are you not ashamed of yourself?" he cried, to Rudolph again; "there stands Gottlieb, has passed his examination, has a bride,--a fair, a lovely bride,"--with that he endeavoured to bow to Lining, but in his excitement always made his compliments to Frau Nuessler,--"can be a pastor to-morrow,"--Braesig got this bow, instead of Gottlieb,--"and you, and you--oh, you have fought duels, and what else have you done? Got into debt; but I won't pay your debts!" and although nobody said that he should pay them, he kept repeating, "I won't pay them! No! I won't pay them!" and he placed himself by Braesig, at the window, and joined him in drumming.

The poor boy, Rudolph, stood there, terribly mortified. It is true, nature had given him a pretty tough hide, and he was too well used to his father's abuse, to take it for more than it was worth, for nobody must believe that Kurz, in his inmost heart, was angry with his boy, no, God forbid! quite the contrary! because he cared so much for him, he was angry that his boy was not so well off as the rector's.

But for all that, and although Rudolph knew right well how much his father thought of him, he could not bear it this time, for the old man was too hard on him, and before so many witnesses, and he had a whole stream of bitter words on the cud of his tongue, when his eye fortunately fell upon Mining, who this afternoon reckoned herself truly one bone and one flesh with Rudolph, for her flesh was pale instead of his, and every bone in her body trembled for him. Rudolph swallowed his bitter words, and for the first time the feeling came over him, that his misdeeds could recoil on any other head than his own, and he resolved to do nothing for the future, without looking into Mining's eyes first. And, I say, that is a very good sign of a young, honest love.

"Father," said he, when he had controlled himself, and went, without troubling himself at the long faces around him, up to his father, and laid his hand on his shoulder, "Father, come! I have done with stupid tricks from henceforth."

Kurz kept on drumming; but Braesig stopped.

"Father," said Rudolph again, "you have reason to be angry with me, I have deserved it, but----"

"Stop your confounded drumming!" said Braesig, arresting Kurz's knuckles.

"Father," said Rudolph, offering his hand to his father, "come, forgive and forget!"

"No!" said Kurz, thrusting both hands in his pockets.

"What?" said Braesig, "You will not? I know very well, nobody should interfere between father and son, but I will interfere, because it is your own fault that the business has been talked about so openly. What! You will not forget and forgive this young fellow's follies, and he your own son? Haven't you always sent me that old, sweet Prussian Kuemmel, and didn't I forgive and forget, and go and trade with you again, and pay you honestly?"

"I have always served you well," said Kurz.

"So?" asked Braesig, mockingly. "How about that trousers' pattern? Young Jochen, you know all about it, you can remember how they looked afterwards."

"Those stupid old trousers!" cried Kurz, "you have made so much fuss about them already that----"

"Ha, ha!" interrupted Braesig, "do you talk like that? Wasn't it pure wickedness on your part, to let me wear them, and you knowing they would turn red, and haven't I forgiven and forgotten? Well, not forgotten, to be sure, for I have a very good memory,--but if you don't forget what the young fellow has done, you can at least forgive him."

"Dear brother-in-law," began the rector, who believed that, in consideration of his having formerly been a clergyman, it was his duty to make peace.

"Do me the pleasure!" cried Kurz, turning short round, "you have a bride, and will get a parish,--that is to say, your Gottlieb will get one, and we--we--we have learnt nothing, we have no bride, no parish, and we have a scar!" and then he ran wildly about the room.

"Father!" cried Rudolph, "just hear me!"

"Yes," said Frau Nuessler, who was heated to the point of boiling over, and she caught Kurz by the arm; "just hear what he has to say for himself. If he did do a foolish thing about the sermon,--and no one was more troubled about it than I,--yet otherwise he is a good boy, and many a father would be proud of him."

"Yes, yes!" said Kurz, impatiently, "I will hear him, I will listen to him," and he placed himself before Rudolph with his hands on his sides: "Come now, say what you have to say, now say it!"

"Dear father," said Rudolph, standing there with a beseeching and yet resolved expression upon his face, "I know it will grieve you deeply, but I cannot do otherwise; I shall not be a clergyman, I am going to be a farmer."

It is said that they teach the bears to dance, in Poland, by putting them on hot iron plates, where they must keep their legs constantly in motion, to avoid being burned. In precisely such a manner, did Kurz hop about the room, at these words of Rudolph's, first on one foot and then on the other, as if the devil were under Frau Nuessler's floor, toasting his feet for him. "That is pretty," he cried at every jump, "that is fine! My son, who has cost me so much, who has learned so much, will be a farmer! will be a clodhopper, a blockhead, a stable-boy!"

"Young Jochen," cried Braesig, "shall we suffer ourselves to be called by such names? Stand up, young Jochen! What, Herr!" exclaimed he, going up to Kurz, "such a herring-dealer, such a syrup-prince as you, to despise farmers! Herr, do you know who we are? We are your very foundation; if it were not for us, and our buying of you, the shopkeepers might all run about the country with beggars' sacks,--and you think your son has learned too much for such a calling? He has learned too much, perhaps, in one way, but he has learned too little in another. Do you believe, Herr, that a capable agriculturalist--stand up here by me, Jochen!--needs nothing but a sheep's head and asses' ears?"

"Dear brother-in-law," began the rector, again.

"Will you kill me, with your long speeches?" roared Kurz. "You have sheared your little sheep; I came out, also, to shear my black sheep, and now you all seem bent on shearing me."

"Kurz," said Frau Nuessler, "be reasonable. What cannot be, cannot. If he won't be a pastor, he is the nearest thing to it, as the Frau Pastorin says; and in my opinion, if he is only an industrious fellow, it is all the same whether he preaches or ploughs."

"Father," said Rudolph now, as he noticed that his father was considering, "give me your consent; you do not know how much my life's happiness depends on it."

"Who will take you for a pupil?" cried Kurz, still angrily. "Nobody!"

"That is my affair," said Braesig. "I know a man,--that is Hilgendorff, of Tetzleben,--who understands book-farming, and who has already done well for his pupils. He had one fellow, who was beside himself with poetry, which he used to write behind the shed; if he wanted to say that the sun was risen, he said, 'Aurora had looked over the hedge,' and when he would speak of a storm coming up, he said, 'It glowed and towered up, in the west,' and if he would say it drizzled, he said, 'Light drops distilled from heaven,'--and for all that, he has made a useful man out of him. He must go to Hilgendorff."

"Yes," said Kurz, "but I must speak with Hilgendorff; I shall tell him----"

"Tell him everything, father," said Rudolph, embracing the old man, "but I have yet another petition."

"Ha, ha!" cried Kurz, "about your debts, I suppose; but don't come near me with those to-day, I have enough of this clodhopper business, and I won't pay them!" and he shoved his son away.

"And you shall not, father," said Rudolph, drawing himself up proudly, and his whole bearing expressed such cheerful courage and such sure confidence, that all eyes were attracted towards him. "You shall not do it!" he cried, "I have incurred debts to-day, and I have given my word of honor, honestly to pay and discharge them, and I will do it, with my heart's blood. I have made them here," he exclaimed, going up to Mining, who all this time, and through all this quarrel, had been lying on her sister's shoulder, and who felt as if it were the beginning of the judgment day. "Here!" said he, and laid Mining on his own breast. "If I am ever good for anything, you have this little girl here to thank for it," and the tears started from his eyes, "my darling little bride."

"Confounded rascal!" said Braesig, rubbing his eyes, and he went back to the window, and drummed the Dessauer, for he was the only one who was not surprised at this announcement. The others stood there, confounded.

"Good Heavens!" cried Frau Nuessler, "what is this?"

"What?" cried Jochen, "Mining, did he say?"

"Good gracious, Jochen, don't talk so much!" cried Frau Nuessler, "Mining, what is this, what does this mean?"

But Mining lay on Rudolph's breast, as white and still, as if she would never raise her head, or speak another word. Kurz had comprehended the matter at once, he had quickly ciphered out in his head a couple of examples in arithmetic, of which Jochen's property furnished the principal items, and he found the result so satisfactory, that he began to dance again, this time, however, not like the Polish bears, but like a wild Indian executing a war-dance, and Braesig drummed the measure. Rector Baldrian's face was the one quiet point, in all this general excitement, for it looked as uncomprehensive as mine would, if I were poring over a Hebrew Bible.

"What is this, what does this mean?" cried Frau Nuessler again, sinking into a chair. "Both my two! Both my little girls in one and the same day! And you said," turning upon Braesig, "that you would look after them!"

"Frau Nuessler," said Braesig, "have I not looked after them, till all my bones were sore? But there is no harm done, so far as I can see. What do you say to it, Jochen?"

"I have nothing to say; my blessed mother always said: A candidate and a governess----"

"Jochen," cried Frau Nuessler, "you will talk me dead, and you learned this very chattering from Rudolph, the rascal!"

"Blockhead!" exclaimed Kurz, dancing about the pair, "why didn't you tell me that, in the first place? I would have forgiven you anything, on account of this little--this dear little daughter!" and he lifted up Mining's head, and kissed her.

"Gracious heavens!" cried Frau Nuessler, "there is Kurz calling her his daughter, and kissing her, and his boy is nothing at all yet, and Mining is so inconsiderate!"

"So?" said Braesig. "You mean because she is the youngest? Now come here a minute, I want to speak to you privately," and he led Frau Nuessler into the corner, and the two looked attentively at the old spittoon, which stood there. "Frau Nuessler," said he, "what is right for one, must be reasonable for the other. You have given your blessing to Lining, why not to Mining? Yes, it is true, she is not so thoughtful, because she is the youngest; but after all, Madame Nuessler, the difference in years is so little, in a pair of twins, that it is scarcely to be regarded, and then--you must give your daughter to the presbyter, and how he will take care of her, the devil knows! we know nothing about the ways of the clergy, for you and Jochen and I have never studied theology; but the other, the duel-fighter, you see how he stands there, as if he could cut his way through the world--a confounded rascal! well, you see with him, as a farmer, we shall have the advantage, for you and Habermann and I, and if the worst comes to the worst, Jochen himself, an look after him, and admonish him, and Keep him in order. And you see, Frau Nuessler, I always thought Jochen would improve with age; but does he improve? No, he doesn't improve, and it may be a real blessing for you to have this youth here, as a son-in-law, if he does well, for we are getting old, and when I close my eyes--well, I shall last a little while longer, perhaps--but it would be a great comfort to me to know that you had some one on hand, to look after you."

And the old fellow looked down fixedly into the spittoon, and Frau Nuessler threw her arm around his neck, and kissed him, for the first time in her life, and said in a quiet, friendly way; "Braesig, if you really think it right, then it cannot be against the will of God." Many an arbor has witnessed a fresher, rosier, more glowing kiss, but the old spittoon would not exchange with them.

And Frau Nuessler turned back, and went up to Rudolph, and said, "Rudolph, I say nothing more but, In God's name," and she drew Mining to her arms, and reached after Lining, and laid the two little twins alternately upon her breast, as she had done years ago, and hope stood again at her side, in her freshest, green wreath, as she had done years ago; yet it was quite different to-day, from that other time. Then she had given the two little twins, now she would take them away; for hope is like the bee, she plunger into every flower, and extracts from each its honey.

And Braesig went up and down the room, with great strides, and held his nose in the air, and snuffed about, and elevated his eyebrows, and turned out his little legs, with as much dignity and importance, as if he were the rightful father, who should give away the children, and had made up his mind to the sacrifice, and by him also stood a fair, womanly image. With a wreath, it was a wreath of moss and yellow immortelles; but it harmonized well with the still, sad eyes, and she took him softly by the hand, and led him again and ever again towards the mother and children, till he laid his hands on her head, and whispered in her ears, "Be content, you shall have them still."

Rudolph had gone directly up to Gottlieb, and offered him his hand: "You are no longer angry with me, to-day, are you, Gottlieb?" and Gottlieb pressed his hand, saying, "How can you think so, dear brother? Forgiveness is the Christian's duty." And the rector coughed, as if he were preparing to deliver a brief oration, but Kurz caught hold of his coat, and begged him, for God's sake, not to spoil the business--and then all at once, the company became aware that Jochen was missing. Where was Jochen?

"Good gracious!" cried Frau Nuessler, "where is my Jochen?"

"Good gracious! where is Jochen?" repeated one and another; but Braesig was the first who made any efforts to bring him back to his proper place; he ran out, and screamed out of the front door, across the court-yard, "Jochen!" and ran back again, and screamed through the garden, "Jochen!" and, as he came back through the kitchen, he saw a fiery face puffing and blowing at the coals, under a great copper kettle, and that was Jochen's face.

The feeling had come over him, that he ought to do something, in honor of such a special occasion, and his heart became so warm, that five and twenty degrees (Reaumur) in the shade seemed too cool for him, and since he wanted to bring his outside into harmony with his inside, and could think of nothing more suitable to a family festival, he decided upon punch, and was brewing it in the most energetic manner. Braesig assisted, and undertook the tasting, and they came back finally, bearing in Frau Nuessler's largest soup-tureen, both fiery as a pair of dragons guarding a treasure, and Jochen placed it on the table, with the single word, "There!" and Braesig said to the little twin-apples, "Go to your father, and thank him; your father thinks of everybody."

As the old fellows gathered about the punch-bowl, and the young people had something else to think about, Frau Nuessler stole quietly out of the room; she wished to talk over the matter with an older friend than Braesig.

The little twin-apples were hidden in the green arbor of their happy future; only as Uncle Braesig's playful jests blew aside the green leaves, their blushing faces were revealed.

"Yes," said he to Gottlieb, "there are all sorts of people in the world, and wicked Pietists among them. You wanted to convert me, take care I don't convert you; I shall convert you by means of Lining." And as Gottlieb was about to reply, he stood up, and gave him his hand in the heartiest manner, "Well, never mind, you will have fire enough yet, and if you are the village pastor, I shall get on well with you, and we shall be good friends."

And to Rudolph, he said, "Just wait! You have caught my tench out of the pool, you rascal, but Hilgendorff will make you face the music," and he went up to his young fishing-comrade and whispered in his ear: "It is not so bad! You must always think of Mining, with every bushel of corn you measure out, and when you are out in the spring, in a stiff east wind, with a dozen laborers, and the old loam-dust flies in your nose, and sticks there, as if a swallow had built her nest in your head, and the sun looks out through the dust, as round and red as a copper-kettle, then you must think that is Mining's face, looking down on you. Isn't it so, my little godchild?"

Meanwhile the rector had drank three glasses of punch, one to the health of each betrothed pair, and one to the health of the company, and he would allow himself no longer to be hindered, even by Kurz, from resuming his interrupted speech. He began with the introduction to the introduction. He stood up, reached after a tea-spoon and after the sugar-tongs, which had been on the table since coffee was served, coughed a couple of times, as a sign that he was ready to begin, and when he was aware that all were looking at him, and Jochen had folded his hands, he first looked very thoughtfully, now at the spoon, and then at the tongs. All at once, he thrust the spoon right under Braesig's nose, as if Braesig had stolen it, and must be convicted of the act: "Do you know that?"

"Yes," said Braesig, "what of it?" Then he held the sugar-tongs before Kurz's eyes, and asked if he knew it.

Kurz knew it, it was Jochen's.

"Yes," he began; "you know them; that is, you have a sensible perception of them, you know how to distinguish them from other objects by color, shape, and brightness: but the moral conception, which I connect with them, you do not know."

He looked around, as if he expected some one to contradict him; but they were all silent.

"No, you do not know it! I must communicate and explain it to you. See, how long will it be before the careful housewife of this family will come and take spoon and tongs, and put these, which are now visibly divided, lying here on the table, into one common tea-caddy, where they will rest together; in thousands of houses they rest together in one tea-caddy, and for a thousand years, they rest together in one tea-caddy. It is a custom honored for ages, that what belongs together should not be separated. And Adam"--here he held up the sugar-tongs--"and Eve"--then he held up the tea-spoon--"belonged together, for they were created for each other,"--here he held them both up--"and the Lord himself put them together in the tea-caddy of Paradise. And what did Noah do? He built himself an ark, a tea-caddy,--if you will, my beloved,--and he called the males and females, and they followed his call,"--here he marched the sugar-tongs over the table, alternately pinching them together and letting them loose again, and shoved the tea-spoon after them--"and they went----"

"Come in!" cried Braesig, for somebody knocked at the door, and in walked Fritz Triddelsitz. "Herr Habermann's compliments to Herr Nuessler, and would he lend him a pair of rape-sifters, as they were ready to begin harvesting." This made a little disturbance, but the rector remained standing at his post.

"Yes," said Jochen, he would do so; and Fritz perceiving by the odor of the punch, and the rector's state of preparation,--which he knew well enough of old, since he had many a time made his shoulders black and blue,--that there was something unusual in progress, crossed the room on tiptoe, and sat down, and Jochen said, "Mining, help Triddelsitz." Fritz drank, and the rector waited.

"Begin again at the beginning," said Braesig, "else Triddelsitz cannot understand it."

"We were speaking, then," began the rector----

"About the sugar-tongs and the teaspoon," cried Kurz, wickedly, "and that they belonged in the tea-caddy," and he snatched the silver out of his hand and put it into the caddy, saying, "There, now the males and females are in Noah's ark, and I think ours will get in there too. You must know, Triddelsitz, we are celebrating a double betrothal here, to-day, and that is the principal thing; the rector's sermon is only the fringe about the garment. What is Habermann doing?"

"Oh, thank you," said Fritz, "he is very well," and he stood up, and offered his congratulations to the two couples, on their betrothal, in suitable terms enough, and yet with rather a condescending manner, as if it were merely a birthday, and the little twin-apples were betrothed every year. The rector stood waiting, all this time.

"Lining, help uncle rector," said Jochen.

She did so, and the rector drank; but, instead of diverting his attention, the punch moved and stirred and poked about among the thoughts which he had collected for his speech, and there was a great commotion in his brain, and every idea wanted to take the lead, but they were constantly pushed back by one after another of the company, now Jochen, now Kurz, and now Fritz, and as he was at last bringing forward his heavy artillery of "reflections on marriage," Braesig observed, in the most innocent way, "You have been very happy, then, in the married state, Herr Rector?"

He seated himself, with a deep sigh, and to this day, no one knows whether it was over his marriage or his speech. I incline to think the latter, for I hold it easier to resign a happy marriage than a happy speech.

It was now evening, and the rector, Kurz, and Triddelsitz took leave; Rudolph also was to go with them, for Braesig and Frau Nuessler had both given their opinion that he should get into the traces immediately, for his new business, and not loaf about any longer. Jochen and Braesig accompanied the others a little way.

"How does your new master get on, Triddelsitz?" inquired Braesig.

"Thank you, Herr Inspector, he is quite remarkable, he made a speech to the laborers this morning, as one might say, extempore."

"What!" exclaimed Kurz, "does he make speeches too?"

"What had he to speak about?" asked Braesig.

"What did he make?" asked Jochen.

"A speech," said Triddelsitz.

"I thought he was going to be a farmer," said Jochen.

"Why, yes," said Triddelsitz; "but cannot a farmer make a speech?"

That was too much for Jochen; a farmer make a speech? such a thing had never occurred to him before; he did not say another word during the whole evening, until, just before he fell asleep, he uttered his ultimate conclusion: "That must be a confounded smart fellow!"

Braesig did not give up so easily. "What had he to speak about?" said he again. "If there was anything to be done about the laborers, there is Habermann!"

"Herr Inspector," said the rector, falling in, "a good speech is always in place. Cicero----"

"Who was this Cicero?"

"The greatest orator of antiquity."

"Eh, I didn't ask about that; I mean, what was his business; was he a farmer, or a shopkeeper, or was he appointed a magistrate, or was he a doctor, or what was he?"

"I have told you, he was the greatest orator of antiquity."

"Oh, antiquity here, antiquity there! if he was nothing else--I cannot bear those old gabblers, a man should do something. Let me tell you, Rudolph, don't be an orator, you may fish, for all me, it is all one, perch or carp,--but this speaking is as if you should go fishing in a well. And now, good night! Come Jochen!"

With that, they went off, and Fritz struck off to the right, across the Pumpelhagen fields, with a medley of thoughts in his head.

The old fellow was not envious, but it went against the grain that his two schoolmates in Rahnstadt should each have a bride, while as yet he had none. But he knew how to comfort himself. No, said he, he would not thank any one for such a bride as they had got; he could have had either of the little twins, but he wouldn't take them. Louise Habermann, too, might go to Jericho, for him. He would not be a fool, to pick the first good plum, for the first plums were always wormy; he would wait till they were all properly ripe, and then he could take his choice from the upper or the lower branches; and, meanwhile, all the little maidens who ran about the world on their pretty feet belonged to him, and then he was going to have a horse, and the very next day he would go and buy the Whalebone mare of Gust Prebberow.

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Chapter XX

A couple of weeks had passed, which Axel, instead of acquainting himself with his fields, and the management of his estate, spent, for the most part, with Flegel, the wheelwright, in his work shop. The model of his new machine had arrived, which was to plough, harrow, and break clods, all at the same time, and he must set it at work, for himself and for the world. Letters and accounts, and other business in the way of writing, incident to a large estate, must naturally be postponed; and when he came into the house to dinner or supper, he had an important air, as if he must show his young wife what progress he was making in husbandry. And who is more credulous than a young wife? a bride, perhaps? Oh, no! a bride is uncertain, she is feeling and inquiring round, she wishes to learn to know the man she loves; but when she believes that she has learned to know him, and has given him her hand for life, then she becomes secure, and follows him blindly, until the bandage is forcibly torn from her eyes, and even then, she turns away, and strives not to see, and thinks it her duty not to believe what she cannot help seeing. It was nothing wicked which he concealed from her, it was merely follies, and he himself believed that in future he should be active and diligent; but it was a pity that he did not understand, and she did not understand; for, with all her clear eyes and her clear head, she had no idea but it was the same with him as with herself, who went about looking into kitchen and cellar, into milk-house and butter-room, learning how to take the charge of the housekeeping into her own hands.

But everything has its time, and old Kopf, the shepherd, used to say, "On the ninth day, puppies got their eyes open." She was walking one day, towards evening in the garden, under the shade of the high enclosure which separated it from that part of the farm-yard, where the work-shop was situated; and, as she went thoughtfully up and down, she heard, on the other side of the fence, a scolding and disputing, as if two people were having a quarrel: "So? That doesn't suit you? Do you think it suits me? Rascal, what lies in my way? What are you doing here? I would like----" Bang! went something against the door. She became curious, and peeped through the fence; but saw only one man, that was the old wheelwright, Fritz Flegel, and there was nobody with him, at the moment, and he was carrying on the scolding and arguing with his tools and his work. Such a passion in a person entirely alone is very amusing, and the young Frau looked on, with laughing eyes as the old man went on cursing and scolding: "The devil take you, for all me I shall I go crazy over you?" bang! bang! he threw his tools about the shop, and through the half-open door, and then thrust his hands into his hair, and tossed it about his head. Then he stood still again, staring down at the ground. "Infamous creature! making me so much trouble and misery!"

"Good evening, Father!" said another voice, and Kegel, the day-laborer, came in, and stood leaning on his shovel, "what are you working here for? it is evening."

"Working, do you say? Here is something to work at! Say to torment one, rather. What? Do you call that a model? I can work very well after a model, but the devil himself couldn't work after such a model as that."

"Is that the same old beast, you had begun on, the other day?"

"What else should it be? You may ask me next summer, if it is finished!"

"He must have a clever head, though, to think out such things as that."

"So? Do you think so? let me tell you any blockhead can think out things, but the difficulty is to make them. You see, there are three sorts of people in the world; one understands things, but cannot make them, and the second can make them, but don't understand them, and the third can neither make nor understand, and he belongs to the last class,"--here he threw a wedge against the door,--"and that is why he torments a fellow so!"

"Yes, Father, that is so, he doesn't understand. You know, he said we were to go straight to him, if we wanted anything; well I went to him, and told him about the potato-land, how I wanted some more, and he said he knew nothing about such matters, he would speak to our old man about it. If he comes to him, I may wait long enough, for he knows that I let the hoeing go by."

"The old man for me! he stands by his word; he says to me, Flegel, cut me out a plough-board; and I do it, and he says, Flegel, the wheels must have new felloes, and I put them on, and I have nothing to worry about; but with him! You will see, neighbor, he will lie in the nettles, and we shall lie in the nettles too."

"That is so," said Kegel, "my potato-patch lies in the nettles, already."

"Yes," said Flegel, shutting the door, and pulling on his jacket, "but it serves you right! If you have no potatoes it is your own fault, because you did not hoe them; and if the inspector should give you more land, it would not help you."

"That is true," said Kegel shouldering his spade, and going off with Flegel, "it wouldn't help, especially towards filling the children's mouths, yet I might help myself by means of it."

People say, and it is true, that praise from the mouth of a child, or the humblest person, is pleasing to the wisest and most distinguished; but it is just as true that a hard judgment, from the same insignificant source, is painful, and especially painful when it concerns one whom we hold dear. And what had happened? It was only the gossip of laborers, such as often occurs among ignorant people; but the smile had gone from the young wife's eyes, and a look of vexation found place there. Her husband's insight, and his good will to carry out what he had promised in his speech, were called in question, and it all came from this, that he had not grown up to the business he had undertaken.

She was out of humor, when she came in to supper, and he was gay, so that their moods were discordant.

"So, dear Frida," said he, "now we are comfortably settled, I think it is time for us to make our visits in the neighborhood."

"Yes, Axel, but to whom?"

"Well, I think first our nearest neighbors."

"Our Pastor, first of all."

"Why yes, there, too,--later."

"Who else is there, in the neighborhood?" asked the young wife, reckoning over as if thinking aloud, "the landlord Pomuchelskopp, and the paechter[3] Nuessler."

"Dear Frida," said Axel, looking more serious, "you must be jesting about the paechter Nuessler, we can have no intercourse with paechter people."

"I do not agree with you," said Frida, quietly, "I look more at the man, than at his rank. It may not be the same here, as with us, in Prussia; but in my father's house, we were intimate with several paechter families, why not here? Frau Nuessler seems to be a very nice woman."

"My inspector's sister. I cannot visit her; it would not be suitable."

"But the landlord Pomuchelskopp?"

"Of course; the man is a proprietor, is wealthy, is a deputy, as well as myself--"

"And is notorious, in the whole region, and his wife yet more so. No, Axel, I shall not visit there."

"My dear child----"

"No, Axel. If the paechter Nuessler had bought the Gurlitz estate, would he be another person, and would you visit him?"

"That has nothing to do with the case. I shall not visit the paechter," said Axel, angrily.

"Nor I the landlord, I have an aversion to the family," said Frida, putting down her trump, also.

"Frida!" begged Axel.

"No, Axel," said she, decidedly, "I will go with you to Gurlitz, to-morrow, but I shall stop at the Pastor's."

That was the conclusion; there was no quarrel about it, but each remained fixed in the same decision. How readily and gladly would she have yielded, if she had not sat down to supper with the uneasy feeling that Axel was lacking in insight to understand a business, and in firmness to carry it out; and how readily and gladly would Axel have yielded, and stayed away from Pomuchelskopp's, if it had not been always in his mind that Pomuchelskopp was a rich man, and he must keep on good terms with him, because he might be useful; how readily and gladly he would have called at the Nuesslers', but for the foolish opinions he had imbibed, in his regiment.

But it was done; and could not be undone, the first beginning of discord had entered the house, and the door stood half-open for the rest to follow; for discord is like one of those dragon's tails that children play with, there is a long thread, and bit after bit is fastened to it, and though each bit is a mere nothing, it makes a great bunch, when it is rolled up in a heap, and it is hard to disentangle, for there is neither beginning nor end to be found.

The next afternoon they walked over to Gurlitz;--in that, Axel had yielded to Frida, who preferred walking to riding,--and Axel took his wife to the door of the parsonage, and promised to call for her; he himself went to the court.

The Pomuchelskopps were just taking coffee, and Philipping and Nanting and the other little ones were playing their tricks, and standing about the table, like colts at the rack, and dipping biscuits in the chicory-coffee, and smearing their faces, and dabbling with fingers and tea spoons in the cups, after the soaked biscuit, and writing their beautiful name. "Pomuchelskopp," in the spilt coffee and milk, all over the table, and shoving and pushing each other, and then looking up innocently at their mother, as if they were not the culprits; for Haeuning, in her every-day black gown, sat with them at the table, and kept order.

It was a charming family picture, full of domestic happiness, biscuits and chicory; and Pomuchelskopp lay in the corner of the sofa, and smoked his pipe. He had finished his coffee, for father was served first, with pure coffee, out of a special coffee-pot; but it was a cheat, after all, for Malchen and Salchen, who took turns in making the coffee, always drank off the first drawing from father's, and filled it up with chicory, out of the family pot. He sat in his sofa corner, with his left leg thrown over the right, quite in accordance with Duke Adolph von Klewe's direction: "A judge should sit for judgment in this manner, with the left leg thrown over the right," etc., and if he was not a judge, he was something more important, at this very moment he was a law-maker, and thinking about the Landtag, (assembly of deputies,) which he had positively decided to attend next year.

"Haeuning," said he, "next year, I am going to the Landtag."

"So?" said the old woman, "have you no other way to spend your money?"

"My Kluecking, it is expected of me; I must show myself, and it will not be very expensive. The Landtag is held quite near us next year, at Malchen, and if I take a basket with me----"

"So? and I shall go round in your boots meantime, wading through the deep mud in the farm-yard, to look after the threshers?"

"My Kluecking, Gustaving is here for that, and if I am needed I can be here again, at any time."

"But, father," said Malchen, who was the only one of the family who ever looked into the Rostock "Times," and for that reason, and because she always knew where the Grand Duke and the Frau Grand Duchess were, at the time being, considered herself to have a great taste for politics, for Pomuchelskopp read only the prices current, and the rate of exchange,--"but, father, if something important should come up, for instance about the red cloak, whether you burgher-proprietors may also wear red cloaks, or about the convent question, then you couldn't get away."

For she possibly had a feeling, that the convent question might become her question.

"Now, you do not really think," said Pomuchelskopp, going up and down the room with great strides, "that your father would make himself so common, and run in the same groove with all the burgher proprietors, and vote with them, and neglect his affairs at home? No, if anything is wanted here, you must write, and I will come, and if I want the red cloak, I know a better way to get it--let every man look out for himself--and it is more honorable for me, if I get it alone, and not with trumpery landlords, who have perhaps a couple of thousand thalers, and when I come back sometime, and say, Malchen, I alone have got it! then you may be proud of your father;" and with that he stalked about the room, and puffed tobacco in the eyes of his innocent children, till they looked like trumpeting angels in the clouds, who needed only a mouth-piece, with which to trumpet his future glory.

"Kopp, are you going daft?" inquired his loving wife.

"Let me alone, Haeuning! Always noble! Tell me who you go with, and I will tell you who you are. If I agree with the nobility----"

"I should think you had got snubbing enough from the nobility."

"Haeuning," began Pomuchelskopp, but went no further, for Salchen, who sat by the window, sewing, sprang up: "Good heavens! there comes the Herr von Rambow into the yard."

"Haeuning," said Pomuchelskopp once more, and there was great reproof in his expressive eyes, "do you see the nobleman comes to me. But now, out with you! Out!" and he hunted his offspring out of the room. "Malchen, take the coffee things away! Salchen, a wiping cloth! And Haeuning," folding his hands in supplication, "now go and put on another dress!"

"What?" said she, "do I go to him, or does he come to me? I am good enough for him, as he finds me."

"Haeuning," begged Pomuchelskopp, abjectly, "I beseech you! you will spoil the whole thing with your black morning dress."

"Muchel, are you a perfect idiot?" she asked, not stirring from her seat, "Do you think he comes on your account, or on mine, either? He comes because he wishes to make use of us, and, for such a beggar, the old sacque is good enough."

Muchel still petitioned,---vainly. Malchen and Salchen whisked out of the room, to dress themselves up a little,--the old woman sat there, stiff as a stake.

Axel came in, and greeted the pair, and the old black sacque received as much attention as the green checked trousers, for the young Herr knew how to turn his good manners to account, at the right time, so that Pomuchelskopp was quite carried away with the friendliness and graciousness of the young nobleman, and Haeuning became so cheerful and affectionate that she called her dear husband "Poeking;" yes, even the old every-day black gown grew so ashamed of its own shabbiness, in this sunshine of courtesy, that even to Frau Pomuchelskopp's eyes, it looked quite rusty. And now Salchen came in, as if she had forgotten something, and then Malchen came in, as if she had something to attend to, and Pomuchelskopp introduced them, and the courteous conversation took an artistic turn, over Salchen's embroidery, and again a political, as Malchen happened to take up the Rostock "Times." And Philipping came in, and placed himself in the corner, behind his mother, and Narting came in, and stood by Philipping, and the other little ones all came in, one after another, and crowded up beside them, till Haeuning looked like our old black hen, with all her chickens huddled about her, when a hawk is in the air. And when mother took the key of the linen-closet out of the basket, and went out,--for, she said to herself, one must do something in return for so much courtesy,--the whole brood followed her, for in that linen-closet were kept the cookies, which Haeuning always kept on hand, and baked fresh, twice a year. And these cookies were always very fine, only they acquired, in course of time, rather a soapy taste, as they took the flavor from the linen; but that didn't hurt them for the children, they were not fastidious, and had always been accustomed to the flavor, and if Axel had not been listening to Pomuchelskopp, he must have heard the begging and whining outside; "Mother, me!" "Mother, me too!" But Pomuchelskopp had taken possession of him, and was endeavoring to inspire him with a good opinion of himself and his family.

"You see, Herr von Rambow," said he, "you find here an extremely simple family, I am very simple, my wife--" here he looked round to see if Haeuning were present--"is extremely simple, as you have seen; my daughters, my other children, have been brought up very simply. We make no pretensions, we merely live by ourselves, in a happy family-circle. Every society does not suit us, thank God, we are sufficient to ourselves; but," he added, putting on a venerable patriarchal expression, "every one must pull his own rope, each has his particular occupation, which he must attend to,--must, I say, when he has once undertaken it, and then the blessing of God will not be wanting."

Axel said, courteously, he believed that must be an excellent arrangement.

"Yes," said Pomuchelskopp, catching hold of Philipping, who had his mouth full of eight and ninety per cent cooky, and two per cent fresh soap, and presenting him to the young Herr: "Make your compliments, Philipping! You see this little fellow, he looks after the eggs, that is to say, when the hens lay astray; for every dozen eggs, he gets a shilling, and the money goes into his saving's box. Philipping, how much have you collected, already, my little son?"

"Seven thalers, and forty-three shillings,"[4] said Philipping.

"You see, my boy," said Pomuchelskopp, patting his child on the head, "the blessing of God always accompanies industry; and so," turning again to Axel, "Nanting has old iron, nails, horse-shoes, etc., he gets paid for it by the pound, and Marriken and Heining and Stoeffing have the apples and pears and plums, that is, the wind falls; to be sure, they are mostly unripe, but no matter, the city people buy them. So you see, Herr von Rambow, each one of my children has his own apartment."

Axel laughed in his sleeve a little, at this conclusion, and Malchen and Salchen looked at each other, and laughed secretly over their father's blunder, for Pomuchelskopp slipped occasionally, as well as Braesig; but there was a great difference between the two. Braesig knew very well that he made queer work of foreign words, but he had fallen into the habit of using them, and could not leave off, it pleased him, and injured nobody else; but Pomuchelskopp meant to ornament his language with them, and when he found that he had said something ludicrous, he was out of humor. When he saw his daughters laughing together, he knew this was the case, and it was fortunate that his Haeuning came in, just then, with a bottle of wine, and a plate of cookies, and, to his joy, without her black sacque, in a yellow silk gown, and with a stately cap on her head.

"Haeuning," said Pomuchelskopp, "not that wine! When we have such a highly honored guest, let us offer him the best we have!"

"Order it yourself, then," said the old woman, curtly. He did so, and then resumed the thread of his discourse:

"Yes, and my two eldest daughters have also each her peculiar province. Salchen is all for art, with her embroidery and piano-playing, and Malchen cares more for the newspapers and politics." Axel professed to be astonished at Malchen's taking pleasure in such things, which ladies usually cared nothing about, and Malchen replied, somebody must trouble themselves about such things, for father wouldn't, and now he was a deputy, he ought to know what was going to be done at the Landtag, adding that, just as Herr von Rambow came in, they were saying that father must go to the Landtag next year.

"Yes, Herr von Rambow," said Muchel, "I am going, for once; not on account of the business which my burgher colleagues are moving about, that does not concern me, and I know the difference between nobles and burghers, very well; no! I am only going for once, to show people who I am."

Axel then asked, for sake of saying something, if Pomuchelskopp had any intercourse with the people in the neighborhood.

"With which of them?" asked Pomuchelskopp. "With the farmer at Rexow? He is a blockhead. With the inspector? He does not suit me. And there is nobody else about here."

"Then you don't associate with the Pastor?

"No, not with him either. He has behaved in such a manner from the first, that I would have nothing to do with him; he has intercourse with people who do not suit me, and he has adopted the daughter of your inspector, Habermann, and I should be sorry for my daughters to have any acquaintance with her.

"I thought she was a very worthy girl," said Axel.

"Oh, yes, I dare say," said Pomuchelskopp. "I don't want to say anything bad of the girl,--you see, Herr von Rambow, I am a simple old man,--but I knew Habermann long ago, I will not say that he cheated me at that time, but--no! I have not been pleased at the way and the manner in which she and the young Herr von Rambow have been brought together, by her own father, and the parsonage people."

"With my cousin Franz?" asked Axel.

"Is his name Franz? I mean the one who was studying here, with Habermann. I don't know him, he never came to my house. But I liked what I heard about him."

"He is always writing to her," said Haeuning.

"No, mother," said Malchen, "you mustn't say that, his letters are always to the Pastor. Our post-boy always brings the Pastor's letters with ours," she explained to Axel.

"That is all the same," said Haeuning, "I beat the sack, but I mean it for the donkey."

"This is the first I have heard of the matter," said Axel, looking annoyed.

"Yes!" said Pomuchelskopp, "the whole region knows it. Under the pretence of visiting her father and your sisters, she was always running after him, and when something came between them once, Habermann and the parsonage people soon made it right again."

"No, father," said Salchen, "old Braesig was the chief canal, he was always fetching and carrying."

"Who is this old Braesig?" asked Axel, now really irritated.

"He is an old beggar!" cried Haeuning.

"That he is," said Pomuchelskopp, puffing himself up, "he has got a little pension from the Herr Count, and now he has nothing better to do than to run from one to another, and tell tales of people; and then he is besides----"

"No, father," interrupted Malchen, "let me tell that. Herr von Rambow, the old fellow is a democrat, an out and out demo-crat!"

"That he is," continued Pomuchelskopp, "and I shouldn't wonder if he was an incendiary as well."

And this good-for-nothing subject had sat at Axel's own table, and whose fault was it? Habermann's. These communications having sufficiently heated the young gentleman's blood, and the cookies not being very tempting, he took leave and Pomuchelskopp went with him across the yard, to the gate.

"Is that really true, about my cousin?" asked Axel, as they went out together.

"Herr von Rambow," said Pomuchelskopp, "I am a simple old man, and at my age, one does not trouble himself about such stories. I merely tell you what people say."

"It can be only a passing fancy; 'out of sight, out of mind.'"

"I don't believe that," said Pomuchelskopp, very seriously; "so far as I know Habermann, he is a crafty old serpent, who always keeps a definite end in view. Your Herr Cousin is caught."

"The boy must be crazy," said Axel, "but he will be obliged to listen to reason. Farewell, Herr Neighbor! I thank you for your company so far, and hope to see you soon. Adieu!" and with that he turned towards the right, into the street.

"Begging your pardon," called Pomuchelskopp after him, "you are going the wrong way; you turn to the left to go to Pumpelhagen."

"I know it," said Axel, "I am going to the Pastor's, to call for my wife. Adieu!"

"Ah," said Pomuchelskopp, going back across the yard, "this is very nice, this is very pretty! For the young Herr, I am good enough; but for the gracious lady? Children!" cried he, as he entered the door, "the gracious lady is at the Herr Pastor's, we are not good enough for her."

"That pleases me, uncommonly, Poeking," said the old woman, "that the nobleman has put such a fine pair of leather spectacles on you."

"Is it possible!" exclaimed Salchen.

"Possible indeed!" said her father, "it is certain;" and he gave Nanting and Philipping, who were running about, the remainder of the cookies, one apiece: "Out with you, baggages!" and he threw himself into the sofa corner, and struck at the flies; and the old woman teased him with invidious remarks about distinguished acquaintances, and beggars, and the nobility, and said, "Salchen, take that bottle of costly wine back to the cellar; there is some in it still, father can treat some highly honored friend with it." And after a while she called, "Father, come here to the window! See, there goes your distinguished friend, with his gracious lady--the foolish fellow! and who have they with them? Your incendiary, that old Braesig!"

It was really so: Braesig was walking with the pair, towards Pumpelhagen, and it did not trouble him in the least that Axel turned a cold shoulder on him, and gave him very short answers, for he was taking his delight in the gracious lady, whom he had met at the Pastor's, and whom he had found still more pleasing to-day than at the dinner.

And she might well have pleased him, or have pleased any body, as she came in, so friendly and confiding, to the Frau Pastor's parlor, where he sat with the old Herr Pastor, who was lying half sick upon the sofa; as she held back the old gentleman, who would have risen in honor of her visit, and, laying her two hands on the little Frau Pastorin's shoulders, asked if she would be mother-confessor to one who was a stranger, and needed good advice, And then turned to Braesig, and shook hands with him as frankly, as if he were an old acquaintance. And then Louise! came in, and she greeted her also as an old acquaintance, but kept looking at her, as if there were something new to be read in her face, and grew thoughtful, as one who reads a beautiful book, and will not turn the leaf, until he fully comprehends it.

The young Frau had many leaves to turn here, and upon every leaf stood something lovely and intelligent; on the Pastor's side, stood experience, and friendliness and benevolence, and on the Frau Pastorin's stood housewifery, and enjoyment of life, and the kindest disposition, crossed over each other, and on Louise's stood modesty, and good sense, and pleasure at meeting a lady who bore that name which had become so dear to her; and on Braesig's side, stood at first sight, only notes on the whole, but they belonged to the matter, and made it clearer, and the young Frau read these notes with as much pleasure as we sluggards used, formerly, on the pons asinorum, or ad modum Minellii, in Cornelius Nepos. And it all harmonized together, so sweetly and innocently, and there was such love and joyousness, that the gracious young lady felt as if she stood among a group of pretty children, in a lovely garden, under cool shadows of old trees, dancing Kringelkranz, and Louise stood in the ring, and reached her hand towards her, saying, "Come, now you must release me!"

Into this lovely peace Axel came, full of annoyance at the story that had been trumpeted in his ears, and vexed at having to call for his wife among such people, and Braesig's greeting, "Good day, Herr Lieutenant!" quite overflowed the measure of his good temper. He turned shortly to the Pastor, and made some indifferent remark about the weather, but so coldly, that his manner struck like an icicle to the warm heart of his wife, and she sprang up, hastily, to take leave, that all this warm friendliness should not be chilled, as by a shower of hail in summer.

They went, but Uncle Braesig went too, not at all disturbed by the young Herr's discourtesy; he had done nothing, and he had a good conscience, and withal he had a great opinion of his ability in entertaining people, and putting them in a good humour, when they were vexed. He limped along, therefore, by the young lieutenant, and talked to him of this and that, but did not succeed in changing the young Herr's short and cutting replies to more friendly remarks. But as the young Herr stopped, where the church path joined the street, and asked him which way he would go, it shot through his head, for the first time, that the "confounded fool" might think he wished to force himself upon them.

"Listen to me, Herr Lieutenant," said he also standing still, "this strikes me as very strange. Perhaps you are ashamed to be seen walking with me, in the public street? Then let me tell you, I was not going on your account, I was only going with your honored, gracious lady wife, because she is friendly towards me. In future, I will not incommode you," and, with a profound bow to the young lady, he started off across the rape-stubble, to Habermann, who was building a stack of rape-straw, near by.

"Axel," said Frida, "why have you grieved that good-hearted old man?"

"Your good-hearted old man is nothing but an old tattler and busybody."

"Do you really believe that? and do you think, if he were, our Habermann would be on such intimate terms with him?"

"Why not, if he is useful to him?"

The young wife looked at him half astonished, half grieved: "Axel, what is the matter with you? You were always so friendly towards everybody, and trusted everybody, what has prejudiced you so against these people? against these, too, who have always been so friendly and honest towards us?"

"Friendly? Why shouldn't they? I am the master of the estate. But honest? Time will show, and what I have heard today, does not agree very well with my conception of honesty."

"What have you heard? From whom have you heard it?" asked Frida, quickly and meaningly. "Tell me. Axel! I am your wife."

"I have heard a good deal," said Axel, in a derisive tone, "I have heard, that our Habermann, as you call him, has already been a bankrupt; and the best thing I heard about him was that he perverted the influence that he exercised as an instructor, to fasten his daughter--with the help of the parsonage people and this old go-between, whom I have just got rid of--to our cousin Franz, and"--he added, angrily and spitefully, "the stupid dunce has let himself be caught!"

Frida boiled over with indignation; by this detraction, not merely that poor child, Louise Habermann, but her whole sex was wounded to the heart, and put to shame; her eyes kindled, as she grasped Axel by arm, and made him stand still: "You have been in bad company, and have yielded to the most unworthy influences!" Her hands loosed their hold, the anger passed, and a deep sadness came over her. "Oh, Axel," cried she, "you used to be so good, how can such insinuations disturb your honest judgment?"

Axel was startled at the heat with which his wife took up the matter, he would gladly have taken back what he had said; but he had said it, and if he should make light of it now, he would seem to himself like a credulous, easily prejudiced man, and he wished to seem a decided one, so he took nothing back, but said, "Frida, what ails you? There is no denying the matter. The whole region knows that our foolish cousin has entangled himself with this girl."

"If you will express this part of your news differently, if you say that your cousin has fallen in love with this girl, I shall be glad to believe it, and your cousin, whom I do not yet know, will be so much the dearer to me."

"What? Shall my cousin, who has a large, independent fortune, marry the daughter of my inspector?"

"That is the greatest advantage of a large, independent fortune for a young man, that he is free to choose; and, truly! he has not chosen unworthily."

"And so I shall be connected with my inspector, in a sort of family relationship, and this old busybody, who has tied and twisted, and knotted the match, shall triumph? I will never, never consent to such a thing!"

"See here!" cried Frida, "it is in this part of your news, that the lies and calumny are interwoven; how is it possible for you to believe such an unlikely accusation? How can you--to say nothing of this lovely, innocent girl--suspect such a simple, old man, such an affectionate father, who finds his own happiness only in that of his daughter,--how can you suspect the worthy Pastor and his kind-hearted wife, or this poor old man, who has just left us, feeling so grieved, and to whom, in his uprightness, many an inappropriate word may be pardoned,--how can you suspect these people, of making the darling of their hearts the object of a speculation!"

"Oh, that is very easily understood," said Axel, "they wanted to insure her happiness."

"Oh," said Frida earnestly and sadly, "then we differ widely in our conception of happiness. One never obtains happiness in such ways."

"I was not speaking of my idea of happiness," said Axel, surprised at the reproach, "I meant only what these people consider happiness."

"Do not deceive yourself in this, Axel, for God's sake, do not deceive yourself! A higher rank may afford one a wider range in social relations, but in more modest circumstances, on the other hand, love is more apt to be the controlling power, which is of far higher value than mere worldly relations,--and which we must so often do without," she added slowly, and wiped a tear from her eye, as she thought of her own youthful years, without a mother, brought up by her father alone, who could poorly sustain the style of living demanded by his rank, and consoled himself, for his trouble and pains, in the amusements of country squires.

They went home, and Axel was kind to her, in his good nature, and she took the kindness as it was meant, and they were again united,--at least to outward appearance,--for on the subject of discussion each retained his own opinion.

Braesig had gone to Habermann, who was standing by the foundation of his straw-stack; he was angry, exceedingly angry; this must be Pomuchelskopp's work; and his irritation could only be put out by a counter-irritation, he had a real hankering after a little farm-boy anger.

"Good day, Karl," said he, and pushing by Habermann, he bent his head, elevated his eyebrows, looked hard at the stack, and without raising himself up, stalked entirely round it.

"Are you going to bake a pancake, here?" he asked his friend, when he had completed his journey, and placed himself saucily before him.

"Ah, don't talk to me about it!" cried Habermann, out of humor, "I have vexed myself enough over it. I said yesterday to Triddlesitz he should lay the stack twenty paces through-measure, and he has laid it twenty paces half-measure, and, when I came out to-day, here stood this monster. Well, let it go; it is nothing but straw, even if it should get spoiled by the rain; but I cannot help being provoked to see such a pancake on my field."

"Yes, Karl, and your neighbor Pomuchelskopp will be cracking his jokes on it."

"Let him! But what to do with my Triddelsitz, I don't know. Since the time that the young Herr promised him a horse, he is of no mortal use."

"Try giving him a good flogging!"

"Ach, what good would that do? He can think of nothing but horses. He doesn't consult me, now-a-days, but our young Herr has advised him to get an English brood mare, and says he will buy the colts. And I sent him off this morning,--he is not to be talked out of it,--to make an end of the matter, and get his old mare."

"Gust Prebberow's chestnut mare, the Whalebone mare?"

"Yes, that must be the one."

"Splendid!" cried Braesig, "Beautiful! And he will exercise about on this horse, when the Grand Duke enters Rahnstadt? Karl, you have a great treasure in your greyhound!"

"Yes, Lord knows," said Habermann, looking at his stack.

"I say nothing of him as a farmer, Karl, I speak of him merely as an agreeable fellow, and if he agrees with his young master----"

"Braesig, don't speak of my master here, before the laborers."

"I agree with you there, Karl, it is not proper; but come this way!"

And when they had gone a little way towards the street, he stood still, and said, slowly and impressively, "Karl, this young fellow thought it something to be ashamed of, to be seen walking with me on the highway. What do you say now? He gave me a Timothy, in the presence of his lovely wife;" and he related the circumstances. Habermann tried to talk him out of his anger, but did not wholly succeed, for Braesig was too much provoked. "Karl," said he, "he has shot the arrow, in his stupidity, but it was pointed by Zamel Pomuchelskopp, for he had been calling there. And you may say what you will, Karl,--your young Herr is downright stupid, and when you are hunted away, then I shall amuse myself coming over here, and place myself on the hill, where I can overlook the fields, and see what sort of performances your young Herr and your greyhound carry on together."

"Well," said Habermann, "you can see one of them, at this moment. Just look round!" and he pointed down the road, near which they happened to be standing, behind a thorn-bush. Braesig looked, and stood stiff and stark with amazement, unable to utter a word; at last he said, "Karl, your greyhound is cracked. Apothecaries are often crackbrained, and it is natural their children should inherit it."

It really looked, as if Braesig were right. Fritz came riding up, on the famous horse, on a gentle trot. He had taken off his hat, and was swinging it violently in the air, and shouting with all his might, "Hurrah! Hurrah!" and all this, entirely by himself; for he did not perceive the two behind the thorn-bush, until he had ridden up to them, and Habermann asked if he were clean out of his head.

"They are nothing but lies," said Fritz.

"What are lies?" asked Habermann, sharply.

"That the mare cannot hear hurrahs," and with that he began to cry "Hurrah!" again. "You see," and he sprang off the horse, and tied it to a willow, and going off a few steps, again cried "Hurrah!" "You see, she does not budge an inch. And you"--he turned to Braesig, who was half dead with laughter, "you told me so; but it isn't true!"

"Yes," said Braesig, shaking all over, "but it is true, though. What I said, I say again: she cannot hear it, for the old granny has been, these five years that I have known her, stone deaf."

There stood Fritz Triddelsitz, the old clever, crafty Fritz Triddelsitz, wearing the most sheepish face imaginable.

"But," said he, at last, "Gust Prebberow is a good friend of mine, and he never told me that."

"Yes," said Braesig, "you will know, after this, that friendship goes for nothing, in a horse trade."

"Well, never mind, Triddelsitz," said Habermann, "one can get along with a deaf horse; take care not to get a dumb one!"

"Oh!" said Fritz, quite relieved, "no fear of that! Just look at her, what a model of a horse! Full blood! And Herr von Rambow is going to buy all the colts, and when I have sold three or four----"

"Then you can buy an estate," interrupted Braesig. "Yes, we know that, already. Now ride carefully up to the house, and don't upset your milk-pails, on the way, like the maiden. Karl, do you remember? In Gellert?"

Fritz rode off. "Good-for-nothing greyhound!" said Braesig.

"Well, I don't know," said Habermann, "I cannot help liking the old fellow, he has such a contented disposition."

"That is because of his youth, Karl," said Braesig.

"Well, perhaps so," said Habermann, reflectively. "See, there he goes, quite happy with his deaf, old, brood mare."

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Chapter XXI

And Fritz was happy, he was the happiest being at Pumpelhagen Court, for there was not much happiness there, and that which was painted as such was not in fast colors. Habermann became, from day to day, more and more conscious that his good times were over, for his young Herr meddled with business that he did not understand, and that merely by fits and starts, with a heat and haste, which spoiled the farming, and confused the people, and when things did not go as they should, and the cart got into the ditch, then the inspector had to bear the blame. The young Herr also was unhappy, he was tormented by debts, which he wished to keep secret from his wife, he was also tormented by letters from David and Slusuhr,--personally they no longer troubled him, he had settled that, on account of the secrecy he wished to maintain, and they were very willing to consent, for the more secret the business was so much the better could they shear him, and when they had him quietly by themselves in Rahnstadt, they could use quite other knives and pincers, than they could at Pumpelhagen, where he was host, and they were obliged to treat him with some degree of respect.

But, besides this, he was not happy; he wanted to play the master, and had not the stuff in him, for he who would command must have capacity as well as knowledge; he had knowledge enough, more than many people,--"but capacity! neighbor, capacity!" said old Flegel, the wheelwright, and he had reason; the unhappiest of men is he who will, and can not. And Frida? She also was unhappy; she observed that her husband's full confidence was not given to her, she noticed that upon many serious questions they differed widely in opinion, she noticed that the business he had taken as his life work was one for which he had no training, she felt that he was unfair enough to visit his own failings upon other people, and more than all,--and worst of all for a sensible wife,--she felt that he made himself ridiculous, and that Pomuchelskopp, who, against her wishes, came often to Pumpelhagen, must have other reasons than ordinary civility, for not laughing at the confused and inconsiderate opinions of her husband. She resolved to keep watch over him, but such an occupation did not increase her happiness.

Fritz Triddelsitz was the happiest creature in all Pumpelhagen, and, if we except the two little twin-apples, in the whole region; but we must except these, for in happiness and blessedness a bride goes beyond all other beings, even the bridegrooms themselves, for if old Gottlieb, who had taken a candidate's place, with a cheerful, brisk, burgher-like old proprietor, taught and flogged the boys with uncommon pleasure and fidelity, and if Rudolph also, with Hilgendorf at Little Tetzleben, strewed manure so that it was a pleasure to see him, and the Tetzleben soil looked like a velvet coverlid, and went to bed at night singing and piping, and regularly fell asleep, for weariness, in the middle of a verse,--in comparison with the little twin-apples' blessedness as they sat together and sewed, stitching on their trousseuax, and chatting, and joking with father and mother, and telling Louise, and showing their letters, all the bridegrooms' blessedness went for nothing.

But the old fellow was really very happy. The first thing in the morning, he went to the stable, where the young Herr's two riding-horses, and Habermann's old Gray stood, together with his treasure; he fed her, stealing the oats from the very mouths of the other horses, yes, although he had never been trained to the work, he groomed her, single-handed, for Krischan Daesel, who had charge of the riding-stable, did not give him satisfaction. On Sunday afternoons, when there was nothing else to do, he went to the stable, shut the door behind him, seated himself on the fodder-chest, folded his hands on his stomach, and thoughtfully contemplated the dear old creature, as she munched her oats and straw, and if she groaned from fullness he got up, stroked her back, and called her affectionately "his good old woman;" and three times a day he exercised her, for which devotion he should not be blamed, for upon her depended his future income.

But no happiness is perfect, a little annoyance always creeps in. And he had his share. In the first place, it went very much against him, that his chestnut mare should stand next Habermann's stiff old Gray: the company was not suitable; and secondly, he was in everlasting conflict with Krischan Daesel, about fodder and grooming.

"Herr Triddelsitz," said Krischan, once as they were disputing, "let me tell you, I feed the horses all alike, and groom them all alike; but I have often noticed that you take away the oats from the inspector's old gray, and give them to your mare. Now, don't take it ill of me, Herr Triddelsitz, but the gray is just as good a creature as the other, and has an equal right to a living. And what is this?" he asked, going up to the rack. "How? this is calf-hay; how comes this calf-hay here? I will have no vermin getting into the pelts, when the inspector comes round."

"I know nothing about it," said Fritz, and he really was ignorant.

"Well, it is all the same to me," said Krischan, "but if I catch any one bringing it into the stable, I will break his bones for him, for I won't be troubled with such things."

After that Krischan Daesel lay in wait, to catch the bringer of the calf-hay, and it was not long before he was successful. And who was it, who transgressed all law and order, for the love of Fritz's chestnut mare? Who was so hard-hearted as to deprive the innocent calves of their food, for the sake of Fritz's chestnut mare? Who was so foolhardy, for the sake of the chestnut mare, as to risk the breaking of her bones by Krischan Daesel? Who was it? I must tell, but let no one repeat it. It was Marie Moeller, who, every time she came from feeding the young calves, and passed the riding-stable, brought an armful of the sweet hay for Fritz's old woman.

Some one may turn upon me here,--hold! here you have blundered! How came they to have little calves in summer? I reply. Friend, that is my affair. I can skip over as much time as I please, and am now in the middle of winter, after the new year 1844. And if any one should inquire further. How came Marie Moeller to do such a thing? I would answer, that is as stupid a question as the one about the calves; have I not a right to introduce good-hearted people, who forgive and forget, into my book, as well as the spiteful and venomous, who bear malice to all eternity?

Marie Moeller could forgive and forget, and, since it was not suitable for her to throw herself openly upon Fritz's neck, she threw herself with her affection, and the calf-hay, upon the neck of the old mare, which was, just then, the dearest thing Fritz had in the world. And it was quite touching, and Fritz was really affected, when he learned the occasion of the quarrel between his old sweetheart and Krischan Daesel; he made his peace with his old love, and the pleasant ham-and-sausage relationship was resumed.

It was now winter, as I have said, And nothing remarkable had occurred in the region, only that Pomuchelskopp, late in the autumn, had taken his journey to the Landtag, causing a great excitement in his quiet, simple family. Haeuning skirmished about the house, threw the kitchen utensils around,--that is to say, such as were not liable to break,--banged the doors, and said, openly, the Herr Proprietor had gone crazy; Malchen and Salchen took the other side,--although secretly, for they had heard that the lieutenant, who commanded the Landtag Guards, derived a great part of his income from a splendid ball which he gave, with tickets of admission a louis-d'or each. They had been to the Whitsuntide-fair ball, at Rostock, they had been to a cattle-show; but a Landtag's ball? That must go beyond everything! They teased their father so persistently, that he took courage to speak out to his wife.

"Kluecken," said he, "I cannot do otherwise, I have promised Herr von Rambow, and he went yesterday, and will wait on me there."

"So?" said Haeuning, "and his peacock of a wife, will she wait on me?"

"Kluecking, that has nothing to do with it; and if I lose every opportunity of showing that I am a man who stands up for the nobility, how shall I get made a nobleman myself? See, I shall ride away to-day, with a black coat, we will talk about it again, when I come back with a red one."

"A pretty figure you will cut in it!" said the old woman, going out of the door.

"As good as any other nobleman," growled Pomuchelskopp, after her.

"Gracious! father, I know," cried Salchen, and she ran out, and came back with a scarlet flannel petticoat, which she threw over her father's shoulders, like a herald's mantle, and placed him before the mirror; and the Herr Proprietor turned about, and contemplated himself with great satisfaction, until the old woman came in again, and snatched off the petticoat: "If you will positively make a fool of yourself, you may do so at the Landtag, but not here in my house."

The Herr Proprietor took this for full permission to journey to the Landtag, and journeyed accordingly. But when he arrived at Malchin, and got down at Voitel's, his troubles began at once, for he had got into the wrong box; he should have stopped at the Bull, where the nobility resorted, and here he was among mere burgomeisters and burgher-proprietors, who could in no way aid his designs. He stood about in everybody's way, not knowing what to do with himself, and nobody else seemed to know, till at last he plucked up courage to inquire if any one had seen Herr von Rambow of Pumpelhagen, for he meant to pattern after Axel. Nobody had seen him; at last some one said that the Herr von Rambow had gone off that afternoon, with the Herr von Brulow, to Brulowshof, to see his blood horses. In his great embarrassment, he finally went up to a rather large and stately gentleman, who had something friendly in his appearance, but with a roguish gleam in his eyes as if he enjoyed a joke, when he had an opportunity.

"Begging your pardon," said he, "I am the proprietor Pomuchelskopp, of Gurlitz, and am here, for the first time, as a deputy. You appear to be a friendly man, and I want to ask you what I have to do here."

"Yes," said the stranger, taking a pinch of snuff, "what have you to do here? You have nothing further to do; you will have made the necessary visits already?"

"No," said Pomuchelskopp.

"Well, then, you must pay your respects to the deputy-governor, the land-marshal, and the landrath. Good evening, Langfeldt, where are you going?" he interrupted himself, and addressed this question to a man who was just going out with a lantern in his hand.

"To make the stupid old visits," said he, turning round in the doorway. "Do you stay here, Brueckner? I will come back again, by and by."

"Don't wait too long, then," said the friendly Herr, and turned again to Pomuchelskopp. "So you have not made your visits yet?"

"No," said the Herr Proprietor.

"You should make them at once, then. The gentleman with the lantern has to make the same visits, you need only follow behind his lantern. That will do finely! But be quick, quick!" And Pomuchelskopp snatched his hat from the nail, rushed out of doors, and ran through the streets of Malchin, as fast as his stoutness and short breath would allow. The friendly Herr took a pinch of snuff, with his eyes full of mischief, and sat down quietly behind the table, laughing to himself, and saying, "I only wish I could see Langfeldt."

And it would really have been worth his while. When the burgomeister from Gustrow had gone in, to see the deputy-governor of Schwerin, and had given his lantern to the footman, something came puffing up the steps, and Pomuchelskopp made a low bow to the footman, and asked, "Herr Footman, where is the Herr whom one must visit here?" The man opened the door for him, and Pomuchelskopp bowed himself in, making his deepest reverences to Langfeldt, whom he took for the deputy-governor, for which he should not be blamed, since the Herr Burgomeister from Gustrow always held his head forward as if he were going to push through a wall with it, which would suit very well for a Mecklinburg deputy-governor. He turned Pomuchelskopp round, however, and showed him the right man, and since he was out of the fight, he went out, and took up his lantern. Pomuchelskopp feared that he would desert him, he made a couple of bows, and was off again, after Langfeldt's lantern.

At the land-marshal's, it was just so; the Herr Burgomeister had begun a courteous speech, when Pomuchelskopp came puffing in, behind him.

"What is that beast coming here again for?" said Langfeldt to himself, and quickly took leave, thinking to escape him; but the Herr Proprietor was persistent, the lantern was his only reliance, he rushed after him again. The performance was repeated at the landrath's; the burgomeister was getting very angry, and because he was well acquainted with the landrath, since they had sat together on the select committee, he did not restrain himself from speaking out:

"Herr, why do you run after me, so?"

"I--I--" stammered Pomuchelskopp, "I can make visits, as well as you!"

"Make them alone by yourself, then," cried the burgomeister.

The landrath endeavored to smooth matters, and Pomuchelskopp grew supercilious and obstinate; but when the burgomeister took leave, he followed him again, on account of the lantern. But the burgomeister's patience was wholly exhausted. "Herr!" said he, turning round on him in the street, "what are you running after me for?"

Pomuchelskopp, however, was no longer in distinguished company, he had found that he had only to do with a burgomeister, so he cleared his throat, and said:

"Herr, I am just as good a Fasan (pheasant) of the Grand Duke's as you are!" He meant to say Vasall (subject), but got it wrong. Even an angry man must have laughed at such a speech, and the burgomeister, who was an honest old fellow, quite forgot his vexation, and, laughing heartily, said:

"Come along then! Now I know what sort of a fellow you are."

"And where you can go," cried Pomuchelskopp, still in anger, "there I can go, any day!" and he trotted on again, after the lantern. He should not have done that, for Langfeldt had finished his visits, and was now going to his lodgings, to get his latch-key, and a little money for playing ombre. Pomuchelskopp followed him into his room. The Herr Burgomeister put down the lantern on the table,--the thing was getting to be very amusing,--turned round, and asked, laughing:

"Will you be kind enough to tell me what you want?"

"To make my visits as well as you," cried Pomuchelskopp, in great anger at being laughed at.

"To whom, then, here?"

"That is none of your concern," cried Pomuchelskopp, "the gentleman will come," and he sat down in a chair.

"Why, this is really a comedy," said the burgomeister, and he called out of the door: "Fika, bring a light!" and when Fika came he pointed to Pomuchelskopp, and asked her, "Fika, did you ever see a pheasant? See, this is a pheasant! This is the Grand Duke's pheasant!" and Fika shouted and laughed, and ran laughing out of the room, and the burgomeister's host came in, to take a look at the pheasant, and the host's children came in, and there was such a frolic, that Pomuchelskopp finally discovered whom he was visiting. He rushed out of the house, in great wrath, and the Herr Burgomeister went softly behind him, with the lantern.

"Langfeldt," inquired the friendly Herr, at Voitel's, taking a pinch of snuff, "have you made your visits properly?" and his eyes were full of roguery.

"Let me tell you," cried the Herr Burgomeister, "now I know! I might have thought that it was you who sent that beast after me." And he told the story, and so it came about, for the gentlemen at the Landtag will have their jokes, that Pomuchelskopp was called the pheasant, and Axel, after whom he was continually trotting, was called the "pheasant's keeper," and when Malchen and Salchen came up to the Landtag's ball, in gorgeous array, they were the "pheasant-chickens." When Pomuchelskopp wrote his assent on a ballot, with a "Jah!" (instead of "Ja," yes,) there were some who were for calling him the Landtag's donkey; but it wouldn't go, the "pheasant" had got the start too thoroughly.

No, he did not enjoy himself very much, at the Landtag, for even the nobility, after whom he dawdled, and with whom he voted, would have nothing to do with him, lest they should make themselves a laughing-stock; but when he reached home, his real trials began, for his Haeuning called him "Poeking," continually, and he knew what o'clock that was, and Malchen and Salchen did not stand by him, as they ought, for at the Landtag's ball they had sat, as if they were sitting on eggs. And they pricked and stung the poor, simple man and lawgiver, in his sofa corner, till a stone would have pitied him: "Poeking, what did you really do at the Landtag?" and "Father, are you going to be a nobleman soon?" and "Poeking, what do they do, any way, at the Landtag?"

"Oh, I don't know. They cut at each other."

"Poeking, who did you cut at?"

"Oh, I don't know. One cuts at one, and another at another."

"Father, what did they decide about the convent-question?"

"Oh, I don't know; you will find out soon enough, from the Rostock 'Times;'" and with that he went out to the barn and took refuge among the threshers.

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Chapter XXII

But--as I have said--the new year 1844 had come, and the winter was over, and spring stood at the door, with leaves and grass and flowers, only waiting a nod from the master of the house to begin her decorations; and, as the snow and ice disappeared from the earth, men's hearts were softened, and their eyes grew bright, like the sunshine that lay upon the world.

Old Habermann's eyes, also, grew clearer, and his heart became lighter, and as he worked in the fields in the spring sunshine, and sowed the summer seed in the dark ground, the Lord was sowing his sad heart with fresh hopes. His master had gone with his young wife to visit her relatives, so he could govern his realm after his own pleasure, and he could see his daughter more frequently than in the winter. This very morning he had spoken with her, when he went to church, and now he was sitting comfortably in his parlor, in the afternoon, thinking of various matters; no one disturbed him, for Fritz was in the stable with his mare, which was very agreeable for the old man, since he always knew where he was to be found, which, formerly, had not always been the case.

"Good day, Karl!" said Braesig, coming in at the door.

"What?" cried Habermann, springing up, "I thought you had the Podagra, and I was just wishing I could go over to see you to-day; but the Herr is not at home, and Triddelsitz is not to be depended upon in these days----"

"No, what ails him?"

"Oh, his old mare is going to have a colt."

"Ha, ha!" cried Braesig, "and it will be a thorough-bred, and the young Herr is to buy it."

"Yes, it is so. But have you had the Podagra, or not?"

"Karl, it is impossible to tell, in this confounded disease, whether it is the proper Podagra, or not. Really, it is all the same, so far as the torment is concerned; but in respect to the causes there is a great difference. You see, Karl, you get the Podagra by good eating and drinking, that is the proper kind; but if you get it only from these infamous, good-for-nothing, double-sewed wax-leather boots, that is the improper kind, and that is what I have."

"Yes, why do you always wear the old things, then?

"Karl, I used to wear them because of my relations with the count, and I cannot throw them away. But what I was going to ask--have you been at the Pastor's to-day?"

"Yes."

"Well, how is it there?"

"Ah, it looks badly, the old Herr is very weak: when he came out of the pulpit the sweat ran down his cheeks, and it was a long time before he got rested, lying on his sofa."

"Hm! hm!" said Braesig, shaking his head, "I don't like that; but, Karl, he is getting into years."

"That is true," said Habermann, thoughtfully.

"How is your little girl?" asked Braesig.

"Thank you, Zachary, she is very well, thank God! She was here last week,--I had no time to spare, I must be out sowing peas, but the gracious lady had seen her, and kept her, and she stayed here until evening.

"Karl!" cried Braesig, springing up, and walking back and forth, and biting off in his excitement, the knob from the point of his pipe, "you may believe me or not,--your gracious lady is the chief production of the whole human race."

Habermann rose also, and walked up and down, and every time that they met each other, they smoked more violently, and Braesig asked, "Am I not right, Karl," and Habermann replied, "You are right, Zachary." And who knows how long they would have ruminated upon this topic, if a carriage had not driven up, from which Kurz and the rector descended.

"Good day! good day!" cried Kurz, as he entered the room, "see there, see there, there is the Herr Inspector. Well, how goes it, old friend? Habermann, I came about that clover seed."

"Good day," said Rector Baldrian, to Braesig, drawing out the word "day," as if the day were to last forever, "how goes it with you, my honored friend?"

"Very well," said Braesig.

"Habermann," exclaimed Kurz, "Isn't it so? Capital seed!"

"Why, Kurz," said Habermann, "the seed wasn't quite ripe. I tried it on the hot shovel, and if it is the right kind, the kernels will spring up, like flies, from the shovel, but here many kernels lay still."

"You don't look quite so blooming, my honored friend," said the rector to Braesig, "as at the time when we drank punch together, at the betrothals."

"There is reason for that," said Habermann, throwing his arm over Braesig's shoulder, "my old friend has bad a touch of Podagra again."

"Yes, yes," laughed the rector, growing quite merry:

"Vinum the father, And c[oe]na the mother, And Venus the nurse, Produce the Podagra."

"The seed is beautiful!" cried Kurz, "you will find no better between Grimmen and Greifswald."

"Ho, ho, Kurz," said Habermann, "not go fast! I have a word to say----"

"Listen to me!" said Braesig, across to the rector. "Don't come near me with your French! I don't understand it. What did you say about Fenus? What have I, and my cursed Podagra, to do with Fenus?"

"My honored friend and benefactor," said the rector, with unction, "Venus was, in antiquity, the goddess of love."

"It is all one to me," said Braesig, "she might be something very different, for all I care,--now-a-days, every stupid sheep-dog is called Fenus."

"No, Habermann," cried Kurz, again, "if the clover seed has the right lustre, and looks so violet-blue, then----"

"Well, Kurz," said Habermann, "yours didn't look like that."

"My benefactor," said the rector again, to Braesig. "Venus was, as I have said, a goddess, and as a sheep-dog----"

"Eh, what?" said Braesig, "you must have imagined all that, about the goddess, Fenus means a sort of bird. Karl, don't you remember the stories we read, when we were children, about the bird Fenus?"

"Ah!" said the rector, as light dawned upon his mind, "you mean the bird Ph[oe]nix, which builds itself, in Arabia, a nest of costly spices----"

"That is an impossibility!" exclaimed Kurz. "How can the most skillful bird build a nest out of cloves, pepper-corns, cardamoms and nutmegs?"

"Dear brother-in-law, it is only a fable."

"Then the fable is a falsehood," said Braesig, "but I don't think you pronounce the word rightly; it isn't Ph[oe]nix, it is Ponix, and they are not birds, they are little horses, and they don't come from Arabia, but from Sweden, and Oland, and I know them very well, for my gracious lady the countess had two Ponixes, which she used to drive for pleasure."

The rector wanted to set him right, but Kurz interrupted: "No, brother-in-law, let it go! We all know that you are better informed than Braesig, in such learned matters."

"No," said Braesig, "let him come on!" standing before the rector, as if he had no objections to a contest.

"No, no!" exclaimed Kurz. "We didn't come out here, to quarrel about Venuses and clover-seed; we came merely to have a pleasant game of Boston."

"We can have that," said Habermann, beginning to clear the table.

"Hold, Karl," said Braesig, "I don't like to see you doing that, that is the house-steward's business." And with that he roared across the court, "Triddelsitz!" and Fritz came running in. "Triddelsitz, we are going to play Boston, get the table ready, and a sheet of paper to set down the winnings, and fill the pipes, and make a handful of matches."

And when Fritz had made ready, they sat down, and prepared to begin. They must first decide how high they would play. Kurz was for playing Boston grandissimo, for shilling points; but Kurz was always very venturesome; that was a little too high for the others, and Braesig declared that he wouldn't sit down to play, to get people's money out of their pockets. At last, through Habermann's interposition, they settled what the game should be, and were ready to begin.

"Who has diamonds?" asked the rector; "he deals."

"Kurz deals," said Braesig.

So now they could finally begin; but they did not begin, quite yet, for the rector laid his hand on the cards, and said, looking around the circle, "It is worthy of note! We are all pretty reasonable men, and we are going to play a game, namely the game of cards, which, according to authentic information, was invented for the entertainment of an insane king. King Charles of France----"

"Come, children," said Kurz, taking the cards out of the rector's, hand, "if we are going to play, let us play, if we are going to tell stories, we will tell stories."

"Go ahead!" cried Braesig, and Kurz dealt,--made a misdeal, however in his haste, so "Once more!" This time it was all right, and they began to look at their cards. "I pass," said Habermann, who had the lead. Then it came to the rector; they had to wait for him a little, because he had not yet arranged his cards, for he had a superstition that the cards were better if he took them up, one by one, and because he improved all his opportunities with great conscientiousness he arranged all his cards in order of rank and turned the sevens and fives so that he could see the middle spot, and not mistake them for the sixes and the fours. Kurz, meanwhile, laid his cards on the table, folded his hands over them, looked at him and sighed. "I pass," said the rector.

"I knew you would," said Kurz, for he knew that his brother-in-law must examine his cards closely, before he would commit himself, and, on the other hand, he was afraid of his assisting, because usually he either had nothing, or if he had something, he played it the wrong time.

"Pass!" said Braesig, whose turn came next.

"Boston grandissimo!" said Kurz. "Who assists?"

"Pass!" said Habermann.

"Dear brother-in-law," said the rector, "I--one trick--two tricks--well I shall find a third--I assist."

"Well," said Kurz, "but we don't pay together. Each pays for himself."

"Come, Karl," said Braesig, "Out with it! We will break their fiddle in two."

"Well," said Kurz, "don't talk about it."

"God forbid," said Habermann, and led the ten of hearts: "Duke Michael fell upon the land."

"Come, Herr Oberfoerster," said the rector, playing the knave of hearts.

"Herze mich und kuesse mich, und kruenkle meine krause nich,"[5] said Braesig, playing the queen.

"That maid must have a man," said Kurz, playing the king, and, laying the trick aside, he led a low club (kreuz). "Kreuz Kringel und Zweibach!"[6]

"Bite, Peter, they are lentils!" cried Braesig to Habermann.

"Hold!" cried Kurz, "no telling!"

"God forbid!" said Habermann, and played also a low club.

"A fine singer is our sexton," said the rector, playing the nine.

"A cross and strife, a wicked wife, the Lord hath sent upon me," said Braesig, and took the trick with the queen.

"Well," said Kurz, "that was a heavy cross, to be sure. What have you next?"

"Pay attention, Karl, now we begin our journey," said Braesig. "Herr," to Kurz, "I was whist. Here! Pikas was a pointer," and led the pik-as (ace of spades), and followed with the king,--"Long live the king!" and then the queen,--"Respect for the ladies!"

"Good heavens!" cried Kurz, laying down his cards, and looking at the rector, "what a hand! He can't have any more spades."

"Dear brother-in-law," said the rector, "I come yet."

"But too late," said Kurz, taking up his cards, with a deep sigh, as if the rector had treated him unworthily, but he would bear it like a christian.

"Karl," said Braesig, "how much have we in all?

"Four tricks," said Habermann.

"Come," said Kurz, "that is not fair, no telling!"

"Is it telling," said Braesig, "when I merely ask a question? Now pay attention, Karl, I shall take one more, and if you take one, then we are out."

"I shall get mine," said Kurz.

"And I shall get mine, too," said the rector.

After a couple of rounds, Kurz laid his hand over his tricks: "So, I have mine." Diamonds were on the table, the rector ventured a cut with the queen, Braesig followed with the king, and the poor rector had lost his trick: "How that could happen, I cannot comprehend!"

"It wasn't a whist game!" cried Kurz.

"Karl," said Braesig, "if you had been careful, they would have lost another trick."

"You must blame yourself for that, you didn't play after me in hearts."

"Karl, did I have any? I had nothing but the queen."

"No, brother-in-law," cried Kurz, meantime, "you threw away the game, you had the king of clubs, and you played the nine. It lost the game."

"What would you have?" said Braesig, with great contempt. "Are you a dunce? Here I sit with a handful of spades, and a couple of queens besides; what would you have?"

"Herr, do you think, when I have said Boston, I am afraid of your trumpery queens?"

"Come, come!" cried Habermann, dealing the cards, "let it go, this old after-play is disagreeable."

In this fashion, they played on, and it seemed as if they would tear each other's hair, and yet they had the best feelings towards each other. The rector won, and he had the best prospect of winning, for he who loses the first game, as is well known, always wins afterward. Kurz sat disconsolate at his bad luck; but that also often finds compensation. "Ten grandissimo!" said he. All were surprised, even he himself, and he looked his cards through once more. "Ten grandissimo!" said he again, laid the cards on the table, and walked up and down the room: "They play like that in Venice, and other great watering places."

In the midst of his greatest triumph, and the greatest distress of the others, Fritz Triddelsitz came to the door, looking quite disturbed and pale: "Herr Inspector, Herr Habermann, oh, do come out here!"

"Good heavens!" exclaimed Habermann, "what has happened?" and was springing up, but Kurz held him back.

"No," said he, "the game must be played first. It happened so to me, once before, at the time of the great fire, I had just put a grand on the table, and they all ran away."

"Herr Inspector," begged Fritz, "you must come."

"What is it?" cried Habermann, dropping his cards, and jumping up. "Is anything on fire?"

"No," stammered Fritz, "I--me--something has happened to me."

"What has happened to you?" said Braesig, across the table.

"My chestnut mare has a colt," said Fritz, in an anxious tone.

"Well, that has often happened," said Braesig, "but you make a face like a funeral; it is rather a joyful occasion, under the circumstances."

"Yes," said Fritz, "but--but--it is so queer. You must come with me, Herr Inspector."

"Why, is the colt dead?" asked Habermann.

"No," said Fritz, "it is well enough; but it looks so queer. Krischan Daesel says he should think it was a young camel."

"Well," said Habermann, "we can finish the game afterwards, we will go out with you."

And in spite of Kurz's remonstrances, they all went with Fritz to the stable.

"I never saw such a colt," said Fritz, on the way, "it has ears as long as that," measuring from the wrist to the elbow.

When they came to the stable, there stood Krischan Daesel by the enclosure, where the mare was looking fondly at her little one, and whinnying over it, and the little one was making its first attempts at springing about; he shook his head, and said to Braesig, who came and stood by him, "Now tell me, Herr Inspector, did you ever see the like of that?"

"Yes," said Braesig, looking at Habermann, and said with emphasis, "I will tell you, Karl, what sort of an animal it is. Fullblood's colt is a mule."

"That is it," said Habermann.

"A mule?" cried Fritz, and he sprung over into the enclosure, and succeeded, in spite of the whinnying of the old mare, in grasping the colt by the neck, and examined his face and eyes and ears, and as the fearful truth flashed upon him he exclaimed, in fierce anger, "Oh, I could wring the creature's neck, and Gust Prebberow's, into the bargain!"

"For shame, Triddelsitz," said Habermann, seriously, "just see how pleased the mother is, even if it isn't a thorough-bred."

"Yes," cried Braesig, "and she is the nearest to it, as the Frau Pastorin says. But you may wring Gust Prebberow's neck, for all I care, for he is an out-and-out, double-distilled rascal."

"How is it possible!" said Fritz, as he slowly stepped out of the enclosure, and his wrath had given place to a great melancholy; "he is my best friend, and now he has cheated me with a deaf horse and a mule. I will sue him."

"I told you before, there was no friendship nor honesty in horse-dealing," said Braesig, taking Fritz under the arm, and drawing him out of the stable, "but I am sorry for you, in your just retribution. You have bought your experience in horse-dealing, and that is what every one must do, but let me warn you against a horse lawsuit, for long after the mule is dead such a lawsuit will be far from ended. You see," he went on, leading Fritz up and down the court, "I will tell you a story, for an example. You see, there was old Ruetebusch, of Swensin, he sold a horse to his own brother-in-law, who was inspector here before Habermann's time, an infamous creature of a dapple-gray, as a saddle-horse. Good, or, as you are in the habit of saying, 'Bong!' Three days after, the inspector wishes to try his new acquisition, so he climbs on to the creature, which was very high; but scarcely was he seated, when the old schinder ran off to the village pond--no stopping him!--and there he stood, up to the neck in water, and would move neither back nor forward.

"It was fortunate, both for the dapple-gray and the inspector, else they might both have been drowned; the inspector roared mightily for help, for he couldn't get down there, and he couldn't swim, and old Flegel the wheelwright had to come to his rescue in a boat. Well, then the lawsuit began, for the inspector said the horse was a stupid, what we farmers call a studirten (scholar), and Ruetebusch must take him back, for stupidity protects from everything, in horse-dealing as in other matters. Ruetebusch wouldn't do it, and the two brothers-in-law first had a falling out, and then quarrelled so bitterly, that they wouldn't go within three miles of each other.

"The lawsuit went on, all the time. All Swensin was called up to testify that the creature was in its right mind when they knew it, and the Pumpelhagen people had to swear that it appeared to them like a studirten. So the lawsuit went on, into its fifth year, and the creature stood quietly in its stable, eating oats, for the inspector never got on it again, since he considered it such a dangerous animal; he dared not kill it, either; for it was the corpus delicti of the whole concern, as they call it. They brought the most learned horse-doctors to see it, but it did no good, for they were not agreed, three said it was clever, and three said it was stupid. The lawsuit was going on, slowly, all the time, and a whole brood of new lawsuits was hatched out of it, for the learned horse-doctors charged each other with maliciousness and ill-breeding, and sued each other for libel. Then they wrote to a celebrated horse-professor, in Berlin, to see what he thought of the business. He wrote back that they must cut off the old schinder's head, and send it to him, till he could examine the brains; it was hard enough to tell whether a reasonable being was clever or stupid, but it was harder, with an unreasonable beast, because the poor creature had nothing to say for himself.

"Well, that might have been done, but old Ruetebusch and his lawyer opposed it, and carried their point, and the suit went on again. Then old Ruetebusch died, and six months afterwards, his brother-in-law died also, and they never were reconciled, even on their death-beds, and went into eternity, each obstinate in his own opinion, the one that the old schinder was clever, the other that he was stupid. The lawsuit was suspended, for the time, and soon died out of itself, for the old gray kicked the bucket, three weeks later, out of pure idleness and over-feeding. Then they salted his head nicely, and sent it to the professor, at Berlin, and he wrote back, clearly and distinctly, that the old horse had, all his life, been as little of a studirten as himself, and he only wished that every one of the lawyers had as much intelligence as the beast, so very reasonable had his brains appeared. And the man was right; for I afterwards had the infamous rascal of a boy, who brought out the horse for the inspector, for a servant, and he confessed to me that he had tied a piece of burning tinder under the poor creature's tail, out of pure deviltry, because the inspector had given him a beating the day before. And I ask any reasonable being, how intelligent must not that poor beast have been, to run into the village pond, to extinguish the fire! And so the great lawsuit came to an end; but the little lawsuits, between the learned horse-doctors, are still going on. And now, let me tell you something: Habermann is a good friend of old Prebberow, the rascal's father, and he shall speak to him, and get justice done you. And now you may go, and don't cherish any hatred against the innocent little beast, or against the mother, for they couldn't help it, and the mother is a poor, deceived creature, as well as you."

With that, he followed the others, who had returned to the card-table.

"Come, come!" said Kurz, "so; ten grandissimo! I play myself."

"Karl," "aid Braesig, "you must talk with old Prebberow, and not let your confounded greyhound get into difficulties."

"I will do so, Zachary, and it shall all be made right; but I am sorry for the poor boy, that he should be so disappointed. Who would have thought of a mule!" (maulesel.)

"I observe," said the rector, laying the cards, which he had arranged in order of rank, upon the table, "that you all speak of this little new-born animal as a maulesel, while according to the natural history use of language, it should be called a maulthier. The difference is----"

"Don't bore us with your natural history!" cried Kurz. "Are we playing natural history, or are we playing cards? Here, ace of diamonds lies on the table!"

Well, there was no help for it, they suited and suited, and Kurz won the game, and with it the right to boast, for four weeks, of his ten grandissimo.

So they played on, in friendly excitement, until the rector, looking over the account, became aware that he had won, in all, three thalers and eight groschen, and since the luck was going rather against him of late, he resolved to stop; so he rose, and said his feet were getting cold, and put his winnings in his pocket.

"If you suffer from cold feet," said Braesig, "I will tell you a good remedy; take a pinch of snuff every morning, on an empty stomach,--that is good for cold feet."

"Eh, what!" cried Kurz, who had been winning lately, "how can he get cold feet?"

"So?" said the rector, hotly, for he was determined to retain his winnings, "haven't I as good a right to cold feet as you? Don't you always get cold feet, at our club, when you have had good luck?" and he carried it out, he kept his cold feet, and his winnings, and after a little while the two city people drove off, taking Braesig with them.

Habermann was just going to bed, when there was a loud talking and scolding before the door, and Fritz Triddelsitz and Krischan Daesel came in.

"Good evening, Herr Inspector," said Krischan, "it is all the same to me."

"What is the matter now?" asked Habermann.

"Herr Inspector," said Fritz, "you know how it has gone with--well, with the mule, and now Krischan won't have the beast in the stable."

"What has happened?" said Habermann.

"Yes, Herr, it is all the same to me. But this isn't all the same, I have been used to horses and colts, and not to camels and mules. Why, Herr Triddelsitz might as well bring bears and monkeys into the riding-stable!"

"Well, but if I tell you so, the beast shall stand in the stable, and you shall take just as good care of it as of any other colt."

"Yes, if you command me, then it is all the same to me, and then it shall always be so. Well, good night, Herr Inspector, and don't take it ill of me," and he went off.

"Herr Habermann," said Fritz, "what will Herr von Rambow say to this accident? and the gracious lady too?"

"Make yourself easy, they will not trouble themselves much about it.

"Well," said Fritz, and went out of the door, to go to bed, "it is too provoking, that this should have happened to my mare."

When the Herr came home from his journey, he got the story of the chestnut mare fresh from Krischan, and because he was a good-natured man, and liked Fritz, since in some respects they were a good deal alike, he comforted him and said, "Never mind! This does not interfere with our bargain. You must think that it is only the natural result of a mesalliance. We will put the mare and the colt into the paddock, by and by; and you will see they will give us a great deal of pleasure."

It was really so; every one found amusement in the little beast. When the village children strolled through the fields, on Sunday afternoons, they would go to the paddock, and gaze at the little mule: "See, Joching, there he is." "Yes, that is a nice one! See, how he pricks up his ears!" "Now look, see him kick!"

When the maids passed the paddock, on the way to the milking shed, they also stopped: "See, Stina, there is Herr Triddelsitz's mule!" "Come, Fika, let us go round that way." "Not I, what a horrid-looking creature!" "You need not call him horrid, he gives you the least trouble of any of them."

And through the whole region, the mare and the mule and Fritz were renowned, and wherever the latter showed himself he was asked after the welfare of the mule, to his great annoyance. The little old donkey, however, was not at all troubled, he ran about in the paddock all summer, with the other well-born and high-born colts, and, if any of them came too near him, he knew how to stand up for his rights.

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