Chapter XLV…

Chapter XLV

Moses had become a very old man, but his health was still quite good, only that he was rather lame, and sleep would not come at his call; so he used to sit up late into the night, in his arm-chair, with a cushion under his head, hours after his Bluemchen was asleep, and think over his old business affairs; with new ones he would have nothing to do. David lay on the sofa, and talked, or slept, as he felt inclined; but I must do David the justice to say he was not an exception to the general rule of his fellow-believers, he took good care of his old father, and this Jewish fashion is one which many Christians would do well to follow.

This evening they were chatting together.

"David," said the old man, "what did I tell you? You should not entangle yourself with Pomuffelskopp."

"Well? If I have entangled myself, I am well paid for it."

"You have strewed dust on your head, you have eaten filth."

"Are louis-d'ors filth?"

"Pomuffelskopp's are."

"Father, if you were willing, we could do a great business; Pomuffelskopp is going to sell Gurlitz."

"Why?"

"Well, he wants to sell."

"I will tell you, David, because he isn't sure of his day-laborers, that they won't set fire to his barns, or knock him on the head. I will tell you further: I shall not do the business, nor will you; but your friend the notary will do it, he is too shrewd for you, and you are too young."

"Father, I----"

"Hush, David! I will tell you something more; you want to be rich, rich all at once. See, there is a pitcher with a narrow neck, half full of louis-d'ors, you reach in, take up a handful, and cannot get it out, you reach in and take one, and get it out easily, and so on, again and again, till you have them all."

"Have I taken too large a handful?"

"Hush, David, I have not done yet. You see two people, one throws a louis-d'or into clean water, and the other throws a handful into the gutter; you go into the cold water and get the louis-d'or, and it is bright and clean; you go into the gutter and get out the whole handful, and people turn away from you, for you are a stench in their nostrils. Pomuffelskopp has thrown his louis-d'ors into the gutter."

"Well, they don't smell of it."

"If men do not smell them, they smell to heaven; but men do, that is to say, honest men; but they are not offensive to Pomuffelskopp and the notary, their odor is like myrrh and frankincense."

David was going to say something, when there was a rap at the house-door. "What is that?" asked David.

The old man was silent; then there came a louder rap.

"David, go and open the door!"

"What? at this time of night?"

"David, open it! When I was young, and went about with my pack, I often knocked at the door, and the door was opened to me, and now I am old, and shall soon stand before a door and knock, and the God of Abraham will say, 'Let him in, it is a man!' This is a man, also. Open the door, David!"

David obeyed, and Habermann entered.

"Wonder of wonders!" cried the old man, "the inspector!"

"Yes, Moses, you must not take it ill. I could not help it, I must speak with you confidentially about a matter of business."

"Go out, David!"

David made a sour face, but went.

"It isn't of much use," said Moses, "he will stand at the door, and listen."

"Never mind, Moses, I cannot say to you what I would here. Can you not come with me to my house?"

"Habermann, I am an old man."

"Yes, indeed, I know it; but the air is mild, the moon is risen; I will take you by the arm; yes, Moses, I will carry you, if you say so."

"Well, what is it, then?"

"Moses, I cannot tell you here; you must hear with your own ears, and see with your own eyes. You can do a good work."

"Habermann, you are an honest man, you have always been a friend to me, you will do what is right. Call David."

Habermann opened the door; to be sure, there he stood:

"Herr Inspector, you must not take my father out tonight, he is an old man."

"David!" cried the old man, "bring me my fur boots!"

"Father! you mustn't go! I will call mother."

"Call mother, if you want to, I shall go."

"What are you going to do?"

"Transact important business."

"Then I will go too."

"David, you are too young; bring me the boots."

There was no help for it, David must bring them and put them on; Habermann took the old man firmly by the arm, Moses took his usual grip in his left coat-pocket, on account of the lacking suspender, and, leaning on Habermann's arm, hobbled slowly over to the Frau Pastorin's house.

As Habermann and old Moses crossed the Frau Pastorin's threshold, they made something of a noise, for Moses stumbled at the door, and came near falling. Frau Pastorin, of course, heard the commotion, as did the whole company with her; "Ah, there comes Habermann with poor Mining," said she, and running to the door put out her head; but when she expected to see Mining, though perhaps with a swelled cheek, there stood old Moses in his dressing-gown, and fur boots, with his old face full of wrinkles, and looking at her with his great black eyes:

"Good evening, Frau Pastorin!"

The little Frau Pastorin started back, almost to the middle of the room; "Preserve us!" cried she, "Habermann is carrying on all sorts of magic and unchristian preformances; now he is bringing his old Jew into the house, at midnight; is this on account of Mining's toothache?"

Frau Nuesssler felt as if she were standing in her kitchen, dressing fish, and had just taken hold of a great pike, and the creature had snapped at her thumb, and was pressing his teeth deeper and deeper into her flesh, and she must keep still, else he would tear open her whole thumb. What had possessed Frau Nuessler to tell a story, and such a story, which might come out any moment!

"Frau Pastorin," said Braesig, "as for Moses, that was only an appearance; it could not have been himself, for I was there yesterday, and he told, me expressly, he was not able to go out any longer."

"Ah!" interposed Louise, "father has certainly some important business with the old man, and aunt knows about it, and so she has told us that story about Mining. What, should father be doing with such nonsense?"

The pike pressed his teeth deeper into Frau Nuessler's flesh; but she set her own teeth together, and held out.

"Eh, see!" cried she, "Louise, you are dreadfully clever! Clever children are a blessing for their parents, but"--here she suddenly pulled her thumb from the pike's teeth;--"I wish you had been a good deal more stupid. I will tell you; Mining isn't there, it is the gracious Frau from Pumpelhagen, who has some business to attend to with Karl and Moses."

The little Frau Pastorin was quite vexed, partly because she was not sooner informed, for, in her own house, she was surely the nearest, partly because, after long years, she had, for the first time, discovered that her good neighbour Frau Nuessler was capable of the most horrible, unchristian lying.

"And that story was all a lie then?" she inquired.

"Yes, Frau Pastorin," said Frau Nuessler, looking like one of the condemned.

"Frau Nuessler," said the Frau Pastorin, and it seemed as if an invisible hand had dropped upon her shoulders the little black mantle of her sainted pastor, "lying is a horrible, unchristian vice."

"I know it, Frau Pastorin; I never lied for myself, in my life. When I tell lies, it is only for the benefit of other people. I thought it would be too bad for the poor Frau, who is in such trouble, to be plagued with questions, and since you all took her for Mining I merely said yes, and made up a little story."

It seemed now as if the invisible hand had endowed the Frau Pastorin with her blessed Pastor's bands also, and she began:

"Dear, you are in a dreadful state, you are lying at this very moment, you think that is right which is wrong, you lie----"

"With your gracious permission, Frau Pastorin," interrupted Zachary Braesig, taking the side of his old treasure, "I must interrupt your discourse; I am quite of Frau Nuessler's opinion. Do you see, last week the Frau Syndic called to me, and asked me, very kindly, 'Herr Inspector, is it true that the Frau Pastorin once held a rendezvous in a ditch----'"

"Braesig!" screamed the little Frau Pastorin, and mantle and bands were gone directly.

"Don't be troubled!" said Uncle Braesig, throwing a glance at Louise, "I can be discreet, upon occasion. 'No,' I said to the Frau Syndic, 'it is an abominable lie.' And so I told a lie for you, Frau Pastorin, and, if I must be roasted in hell for it, I beg that you will look down from heaven sometimes and afford me a little relief."

The Frau Pastorin had something to say, but Habermann looked in at the door: "Oh, Braesig, come here a moment!"

"Habermann----" began the little Frau.

"Frau Pastorin, I shall come back directly."

Braesig went.

On the other side of the hall they were as much excited, but in a different way. When Habermann entered the room with Moses, the young Frau rose from the sofa, with a pang in her heart, and Moses stood astonished.

"The gracious Frau von Rambow," said Habermann, and, turning to the lady, "This is my old friend Moses; but he is much fatigued from the walk. You will excuse me, gracious Frau;" and he brought him to the sofa, and laid him down, and took cushions and pillows and put them under his head.

When the old man had recovered a little, Habermann asked, "Moses, do you know the gracious Frau?"

"I have seen her riding past my house, I have also seen her walking near Pumpelhagen; I greeted her, and she kindly returned the old Jew's greeting."

"Moses, do you know that the Herr von Rambow is deeply in debt?"

"I know it."

"You have sued him."

"I know it."

"Moses, you must withdraw your suit; your money is safely invested."

"What do you call safe? I spoke to you about it last spring. In such times as these property is not safe, a man is safer; but Herr von Rambow is not a man whom I can trust, he is a bad manager, he is a fool about horses, he is a----"

"Hold! Remember his wife is here."

"Well, I remember."

Frida was suffering tortures. They were silent for awhile; then Habermann began again:

"If there was a prospect that the estate could be rented----"

"Who would rent in such times?" said Moses.

"Or the Herr von Rambow would agree to engage a regular inspector, and leave the management to him----"

"Habermann," interrupted Moses, "you are an old man, and you are a shrewd man. You know the world, and you know the Herr von Rambow; did you ever know a Herr who said, 'I will be master no longer, I will let another be master?'"

Habermann was rather taken aback by this question, he looked inquiringly at the young Frau, and Frida dropped her eyes, and said:

"I am afraid Herr Moses is right; my husband does not understand it."

Moses looked at her approvingly, and muttered to himself, "She is a clever woman, she is an honest woman."

Habermann was perplexed; he sat in deep thought, and finally said:

"Well, Moses, if the Frau von Rambow, or I, or circumstances, should influence the young Herr to consent to this plan, and if, for the security of the creditors, he should give a promise to resign the management, and engage a competent inspector, would you withdraw your suit?"

"I would withdraw it for a year; well, say two years."

"Well, then you will leave your money in the estate; but there are other debts which must be paid; there are Pomuchelskopp's eight thousand thalers."

"I know it," said Moses to himself.

"Then there the debts owing to tradesmen and mechanics, which have not been paid for a year; and the people's wages must be paid and repairs attended to; it will take about six thousand thalers."

"I know it," said Moses.

"Then there is a note for thirteen thousand thalers, in Schwerin, which must be paid immediately."

"Good heavens!" exclaimed Moses, "I did not know a word of it."

"Yes, and then," continued Habermann, without noticing this remark, "we must have two or three thousand thalers over, to carry on the estate properly."

"Let me go! It is a bad business, a very bad business!" cried Moses, making a motion as if he would rise from the sofa.

"Hold on, Moses! I have not done yet."

"Let me go! Let me go! I am an old man, I cannot involve myself in such a business," and with that he rose to his feet, and made preparations to go.

"Hear me first, Moses! I do not ask you to lend the money,--it would be about thirty-one thousand thalers,--there are other people, safe people, who will lend it; you shall merely advance it until St. John's day."

"God of Abraham! Advance in these times, in fourteen days, thirty-one thousand thalers! And that for fools who involve themselves in a business like that!"

"Well, Moses, just listen to me. Write down the names and the amounts as I mention them. You know the Frau Pastorin? Write down the Frau Pastorin for five thousand thalers."

"Well, I know her, she is a good woman, she helps the poor; but why should I write?"

"Come, just write."

Moses took a pencil out of his pocket, moistened the point, and wrote:

"Well, there it is; five thousand thalers."

"You know Braesig, too?"

"Why shouldn't I know Braesig? Who does not know Braesig? He is a good man, an entertaining man; always visited me when I was sick, tried to make a democrat of me, wanted me to make speeches in the Reformverein, but he is a good man."

"Put him down for six thousand thalers. You know my brother-in-law Nuessler?"

"I have always bought his wool. He is a quiet man, and a good man, smokes tobacco; but he isn't the man of the house, his wife is."

"Well, then put my sister down for thirteen thousand thalers."

"No, I'll not do it. She is a woman, she is a very cautious woman; bargained with me for two groschen more the stone."

"Write it! My sister will tell you, herself, this very night. So! and now write, for me, seven thousand thalers, and there are the thirty-one thousand."

"Good heavens!" exclaimed Moses, "he will give his hard-earned money, that he has laid up for his old age, and for his only child! And for whom? For a young man who has tried to shoot him, who has defamed his honest name, who has treated him like a dog!"

"That doesn't concern you, Moses, that is my affair. I----"

The young Frau had been sitting in torment, repressing the bitterest feelings in her soul; but she could bear it no longer, she started up, and running to Habermann laid her hands on his shoulders, crying, "No, no! that must not be! Neither these good people, nor you, shall be involved in our misfortunes. If we are to blame, we must suffer for it. I will bear--oh, and Axel would much rather bear misfortune and disgrace! but--but"--she broke out involuntarily--"the poor sisters!"

Habermann took hold of her gently, and replaced her in her chair, whispering, "Control yourself! You have trusted the business in my hands; I will bring it to a happy issue."

A flood of tears burst from Frida's eyes.

"Good heavens!" said Moses to himself, laying his pencil back in his pocketbook, "Now she is going to be magnanimous, too. Do you call this business? This is no business. And yet it is all honest! It makes the old man cry, too," and he wiped the tears from his eyes, with the skirt of his dressing-gown. "Well, we will see what the Jew can do."

Habermann had gone out and called Braesig, and told him, hastily, in the hall, what was in the wind, and now he came in with him.

Braesig came in with rather a distracted expression on his face, at which Habermann was secretly annoyed; he looked half as if he had something to sell at the fair, and half as if he were going to make a Christmas gift. He marched up to Moses, with his head in the air: "Moses, what Habermann has put down for me, I will subscribe to, Zachary Braesig; it is all the same to me, cash or bonds, but not before St. Anthony's."

"Good," said Moses. "You are a safe man, Herr Inspector, I will advance it."

Braesig went up to the gracious Frau, who had rested her arm on the table and covered her eyes with her hand, as if the light hurt them, made a deep bow, and inquired after her health, and when she had answered quietly, he asked, "And how is the young Herr von Rambow?"

Frida shrank together, and Habermann, who had intended to call in the others, one by one, saw that a diversion must be made, or Braesig, in all innocence, would distress the young Frau with his questions and remarks.

"Zachary," said he, "do me the favor to bring in the Frau Pastorin and my sister; Louise may come, too."

"Very well, Karl," and presently he returned with the women.

Frau Pastorin went up directly to the young Frau, and pressed her to her heart, and could not restrain herself from weeping bitterly. Louise stood by, with the deepest, though silent, compassion in her heart.

"God of Abraham!" exclaimed Moses, "what a night is this! They want to transact a business, and they cry over each other, and press each other's hands, and hang about each other's necks, and are magnanimous and affectionate, and keep an old man, like me, sitting up till morning. Mamselle Habermann," he added aloud, "when you are done with your tender feelings, perhaps you can get me a drop of wine; I am an old man."

Louise ran and brought a bottle of wine and a glass, and Braesig said, "Bring me a glass, too, Louise!" and had possibly the intention of having a little frolic with Moses, for he sat down by him, and began to touch glasses: "To your good health, Moses!"

But it wasn't successful, Moses did not seem disposed to respond, and Habermann brought up his sister; Moses moistened his pencil, and wrote. After Frau Nuessler came the Frau Pastorin; Moses wrote again, and before the young Frau, who sat in the corner with Louise, knew what was going on, it was all settled; and Moses stood up, saying:

"Shall I tell you some news? I will tell you: the thirty-one thousand thalers are secured, and the people are all good; but it is no business, your magnanimity has run away with you. Well, what will you have? I am a Jew, it has run away with me too; I will advance the money. But I am an old man, I am a cautious man. If the Herr von Rambow will not employ an Inspector, and do as he ought, the business is worthless, and I will have nothing to do with it. When they lay me in the church-yard, under the fir-trees, where I have built an enclosure, then people would say, 'Well, he built that enclosure for himself; what is an enclosure of oaken-wood? Shortly before his death he got honest people into trouble, only that he might make a speculation.' There is Frau Nuessler, there is Frau Pastorin, there is Herr Habermann, and there is also Herr Braesig. I have been a man of business, from my youth, first with my pack, and then with my produce and wool, and finally with my money, and as a man of business I will die; but a cautious one. Come, Habermann, take hold of me, and help me home again! Good-night, Frau Nuessler, my regards to Herr Jochen, he must come and see me. Good-night, Herr Inspector Braesig, you must come and see me too; but don't talk about the Reform any more, I am an old man. Good-night, Mamselle Habermann, when you pass my house again, greet me as kindly as you did last time. Good-night, Frau Pastorin, when you go to bed, you can say I have had honest people in my house, tonight, the old Jew, also, is an honest man." Then he went up to Frida:

"Good-night, gracious Frau, you have wept to-night, because you are not used to it; but never fear, it will all come right; you have a new friend, it is the old Jew; but the old Jew has shed tears over you, and he will not forget it; he does not weep often now."

He turned away, and, saying "Good-night!" once more, without looking round, went out with Habermann, Louise lighting them to the door. All was silent in the room; each was busy with his own thoughts. The first to recollect herself was Frau Nuessler; she called Krischan, who was asleep in the hall, and made him bring around the carriage. Krischan obeyed with unusual celerity, for, when Habermann returned from convoying Moses home, the young Frau and his sister were already in the carriage, and he had barely time to say a few friendly, hopeful words to the young Frau, when Frau Nuessler said, "Good-night, Karl! She must go back to her child. Krischan, to Pumpelhagen!" and they drove off.

Habermann was still standing in the street, looking after the carriage, and was just turning to go into the house, when, another carriage came slowly up the street, with a pair of gray horses shining before it, in the moonlight. The old man stepped back, and stood in the doorway, his daughter had left a candle for him, in the hall, and he stood there like a gigantic shadow against the light. He waited to see who was driving, so late or so early, through the silent streets; the carriage came nearer, it stopped before the house.

"Take the reins!" cried a voice which seemed strangely familiar to him, and a man on the front seat threw back the reins to the coachman, and jumped down.

"Habermann! Habermann! Don't you know me?"

"Franz! Herr von Rambow!"

"What is going on here, that you are up so late? No misfortune?"

"No,--thank God!--no! I will tell you directly."

The young man threw his arms about the old man, and pressed him to his heart, and kissed him, again and again, and it was no misfortune, it was the purest happiness, and yet one might have supposed it was misfortune, if he had seen the maiden who sat in the next room. The color was all gone out of her cheeks, and her great eyes grew larger and larger, staring at the door, and she pressed both hands against her heart, and when she tried to rise, it seemed as if the earth trembled, and thunder rolled above her, and the voice outside struck like, lightning to her heart. She did not know, she could not make it clear in this brief moment; but the garden, which she had planted years ago, with quiet, modest flowers, with shady trees, where she had so often watched the evening star, and on which the silent night had fallen, stood suddenly revealed before her, in the lightning flashes, and when these passed over, and the heart was bowed down, suddenly the sun arose, with such blinding radiance, that she must turn away her eyes; but yet she could not, for in her quiet garden wonder after wonder was bursting into bloom in the sunlight; the modest violets changed into red roses, shining like a bridal wreath, and the odor of the fragrant blossoms changed into the song of nightingales calling to their mates. And her hands sank down from her heart, and her heart beat evenly, and full, and when he entered the door, holding Habermann's hand, she threw herself on his breast, and the earth no longer trembled, and the thunder no longer rolled, and no lightning flashes smote her; but light was all around her, pure light! And they spoke to each other, they talked much with each other: "Franz!" "Louise!" and no one understood their language, and they all stood about her, and could not understand, for it was long since they had heard the language, and yet they must have had some perception of its meaning, for Uncle Braesig took pity on the young people, who were flying away, above the earth, among the clouds, and brought them back, with a shock, to terra firma.

"Frau Pastorin," said he, "when I had three sweethearts at once----"

"For shame, Braesig!" cried Frau Pastorin, through her tears of emotion.

"Frau Pastorin, you said the same thing, when I wrote, through Doctor Urtlingen, to the young Herr von Rambow, at Paris; but I wasn't, at all ashamed, and I am not ashamed to-day; I have never in my life done anything to be ashamed of. For, you see, Frau Pastorin," and he placed himself before her with great dignity, and blew his nose, but rather, above it, as if something had got into his eyes; "you see, Frau Pastorin, I have brought about a good many rendezvous lately; first in the water-ditch----"

"Braesig!" cried the little Frau Pastorin.

"Be quiet, Frau Pastorin, I shall say nothing about it, and I will tell lies for you, if it is necessary. Secondly, Gottlieb and Lining in the cherry-tree; thirdly, Rudolph and Mining, also in the cherry-tree; but you must not think it strange if a man has a certain feeling of pride, at having brought about a rendezvous between Rahnstadt and Paris; and that is what I have done."

"Yes," said Franz, coming down to the earth, "you have done that, and I thank you heartily for your beautiful letter. It is here, I keep it always by me."

"Hm!" said Uncle Braesig, "always by him! Very much obliged! Would you have the kindness to tell me, quite sincerely, do you value the letter so highly, on account of my style,--you know, Karl, I was always ahead of you in style, at Pastor Behrend's,--or is it because the letter-paper belonged to Louise?"

"For both reasons!" cried Franz, laughing heartily, "but chiefly because of the good news contained in your letter. Yes," he added, turning to Habermann, "now these torments, these self-torments, are over, the last shadow of reason for our separation has vanished," and he went up to Louise, and gave her a kiss; it was a very remarkable kiss, it might have been divided by twelve, and each result have been an entire kiss.

"Bless me!" said the Frau Pastorin, at last, "the morning is shining in at the window."

"Yes, Frau Pastorin," said Braesig, "and you have been watching all night, and you are an old lady, and not used to it; you should go to bed."

"Braesig is right," said Habermann, "and you, Louise, go to bed, too!"

"Come, child," said the Frau Pastorin, "there will be another day to-morrow, and a happy day, too," and she kissed her. "Now your happy days are coming, and, in yours, I shall live mine over again." They went out.

"Herr von Rambow," said Habermann.

"Why not Franz?" said the young man.

"Well, then, Franz, my dear son, you can sleep in my bed, up-stairs, with Braesig, I----"

"I cannot sleep," interposed Franz.

"Karl," said Braesig, "I am not at all sleepy, either, my time for sleeping and nightly rest is over." He went to the window, opened it, and looked out at the weather: "Karl, it looks to me as if this morning would be a good time for the perch to bite. I must go out, I shall get too fidgety here; I will go fishing; in the Rexow firs, there is a place under the trees, where there is a splendid perch. So, good-morning, young Herr von Rambow, good-morning, Karl, entertain yourself with your future son-in-law." With that, he went off.

"But how did it happen, dear father," asked Franz, "that I found you all up so late? I started from Paris, immediately on receiving Braesig's letter, travelled night and day, and arrived at my estate day before yesterday. But there was so much to be attended to,--my inspector is just leaving, he is going to be married,--that I could not leave, to come hither, until about this time yesterday morning. I had sent forward relays, however, and when I arrived,--well, I may as well confess,--I wanted at least to see the house in which Louise was sleeping. And here I found you all stirring."

"Ah," sighed Habermann, "it was a sad occasion. It was on account of the young Herr von Rambow of Pumpelhagen, his wife was here herself. She has suffered terribly, but there was no help for it; and even yet everything is in suspense. Would God you had come half an hour sooner; then I believe it could all have been settled." And he related what had happened, first and last, and all with such sincere regret and such cordial interest, that an earnest wish arose in Franz's heart; he must help, also, in the matter, and the best of it was, he could help. He had had the fortune to have trustworthy guardians, and honest and capable inspectors; his property and estates had increased in value under their hands, and, more recently, under his own, for he had not made it a ladder, on which to descend to abysses of misfortune and ruin, and his good sense had kept him from folly. Now he could render a thank-offering for his happiness, for he had not only the will but the ability to do good.

The two friends talked of many things, and what seemed good to the one was approved by the other; they would both help, and it was settled that Franz should have an interview with Moses; but, in spite of all their sincerity, each had a secret from the other. Habermann dared say nothing of Axel's debt to his sisters, the young Frau had confessed it to him with bitter tears and a bleeding heart, the secret was not his own property, but that of another, dearly bought and dearly won. Franz also had his secret, but it must have been a good one, for his face was full of thoughtful joy, and he put one foot up comfortably, on the sofa, and then the other, and he nodded to Habermann, in a friendly way, as he went on talking, and he kept nodding, and finally nodded himself to sleep. Youth and nature must have their rights. Old Habermann got up softly, and looked at him. Joyous thoughts were still hovering over his face, like the beams of the setting sun over a clear, still, transparent lake, and the old man brought a coverlet, and wrapped it gently over him, and then he went out into the Frau Pastorin's little back-garden, and seated himself in an arbor, which he himself had planted, several years before, in his trouble and sorrow, and looked at the window of the room where his daughter slept. Ah, did she sleep? Who can sleep, with bright sunlight shining in the heart? Who can sleep when every sound turns into a melody singing of love and happiness? A light step sounded on the gravel in the garden path, and a lovely maiden, in a light morning dress, approached, turning up her face to the sun-rising, and, with her hands folded on her breast, gazing at the morning sun, as if she too longer feared to be blinded by its light; but tears ran down her rosy cheeks. Right, Louise! The sun is God's sun, and the happiness is God's happiness, and when it shines bright and dazzling in our eyes, tears are good, they soften the light. She bent down, and lifted a rose, to inhale its fragrance, but did not pluck it. Right, Louise! Roses are earthly roses, joys are earthly joys, they both blossom in their season, leave them to their season. Wilt thou enjoy them before their time, thou hast only a withered rose on thy breast, and a withered joy in thy heart.

She walked on slowly, through the garden, and when she came to the arbor, where her old father sat, she sprang towards him, threw herself into his arms, and nestled her head upon his bosom: "Father! father!" Right, Louise! Here is thy rightful place! In thy father's heart beams God's sunshine, in thy father's heart bloom earthly roses.

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Chapter XLVI

Frau Nuessler took Frida back to Pumpelhagen, dropping many a comforting word, which fell, like the dew upon a scorched field, on the young Frau's heart, and if it were not yet quite ready to sprout with fresh green, Frau Nuessler would have said, "Never fear! My brother Karl will manage that."

So the young Frau entered her room, in the gray morning, in quite a different mood from that of the evening before, when she had rushed put into the storm; and, with hope, love and faith had returned to her heart. She went up softly and kindly to Fika Degel, who sat in an arm-chair, watching by her child, and had fallen asleep, and stroking her hair gently said:

"Fika, I thank you very much; but you must be weary; go to bed."

"Gracious Frau," said Fika, starting up from a dream of her lover, "she has slept very quietly; I had to give her drink only once."

"Good," said the young Frau, "go to bed." And when the maid was gone, she stood before her child, and looked at her; no! no! the sad lot of a poor noble Fraeulein was not suited to that lovely face, and the thoughts of last evening were not suited to the thoughts of this morning. Her soul had suffered torments, fearful torments, during the night, but in the night, and through the torments, hope had been born in her heart, and this child of anguish had fallen upon her neck, and nestled closely to her, and kissed her, and stroked her face, and the blue eyes were beaming heavenward, and in them shone confidence,--yes, and victory.

The young Frau went to bed, and before her rose all the forms of the night: Korlin Kegel and Frau Nuessler, the Frau Pastorin and Louise, Habermann and Braesig, they all stood, clear and distinct, before her eyes, she understood them all, in their true-hearted conduct and character; but among these images was another, which she did not understand; that was the old Jew. Such clear light fell upon him, and such dark shadows lay in the folds of his dressing-gown, and the wrinkles of his face,--she had never seen such an image,--that all grew indistinct before her eyes, and when she thought of his leave-taking, the image grew larger and larger, and even more indistinct, and she folded her hands upon her breast, and slept.

She slept, and the old Jew was in her dreams, but they were happy dreams; only once she started up, for it seemed to her that a carriage drove into the yard. She listened; but body and soul longed for rest; her head sank back on the pillow, and the friendly dream again hovered over her fair head, and whispered wonderful things in her ears.

But she had not heard falsely; a carriage had really driven into the yard, and in the carriage sat her husband. Axel had been driving about the country, like a speculator buying up eggs and poultry; he had halted before every door, and knocked, like a travelling beggar; he had asked help from business acquaintances, he had complained of his troubles to old friends, whom he had learned to know at the races, who had often borrowed money from him; nobody was at home, and those whom he met accidentally had left their purses at home. So long as we go about in brand new breeches, we have many friends, but when they are worn out, and our others have a patch on each knee, our friends feel ashamed of us. This was Axel's bitter experience. Without his sisters' knowledge, he had secretly been in Schwerin; he had gone to the Jew, who had transacted the business so readily and quickly; but where were his securities? From his hotel he had looked over towards the region where Franz's estates lay; but where was Franz? He had done the last thing possible, he had gone to his brother-in-law, Breitenburg, with whom he had always been on bad terms; he had endured his cold reception, had told him of his terrible situation, but had said nothing about his sisters' money; Breitenburg had looked him sharply in the eyes, and turned his back upon him:

"Tu l'as voulu, George Dandin! And do you think I will throw my hard-earned savings into this pit, dug by your folly? It was not brought me by your sister."

Axel was going to say something about the seven thousand thalers, which his father had borrowed for him from Moses; then his brother-in-law turned upon him, and asked him, right to his face, "Where are the thirteen thousand thalers, out of which you have swindled your sisters?"

That struck him dumb,--the brother-in-law knew it would,--he turned pale, rushed out of the door, and got into his carriage.

"Where?" asked the coachman.

"Home."

"Where shall we stop to-night?"

"At home."

"Herr, the horses won't hold out."

"They must."

So they drove home, and when he got out Johann stood by the two good browns: "So, the two wheel-horses were driven to death before, and now the leaders are ruined; we have a span of cripples."

Axel went up to his room with heavy steps, it was broad daylight; in his room everything was as usual, and usually he found himself very comfortable there, and the old use and wont appealed softly to his heart; but his heart was not the old heart, heart and mind were changed, and use and wont no longer harmonized with them. He was restless and troubled; he opened the window, that the fresh morning air might cool his heated brow; he threw himself into the chair, that stood before his writing table, and pressed his head in both hands, as if it were held in a vice. Then his eyes fell upon a letter, the writing seemed familiar, he must have seen it before; he opened it; yes, it was from his sister. What had his brother-in-law, Breitenburg, called him? Yes, that was it! He looked out of the window; behind the Rexow firs the sun was rising.

He looked at the letter again; it contained friendly words, but what did words avail, he had no money. He looked out of the window again, before him lay a field of wheat; ah, if it were ripe and threshed out, and had borne twenty-fold, then--no! no! even then it could not help him. And again his eyes returned to the letter; friendly words! but soon the words became more earnest, and looked at him sternly, he could not turn his eyes away; he read them to the end, and there it stood: "On this account, I have written to Frida also, for, dear, dear brother, if you have not safely invested our capital, we poor girls are utterly ruined!"

"Yes, ruined!" he cried, "ruined!" and sprang from the chair, and strode about the room, He went to the window; before him lay nature in her fullest splendor, and nature has power over every heart, but the heart must harmonize with nature, it must open itself fully and freely to the sunlight, and receive into itself the green earth and the blue heavens and the golden beams. But his heart was not open to these influences, his situation had overpowered him, and his thoughts turned solely and miserably to the most pitiable human resources. Money, money! He could coin no louis-d'ors from the sunbeams.

He threw himself into his chair again; so she knew it, too. He had told her many lies, which she could not prove false; there was no use in lying now, she knew it. And she seemed to stand before him with her child in her arms, and to look at him sternly, and her clear gray eyes asked, "Have we deserved this at your hands?" and his three sisters stood around him, with sunken cheeks and pale lips, saying, "Yes Axel, dear Axel, utterly ruined!" And behind the old maids stood a darker form, in guise that was not of this earth, and that was his father, who called to him, "Thou shouldst have been a prop for my old house, but thou hast taken away stone after stone, and my house is falling to the ground." He could endure it no longer, he started up,--the ghosts vanished,--he ran up and down, and when he recollected himself, he was standing before a closet where he kept his fire-arms. Ah, he knew a place, so lonely, so still, it was the Lauban pond in the Rexow firs; he had often been there with the chase, when the brave old forester, Slang, was hunting; he could do it there. He opened the closet, and took out the revolver which Triddelsitz had procured for him, to shoot at the day-laborers. He tried it; yes! it was loaded. He went out of the door, but as he crossed the landing, he saw the door which led into Frida's room, where his wife and his child lay sleeping; he was startled, he tottered back; all the joy he had experienced in the faithful affection of his wife, in the lovely awakening nature of his child, came back to him; he fell upon the threshold before the door, and burning tears started from his eyes, and these tears, this earnest prayer to God, may have saved him,--we shall see how,--for the Lord holds us by slender, invisible threads.

He rose up, the prayer had not been for his own soul, but for others; he walked away, he went to the lonely Lauban pond. He threw himself down under the firs, behind a bush, took the revolver from his pocket, and laid it beside him; he looked once more, eagerly, mournfully, at the world around him; he looked once more at the sun, God's beautiful sun, for the last time; soon, night would fall upon him forever. The sun blinded him, he took out his handkerchief, and covered his eyes, and now the last, the most terrible thoughts overcame him. He sighed deeply; "It must be!" he exclaimed.

"A fine morning, Herr von Rambow!" cried a friendly, human voice, close by. Axel tore the cloth from his eyes, and threw it over the revolver.

"You are up early!" said Zachary Braesig, for it was he, and he threw himself down by Axel, on the grass. "Have you come out fishing, too?" With that, he laid his hand on the handkerchief and the revolver: "Ah, so! You were going to practise pistol-shooting a little. I used to be a very good shot, myself, could shoot out the ace of hearts and the ace of clubs, without fail."

Then he stood up, with the revolver in his hand: "You see that mark on the fir yonder,--they are getting ready to fell timber,--I will wager four groschen, I never bet higher,"--bang! the shot went wide of the mark,--bang I missed it again, and yet again, and so on with the six shots.

"Who would have thought it? All missed! Who would have thought it? Well, I have lost. Here are the four groschen. That is such an old fool of a pistol!" he cried, and tossed the revolver far out into the pond, "children and young people might hurt themselves with it."

Axel was in a strange humor; all at once, between his firm, deliberate resolve, to which he had been driven through fierce struggle and conflict, and the dark portal he was about to enter, stood this familiar, yes, in his eyes even vulgar life, as audacious and impertinent as a peasant at a fair, which could be shoved aside, neither to the right hand nor the left. He started up:

"Herr!"

"Herr-rr!" cried Braesig in return.

"What do you want here?"

"And what do you want here?" asked Braesig back again.

"You are an impertinent fool!" cried Axel.

"You are the greatest fool!" cried Uncle Braesig, "you were about to commit the most fearful crime, from a reckless impulse, and you had forgotten everything,--your wife, your child. Hm! just touch a little spring, then we are out of it all! Wasn't it so? Who is the fool now?"

Axel leaned against a tree, with one hand pressed to his heart, and the other shading his eyes from the sun, and before him stood this vulgar man, with a fishing-rod in his hand, and had interposed between him and the dark portal,--it was life, however!

"Do you see!" continued Uncle Braesig, "if you had come three minutes earlier than I,"--those were the three minutes when he lay praying, on the threshold, for his wife and child,--"then you would be lying here, with a hole in your head, a frightful object; and when you had gone up to the throne of God, our Lord would have said to you: 'Thou fool! Thou didst not know, what, this very night, thy dear gracious Frau was doing for thee, and the Herr Inspector Habermann, and Frau Nuessler, and the Frau Pastorin and Moses, and--and the others,'--and when the Lord had told you, do you know what you would have suffered? Hell torments!"

Axel removed his hand from his eyes, and stared at Braesig:

"What? what did you say?"

"That thirty-one thousand thalers have been advanced for you, this night, and Moses advances it, and your cousin Franz has arrived, who may possibly do something more. But you are an ignorant creature, who lets that greyhound of a Triddelsitz get revolvers, to shoot the day-laborers with, and then goes to shooting himself."

"Franz is here? Franz, did you say?"

"Yes, he is here; but he did not come on your account, he is here because he is determined to make Louise Habermann Frau von Rambow; but if you want to thank anybody,--Franz will do something, will perhaps do something more,--then go to your dear gracious Frau, and to Karl Habermann; you can go to Moses also, if you like, and you must not forget Frau Nuessler, and the Frau Pastorin, they have all been good to you this night."

I never attempted to shoot myself, and cannot tell exactly how a poor man would feel, when, between himself and his resolution, ordinary life presses in so forcibly. I should think it might be a little vexatious, as when a weary, weary traveller is offered a glass of flat, sour beer,--and Uncle Braesig looked a little sour, this morning,--which he may not refuse; but then comes the love of life, dear, human life, and a wife, with a child on her arm, pours him a glass of cool, fresh wine, and he drains the glass: "So! now tell me what has happened."

Uncle Braesig related the good news, and Axel tottered from the tree, and fell upon the old man's neck.

"Herr Braesig! Dear Herr Braesig! Is it all true?"

"What do you mean? Do you think I would deceive you, at such a moment as this?"

Axel turned dizzy before the black abyss, into which, just now, he had looked so boldly; he staggered back, and there was a singing and a ringing in his ears, and a glowing and shining before his eyes and everything to which he was usually indifferent pressed overpoweringly upon him,--he pressed his hands over his eyes and began to weep bitterly. Uncle Braesig stood and looked at him compassionately, and going up to him with the most tender pity took him by the shoulder, and shook him gently, saying:

"We all wander, here, in confusion, and you are greatly to blame for your misfortunes; but the fault is not wholly yours: what possessed your blessed Frau Mother to make a lieutenant of you? How could a farmer be made out of a lieutenant? It is just as if the musician, David Berger, who has blown half his breath out of his body with his trumpet, should set up to be pastor, and preach preach with his half-breath; he couldn't hold out. But"--and he took the young man by the arm,--"come away from this place, and then you will feel better."

"Yes, yes!" cried Axel, "you are right! All my misfortunes arose from this unblessed soldier career. I got in debt there, and these first debts brought others in their train. But," he added, standing still, "what shall I say to my wife?"

"Nothing at all," said Braesig.

"No," said Axel, "I have solemnly resolved to tell her the whole truth, henceforth."

"Do you think the young gracious Frau will be likely to ask you--right to your face--why you didn't shoot yourself this morning? If you should get into any difficulty about it, I will tell fibs for you, I should not mind doing it; for it would be too horrible that such a dear young Frau should carry the thought with her, through her whole life, that the husband who should have cared for her was ready to leave her and her child, like a coward. No!" he added firmly, "she must not know it; no one need know it, but you and I. And make yourself easy, she is still asleep, for she could not have gone to bed before morning, and she must have been dreadfully tired."

They came back to Pumpelhagen, and met Daniel Sadenwater in the hall.

"Daniel," said Braesig, "let us have a little breakfast, as soon as possible. For," he added, when Daniel was gone, "you must eat a little something, so as to have a different feeling in your stomach, for such things take away a man's strength." Did he speak entirely from benevolence, or a little from self-love? For when the breakfast came, Axel ate nothing, but he ate like a thresher.

About ten o'clock, Frida came into the room, and exclaimed:

"Herr Inspector! and you, Axel?"

"Yes, dear Frida: I got home this morning," said the young man in a low voice.

"And now you will not go away again, now you will stay here," said Frida, decidedly. "Ah, Axel, I have much to tell you,--good news. But how do you and the Herr Inspector happen to be together?"

Now, thought Uncle Braesig, it is time to keep my promise about fibbing. "I went out for a little fishing, this morning,--you will not take it ill, gracious Frau, that I have left my fishing-rod in your hall,--and I met the Herr von Rambow, who was out walking, and we looked at his wheat together, and he invited me here to breakfast. But, gracious Frau, what fine sausage! you must surely have got the recipe from Frau Nuessler."

"No," said Frida, absently, looking at Braesig and at Axel, as if it seemed very strange to her that Axel should have invited the old inspector. "How did it happen, Herr Inspector," she began. Hold! thought Braesig, you will fib yourself into a trap, you must give another turn to the conversation, so he interrupted:

"With your leave, gracious Frau, you always call me 'inspector,' and so I have been; but I have been promoted, I am, now assessor at the court. Apohpoh!" turning to Axel, "why don't you take your money, that lies ready for you at the court, in Rahnstadt?"

"What money?" inquired Axel.

"Why, the fifteen hundred thalers, that the baggage hadn't spent. You must have had a letter about it, several weeks ago, from the court."

"I have had so many letters from the court, of late, that I no longer open them."

"I know about the business," cried Frida. "Frau Nuessler told me, on the way. I will get the letter," and she ran out of the door.

"Young Herr von Rambow," said Braesig, drawing himself up, "there you have done wrong again, for we judges are not only the punishers of mankind, we are also the benefactors of mankind."

"But do tell me what money it is!"

"Here is the letter," said Frida, giving it to her husband.

Axel opened it, and with what feelings! "Money, money!" had so long been the cry of his soul, always "Money!" Now this sum of money fell unexpectedly into his lap, but what money! "Oh, my God!" he cried, staggering blindly about the room, like a sleep-walker, "then that was not true either! All of it false! In whose hands have I been? Deceived in everything,--self-deceived! Bitterly self-deceived!"

He rushed out of the door, Frida would have followed him, but Braesig held her back. "Let me go, gracious Frau! I know a way to quiet him." He followed him to the garden, where he was raging up and down; the old man placed himself in the way:

"Herr, what sort of performances are these?"

"Get out of my way!" cried Axel.

"No," said Braesig, "there is no necessity for it. Aren't you ashamed, to frighten your wife to death with your wild behavior?"

"Why did you not let me destroy myself?" cried Axel; "this is a thousand times worse than death! To receive benefits, and such benefits, from people, whom in better times I have despised and slandered, yes, even ruined! Not merely to receive,--no!--if one will live,--to be obliged to receive it! Oh, oh!" he cried, striking his forehead, "why should I live? How can I live, with this sting in my heart?"

So he raged against himself and the world, and Uncle Braesig stood by quietly and looked at him. At last he said, "Go on like that a little longer; that pleases me uncommonly; the old nobleman's humor must work itself out. What? You will have no friendship with honest, burgher people? Isn't it so? If the Herr Vons should come, or even the Pomuchelskopps and Slusuhrs and Davids, so that nobody need know, of it, that would be more agreeable to you; but they won't come any more. But that is only a secondary matter; you ought to be ashamed that, under the eye of God, who delivered you this morning, you have again expressed the wish that you had shot yourself. Why, you are a double suicide!"

Axel was silent, and turned pale; he trembled, as he thought of the abyss into which he had looked that morning; Braesig took his arm and seated him on the bench, where his old father and his young wife had sat, in their anguish and distress. Gradually he recovered himself, and Zachary Braesig took him again by the arm: "Come! come to your gracious Frau! That is the best place for you now," and Axel followed like a lamb, and when his dear young wife took him in her arms, and drew him down by her on the sofa, and comforted him, then the hot tears started from his eyes, the last ice was broken up, and under the warmth of her lovely, spring sunshine his whole soul flowed out, open and free,--still in swelling waves, but free. And Zachary Braesig stood at the window, and drummed the old Dessauer, so that Fritz Triddelsitz, who was passing by, came up and asked, "Herr Inspector, do you want me?"

"No!" growled Braesig, "go about your business, and attend to your farming."

A carriage drove up, and Habermann and Franz got out of it. Franz had gone with Habermann, about nine o'clock, to see Moses, and had told him that, instead of the other good people, he would pay the thirty-one thousand for his cousin, and Moses kept nodding his head, and said, "You are good; the others are good, too; but you are rich; better is better."

When the business was settled, and Franz had gone a little way along the street with Habermann, he said, "Dear father, sit down here a moment, on this bench, I will come back directly, I have forgotten something I wanted to speak to Moses about." And when he went back to Moses he said, "My father-in-law, Habermann, told me, this morning, that Pomuchelskopp wants to sell Gurlitz."

"Wonder of wonders!" cried Moses, "Habermann, father-in-law! What does it mean?"

"I am going to marry his daughter."

The old Jew rose painfully from his chair, and laid his withered hand on the young head of the Christian nobleman:

"The God of Abraham bless you! You marry into a good family."

And after a little, Franz said, "Buy it for me, transact the business for me, but my name must not be mentioned, and no one--especially Habermann--is to know anything about it. At St. John's, I can raise a hundred thousand thalers."

"But how high shall I go?"

"I Leave that to you; but inquire about it to-day. I will come again to-morrow, and we can talk it over."

"Well," said Moses, "this is business, this is honest business. Why shouldn't I do a little business?"

Franz left him.

When Axel saw the two getting out of the carriage, he tried to control himself, and to conceal his agitation, but in vain. Too wild a flood was rushing through his soul, the green leaves were torn and scattered, and branches and limbs of trees floated down the current; Frida and Braesig interposed; and when he was rushing towards Habermann impulsively, Frida held him back, saying, "Axel, dear Axel, not now! To-morrow, the day after, any time! You can always find him."

And Habermann took his hat, and said he had a message from Fritz Triddelsitz's father, and went out. Franz went up to Axel, and embraced him, and said, "Come into the other room, Axel, I have much to say to you."

And when they had been there awhile, Franz looked in at the door, and called Frida. And, a while after, Daniel Sadenwater ran out into the yard, to look for the Herr Inspector Habermann, and as he passed in, before Braesig's eyes, Braesig began to find it lonely in the room, and he went out into the garden, and placed himself on a little elevation, and looked over to the Rexow firs, and the Lauban pond, thinking his own thoughts, and they began in this wise: "Remarkable! What is life, what is human life?" and when his thoughts had lasted about an hour and a halt, and he had snapped at innumerable flies, they at last broke out into words: "I wish one could get something to eat, by and by, and then a quiet place, to recreate one's self a little!"

And his wish was granted, for Daniel came and called him, and when he entered the room Habermann stood by Axel, holding his hand, and Franz was rubbing his hands, and looking at the dinner-table, and he came up to Braesig, saying, "Herr Inspector, we have good appetites to-day!" And Frida stood there, with the sweetest smile, and the most blessed content in her face, and said:

"Herr Inspector,--Herr Assessor, I would say,--when we first came to Pumpelhagen, you were my neighbor at table, now that we are going away, you must be so once more."

"Going away?"

"Yes, old friend," said Habermann, "you are a Jack of all trades, and know all that is going on; but you never thought of this: the Herr von Rambow has exchanged with Franz, he takes Hogen Selchow, and Franz, Pumpelhagen."

"That is a good arrangement, Karl, and if you crack your jokes on me, because I knew nothing about it, I knew, at least, several years ago, that the Herr von Rambow, who was your pupil, would come to something." And he went up to Franz, and shook his hand heartily.

After dinner, many things were talked over, and every one could perceive, by Axel's demeanor, how much lighter his heart was, now that he was no longer indebted to these people, but only to his cousin; and in this better mood, he agreed to everything, promised to let the inspector manage the estate, and to give Franz proper security.

Our story rapidly approaches its conclusion. After a week or so, Moses came to terms with Pomuchelskopp, for Gurlitz. It was sold for a hundred and ninety-two thousand thalers. From Moses Franz went straight to Schultz, the carpenter:

"Herr Schultz, can you hold your tongue?"

"Trust me for that."

"Well,--I am now owner of Pumpelhagen; send some of your people out there, and let them tear down the paddocks you built yonder."

"I have thought, all along, that the beasts would have a short life."

"Well; I am also, after St. John's, the owner of Gurlitz."

"See, see! So with Herr Pomuchelskopp too, it is at last: 'Out! out!'"

"Yes; but now listen to me. I want to have a pastor's-widow-house built there, and it must be planned exactly like the parsonage, and stand just opposite, close by the church-yard. You can take the measure to-morrow."

"No need of that, I have two measures already, one of my own, and one that Mamselle Habermann took, with her apron-strings and cap-ribbons."

"Good," said Franz, and a merry smile overspread his face, "use that one."

"But it wasn't right."

"No matter! You must build after that measure. Buy your needful timber to-morrow, engage carriers here in Rahnstadt, and a good master mason; but before all things, don't breathe a word of it to anybody! If you want money, apply to Moses."

He went off, and old carpenter Schultz stood in the door, looking after him.

"Noblemen, noblemen! Crazy performances! Cap-ribbons! Apron-strings! But Pomuchelskopp out! out! Isn't that good news?"

Franz went to Hogen Selchow; Habermann and Inspector Bremer, who had been engaged for Axel, went with him. Axel departed, with bag and baggage, and the burgomeister from Rahnstadt came in, to superintend the transfer of the property, and with him Braesig, as assessor. Three weeks were taken up in this business, and in the repairs and refurnishing of Pumpelhagen; then all was arranged to satisfaction. The Frau Pastorin, also, had completed the preparations for the wedding. I shall write about this wedding, exactly as it was; it passed over very quietly, and I shall quietly pass it over.

The day after the wedding, Louise and Franz, and the Frau Pastorin and Habermann, sat in a great coach, and Braesig was on the box, and they drove to Pumpelhagen. As they passed through Gurlitz, there was a great display of fir boards and beams, and oaken sills, and a notched beam lay all ready, on one side, and the carpenter, Schultz, stood there, in his shirt sleeves, superintending his workmen. Franz stopped the carriage, and called out to the energetic old man, "Is everything ready, Herr Schultz?"

"Everything is ready."

"Then you may speak, Herr Schultz."

"All right!" said Schultz. "But, Mamselle Hab---- I should say, gracious Frau, what trouble you have cost me! When I thought I had it, I hadn't it by a long way. I shall have to put in another notched beam."

"What?" asked Louise, and looked at Franz.

"Only this, dear child," said Franz, putting his arm around her, "that I have bought Gurlitz, and am going to build a pastor's-widow-house here, just like the parsonage."

"For me?" cried the little Frau Pastorin, and the tears which had risen to her eyes, when she looked at the church-yard where her Pastor slept, flowed freely, and she grasped his hand, and bathed it with tears of joy, for the tears which start in sadness often change to tears of joy.

"And I thought," continued Franz, "that my father-in-law and Braesig might live with you, as they have done. And I thought, father, you could undertake the management of Gurlitz, and you and Braesig could also have an eye to Pumpelhagen, and see if it is managed properly."

"Just the thing!" cried Braesig, from the box, who had heard everything because the front was down, "Karl, what did I say to you? He'll do!"

Habermann's eyes glistened with joy. To have occupation and responsibility again! to be active and useful! Louise threw herself upon her husband's breast: "Franz, what a dear, dear fellow you are!" And the carriage drove on, and arrived at Pumpelhagen. No triumphal arches this time,--but in every heart was erected a triumphal arch, to the glory of the Heavenly Father!

I have now finished my story, and might as well make an end of it; but I know how it is: many people would like to be informed of what has happened to our friends during the eighteen years since 1848, and so I will write one more chapter.

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XLVII. CONCLUSION

A year ago, before I moved from Mecklenburg to Thuringia, I visited the old chimney-corner once more, where I had spent so many happy days in my youth; and so I came to Rahnstadt, and went from there one afternoon, in the month of June, along the road to Gurlitz.

I intended to visit Habermann and Braesig and the Frau Pastorin, whom I had known since the time I was an apprentice, and had often visited in Rahnstadt; I had known Gottlieb too, at first in his Pietist days, and,--strangely,--we came to be very good friends, although we held quite different opinions; probably because I was a very sedate youth, and Gottlieb liked me on that account.

When I arrived at Gurlitz, I went up to the widow-house, and took hold of the handle of the door; the door was fast. "Hm!" said I to myself, "it is Sunday afternoon, it is hot, they have all gone to sleep." I went to the window, and raised myself on tiptoe, to look in; when a voice behind me said:

"Eh, Herr, that will do you no good; there is nobody there."

"Doesn't the Frau Pastorin live here?"

"She is dead."

"And Habermann?" I inquired.

"He has moved to Pumpelhagen, to live with the gracious Frau."

"Is the Herr Pastor at home?"

"Yes, he is at home," said old Juern, for it was he, "yes, he is at home, and the Frau Pastorin too; they are just drinking coffee."

I went to the house and knocked at the door. "Come in!" cried a rich voice. I entered,--well, in the course of my life, I have met with a great deal that I could not explain, and some things that were very surprising,--but this time I was not merely surprised, I was really startled! There sat Gottlieb, his haircut very reasonably short, and instead of resembling the hollow of Frau Nuessler's baking trough his form was more like the increasing moon; the white, sunken cheeks had become smooth and ruddy, and the red, full lips seemed to say, "We have had a good dinner to-day, but we and the stout teeth behind us have done our duty." And that was the expression of the whole man, one that enjoyed good dinners, and yet did his duty. There was nothing lazy about his looks, all was firm and clean, and told of hard work, and refreshing rest, and comfortable meals. Well, and now! Of the Frau Pastorin Lining there was no trace, she had changed into the exact image of the little, round Frau Pastorin Behrends. "Hm!" said I to myself, "the wind sits fair in this quarter."

When the first greetings were over, we sat down together, and there were many questions to ask, especially on my side. The story that I have related I had mostly from Braesig; Habermann also would let a word fall, now and then, for I was rather a favourite with the old man, and some things I inquired about elsewhere, a little later, and because the principal events occurred while I was apprenticed on an estate, I have called it, "During my apprenticeship."

Gottlieb told me various things, and Frau Pastorin Lining helped him, for she was constantly interrupting; and when I rose, to go to Pumpelhagen,--for I had known Franz also, when I was apprenticed in the region,--Gottlieb said, "Yes, go! You will find them all together, there; we will come by and by, and bring our three children; the oldest is absent, he is already at the gymnasium." I went through the Gurlitz church-yard, thinking over what I had heard, and it was just what is always happening on this earth; joy and sorrow, birth and death.

The first of our friends who had deceased was Bauschan. He did not die a natural death,--not that he committed suicide--no! One day weaver Ruhrdanz came into the Rexow farm-yard, with a rusty flint-lock, took Bauschan by the collar, and led him into the garden; the new crown-prince was there as a spectator, and--as appeared afterwards--behaved very badly upon the occasion, rushing about, and growling. A shot was heard, and soon after Ruhrdanz came in, and reported that Bauschan had made a very Christian end. Frau Nuessler poured him a glass of schnapps, and when he had drank it, very gravely, he said that he and the other Gurlitz people had been before the court that morning; they were all sentenced to a year's imprisonment, and because he was the head one, or the ringleader, as they called it, he must have six months longer. He went out, but came back to say: "Frau, you will not forget my old woman! It all happened because we had no papers."

The second who died was Jochen himself. Since the time that he had given up the control, he had taken to managing; he ran about the fields all day, especially in places where there was nothing to do, and would stand there, shaking his head, but saying nothing. And one Sunday, between Christmas and New-Year's, when the snow lay a foot deep over the fields, he was out and happened to fall into a ditch. He came home quite chilled; Frau Nuessler gave him camomile tea, by the quart; he drank it submissively, but next morning he said, "Mother, what is not to be helped, is not. What must be, must. It is all as true as leather, and one can do nothing more about it," and with that, he fell asleep. He had managed himself to death, and Frau Nuessler thought seriously of inscribing on his tombstone:

"He died in his vocation."

Moses was the next; the old man had walked firm and upright through life, and firm and upright he went out of it. He died firm in his faith, and they did for him according to the customs of the tribe of Judah,--for he belonged to the tribe of Judah,---and when he was buried David sat in the ashes, with a torn coat, and many Christians followed him to the church-yard around which he had built the oaken fence, and I believe he is in Abraham's bosom, where Christians are also received. And the day after his funeral, there were three people standing at his grave, namely, Habermann, and the two young Fraus von Rambow,--Frida was come for a visit,--and Habermann wiped his old eyes, and the two young Fraus laid a couple of fresh wreaths on the grave of the old Jew, and, as they walked thoughtfully away through the Rahnstadt meadows, Habermann said, "He was a Jew in faith, and a Christian in deeds."

And now comes Haeuning's turn--our brave old Haeuning. Pomuchelskopp had gone off, neck and crop, bag and baggage, in the blue coach with the coat of arms, and with as many furniture wagons as he had fat sheep, to Rostock. When times got a little better for credit, he earned himself a nickname, they called him, "Much too cheap!" for he related his story to every one who would listen to him, and lamented his hard fate, and the sale of Gurlitz, and always ended with a deep sigh, "Much too cheap! Oh, very much too cheap!"

His brave Haeuning pursued her course unterrified, and kept up her authority; but, dear knows, what a time she had with those Rostock maid-servants! They would not put up with such treatment as the Gurlitzers were compelled to endure. Every week, she had a new maid; one, indeed, behaved more reasonably, that was an old cook; but when she had been there about three months, this worthless creature became refractory. Haeuning was very decided, she caught up the fire-tongs, and gave her a hard blow on the head. The girl hadn't another word to say, for she fell flat on the kitchen hearth. A doctor came and talked a great deal about suggillations and fractures; but the end of the story was, the poor girl was taken to the hospital. The doctor was an honest man, he reported the matter to the rightful authorities, and Haeuning was summoned before the court. If she had made use of a pudding-stick, of the same length and thickness, they would have done nothing to her; but, in her valor, she had seized the tongs! Tongs were not down in the Mecklenburg statutes, and so Haeuning was condemned, besides the costs, and what she must give the poor girl, to six weeks' imprisonment. Pomuchel protested, he appealed, he supplicated; it was of no use; Haeuning was imprisoned on account of her great valor. He told his story to every one who would listen, he poured out streams of abusive talk about the court; at last, one of the judges happened to hear of it, and the chancellor made Pomuchel a present of four weeks' imprisonment, for himself. He tried to buy off, with money; but it was no go; even the Herr Senator Bank said, "No! this time the poltroon should be served out." And so those two old brave people were confined in adjoining rooms, over Christmas, 1852, and New Year's, 1853; and when they had been there a fortnight the jailer remarked to his wife: "Fika, there is quite a difference between the two; he runs about his room as if he was crazy, berating everybody, and she sits there, stiff and stark, in the same place, where she sat down the first evening."

Malchen and Salchen, meanwhile, to the great distress of their elders, gave a great tea-party, to which Herr Suessmann was invited, as he had, merely out of compassion, accepted a situation in the Maehlenstrasse.

When our old friend were set free, Pomuchelskopp sat down in the living room, and bewailed himself to his daughters. Haeuning went straight to the kitchen, and there found a day-laborer's wife; for, during their imprisonment, there had been a great excitement, and the Rostock maid-servants had resolved that no respectable girl should go into service at the Pomuchelskopps. So they hired this woman by the day.

"What do you get a day?" asked Haeuning.

"Sixteen groschen," was the reply. Haeuning grasped the tongs, but bethought herself in time. But this self-control made the evil overflow into her blood, and three days after she was dead; and in three days more she was buried. Pomuchelskopp and his daughters do not know where she lies, and if any one inquires, they say, "She is buried over yonder,--over yonder." But Gustaving, who, in his capacity of inspector, often visits the city, knows. He took one of the little ones by the hand, and showed him the place: "See, Krischaning, mother is buried there."

I have been telling of sorrow, and have yet more to relate; but why not also of joy? There was joy in the pastor's-widow-house, for long years. Frau Pastorin used to sit, on summer evenings, and look at her Pastor's grave. Ah! how glad she would be to die; and then, when Duert brought the candles, she would turn round, and look at her old furniture, and the picture gallery, and the duster in its old place, and under the picture gallery, the two friendly old faces, which she had so often seen there in her Pastor's time, and then, how glad she was to live! Habermann was constantly active, no longer for strangers, but for his children and grandchildren, for Louise had two of the dearest little girls; and he had still another gratification. Fritz Triddelsitz walked in one day,--of course in a blue dress-coat,--with the little assessor, and introduced himself as a proprietor, in Lower Pomerania, and the little assessor as his bride; and when he had talked of various matters through the evening, and they had gone away, Braesig said, "Karl, this time you were right again; but who would have thought it? Your greyhound has become quite a reasonable being; but don't plume yourself too much upon it; it is not your doing, it is the little assessor's."

Braesig himself scoured the whole region after news. Now he was in Rexow, then in Pumpelhagen, then in Rahnstadt, but his chief place of resort was Hogen Selchow. He journeyed thither, nearly every quarter, and when he came back he would say, "Karl, it goes well; he has quite given up the management, and now he sits in his work-shop, and invents. Stuff and nonsense, of course; but Bremer says he would not ask for a better master, and the gracious Frau looks as happy and blessed as an angel in Paradise. But, Karl, he is not so stupid, after all. He has made one invention, that I am going to try, myself. You see, you take an old hat, cut out a hole in front, and put a lantern in, and when you are riding out, in the winter evenings, and have your lantern there, you can see, as if it were broad daylight."

Braesig actually brought Axel's invention into practice, and frightened all the country people in the region; but once when he had visited Hogen Selchow, he had an attack of his old friend the Podagra, and the old friend kicked him in the stomach, with both feet, and on the way home, he took a severe cold. And so he lay on his death-bed.

The Frau Pastorin and Frau Nuessler and his old Karl Habermann were sitting by him, and the Frau Pastorin said, "Dear Braesig, shall I not call in the young Herr Pastor?"

"Let it go, Frau Pastorin, you have called me a heathen all my life; it may not have been right for me to live as I have done; but the pastor-business! No, it is better so. And, Karl, my sister's daughter, Lotting, is to have two thousand thalers; and the rest shall go to the school in Rahnstadt; for, Karl, the Frau Pastorin has enough to live on, and you have enough to live on, but the poor school-children are so badly off! And Frau Nuessler has enough to live on, and my godchild, Mining, and you, Karl, and you are all going to live, and I am going to die." And then his mind began to wander and he was once more in his early childhood, keeping sheep for his father, and an old ram made him a great deal of trouble, and he called to Frau Nuessler to come and help him, and Frau Nuessler sat down on the bed, and put her arms around him, and then he began about the three sweethearts, and Frau Nuessler, and kept calling out that he had never loved any one but her, and Frau Nuessler kissed the words from his lips, saying, "I know it, Braesig, my dear, old Zachary, I know it."

And the fancies came thicker and faster, about the time when he was assessor at the court, and the indiciums, and the young Herr von Rambow, and the Lauban pond, and how he threw the pistol into the pond and lost four groschen on the wager. And then a strange lightness came over him, and he told his dear old Frau Nuessler the most wonderful stories about the little twins, and his godchild, Mining, and Karl Habermann and Louise,--all intermingled with each other,--holding Frau Nuessler's hand fast in his all the while; but suddenly he raised himself, and said, "Frau Nuessler, lay your hand on my head; I have always loved you. Karl Habermann, rub my feet, they are cold." Habermann did so, and a bright smile flashed across Braesig's face, and he said slowly, "I was always ahead of you in style." That was the last.

Our little Frau Pastorin soon followed him. There are a few people who live very happily on earth, and yet are glad to die. To these few belonged the little round Frau. She was very comfortable here below, but when she thought of the home above, a dear old face shown upon her, and old tones rang in her ears, for she thought of heaven as a little, neat, clean village church, where the angels sang and her pastor preached. Now she is with him, and can put on his mantle, and tie his bands, and sing with him, in the little church, no longer "funeral hymns," no! "resurrection songs."

With these thoughts running through my head, I turned the corner near the arbor, where so many people had sat in their trouble and distress, and saw, playing on the lawn, three little maidens from four to eleven years of age. And, as I came nearer, I saw a lady with a friendly, contented expression in her face, and she dropped her work in her lap, and smiled at the little girls, and shook her finger at them: "Don't provoke me too far!" Near her, sat a fresh, healthy-looking man, reading the newspaper, and he laid it down and shook his head, as if he said, "There is nothing in it." And farther on sat an old man, at whose knee a little girl of twelve years was leaning, and chatting with him, and he interrupted her lively childish prattle, to say to the young Frau: "Let them play, Louise, they will become steady and reasonable soon enough." And as I came round the corner, the old man exclaimed: "Good heavens! is not that----?" And Franz and Louise came towards me, and Franz said, "See! see! That is right, Fritz, to visit us once more!"

"Many greetings, gracious Frau," said I, "from my Louise," for my wife is a Louise too. And we talked of one thing and another, but our quiet did not last long, for a troop came tearing through the garden, like the wild hunt, and four boys, with brown eyes, and brown cheeks, and gray jackets and trousers, scampered up the path, and a little rogue of six years rushed up to Franz and clasped his knees, saying over his shoulder to the others, "I am the first!"

"Yes," said another, a boy of about twelve, "I believe you, you ran through the meadow; but how you look! Mather will scold finely!" And now the little fellow looked down at his stockings and trousers, and, truly! if his mother were contented with their condition, he would have reason to be thankful.

"Are your father and mother coming soon?"

"Yes," said the eldest boy, "they are close by. And grandmother is coming too, and Frau von Rambow, who came yesterday."

"Ah, Frida?" cried Louise, "that is good!" And it was not long before Rudolph and Mining came up, and they looked like a fair day in summer, when the sunlight lies broad over the fields, and the shadows are short, and men are working in their shirt-sleeves. Rudolph has become a capable fellow who counts for something among his colleagues, for he does not carry on his farming in the old-fashioned, narrow ways, and has regard to the welfare of other people, and of the whole country, as well as to his own profit. And behind them came Frau Nuessler, and Frida. The Frau von Rambow looked to the right, and the left, and her face grew sad, and when she came to the arbor and the first greetings were over, Louise called to her oldest daughter, "Frida, bring auntie a chair!" for Frida had once said, she could never sit again on that bench, where she had sat in such anguish.

Frau Nuessler went up to Habermann:

"How are you, Brother Karl?"

"Finely!" cried Habermann, in a loud voice, for Frau Nuessler had grown very hard of hearing, "and you?"

"Very well, all but my hearing; that is worse. They say it comes from taking cold. Nonsense! how should I take cold? I will tell you, Karl, it came from Jochen; for he talked and talked so much, at the last, and I was quite worn out. Well, he could not help it, it was in his nature."

Then came Pastor Gottlieb and Lining, with three children. And the children played together, and their elders talked together, and at supper time the tables were laid, out of doors, one for the older people by themselves, and one for the children by themselves, and Louise's eldest daughter presided at the children's table, and Grandfather Habermann at the other, and both with a very different rule from our old Haeuning. How friendly and pleasant it was!

And as we old subjects of Habermann were sitting together merrily, rejoicing in his government, who came along the garden path? Fritz Triddelsitz and the little assessor. What an uproar! How many questions were asked and answered, in a few moments!

All at once, Triddelsitz caught sight of me: "Fritz, where did you come from?"

"Eh, Fritz where did you come from?"

"Fritz I haven't seen you in seven cold winters!"

"Nor I you, Fritz."

So we "Fritzed" each other, back and forth, to the amusement of the whole company.

"Fritz," asked he, "do you still write books?"

"Yes, Fritz, I have written a whole heap of them."

"Well, Fritz, do me a single favor, and never put me into any of them."

"Eh!" said I, "there's no help for it; you are in already, Fritz."

"What am I in about?" he asked hastily.

"The rendezvous, at the great water-ditch."

"What is that?" asked Louise, who sat opposite me.

Franz laughed heartily: "I will tell you, another time."

"No, no!" cried Fritz.

"Why, what is it then?" asked the little assessor, looking at me, Fritz Reuter, and then at him, Fritz Triddelsitz. I was silent, and he said:

"I will tell you, another time."

Old Grandfather Habermann laughed with all his might.

When we were by ourselves, afterwards, Fritz took my arm, and said:

"Just tell me, who told the story?"

"Braesig," said I.

"I thought so," said he, "Braesig was the chief person in the whole story."

"That he was," said I.

* * *

Some people may ask the question, Where are Pumpelhagen and Rexow and Gurlitz? Well, you will look in vain for them on the map, and yet they are situated in our German Fatherland, and I hope they are to be found in more places than one. Everywhere, where a nobleman resides, who does not think himself better than his fellow-men, and who recognizes the lowest of his laborers as his brother, and himself as a fellow-worker,--there is Pumpelhagen. Wherever there is a clergyman, who does not demand, in his self-conceit, that everybody shall believe precisely as he does, who makes no difference between poor and rich, who not only preaches, but is ready with kind words, and wise counsel, and substantial help, when it is needed,--there is Gurlitz. Wherever a burgher is active and energetic, and is driven by an impulse to become wiser and more capable, and thinks more of the general welfare than of his own pecuniary advantage,--there is Rexow. And wherever these three are united, through the love of sweet womanhood, and the hopes of fresh, joyous childhood, there are, also, all three villages together.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 1: Du (thou) is the common form of address between friends; Sie (third person plural) being used with strangers, and on formal occasions.]

[Footnote 2: Braesig probably means "Douche." "Tuesche" is Indian-ink.]

[Footnote 3: A Paechter is one who rents a farm.]

[Footnote 4: A Mecklenburg Schilling is equal to an English penny.]

[Footnote 5: "Hug me and kiss me, but don't tumble my curls."]

[Footnote 6: "Cross buns and cracknels."]

[Footnote 7: Mignon's song: "Poor child, what have they done to thee?"]

[Footnote 8: The third person singular is used n addressing inferiors. "Hat Hei kein Pappiren."]

[Footnote 9: Muschuken, from Monsieur, is a kind of Mecklenburg biscuit.]

[Footnote 10: Species of dog.]

[Footnote 11: "Meinswegens"--"for all I care."]

[Footnote 12: Herr has the meaning of Mr., Sir, gentleman and master.]

THE END.

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