← catalogue

Seed-time and Harvest: A Novel

by Fritz Reuter · English · Gutenberg #35889 · 1,333,985 chars · public domain (US)

The Project Gutenberg eBook of Seed-time and Harvest: A Novel
    
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online
at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States,
you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located
before using this eBook.

Title: Seed-time and Harvest: A Novel

Author: Fritz Reuter


        
Release date: April 16, 2011 [eBook #35889]
                Most recently updated: January 7, 2021

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/35889

Credits: Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by the Web Archive


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SEED-TIME AND HARVEST: A NOVEL ***




Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by the Web Archive







TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES:

   1. Page scan source:
      http://www.archive.org/details/seedtimeandharv00reutgoog

   2. Compare the "Authorized Edition" issued in Leipzig (1878) under
      the title "An Old Story of My Farming Days (_Ut Mine Stromtid_)".

   3. The diphthong oe is represented by [oe].





                         SEED-TIME AND HARVEST




                               _A NOVEL_.




               TRANSLATED FROM THE "UT MINE STROMTID" OF


                             FRITZ REUTER.





                             PHILADELPHIA:

                         J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO.

                                 1878.






                           *   *   *   *   *

       Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1870, by

                             LITTELL & GAY,

        In the Office of the Library of Congress at Washington.

                           *   *   *   *   *




       *   *   *

  Lippincott's Press.
    _Philadelphia_.

       *   *   *






                         Seed-Time and Harvest;

                                  OR,

                      "DURING MY APPRENTICESHIP."




                               CHAPTER I.


In the year 1829, on St. John's day, a man sat in the deepest
melancholy, under an ash-tree arbor, in a neglected garden. The estate,
to which the garden belonged, was a lease-hold estate, and lay on the
river Peene, between Anclam and Demmin, and the man, who sat in the
cool shade of the arbor, was the lease-holder,--that is to say, he had
been until now; for now he was ejected, and there was an auction to-day
in his homestead, and all his goods and possessions were going to the
four winds.

He was a large, broad-shouldered; light-haired man, of four and forty
years; and nowhere could you find a better specimen of what labor could
make of a man than she had carved from this block. "Labor," said his
honest face,--"Labor," said his firm hands which lay quiet in his lap,
folded one upon another as if for praying.

Yes, for praying! And in the whole broad country of Pomerania, there
might well have been no one with greater need and reason to speak with
his Lord God, than this man. 'Tis a hard thing for any one to see his
household goods, which he has gathered with labor and pains, piece by
piece, go wandering out into the world. 'Tis a hard thing for a farmer
to leave the cattle, which he has fed and cared for, through want and
trouble, to other hands that know nothing of the difficulties which
have oppressed him all his life. But it was not this which lay so heavy
on his heart; it was a still deeper grief which caused the weary hands
to lie folded together, and the weary eyes to droop so heavily.

Since yesterday he was a widower, his wife lay upon her last couch. His
wife! Ten years had he striven for her, ten years had he worked and
toiled, and done what human strength could do that they might come
together, that he might make room for the deep, powerful love which
sung through his whole being, like Pentecost bells over green fields
and blossoming fruit-trees.

Four years ago he had made it possible: he had scraped together
everything that he had; an acquaintance who had inherited from his
parents two estates had leased one of them to him,--at a high rent,
very high--no one knew that better than himself,--but love gives
courage, cheerful courage, to sustain one through everything. Oh, it
would have gone well, quite well, if misfortunes had not come upon
them, if his dear little wife had not risen before the daylight and ere
the dew was risen, and got such feverish red spots on her cheeks. Oh,
all would have gone well, quite well, if his landlord had been not
merely an acquaintance but a friend--he was not the latter; to-day he
allowed his agent to hold the auction.

Friends? Such a man as the one who sat under the ashen arbor, has he no
friends? Ah, he had friends, and their friendship was true; but they
could not help him, they had nothing either to give or to lend.
Wherever he looked, there seemed a gloomy wall before his eyes, which
narrowed around him, and pressed him in, until he must needs call upon
the Lord to deliver him out of his distresses. And over him in the
ashen twigs sang the finches, and their gay plumage glittered in the
sun, and the flowers in the neglected garden gave out their fragrance,
all in vain,--and the fairest bridal pair in the world might have sat
there, and never have forgotten either the place or the day.

And had he not often sat under these shade trees with a soft hand in
his hard one? Had not the birds sung, had not the flowers been
fragrant? Had he not under the ash-trees dreamed of their cool shade
for his old age? And who was it that had brought to him here a
refreshing drink after a hot day's labor? Who was it that had shared in
and consoled all his cares and sorrows?

It was gone--all gone!--Here was care and trouble about the auction,
and the soft, warm hand was cold and stiff. And so it is much the same
to a man as if the birds sang no longer, and the flowers had lost their
fragrance, and the blessed sun shone for him no more; and if the poor
heart keeps on beating it reaches out, beyond birds and flowers and
beyond the golden sun, higher up after a Comforter, in whose presence
these earthly joys shall fade and fall, but before whom the human soul
shall stand forever.

So sat Habermann before his God, and his hands were folded, and his
honest blue eyes bent to the ground, and yet there shone in them a
clear light, as from God's sun. Then came a little maiden running to
him, and laid a marigold blossom on his lap, and the two hands unfolded
themselves and clasped the child,--it was his child,--and he rose up
from the bench, and took her on his arm, and from his eyes fell tear
after tear, and he kept the marigold flower in his hand, and went with
the child along the path through the garden.

He came to a young tree which he had planted himself; the straw-rope
with which it was bound to its prop had loosened, and the tree was
sagging downwards. He reached up and bound it fast, without thinking
what he was doing, for his thoughts were far away, but care and helping
were part of his nature.

But when a man's thoughts are in the clouds, were it even in the blue
heavens, if his daily duties come before his eyes,--the old accustomed
handiwork,--and he does them, he helps himself in so doing, for they
call him back from the distance and show him what is near by, and what
is in need of help. And it is one of our Lord's mercies that this is
so.

He walked up and down the garden, and his eyes saw what was around him,
and his thoughts came back to earth; and though the black, gloomy
clouds still overspread the heaven of his future, they could not
conceal one little patch of blue sky,--that, was the little girl whom
he bore on his arm, and whose baby hand played with his hair. He had
thought over his situation, steadily and earnestly he had looked the
black clouds in the face; he must take care that he and his little one
were not overpowered by the storm.

He went from the garden toward the house. Good Heavens, how his courage
sank! Indifferent to him, and absorbed in their petty affairs, a crowd
of men pressed around the table where the actuary was holding the
auction. Piece by piece the furniture acquired by his years of industry
was knocked down to the highest bidder; piece by piece his household
gear had come into the house, with trouble and anxiety; piece by piece
it went out to the world, amid jokes and laughter. This sideboard had
been his old mother's, this chest of drawers his wife had brought with
her, that little work-table he had given her while she was yet a bride.
Near by stood his cattle, tied to a rack, and lowing after their
pasture; the brown yearling which his poor wife herself had brought up,
her special pet, stood among them; he went round to her, and stroked
her with his hand.

"Herr," said the bailiff Niemann, "'tis a sad pity"

"Yes, Niemann, 'tis a pity; but there's no help for it," said he, and
turned away, and went toward the men who were crowding around the
auctioneer's table.

As the people noticed him, they made room for him in a courteous and
friendly manner, and he turned to the auctioneer as if he would speak a
few words to him.

"Directly, Herr Habermann," said the man, "in a moment. I am just
through with the house-inventory, then-- A chest of drawers! Two
thalers, four shillings! Six shillings! Two thalers eight shillings!
Once! Twice! Two thalers twelve shillings! No more? Once! Twice!
and--thrice! Who has it?"

"Brandt, the tailor," was the answer.

Just at this moment, a company of country people came riding up the
yard, who apparently wished to look at the cattle, which came next in
order in the sale. Foremost rode a stout, red-faced man, upon whose
broad features arrogance had plenty of room to display itself. This
quality was very strongly marked; but an unusual accompaniment was
indicated by the little, crafty eyes, which peered out over the coarse
cheeks, as if to say, "You are pretty well off, but we have something
to do to look after your interests." The owner of these eyes was the
owner also of the estate of which Habermann had held the lease; he rode
close up to the cluster of men, and, as he saw his unhappy tenant
standing among them, the possibility occurred to him that he might fail
of receiving his full rent, and the crafty eyes, which understood so
well how to look after their own interests, said to the arrogance which
sat upon mouth and mien, "Brother, now is a good time to spread
yourself; it will cost you nothing;" and pressing his horse nearer to
Habermann he called, so that all the people must hear, "Yes, here is
your prudent Mecklenburger, who will teach us how to manage a farm!
What has he taught us? To drink wine and shuffle cards he might teach
us, but farming--_Bankruptcy_, he can teach us!"

All were silent at these hard words, and looked first at him who had
uttered them, and then at him against whom they were directed.
Habermann was at first struck, by voice and words together, as if a
knife had been plunged into his heart; now he stood still and looked
silently before him, letting all go over his head; but among the people
broke out a murmuring--"Fie! Fie! For shame! The man is no drinker nor
card-player. He has worked his farm like a good fellow!"

"What great donkey is this, who can talk like that?" asked old Farmer
Drenkhahn, from Liepen, and pressed nearer with his buckthorn staff.

"That's the fellow, father," called out Stolper the smith, "who lets
his people go begging about, for miles around."

"They haven't a coat to their backs," said tailor Brandt, of Jarmen,
"and by all their labour they can only earn victuals."

"Yes," laughed the smith, "that's the fellow who is so kind to his
people that they all have nice dress-coats to work in, while he does
not keep enough to buy himself a smock-frock."

The auctioneer had sprung up and ran towards the landlord, who had
heard these remarks with unabashed thick-headedness. "In God's name,
Herr Pomuchelskopp, how can you talk so?"

"Yes," said one of his own company, who rode up with him, "these folks
are right. You should be ashamed of yourself! The poor man has given up
everything that he had a right to keep, and goes out into the world
to-morrow, empty-handed, and you go on abusing him."

"Ah, indeed," said the auctioneer, "if that were all! But his wife died
only yesterday, and lies on her last couch, and there he is with his
poor little child, and what prospect has the poor man for the future?"

The murmur went round among the people of the landlord's company, and
it was not long before he had the place to himself; those who came with
him had ridden aside. "Did I know that?" said he peevishly, and rode
out of the yard; and the little, crafty eyes said to the broad
arrogance, "Brother, this time we went rather too far."

The auctioneer turned to Habermann. "Herr Habermann, you had something
to say to me?"

"Yes--yes--" replied the farmer, like a man who has been under torture,
coming again to his senses. "Yes, I was going to ask you to put up to
auction the few things I have a right to keep back,--the bed and the
other things."

"Willingly; but the household furniture has sold badly, the people have
no money, and if you wish to dispose of anything you would do better at
private sale."

"I have not time for that, and I need the money."

"Then if you wish it, I will offer the goods at auction," and the man
went back to his business.

"Habermann," said Farmer Grot, who came with the company on horseback,
"you are so lonely here, in your misfortunes; come home with me, you
and your little girl, and stay awhile with us, my wife will be right
glad----"

"I thank you much for the good will; but I cannot go, I have still
something to do here."

"Habermann," said farmer Hartmann, "you mean the funeral of your good
wife. When do you bury her? We will all come together, to do her this
last honor."

"For that I thank you too; but I cannot receive you as would be proper,
and by this time I have learned that one must cut his coat according to
his cloth."

"Old friend, my dear old neighbor and countryman," said Inspector
Wienk, and clapped him on the shoulder, "do not yield to
discouragement! things will go better with you yet."

"Discouragement, Wienk?" said Habermann, earnestly, pressing his child
closer to himself, and looking steadily at the inspector, with his
honest blue eyes. "Is that discouragement, to look one's future
steadily in the face, and do one's utmost to avert misfortune? But I
cannot stay here; a man avoids the place where he has once made
shipwreck. I must go to some house at a distance, and begin again at
the beginning. I must work for my bread again, and stretch my feet
under a stranger's table. And now good-bye to you all! You have always
been good neighbors and friends to me. Adieu! Adieu! Give me your hand.
Wienk,--Adieu! and greet them all kindly at your house; my wife----' He
had still something to say, but he seemed to be overcome, and turned
almost quickly and went his way.

"Niemann," said he to his bailiff, as he came to the other end of the
farm-yard, "Tell the other people, to-morrow morning early, at four
o'clock, I will bury my wife." With that, he went into the house, into
his sleeping-room. It was all cleaned out, his bed and all the
furniture which had been left to him; nothing remained but four bare
walls. Only in a dark corner stood an old chest, and on it sat a young
woman, the wife of a day-laborer, her eyes red with weeping; and in the
middle of the room stood a black coffin in which lay a white, still,
solemn face, and the woman had a green branch in her hand, and brushed
the flies from the still face.

"Stina," said Habermann, "go home now; I will stay here."

"Oh, Herr, let me stay!"

"No, Stina, I shall stay here all night."

"Shall I not take the little one with me?"

"No, leave her, she will sleep well."

The young woman went out: the auctioneer came and handed him the money
which he had received for his goods, the people went away from the
court-yard; it became as quiet out of doors as in. He put the child
down, and reckoned the money on the window-seat. "That pays the
cabinet-maker for the coffin; that for the cross at the grave; that for
the funeral. Stina shall have this, and with the rest I can go to my
sister." The evening came, the young wife of the laborer brought in a
lighted candle, and set it on the coffin, and gazed long at the white
face, then dried her eyes and said "Goodnight," and Habermann was,
again alone with his child.

He raised the window, and looked out into the night. It was dark for
that time of year, no stars shone in the sky, all was obscured with
black clouds, and a warm, damp air breathed on his face, and sighed in
the distance. From over the fields came the note of the quail, and the
land-rail uttered its rain-call, and softly fell the first drops on the
dusty ground, and his heart rose in thanks for the gift of sweetest
savor known to the husbandman, the earth-vapor in which hover all
blessings for his cares and labor. How often had it refreshed his soul,
chased away his anxieties, and renewed his hope of a good year! Now he
was set loose from care, but also from joy; a great joy had gone from
him, and had taken with it all lesser ones.

He closed the window, and, as he turned round, there stood his little
daughter by the coffin, reaching vainly toward the still face, as if
she would stroke it. He raised the child higher so that she could
reach, and the little girl stroked and kissed the cold, dead cheek of
her silent mother, and looked then at her father with her great eyes,
as if she would ask something unspeakable, and said "Mother! Oh!"

"Yes," said Habermann, "mother is cold," and the tears started in his
eyes, and he sat down on the chest, took his daughter on his lap, and
wept bitterly. The little one began to weep also, and cried herself
quietly to sleep. He laid her softly against his breast, and wrapped
his coat warmly about her, and so sat he the night through, and held
true lyke-wake over his wife and his happiness.

Next morning, punctually, at four o'clock, came the bailiff with the
other laborers. The coffin was screwed up; the procession moved slowly
toward the church-yard; the only mourners himself and his little girl.
The coffin was lowered into the grave. A silent Pater Noster,--a
handful of earth,--and the image of her who had for years refreshed and
comforted him, rejoiced and enlivened, was concealed from his eyes, and
if he would see it again he must turn over his heart like a book, leaf
by leaf, until he comes to the closing page, and then,--yes, there will
the dear image stand, fair and lovely before his eyes once more.

He went among his people, shook hands with every one, and thanked them
for this last service which they had rendered him, and then said
"Good-bye" to them, gave to the bailiff the money for the coffin, cross
and funeral, and then, absorbed in thought, started on his lonely way
out into the gloomy future.

As he came to the last house in the little hamlet, the young laborer's
wife stood with a child on her arm before the door. He stepped up to
her.

"Stina, you took faithful care of my poor wife in her last
sickness,--here, Stina," and would press a couple of dollars into her
hand.

"Herr, Herr," cried the young wife, "don't do me that injury! What have
you not done for us in good days? Why should we not in hard times make
some little return? Ah, Herr, I have one favor to ask; leave the child
here with me! I will cherish it as if it were my own. And is it not
like my own? I have nursed it at my breast, when your poor wife was so
weak. Leave me the child!"

Habermann stood in deep thought. "Herr," said the woman, "you will have
to separate from the poor little thing, sooner or later. See, here
comes Jochen, he will speak for himself."

The laborer came up, and, as he heard of what they were speaking, said,
"Yes, Herr, she shall be cared for like a princess, and we are healthy,
and well to do, and what you have done for us, we will richly repay to
her."

"No," said Habermann, lifting himself from his thoughts, "that won't
go, I can't do it. I may be wrong to take the child with me upon an
uncertainty; but I have left so much here, this last thing I cannot
give up. No, no! I can't do it," cried he hastily and turned himself to
go, "my child must be where I am. Adieu, Stina! Adieu, Rassow!"

"If you will not leave us the child, Herr," said the laborer, "let me
at least go with you a little way, and carry her for you."

"No, No!" said Habermann, "she is no burden for me;" but he could not
hinder the young woman from stroking and kissing his little daughter,
and ever again kissing her, nor that both these honest souls, as he
went on his way, should stand long looking after him. She, with tears
in her eyes, thought more of the child, he, in serious reflection, more
of the man.

"Stina," said he, "we shall never again have such a master."

"The Lord knows that," said she, and both went sadly back to their
daily labor.




                              CHAPTER II.


About eight miles from the place where Habermann had left his wife in
her quiet grave, lay in Mecklenburg a farm of less than medium size,
which was tenanted by his brother-in-law, Jochen Nuessler. The
farm-buildings had never been very substantial, and were now much in
need of repair, and moreover things were very disorderly; here a little
refuse heap, and there another, and the wagon and farm implements stood
here and there, and mingled together, like the people at a fair, and
the cart said to the wagon, "Brother, how came you here?" and the rake
laid hold of the harrow and said, "Come, dear, we will have a dance."
But the music was lacking, for it was all still in the farm-yard, quite
still. This lovely weather, all were in the meadow, haying, and even
from the little open windows of the long, low, straw-roofed farm-house
came no sound, for it was afternoon; the cook had finished her baking,
and the housemaid her cleaning, and both had gone together to the
meadow; and even the farmer's wife, who usually had something to say
for herself, was nowhere visible, for she also had gone from the
farm-yard with a rake in her hand; the hay must all be gathered into
great stacks before night-fall.

But there was yet life in the house, though of a little, quiet kind. In
the room at the right of the porch, in the living-room, where the
blue-painted corner-cupboard stood,--the _schenk_, they called it, and
the sofa covered with black glazed linen, which was freshly polished up
with boot-blacking every Saturday and the oaken chest of drawers with
gilt ornaments, sat two little maidens of three years, with round
flaxen heads, and round rosy cheeks, playing in a heap of sand, making
cheeses with mother's thimble, and filling the damp sand into two
little shilling pots, which they turned upside down, laughing and
rejoicing if the lump stood firm.

These were Lining and Mining Nuessler, and they looked, for all the
world, like a pair of little twin apples, growing on one stem; and they
were so indeed, for they were twins, and one who did not know that
Lining was not Mining, and Mining was not Lining, would be puzzled from
morning to night, for their names were not written in their faces, and
if their mother had not marked them with a colored band on the arm,
there would have been grave doubts in the matter, and their father,
Jochen Nuessler, was even yet in some uncertainty; Lining was properly
Mining, and Mining Lining, they had been as it were shaken up together
at the outset of their little lives. At present, there was no occasion
for such perplexity, for the mother had tied a blue ribbon in Lining's
little flaxen curls, and a red one in Mining's; and if one kept that in
mind, and observed them carefully, one would see plainly that Jochen
Nuessler was wrong, for Lining was half an hour older than Mining, and,
slight as the difference was, the seniority made itself quite evident,
for Lining took the lead in everything; but she comforted her little
sister also, when she was in trouble.

Besides this little, unmistakable pair of twins, there was yet another
pair of twins in the room; but an old, experienced, circumspect couple,
who looked down from the chest of drawers on the children, and shook
their heads hither and thither, in the light breeze which came in at
the open window; these were grandfather's peruke, and grandmother's
state-cap, which were paraded on a pair of cap-stocks, and which
to-morrow,--Sunday,--would play their part.

"Look, Lining," said Mining, "there is grandfather's puk." She could
not get the "r" quite right yet.

"You always say 'puk;' you must say 'p-u-k,'" said Lining, for she also
was not quite up to the "r;" but being the eldest she must needs direct
her little sister in the right way.

With that the little pair of twins got up and stood before the chest of
drawers, and looked at the old pair of twins on the cap-stocks, and
Mining, who was still very thoughtless, reached after the peruke stock,
and took down grandfather's peruke, turned it over on her head as
seemed well to her, and, placing herself before the glass, performed
just as grandfather did on Sundays. Now was the time for Lining to
exercise her authority, but Lining began to laugh, and catching the
joke took down grandmother's cap from the other stock, and imitated
grandmother's Sunday performances, and then Mining laughed, and then
both laughed, and then took hold of hands and danced "Kringelkranz,
Rosendanz," and let go, and laughed again and joined hands again and
danced.

But Mining was quite too thoughtless, she had the little pot still in
her hand, and as they were in the midst of their fun--crash! she let it
fall on the floor, and there was an end of the pot, and an end of the
sport also. Now began Mining to cry and lament over her pot, and Lining
cried with her, like a little echo; but when that had lasted a while,
Lining began to console:--

"See here, Mining, the wheelwright can mend it."

"Yes," said Mining, crying more quietly, "the wheelwright can mend it;"
and upon that the two little mourners started out of the door, quite
forgetting that they had grandfather's and grandmother's sacred Sunday
gear upon their heads.

One may wonder that Lining should go to the wheelwright with such an
affair, but anybody who has known a regular wheelwright in that region,
will understand that such a man can do everything. If a sheep is sick,
they say, "Call the wheelwright!" If a window-pane is broken, the
wheelwright must nail on a board to keep out wind and weather; has an
old chair dislocated its leg, he is the doctor; if one wishes a plaster
spread for a sick cow, he is the apothecary; in short, he can mend
everything, and so Lining showed herself a little maiden of good sense
in going with her pot to the wheelwright.

As the little girls went through the yard, in at the gate came a little
man, with a red face and a right stately red nose, which he carried in
the air; on his head he had a three-cornered cap, with a tassel in
front of no particular color; he wore a grey linen coat with long
skirts, and his short legs, which turned outward as if they had been
screwed into his long body the wrong way, were stuck into short
blue-striped trowsers, and long boots with yellow tops. He was not
exactly stout, but certainly not lean, and one might see that he was
beginning to grow a little pot-bellied.

The little girls must meet him on their way, and as they came near
enough for the Herr Inspector--for the man with the little legs held
such a post--to perceive their approach, he stood still, and raised his
yellow bushy eyebrows so high that they went quite up under the visor
of his cap, as if these eyebrows, being the finest of his features,
must first of all, under such dangerous circumstances, be placed in
security. "God bless us!" cried he, "Where are you going? What sort of
doings are these? What! you have the entire Sunday finery of the two
old people upon your heads!" The two little girls quite patiently
allowed themselves to be despoiled of their finery, and showed the
broken pieces of the pot, saying that the wheelwright would mend it.
"What!" said the Herr Inspector Braesig, for that was his name, "Who in
the world would have believed in such stupidity? Lining, you are the
oldest, I thought you had more sense; and Mining, don't cry any more,
you are my little god-child, I will give you a new pot at the next
fair. But now, along with you! into the house!"

As he entered the living-room, and found no one there, he said to
himself, "To be sure! All are gone after the hay. Yes, I ought to be
looking after my hay; but the little madcaps have left these things in
such a state, that they would be in sad disgrace if the two old
grannies should see them as they are now; I must try to repair damages
a little." With that he drew out a little pocket-comb,--which he kept
by him because he was growing bald, and must needs comb forward his
back hair,--and began to labour at the peruke. That did very well; but
now came the cap. "How the mischief, Lining, have you contrived to do
it? To make it look decently again is not a possible thing! No, I must
try to recollect how the old lady looks of a Sunday afternoon. In front
she has a comely bunch of silken curls, and the front part of the old
toggery hangs over about three inches, so the thing must be set forward
more. On top she has nothing in particular, her bald head always shines
through; but behind she always has a puff, which she staffs out with a
bunch of tow; that the little girl has quite disarranged; that must be
pulled out better;" and with that he stuck his fist in the cap, and
widened out the puff.

But in the back part of the puff there was a drawing-string, and as he
was doing his work thoroughly the cord broke, and the whole puff flew
out. "Now there, stupid!" cried he, and his eyebrows went up again.
"How? This isn't fastened worth a snap! With yarn! And one can't tie
knots in it. God bless my soul! What do I know about millinery? But
hold on! We will fix you yet." And with that he pulled from his pocket
a handful of strings--every good inspector must have such on hand--and
began to disentangle them. "Pack thread is too coarse; but this here,
this will do well enough." and he began to put a nice stiff cord
through the hem. But the job was a slow one, and before he was half
through, somebody knocked at the door. He threw his handiwork down on
the nearest chair, as if ashamed of it, and cried, "Come in!"

The door opened, and Habermann, with his little daughter on his arm,
stepped in. Inspector Braesig started up. "May you--keep the nose on
your face," he was going to say, but when anything serious happened to
him he had an unfortunate habit of falling into Platt-Deutsch,--"Karl
Habermann, where do you come from?"

"Good day, Braesig," said Habermann, and put the child down.

"Karl Habermann," cried Braesig again, "where do you come from?"

"From a place, Braesig, where I have now nothing more to look for," said
his friend. "Is my sister not at home?"

"They are all in the hay; but how shall I understand you?"

"That it is all over with me; day before yesterday all my goods were
sold at auction; and yesterday morning"--here he turned to the
window--"yesterday morning I buried my wife."

"What? what? Oh, dear Lord!" cried the kind-hearted inspector.
"Your wife? your dear, good wife?"--and the tears ran over his red
face--"Friend, old friend, say, how did that happen?"

"Yes, how did it happen?" said Habermann, and seated himself, and
related his misfortunes in few words.

Meanwhile, Lining and Mining went slowly and shyly toward the strange
child, saying nothing, but ever drawing a little nearer, till Lining
mustered courage, and took hold of the sleeve of her dress, and Mining
showed the fragments of her pot: "Look my pot is broken." The little
new-comer however looked around shyly with her large eyes, and fixed
them at last closely upon her father.

"Yes," Habermann closed his short story, "it has gone hard with me,
Braesig, and you still hold my note for two hundred thalers; but don't
press me, if God spares my life, you shall be honourably paid."
"Karl Habermann,--Karl Habermann," said Braesig, and wiped his eyes, and
blew his stately nose, "You are--you are a sheep's-head! Yes," said he,
and stuffed his handkerchief fiercely into his pocket, and elevated his
nose again, "You are just the sheep's-head you always were!" And as if
it occurred to him that his old friend should be diverted to other
thoughts, he picked up Lining and Mining like a couple of dolls, and
set them on Habermann's knee,--"There, you little rogues, that is your
uncle!"--exactly as if Lining and Mining were playthings, and Habermann
a little child, who might be comforted by them in his trouble; and he
himself took Habermann's little Louise on his arm, and danced with her
about the room, and all this time the tears were running down his
cheeks, and for a happy ending he put the child down in a chair,
and, as it happened, exactly the chair on which he had deposited his
half-finished millinery.

By this time the house-people were coming back from the hay-field, and
a loud, clear, female voice was heard without, urging the maids to
hasten. "Hurry, hurry, come out with your milk-pails, the sun is going
down, and this year the pasture is so far off; we shall have to milk to
night in the twilight. Girl, where are your trenchers? Quick, run in
and fetch them. Go right along; I must look after my little ones
first." And into the room came a tall young woman, of seven and twenty
years, full of life and energy in face and figure, her cheeks red with
health and labor and the heat of the summer day, hair and eyes light,
and forehead white as snow, so far as the chip hat had sheltered it
from the sun. At the first glance one saw the likeness between her and
Habermann, but his features and demeanor seemed reserved, and hers
quite fresh and open; her whole appearance showed that she was as
active a worker from temperament as he was from honor and duty.

To see her brother, and to fly toward him was all one. "Karl, my
brother Karl, my other father!" cried she, and hung about his neck;
but, as she looked more closely into his eyes, she held him back from
herself: "Tell me what has happened, tell me what dreadful thing has
happened! what is it?"

Before he could answer, her husband entered the door, and going up to
Habermann gave him his hand, and said slowly, as if with an effort;
"Good day, brother-in-law; take a seat."

"Let him tell what has happened to him," cried his wife, impatiently.

"Yes," said Jochen, "sit down, and then tell. Good day to you also,
Braesig; sit down too, Braesig," and with that Jochen Nuessler, or as he
was generally called young Jochen, sat down himself in a corner by the
stove, which piece of furniture he had bought with his own separate
money. He was a long lean man, who carried himself with stooping
shoulders, and it seemed as if all his limbs had particular objections
to being put to the ordinary use. He was well on toward forty, his face
was pale, and as dull as his speech, and his soft sandy hair hung in
front and behind of equal length, over his forehead and the collar of
his coat, and never had known any fashions of parting or curling; his
mother had from his childhood up combed the hair over his face, and so
it had stayed, and when it looked rather tangled his mother would say:
"Never mind, Joching, the rough foal makes the smartest horse." Whether
it was because his eyes must always peer through this long hair, or
from his nature, his glance had something shy, as if he could not see
things clearly or make up his mind positively, and though he was
right-handed, his mouth was askew. This came from tobacco-smoking, for
that was the one business which he followed with perseverance, and as
he kept the pipe hanging in the left corner of his mouth, it had drawn
it down in that direction, and, while looking at him from the right it
seemed as if he could not say "zipp," from the left he appeared like an
ogre who would devour children.

Now he sat there in his own especial chimney-corner, and smoked out of
his peculiar mouth-corner, and while his impulsive wife for sorrow and
compassion lamented over Habermann's story as if it had all happened to
herself that very day, and now it was her brother, and now his little
daughter that she kissed and comforted, he sat and looked over at the
chief actors, from the side next Braesig, and with the tobacco smoke
came now and then a couple of broken words from the left side of his
mouth: "Yes, it is all so, as you say. It is all as true as leather.
What shall we do about it?"

The Herr Inspector Braesig was the exact opposite of young Jochen; now
he ran about the room, now he sat down on a chair, and now on a
table, and worked his little legs with jumping up and down, like a
linen-weaver, and when Frau Nuessler kissed and stroked her brother, he
kissed and stroked him also, and when Frau Nuessler took the little
child in her arms and patted her, then he took her up afterward, and
carried her about the room, and sat her down again in a chair, but
always on grandmother's cap.

"God bless me!" cried the house wife suddenly, "have I clean forgotten
everything? Braesig, you should have thought of it. All this time you
have had nothing to eat and drink!" and with that she ran to the
cup-board, and brought fair, white, country bread, and fresh butter,
and went out and brought in sausages and ham and cheese, and a couple
of bottles of the strong beer brewed especially for grandfather, and a
pitcher of milk for the little ones; and when all was neatly arranged
on the white table-cloth, she drew her brother to the table, and taking
up the little girl, chair and all, sat her down to the table also, and
cut bread, and served them, and all so nimble with hand and foot, and
as nimble with mouth and speech. And so bright were knife and fork, and
as bright mien and eye; and so pure and white apron and table-cloth,
and as pure and white her good heart!

"You shall have something next," said she to her little twin-apples,
and stroked the little flaxen heads. "Little cousin comes first.
Braesig, sit up to the table. Jochen, you come too."

"Yes, I may as well," said Jochen, took a long, last pull at his
pipe, and brought his chair and himself to the table.

"Karl," said Braesig, "I can recommend these sausages, your sister has
an uncommon knack at them, and I have many a time told my housekeeper
she should get the recipe, for the old woman messes all sorts of
unnatural things together, which don't harmonize at all; in short there
is no suitability or connection, although the ingredients are as good
as a swine fed exclusively on peas can furnish."

"Mother, help Braesig," said Jochen.

"Thank you, Frau Nuessler; but with your leave I will take my drop of
Kuemmel. Karl, since the time when you and I and that rascal
Pomuchelskopp were serving our apprenticeship under old Knirkstaedt, I
have accustomed myself to take a little Kuemmel with my breakfast, or
with my bit of supper, and it suits me well, thank God! But, Karl, how
came you to get in with that rascal Pomuchelskopp? I told you long ago
the beggar was not to be trusted; he is such an old snake, he is a
crafty hound, in short, he is a Jesuit."

"Ah, Braesig," said Habermann, "we won't talk about it. It is true he
might have treated me differently, but still I was to blame; why did I
fall in with his proposal? Something else is in my head now. If I could
only have a place again!"

"Of course, you must have a place again. My gracious Herr Count is
looking out for a competent inspector for his principal estate; but,
Karl, don't take it ill of me, that wouldn't suit you. Do you see,
you must be rigged every morning with freshly blacked boots and a
tight-fitting coat, and you must talk High-German to him, for he
regards Platt-Deutsch as uncultivated, and then you have all the women
about your neck, for they rule everything there. And if you could get
along with the boots and the dress-coat, and the High-German,--for you
used to know it well enough, though you may be a little out of practice
now,--yet the women would be too much for you. The gracious Countess
looks after you in the cow-stable and in the pig-pen. In short it is a
service like--what shall I say? like Sodom and Gomorrah!"

"Look here!" cried the mistress of the house, "it just occurs to me
that the Pumpelhagen inspector is going to leave on St. John's day;
that will be the place for you, Karl."

"Frau Nuessler is always right," said Braesig. "What the Herr
Kammer_rath_ von Pumpelhagen is,"--for he laid the emphasis in the man's
title always upon _rath_, so that it seemed as if he and the Kammerrath
had served in the army together, or at least had eaten out of the same
spoon and platter,--"what the Herr Kammerrath von Pumpelhagen is,
nobody knows better than I. A man who thinks much of his people, and
gives a good salary, and is quite a gentleman of the old school. He
knew you too, in old times, Karl. That is the right place for you, and
to-morrow I will go over there with you. What do yow say to it, young
Jochen?"

"Yes," said Herr Nuessler, "it is all as true as leather."

"Bless me!" cried the young wife, and an anxious look overspread her
handsome face, "how I forget everything to-day! If grandfather and
grandmother knew that we were sitting down to supper with company, and
they not called, they would never forgive me. Sit a little closer
together, children. Jochen, you might have thought of it."

"Yes, what shall I do about it now?" said Jochen, as she was already
out of the room.

It was not long before the two old people came back with her, shuffling
in with their leathern slippers. Upon both their faces lay that lurking
expectation and that vague curiosity which comes from very dull
hearing, and which quite too easily passes into an expression of
obstinacy and distrust. It has justly been said that married people,
who have lived long together, and have thought and cared and worked for
the same objects, come at last to look like each other; and even if
that is not true of the cut of the features, it holds good for the
expression. Both looked like people who never had allowed themselves
any pleasure or satisfaction which would be in the least expensive;
both looked shabby and dingy in their clothing, as if they must still
be sparing and tug at the wheel, and as if even water cost money. No
look of comfort in their old age, no pleasure sparkled in their eyes,
for they had had but one pleasure in their whole lives,--that was their
Jochen and his good success; now they were laid aside and heaviness lay
on their natures, and on their only joy, for Jochen was quite too
heavy; but for his success they still cared and toiled,--it was the
last goal of their lives.

The old man was almost imbecile, but the old woman still kept her
faculties, and her eyes glanced furtively into all the corners, like a
pair of sharpers watching their opportunity.

Habermann rose and gave his hand to the two old people, and his sister
stood by, looking anxiously in their faces to see what they thought of
the visit. She had already told them the occasion of her brother's
coming, and that might have been the reason why their faces looked
sourer than usual; or it might have been on account of the luxurious
supper with which the table was spread.

The old folks sat down to the table. The old woman looked sharply at
Habermann's little girl. "Is that his?" she asked.

The young woman nodded.

"Going to stay here?" she asked further.

The young woman nodded again.

"So!" said the old woman, and prolonged the word, as if to indicate all
the damage which she expected her Jochen to suffer on that account.
"Yes, times are hard," she began, as if she must have a fling at the
times, "and one has enough to do to carry oneself through the world."

The old man all the time was looking at the beer bottles and Braesig's
glass. "Is that my beer?" asked he.

"Yes," shouted Braesig into his ear, "and it is fine beer, which Frau
Nuessler has brewed, a good cordial for a thin, weak person."

"Too extravagant! Too extravagant!" muttered the old man to himself.
The old woman ate, but kept looking away, over the table, toward the
chest of drawers.

The young wife, who must have studied attentively the old woman's
behavior, looked in the same direction, and perceived with horror that
the cap was missing from the stand. "Good heavens! what had become of
the cap?" She had herself that very morning plaited it and hung it up
on the stand.

"Where is my cap for to-morrow?" asked the old woman, at last.

"Never mind now, mother," said the young woman, bending toward her, "I
will get it for you by and by."

"Is it all plaited?"

The young woman nodded, and thought surely now grandmother would be
satisfied; but the old woman glanced her eyes sideways about the room,
as, fifty years ago, she had been used to look at young men. The Herr
Inspector Braesig called his sins to mind, as they began to talk about
the cap, and tried, in a couple of hasty glances, to ascertain what had
become of the affair; but he had not much time, for there shot over the
old woman's face such a bitter-sweet, venomous grin, that she reminded
one of the dry bread steeped in poisonous syrup with which one catches
flies.

"Are you sure you plaited it?" said she, and pointed to Habermann's
little Louise.

"Good heavens, what is that!" cried the young woman, and sprang up and
perceived an end of the cap-string hanging out under the child's little
dress. She lifted the child, and would have taken the head-gear, but
the old woman was quicker. Hastily she seized her disordered finery,
and, as she perceived the burst-out puff and Braesig's half-inserted
drawing-string, the venom broke out, and, holding up the cap,
"Mischievous child!" cried she, and made a motion as if she would box
the child's ears with it.

But Braesig caught her arm, and cried, "The child knows nothing about
it;" and to himself he muttered, "The old dragon!" And behind
grandmother's chair began a great crying, and Mining sobbed, "Won't do
it again! Won't do it again!" and Lining sobbed also, "Won't do it
again! Won't do it again!"

"Bless my soul!" cried the young woman, "our own children have done the
mischief. Mother, it was our own children!" But the old woman had all
her life understood too well what was for her own advantage, not to
know in her old age how to profit by her grievances; what she would not
hear, she did not hear, and she would not hear this. She called and
beckoned to the old man: "Come!"

"Mother, mother," begged the young woman, "give me the cap, I will make
it all right again."

"Who is up in the pasture?" asked the old woman, and went with old
Jochen out of the door.

Young Jochen lighted his pipe. "God bless me!" said the young woman,
"she is right, I must go to the pasture. Grandmother will not think
well of me for the next four weeks."

"Gruff was an old dog," said Braesig, "but Gruff had to give in at
last."

"Don't cry any longer, you poor little things," said the mother, drying
her children's tears. "You didn't mean any harm, but you are too
heedless. And now behave well, and play with little cousin. I must go.
Jochen, look after the children a little," and with that she put on her
chip hat and went to the pasture.

"Mothers-in-law are the devil's claw!" said Braesig. "But you, young
Jochen," turning to the man, who sat there as if his mother and his
wife were no concern of his, "you should be ashamed of yourself to let
your wife be so abused by the old woman."

"Yes? what shall I do about it, being her son?" said young Jochen.

"You cannot beat her, to be sure, since they are unfortunately your
parents; but you might give a filial admonition, now and then, like a
dutiful son, that the devil in her must be cast out, if she will not
keep peace in the family. And you, Karl Habermann, don't take this
little quarrel too much to heart; for your dear sister has a good
temper and a joyous heart. She soon gets over it, and the old termagant
must give in at last, for they can do nothing without her. The young
woman is the mainspring of the house. But"--here he drew out from his
pocket an immense double-cased watch, such a thing as one calls a
warming-pan--"really, it is close upon seven! I must hurry, for my
people need looking after."

"Hold on," said Habermann, "I will go part way with you. Good-bye for
so long, Jochen."

"Good-bye, also, brother-in-law," said Jochen, and remained sitting in
his corner.

As they came out of doors, Habermann said, "But, Braesig, how can you
speak so of the old people, in their son's presence?"

"He is used to it, Karl. No devil could endure those two old
dogs-in-the-manger. They have embroiled themselves with the whole
neighborhood, and as for the servants, they run miles to get out of
their way."

"Good heavens," said Habermann, "my poor sister! She was such a joyous
child, and now in such a house, and with such a lout of a man!"

"There you are right, Karl, he is an old lout (Nuess), and Nuessler is
his name; but he does not treat your sister badly, and, although he is
an old blockhead and has no sort of smartness about him, he is not yet
so dull that he cannot see how your sister manages the whole concern."

"The poor girl! On my account, that she might not be a burden on me, as
she said, and that our old mother might see one of her children settled
before her death, she took the man.

"I know all about it, Karl, I know it from my own experience. Don't you
remember? It was in rye-harvest, and you said to me, 'Zachary,' said
you, 'your activity is a disadvantage to you, you are carrying in your
rye still damp.' And I said, 'How so?' For on Sunday we had already had
Streichelbier, and your sister was there also, and with such weather
why shouldn't I get in my rye? And then I told you, unless I am
mistaken, that of my three partners I would marry no other than your
sister. Then you laughed again, so mischievously, and said, she was
still too young. 'What has her youth to do with it?' said I. Then you
said again my other two partners had the first chance, and laughed, not
believing I was in earnest; and so the matter dawdled along for awhile,
for my gracious Herr Count would not give his consent, and allowed no
married inspectors. And next thing it was too late, for young Jochen
had spoken for her, and your mother was on his side. No, it was not to
be," said the honest old fellow, looking pensively along his nose, "but
when I see her little rogues of twins, and think to myself that they
ought rightly to be mine, listen to me, Karl, then I feel as if I could
trample the old woman and old Jochen and young Jochen into the ground
together. But it is a real blessing to the old Jesuits that your sister
has came into the house, with her kind heart and cheerful disposition;
for if they had had a daughter-in-law of a different sort, they would
long since have been dead and buried."

With these words, they had come out of the hamlet, and as they turned
by the farm-garden Habermann exclaimed, "Good heavens, can it be that
the two old people are standing on that hill?"

"Yes," said Braesig, with a scornful laugh, "there is the old pack of
Jesuits again at their place of retirement."

"Retirement!" exclaimed Habermann. "On a hill-top!"

"It is even so, Karl. The old reptile trusts nobody, not her own
children, and if she has something to say which her ordinary gestures
and pantomime will not suffice for, then they always come here to this
steep hill, where they can see all around if any one is within hearing,
and then they shout their secrets in each other's ears. Yes, now they
are in full conclave, the old woman has laid a dragon's egg, and they
are setting on it together."

"She is so hasty and passionate," said Habermann. "Just see how the old
woman gesticulates! What would she have?"

"I know right well what they are deliberating and ruminating upon. I
can understand a hundred paces off, for I know her of old. And Karl,"
he added, after a little thought, raising his eyebrows, "it is best you
should know all, that you may hold yourself ready; they are talking of
you and your little one."

"Of me, and my little girl?" asked Habermann, in astonishment.

"Yes, Karl. You see if you had come with a great bag of money, they
would have welcomed you with open arms, for money is the one thing
which they hold in respect; but in your temporary embarrassment they
look upon you and your little girl as nothing better than a couple of
intruders, who will take the bread from their mouths, and from their
old blockhead of a Jochen."

"God bless me!" cried Habermann, "why didn't I leave the child with the
Rassows? What shall I do with the poor little thing? Do you know any
expedient? I cannot leave her here, not even with my own sister can I
leave her here."

"But naturally, you wish to have her near you. Now I will tell you,
Karl, tonight you must stay with the Nuessler's; tomorrow we will go to
the Herr Kammerrath at Pumpelhagen. If that goes well, then we can find
a place for the child here in the neighbourhood; if not, we will ride
to the city, and there we must find some opening,--if not otherwise,
with the merchant Kurz. And now good-bye, Karl! Don't take the matter
too much to heart,--things will improve, Karl!" whereupon he departed.

"Yes, if all were like you," said Habermann, as he went back to his
sister's house, "then I should get over the steep mountain; but get
over it I must, and will," and the cheerful courage, which had been
nurtured by labor and his feeling of duty, broke through the gloom,
like the sun through a mist. "My sister shall suffer no inconvenience
on my account, and I will take care of my child myself."

In the evening, when the milk had been cared for, Habermann walked with
his sister along the garden-path, and she spoke of his, and he of her,
troubles.

"Eh, Karl," said she, "don't fret about me! I am used to it all now.
Yes, it is true, the old folks are very selfish and irritable; but if
they sulk at me for a week, I forget it all the next hour, and as for
Jochen, I must own that he lays nothing in my way, and has never given
me a hard word. If he were only a little more active and ready,--but
that is not to be looked for in him. I have enough to do in my
house-keeping, but I have to concern myself with the out-of-door work,
too, which is not a woman's business, and there Braesig is a real
comfort to me, for he has an eye to the fields and the farm-yard, and
starts Jochen up a little."

"Does the farming go well on the whole, and do you come out right at
the year's end?" asked the brother.

"It does not go as well as it ought. We are too sparing for that, and
the old folks will not allow us to make any changes or improvements. We
come out right, and the rent is always paid promptly, but there are
Jochen's two old brothers-in-law, the merchant Kurz, and the Rector
Baldrian--they made quite a stir about it, and set the old people and
us by the ears because they wanted their share of the property. The
Rector doesn't really need it, but he is such an old miser; but Kurz
could use his money, for he is a merchant, and will yet have a large
business. But the two old people wish to give almost everything to
Jochen, and with that which they have kept back for themselves they
cannot part, and the old woman has an old rhyme, which she always
quotes, if one touches on the subject:--


           'Who to his children gives his bread,
            Himself shall suffer need instead,
            And with a club be stricken dead.'


But it is wrong, all wrong, and no blessing can come of it, for one
child is as good as another, and at first I said that right out to the
old people. Oh, what an uproar there was! They had earned it, and what
had I brought into the family? Upon my knees I ought to thank God and
them, that they would make a man of Jochen. But I have persuaded
Jochen, so that to Kurz at least he has from time to time given upwards
of fifteen hundred thalers. The old woman has noticed it, to be sure,
and has reckoned it all up, but she does not know yet the truth of the
matter; because, since Jochen is rather slow, and is not used to
reckoning, I keep the purse myself, and there I positively will not
allow grandmother to interfere. No, grandmother, I am not so stupid as
that! If I have a house of my own, I will have my own purse. And that
is their great grievance, that they can no longer play the guardian
over Jochen; but Jochen is almost forty, and if he will not rule
himself, then I will rule him, for I am his wife, and the nearest to
him, as our Frau Pastorin says. Now, tell me, Karl, am I right or am I
wrong?"

"You are right, Duerten," said Habermann.

With that they said good-night, and went to bed.




                              CHAPTER III.


The next morning came Braesig in good season, to go with Habermann to
Pumpelhagen. The young wife sat in the living-room, and was paying off
the work-people; Jochen sat close by her, and smoked tobacco,--he
attended to that business. The old people were not yet visible, for
grandmother had said to her daughter-in-law, she at least could not go
out to-day, since she had nothing to put on her head; and grandfather
had said that merry-making would go on better without him.

"It is really considerate of the old people," said Braesig, "not to
spoil our dinner; for, Madam Nuessler, I am going to stay here to dinner
to-day, with Karl. But, Karl, we must go. Good-bye, little rogues!"

As they went through the farm-yard, Braesig all of a sudden stood still.
"Just see, Karl, doesn't it look like the desert of Sahara? Here a
dung-heap and there a dung-heap! And yet, see, old Jochen has had these
ditches opened, so that all the dirty water can run off, in a body, to
the village pond. And then the roofs!" said he, walking on. "They have
straw enough for new roofs,--it is merely that the old folks grudge
the expense of repairing them. I come here properly only from two
motives,--one relates to my health, the other to my heart; for I find
that it agrees with me, when I have eaten too hearty a dinner, to get
comfortably angry, and, on account of my heart, I go for the sake of
your sister and the little rogues, since I can be of some assistance to
her. For young Jochen behaves usually quite too much like a wheel on a
baggage-wagon, in the winter, between here and Rostock. If I could but
once have him before a cart, with three or four on top of the load, and
then lay on the whip!"

"See," said Habermann, as they went through a field, "they have some
fine-looking wheat there."

"Oh, yes, it has a good color; but what do you think they sow here?
Rye! And why so? Because old Jochen, for twenty-five years, has always
had rye in the winter field."

"Does this field extend over the hill yonder?"

"No, Karl, the old lynx is not so fat as that; fry lard in butter, and
eat it with a spoon! No, Karl, that field over the hill happens to be
mine."

"Eh, how one can forget, in a couple of years! So your land comes thus
far?"

"Yes, Karl, for Warnitz stretches out finely in length; on this side it
comes to this point, and on the other it turns round toward Haunerwiem.
But see here, from this rising-ground I can show you the whole region.
Where we stand belongs to your brother-in-law, and his land goes on the
right up to my wheat, and on the left to that little clump of firs, for
Rexow is quite small. He has also a small field on the other side of
the hamlet. The land to the right, behind my wheat field, also belongs
to Warnitz, and before us, where the ploughed ground begins, lies
Pumpelhagen; and here on the left, behind the fir-trees, is Gurlitz."

"Warnitz is then the largest?"

"No, Karl, not so either. Pumpelhagen has eight lasts more, and is a
first-class estate also in value,--two-and-forty lasts natural wheat
land. Yes, if the rest were all of a piece! No, the Kammerrath is a
good man, and a good countryman; but you see, there he sits in
Schwerin, and cannot trouble himself about Pumpelhagen, where he has
often had _such_ inspectors! And he bought the property in dear times,
and a crowd of leeches stand ready to drain the last drop from his
veins; and then his lady, the Kammerraethin, rides grandly in her
carriage visiting and entertaining. But he is the right sort of man,
and is good to his people, and although the von Rambows are of old
descent,--for my gracious Herr Count often invites him to dinner, and
he thinks a great deal of ancestry,--yet he carries himself quite
pleasantly and without any formality."

Habermann had listened attentively to this information, for these
things might by a fortunate chance have some connection with his
future; but, interested as he was, his thoughts still recurred to his
present difficulty. "Braesig," said he, "have you any idea in your head
about my little girl?"

"What wouldn't I do for her, Karl! But--the devil knows! I believe we
must after all go to the city to Kurz, the merchant. She, Frau Kurz, is
a good sort of woman, and he--well, he is in the vocative, like all
shop-keepers. Just think, last summer the rascal sold me a piece of
stuff for breeches, for Sunday wear; it was a kind of chocolate-colour.
And, think, when I went one morning in the dew, through my clover, they
turned up to the knee, like a mess of crabs, pure scarlet! And he sent
me some Kuemmel, the Prussian kind, the old sweet-meats, tinkered up
with all sorts of drops. But I sent it back to him again, with a good
scolding; the breeches, however, he would not take back, and sent me
word he didn't wear breeches. No, did the rascal think I was going to
wear red ones! And Karl, see, here at the left is Gurlitz.

"Is that the Gurlitz church-tower?" asked Habermann.

"Yes, Karl,"--and Braesig stood still, turned up his nose, sent
his eyebrows up under his cocked hat,--for he wore a hat on
Sundays,--opened his mouth wide, and stared at Habermann with a pair of
eyes which seemed to look him through and through, and then lose
themselves in the distance.

"Karl!" he cried finally, "since you speak of the church-tower,--God
bless you! the Gurlitz pastor must take your little girl."

"Pastor Behrens?" asked Habermann.

"Yes, Pastor Behrens, who was our private instructor at old
Knirkstaedt's."

"Ah, Braesig, I will confess I have thought of it almost the whole
night, whether that would be possible, if I should remain in the
neighbourhood."

"Possible? He must! He would like nothing better than to have a little
child growing up near him, since he himself has no children; and he has
rented his farm, and now has nothing to do but to read and study his
books, which it would make another man turn green and yellow merely to
look at from a distance. That is what he enjoys! And she, the Frau
Pastorin, is so fond of children, that all the girls in the village tag
after her; and she is an excellent, kind-hearted woman, and always
cheerful, and the best of friends with your sister."

"Ah, if that might be!" exclaimed Habermann. "You and I owe everything
to that man, Zachary! Do you remember, when he was still a candidate,
at old Knirkstaedt's, how he gave us private lessons in the winter
evenings, and taught us writing and arithmetic, and what a friend he
was to us two stupid youngsters?"

"Yes, Karl, and how Zamel Pomuchelskopp used to lie and snore of an
evening, till the beams shook, while we were in the pursuit of
learning. Do you remember, in the arithmetic, when we came to the Rule
of Three,--you seek the fourth unknown quantity, and first get the
ratio, and then it goes! In quickness I was your superior, but you were
mine in accuracy, and also in orthography. But in letter-writing and in
High-German, then I was better again; and these last I have ever since
studied diligently, for every man has his favorite pursuit. And when I
go to see the Pastor, I always thank him for his assistance in my
education; and then he laughs, and says he is more indebted to me,
because I have rented his farm for him, and he is now sure of a good
contract. He thinks something of me, and if you stay here, we will go
over to him, and you shall see he will do it."

By this time they had arrived at Pumpelhagen, and Braesig quite
impressed Habermann by his distinguished manners, as he sailed up to
the old servant, and inquired if the Herr Kammerrath was at home, and
could be spoken with.

He would announce the gentlemen the man said; wasn't it the Herr
Inspector, Braesig?

"Yes," said Braesig. "Do you see, Karl he knows me, and the Herr
Kammerrath knows me too. And, did you notice? regularly announcing us!
The nobility don't do things meanly. My gracious Herr Count always has
people announced to him by three servants; that is, one announces to
the other, until the valet finally announces to him, and by this custom
we sometimes have amusing occurrences,--as, the other day, with the
kammerjaeger. The first announced to the second, instead of kammerjaeger,
oberjaeger, and the second added a meister, and the third announced to
the Herr Count an oberjaegermeister; and, as my gracious Herr Count
prepared to receive the strange gentleman with proper ceremony, it was
the old rat-catcher Tibaul."

The servant came back, and led them into a spacious room, which was
very comfortably but not splendidly furnished. In the centre stood a
large, plain table, covered with papers and accounts. Behind the table
stood, as they entered, a rather tall, thin man, who had on his face a
thoughtful expression, and in his whole appearance an air of quiet
reflection; and in his dress, although it was quite suited to his
circumstances, there was the same simplicity as in the furnishing of
the room. He might have been about fifty, and his sandy hair was
thickly sprinkled with gray; also he was evidently quite shortsighted,
for, as he came around the table to receive the two guests, he reached
after an eye-glass, which, however, he did not use, but went up close
to his visitors. "Ah, Herr Inspector Braesig," said he quietly. "What
can I do for you?"

Uncle Braesig was so put out in his elaborate address, that he could not
collect himself of a sudden; not to hurry him, the Herr Kammerrath
looked quite closely at Habermann. "You want---- But," he interrupted
himself, "I ought to know you. Wait a moment,--were you not for ten or
twelve years in service with my brother?"

"Yes, Herr Kammerrath, and my name is Habermann."

"Right, right! And to what do I owe the pleasure of seeing you here?"

"I have understood that the Herr Kammerrath was looking for an
inspector; and as I am in search of such a place----"

"But you have a farm in Pomerania, as I think I have heard,"
interrupted the proprietor.

But now it was high time for Braesig, if he had anything of importance
to say, to charge into the midst. "That he had, Herr Kammerrath von
Rambow, he _had_ it, but the Jews will give nothing for it now. He,
like many another farmer, got into difficulties, and the pitiful
meanness and baseness of his landlord have ruined him. What do you say
to that, Herr Kammerrath?"

Behind the old fellow's back at these words sounded a hearty laugh, and
as he looked around he saw the bright face of a ten or twelve years'
old boy, which seemed to say, "Wait a bit, there is more coming." The
Kammerrath also turned his face away to laugh a little; but happily for
uncle Braesig, it never occurred to him that the laughing was from any
other cause than natural pleasure at his well-chosen language. He
concluded therefore, quite seriously. "And so he has gone head over
heels."

"I am heartily sorry," said the Kammerrath; "Yes," he added with a
sigh, "these are hard times for the countrymen; but we must hope that
they will improve. As regards your wish,--Axel, go out and see if
breakfast is ready,--your supposition is correct. I have just dismissed
my late inspector,--I will tell you, because of carelessness in his
accounts,--and I am looking for a suitable man to fill his place. But,"
said he, as his son appeared at the door, and announced that breakfast
was ready, "if you have not yet breakfasted, we can arrange the matter
best at the breakfast-table."

With that, he went to the door, but stood there, and made a motion with
his hand for them to pass out first. "Karl," whispered Braesig, "didn't
I tell you? Just like one of us!" But as Habermann quietly passed on,
accepting the invitation, he threw up his eyebrows, and stretched out
his hand as if he would draw his friend back by the coat-tails, then
stood with his little twisted legs turned out, and bowed like a
clasp-knife.

"Eh, how could I! I beseech you! Herr Kammerrath should always have
precedence!" And his waiting was not of a bad order, for he had a long
body and short legs, and they belong properly to waiters.

The Herr Kammerrath had to take himself out of the way of his
compliments, that the old fellow might not dislocate his spine. At the
breakfast-table the business was discussed and decided; Habermann was
engaged on a good, sufficient salary, which was to be increased every
five years; and the only condition which the Kammerrath insisted upon
was that he should occupy the place at once.

The new inspector agreed to this, and the day was set for his entering
on his duties, so that the Kammerrath before his departure could go
with him about the place and tell him what he wanted done; and Braesig
having concluded a brief sketch of the troubled life-career of the
fifteen years' old full-blooded Wallach, which he had cared for in his
business at the farm,--how he had "had the honor to know the old
carrion ever since it was born;" how the creature in its younger
years had been "such a colt as you read of in books," but afterward
"with shying and spavin and all manner of devilish tricks had so
disgraced himself that he was now punished by being harnessed to the
dung-cart,"--the two inspectors took their leave.

"Braesig," said Habermann, when they were outside, "a stone, has been
taken from my heart. Thank God, I shall be employed again! And that
brings me to other thoughts. Now for Gurlitz! Ah, if we may only be as
fortunate there!"

"Yes, Karl, you may well say fortunate; for--don't take it ill of
me--you don't understand the way of life and the fine etiquette of
noble society. How could you do such a thing! How could you go through
the door before the Herr Kammerrath?"

"Braesig, when he invited me I was his guest, and he was not yet my
master; now, I should not do it, and, rely upon it, he would not do it
either."

"No, Karl, so I think; but at the Pastor's leave the business to me;
there some finesse will be needed."

"Yes, Zachary, gladly. Were, it not for my poor little girl, I should
not have the courage to ask so great a favor of any man. If you will
undertake it for me, I shall consider it a real piece of friendship."

As they came toward the Gurlitz church, they knew by the singing that
the service was not yet over; and, as they went into the Pastor's
house, and into the living-room, they were met by a little, quick,
round woman, upwards of forty years of age. Everything about her was
round,--arms and hands and fingers, head and cheeks and lips; and the
eyes looked so round and bright out of her soft round face, as if the
eyelids had never been pressed down with trouble and sorrow, and such a
cheery life over flowed from her mien and motions, that one believed he
could almost see how the fresh, red blood throbbed through the warm
heart.

"Good-day, Herr Braesig, sit down! Sit down, also! Yes, that is right,
my Pastor is still in church; he would scold well if you had gone away.
Pray sit down, Herr--what shall I call you? Yes, I would gladly have
gone to church to-day, but just think, last Sunday the Pastor's pew was
broken in halves. Bless me, how every body crowded around, and we
couldn't say 'No.' And our old cabinetmaker Pruesshawer was going to
mend it, and he is sick with a fever."

The round little mouth rolled out the words as if they were round,
smooth, white billiard balls, which a playful child shoots here and
there over the green cloth.

Braesig now introduced Habermann as the brother of Frau Nuessler.

"You are her brother? Her brother Karl? Now sit down, sit down! How
glad my Pastor will be! When Frau Nuessler is here, we always talk about
you; something good you may be sure,--the Herr Inspector knows. Bless
you, Braesig, what are you doing with my hymn-book? Let me put the book
away! you don't want to read it, you are an old heathen. Those are
funeral-hymns, and what have you to do with funeral-hymns? You will
live forever! You are no better than the Wandering Jew! But, dear
heart! one must think sometimes about dying, and so, since our
church-pew is broken, and the old cabinet-maker has a fever, I have
been reading a couple of hymns 'On preparation for death.'" And with
that she flew round like quicksilver, and laid the books on one side,
and whisked off a little dust here and there, where none was visible,
and rubbed and polished about in the room, which was as neat as a
dressing-box. All at once she stood still, listened toward the kitchen
and cried, "Just so, I must go and look after the soup!" and was gone.

"Didn't I tell you, Karl?" said Braesig. "There's a temperament for you!
And what splendid health! Now leave me alone; I will manage it all,"
and he went out after the Frau Pastorin.

Habermann looked around him in the room. How neat and comfortable every
thing was, so homelike and so full of peace. There hung, above the
sofa, a beautiful head of Christ, and around and beneath it were the
portraits of the parents of the Herr Pastor and the Frau Pastorin, and
their relations, some in colors, some in crayon, some large, others
small; and the Lord Jesus had his hands raised in blessing, and the
Frau Pastorin had arranged under their shadow all her relations,
putting them the nearest, that they might have the best of the
blessing.

Her own picture, painted in early years, and that of her Pastor, she
had in humility hung by the window, a little further off; but the sun,
which looked in through the snow-white curtains, and gilded the
other portraits, touched these two pictures first. There was a small
book-case full of religious and secular books, a little mixed together,
but still making a fine appearance, for they were arranged more with
reference to their bindings than their contents. And if any one
supposed, because she talked Platt-Deutsch, that she had no
appreciation or enjoyment of High-German literature, he needed merely
to open a book, where a mark lay, and he would find that the marked
places had been read with heart and feeling,--that is to say, if he had
as much heart and feeling as the Frau Pastorin; and, had he opened the
cookbook, he would have seen that the Frau Pastorin was as good a
student as the Herr Pastor, for she had just like him her notes written
on the margin, and where nothing was written one might understand that
those were the Herr Pastor's favorite recipes,--"And by those," said
she, "I don't need to make any marks, for I know them by heart."

And here in this peaceful abode, in this pretty, comfortable nest,
shall Habermann, if God in mercy grant it, leave his child to pass her
early years. These hands of the Saviour shall be stretched out in
blessing over her, this blessed sun shall shine upon her, and the noble
thoughts, which great and good men have written in books for the world,
shall awaken her young soul out of childhood's dreams, and give it life
and joy.

He was getting very soft-hearted. But, as he still sat between hope and
fear, the Frau Pastorin came in at the door, her eyes red with weeping.
"Don't say a word, Herr Habermann, don't say a word! Braesig has told me
everything, and Braesig is an old heathen, but he is a good man, and a
true friend of yours,--and my Pastor thinks just as I do, that I know,
for we are always one,--and that dear little thing! God bless you, yes!
The old Nuesslers are a hard-hearted set," and she tapped the floor
briskly with her foot.

"The old woman," said Braesig, who was by this time close beside them,
"the old woman is a real horse-leech."

"Right, Braesig, she is that, but my Pastor shall talk the old people
into reason; not on account of the little girl, she shall come here, or
I don't know my old Pastor!"

While Habermann was expressing his heart-felt thanks, her Pastor came
in,--she always called him "her" Pastor, because he was truly hers,
body and soul, and her "Pastor," on account of his own dignity, and
because the title belonged to him from his office. He came bare-headed
across the church-yard and parsonage-yard, for these high soft-hats,
which make our good Protestant ministers look like Russian priests,
were not then in fashion, at least not in the country; and, instead of
the great ruff, as broad as the white china platter on Which the
daughter of Herodias presents the head of John-Baptist to her
step-father, he had a pair of little innocent bands, which his dear
wife Regina had, with all Christian reverence, stitched, stiffened,
pressed and tied around his neck with her own hands. She held correctly
that these little simple things were the distinctive ministerial
uniform, and not the little four-cornered cape which was worn over the
coat-collar. "For," said she, "my dear Frau Nuessler, our sexton wears
just such a little cape, but he dare not wear bands; and when I see my
Pastor, with the ornaments of his office, standing in the chancel, I
don't know, they seem to me, the two little things, as they rise
and fall with his words, now one, now the other, like a pair of
angel-wings, on which one might rise directly to Heaven,--only my
Pastor has his wings in front, and the angels have theirs behind."

No, he wasn't an angel, this good Pastor of hers, and he was the last
person to set himself up for one. But with all the sincerity that shone
from his face, and seemed to know no dissimulation, there was such a
friendly forbearance, such a quiet, kindly expression, that one must
hold him at the first glance for a brave man, and although his whole
life had been given up to self-denying labor, yet he could--naturally
after the Frau Pastorin had taken off his cape and bands--show in his
eyes his joyous heart, and utter innocent jests with his lips; and,
when he put off the ecclesiastic, he stood forth as a man who, in
worldly matters also, could give sensible counsel, and reach forth a
helping hand.

As he stepped into the room, he recognized Habermann immediately, and
went right up to him. "My dear friend, do I see you once more! How are
you? Good-day, Herr Inspector!" And as Habermann returned the greeting,
and Braesig began to tell the reason of their visit, the Frau Pastorin
sprang between them, and seized her Pastor by his ministerial gown, and
cried, "Not a word, Herr Habermann; Braesig, will you be so good? You
shall know it all from me," said she to her husband, "for, though the
story is a sad one,--yes, Herr Habermann, quite too sad,--yet there
will be a pleasure for you. Come, come!" and with that she drew him
into his study. "For I am the nearest to him," she called back from the
door, in apology.

After a while the Pastor came back with his wife into the room, and
went, with a determined step and resolved expression on his face, up to
Habermann. "Yes, dear Habermann, yes! We will do it, and, so far as in
us lies, do it gladly,"--and he pressed his hand--"but," he added, "we
have no experience in the care of children, yet we can learn. Isn't it
so, Regina, we can learn?" as if with this little joke he would help
Habermann over the deep emotion which struggled in his face and in his
whole being.

"Herr Pastor," he broke out, finally, "You have long ago done a great
deal for me, but this--" And the little Frau Pastorin reached after her
means of consolation and implement of all work, which she took in hand
at every surprise of joy or sorrow,--after her duster,--and dusted here
and there, and would have wiped away Habermann's tears with it, if he
had not turned aside, and she called out at the door after Frederica:
"Now, Rika, run quickly over to the weaver's wife, and ask her to lend
me her cradle,--she doesn't use it," she added, to Braesig.

And Braesig, as if it devolved on him to sustain the honor of the
Habermann family, said to her impressively: "Frau Pastorin, what are
you thinking of? The little girl is quite hearty!"

And the Frau Pastorin ran again to the door, and called back the
maiden. "Rika, Rika, not the cradle,--ask her to lend me a little crib,
and then go to the sexton's daughter, and see if she can come this
afternoon,--God bless me, to-day is Sunday! But if your ass has fallen
into a pit, and so forth,--yes, ask her whether she can help me stuff a
couple of little beds. For it is not heathenish, Braesig, it is a work
of necessity, and quite another thing from your Herr Count having his
wheat brought in Sunday afternoon. And, my dear Herr Habermann, the
little girl must come to us to-day, for Franz," said she to her
husband, "the old Nuesslers would not give the poor little thing even
her dinner if they could help it, and, Braesig, bread which is not
freely given----" here she was a little out of breath and Braesig went
on: "Yes, Frau Pastorin, one may grow fat on grudged bread, but the
devil take such fatness!"

"You old heathen, how can you swear so, in a Christian Pastor's house?"
cried the Frau Pastorin. "But the long and the short of the matter is,
the little girl must come here to-day."

"Yes, Frau Pastorin," said Habermann, only too happy, "I will bring her
to-day. My poor sister will be sorry, but it is better for her, and for
the peace of her family, and also for my child."

He went up to the two worthy people, and thanked them so warmly, from
the depths of his grateful heart; and when they had taken leave, and
were outside, he drew a long breath, and said to Braesig, "How gloomy
the world looked this morning, but now the sun shines in my heart
again! I have yet a disagreeable business to attend to; but it is a
lucky day, and that may go well also."

"What have you got to do now?" asked Braesig.

"I must go to Rahnstadt, to old Moses. I gave him, six months ago, my
note for six hundred dollars; I have not heard from him since my
bankruptcy, and I must try to make some arrangement with him."

"That you must, Karl; and I would do it at once, for old Moses isn't
the worst man in the world, by a long way. Now I will tell you what
shall be our order of battle for to-day: we will both go back to Rexow,
and eat our dinner; after dinner young Jochen must lend you his horses,
and you can take your little one to Gurlitz; go from there to the city,
and come back in the evening to me, at Warnitz, and stay over night;
and to-morrow you can go over to Pumpelhagen, since the Herr Kammerrath
depends on your speedy coming.

"Right," said Habermann, "it shall be so."

They arrived, the dinner was eaten, and Braesig asked of young
Jochen the loan of his wagon and horses. "Of course," cried Frau
Nuessler,--"Yes, of course," said Jochen, and went out himself
immediately, to order the horses harnessed.

"Karl," said the sister, "my dear brother, how glad, how heartily glad,
I should be, if---- But you know the reason; Braesig has told you. But,
dear heart, if one could only keep peace in the family! Don't believe
that Jochen thinks differently from me, only he hasn't the energy to
stand up for his rights. But I will look after your child as if she
were my own, though it will not be needful at the Parsonage."

The wagon drove up. "What the devil!" cried Braesig, "young Jochen, you
have got out your state-equipage, the old yellow coach!"

"Yes, Herr," said Christian, who sat up in front. "May we only get safe
home again with the old thing, for it is fearfully crazy in the box,
and the wheels clatter as if one were spinning flax."

"Christian," said Braesig, "you must first drive a little way through
the village pond, and then through the Gurlitz brook; and then, before
you get to Rahnstadt, though the frog-pond. That will tighten the
wheels."

"Eh!" said Christian; "one might as well go a sea-voyage!"

As Habermann had taken leave, and put his little girl in the wagon,
young Jochen pressed out through the company in such haste that all
made way for him, and his wife cried out, "What is the matter now?"
"There," said he and placed in the hand of the little Louise a pound of
Fleigen Markur, for he smoked no other tobacco; but it was only in
outward appearance, for, as Habermann looked closer, he found a great
piece of white bread, which young Jochen had merely wrapped up in
tobacco-paper, because he had nothing else at hand.

The equipage started. Christian took the pond and the brook on his way,
as Braesig had recommended; the little one was given up at Gurlitz, and
I will not try to describe how the pretty little dear was handed from
one to the other, with kisses and petting, and seemed in her
uncomprehending innocence to find herself at home with the good people.
Habermann drove on Rahnstadt, to see Moses.

Moses was a man of about fifty. He had large, wise-looking eyes, under
strong, black eyebrows, although his head was nearly white; heavy
eyelids and dark lashes gave him an aspect of mildness; he was of
middle size and of comfortable fulness; his left shoulder was a little
higher than his right, and that was in consequence of his grip. When he
got up from his stool, he stuck his left hand in his left coat pocket,
and took hold of his breeches on the left side, which was always
slipping down; for he wore but one suspender, and that was on the right
side. "What's the use?" said he to his Bluemchen, when she would
persuade him to wear a second suspender. "When I was young and poor and
had no money, I managed my business with one suspender, and courted my
Bluemchen with one suspender; and now that I am old and rich, and have
money, and have Bluemchen, why do I need two suspenders?" And then he
would pat his Bluemchen, give a grip at the left coat-pocket, and go
back to his business.

As Habermann entered he sprang up. "O heavens! it is Habermann. Haven't
I always told you," turning to his son, "Habermann is good, Habermann
is an honest man?"

"Yes, Moses," said Habermann, "honest truly,--but----"

"Stand up, David, give the seat to Herr Habermann; sit here by me. Herr
Habermann has something to say to me, and I have something to say to
Herr Habermann. Do you see?" he added to his son, "David, what did you
say? 'I should declare myself before the Prussian Justice.' What did I
say? 'I will not declare myself before the Prussian Justice; Herr
Habermann is an honorable man.' I declared myself once, it was in a
business with a Prussian candidate. I had reminded the fellow of his
debt, and he wrote me a letter, saying I should read a verse out of the
Christian hymn-book,--David, what was it?"

"It was an infamous verse," said David.


          "'Moses cannot accuse me.
              My conscience knows no fears,
            For He who has pronounced me free
              Will pay all my arrears.'"


"Yes," cried Moses, "that was what he said. And when I showed the
letter, the Prussian Justice laughed, and when I showed my note, he
shrugged his shoulders and laughed again. 'Ha, Ha! I said, you mean the
paper is good, but the fellow is good for nothing.' Then they said I
had the right on my side. I could have him locked up, but it would cost
something. 'Do you take me for a fool? should I pay the fees and costs
and summons, and the whole lawsuit, merely to give that swine his
fodder? Let him run!' said I. No, Herr Habermann is better for me than
the Prussian Justice."

"Yes, that is all very good, Moses," said Habermann, anxiously, "but I
can't pay you, at least not at present."

"No?" said Moses, and looked at him in a questioning way. "You must
have kept something over?"

"Not a red shilling," said the farmer with emotion.

"Thou just Heaven!" cried Moses, "not a red shilling!" and he sprang up
and began ordering his son about. "David, what are you standing there
for? What are you looking at? Why are you listening? Go and bring my
book!" With that he began to walk restlessly up and down the room.

"Moses," said Habermann, "only give me time, and you shall have
principal and interest to the last farthing."

Moses stood still, and listened with deep attention. "Habermann,"
said he at last, in Platt-Deutsch,--for these old-fashioned Jews,
when anything goes to the heart, talk Platt-Deutsch, just like
Christians,--"Habermann, you are an honorable man." And as David came
back with the book, the old man said, "David, what do we want of the
book? Take the book away. Now, what is it?" turning to Habermann. "I
began with nothing, you also began with nothing, I had my business, you
had yours, I had good luck, you had bad luck. I was industrious, you
were industrious too, and you understood your business. What we can't
do to-day may be done to-morrow; to-morrow you may again have a
situation, and then you can pay me, for you are an honest man."

"A situation?" said Habermann, with a much lighter heart, "I have that
already, and a good one, too."

"Where?" asked Moses.

"With the Kammerrath, at Pumpelhagen."

"Good, Habermann, good! He is a good man. Though he has had some
experience of the hard times, he is yet a good man; he does no business
with me, but he is a good man, for all that. Bluemchen!" he cried at the
door, "Herr Habermann is here. Bring in two cups of coffee!" and as
Habermann would have declined the coffee, he added, "Allow me, Herr
Habermann, allow me! When I was young, and went about the country with
my pack, and it was cold weather, your mother has often given me a hot
cup of coffee; when you were inspector you have given me many a ride
for nothing. No, we are all human beings. Drink! Herr Habermann,
drink!"

So this business also came out right, and as Habermann went back to
Braesig that evening his heart was lighter, much lighter; and, as he
that evening in bed thought over the events of the day, the thought
came to him whether a beloved voice had not prayed for him, up above,
and whether a beloved hand had not smoothed out the tangled skein of
his future, that it might run henceforth with a clear thread.

The next morning he reported himself at Pumpelhagen; and when the
Kammerrath and his little son rode away, two days after, he found
himself already acquainted with his new duties, and in full activity.
And so he remained in quiet content for many years. Grief had
withdrawn, and the joy he had was of the kind that a man does not enjoy
alone, which he must share with his fellow-men.




                              CHAPTER IV.


In the field by the mill there was wheat again this year, as in the
year in which Habermann took charge of the estate. The property was
divided into eleven fields; and eleven years had passed since that
time. The inspector came out of the church, for it was Sunday, and he
had been to hear the Pastor's sermon, and to visit his little daughter.
He went on foot along the path from the church, for the way was short,
and the day was fine, the finest of midsummer weather; he went through
his wheat-field, and one of the purest joys came over him, this, that
one sees the visible blessing of God on what in human hope, but also in
human uncertainty, his hands have sown. He was not enriched by the
blessing,--that belonged to his master; but the joy was his, and it
made his heart light and his mind clear, and in the clear mind, joyous
thoughts darted, like fish in a limpid brook. He whistled a merry tune
to himself, and almost laughed when he heard his own whistling, for
such an outburst of mirth rarely happened to him.

"So," said he, "this is the eleventh year I have been over that field,
and the worst is over; yet once more! then the overseeing shall be done
by other eyes."

He took the way through the garden, which lay on high ground, and
joined a little grove of oaks and beeches, where the drive and
foot-path had been freshly cleared and raked out, for the Kammerrath
and his family were coming to-day, and had sent word that they might be
expected by the middle of the afternoon. As he came up the ascent he
stood still and looked back over the wheat-field, and laughed to
himself. "Yes, it doesn't look much as it did eleven years ago, when I
let them mow it. This is something like! This time we have had a better
year. What will the old Herr say? Between now and harvest, there is
some time yet, but the rape is now as good as sure. If he only hasn't
sold it all beforehand, again!" sighed he. "The cuckoo knows!" and he
recalled the sums which had been borrowed during these eleven long
years. "The old Herr will go no farther, and will go no farther; but,
God bless him, there are his five daughters, and two sons-in-law who
drain him, and then the gracious lady, who believes because money is
round that it must run away, and then the son--it must be very
expensive in the Prussian cuirassiers! Yes, the times are better than
they were in my day; but if a man once gets into a tight place--it is
hard, and he looks too old altogether."

He had time to spare. To-day they were waiting dinner for the Herr
Kammerrath, although he had not given orders to that effect. "It was
proper to do so," Habermann had said. "Yes," said he once more, and
seated himself in the cool shade, "he will rejoice over the wheat, and
it will be a help to him, for it is worth something, and times are
better than they were."

Yes, the times were tight again, for what are "the times," for the
North German people, and for all mankind, but long, long threads
stretched far out over England and America and all the world, and
knotted at the ends, and so managed that they lie sometimes quite
slack, and whatever is fastened to them--and that is for our people
almost the whole country--cannot move itself; and then again they are
stretched tight, so that everything dances merrily back and forth, and
all are shifted about, even in the remotest corners.

In this little corner of the world also, the thread was stretched
tight, and young Jochen's porcelain pipe-bowl, and leaden tinder box,
and his blue-painted corner-cupboard, and the waxed sofa, were all
cleared out of the house, and the old crazy yellow coach out of the
carriage-house; and in their place he had a meerschaum pipe adorned
with silver, and a mahogany secretary, and an immense creature of a
divan, in the living-room, and in the carriage-house there was a
vehicle which Braesig always called the "phantom," because in looking at
the bill he had taken an "e" for an "n," and an "n" for an "m:" and he
was not far wrong, for the thing was almost of the kind one sees in a
dream.

And the same thread had also guided the hand of Braesig's Herr Count, so
that finally, after almost twenty years, he had given him in writing
the desired permission to marry, and also a bond promising "a suitable
pension for his old age."

And upon this thread, when it was slack, the little Frau Pastorin had
caught herself, like a top which the boys rig up, and now that it was
stretched she buzzed about her Pastor, and hummed daily in his ears;
when the minister's meadow should be rented again, it would bring as
good as double. And as Moses, at the close of the last year, added up
his sum-total, and wrote underneath a little one and four great
ciphers, the thread caught him by the arm, and the four ciphers changed
to six. "David, lay the book away," said he, "it balances."

But while these threads, as to how far apart the knots are, and how
lightly they are stretched, are governed a good deal by human
instrumentality,--even although the Lord is above, and superintends the
whole, so that the slack-lying and the tight-stretching happen in
moderation, and mankind are not left to lie still on a hillock and
stick there, or get tangled and run wildly together, as when a sack
full of peas is shaken about,--a single human being has as much
volition on these threads as the chafer has on his, when the children
play with it; it can buzz about, here and there. Another thread,
however, governs the world: it reaches from the highest to the lowest,
and God himself has fastened the ends; no chafers buzz on it, nor is it
in any sense a game. This thread was twisted a little, and Zachary
Braesig got a touch of the gout. It was stretched a little tighter, and
the two old Nuesslers lay on their last couch; and then the knots at
their end of the thread were cut, and they were buried.

Zachary Braesig, indeed, scolded and fretted terribly when he felt the
twitching, and in his ignorance did not understand, but blamed the new
fashion of sewed dress-boots, and the damp, cold spring, for what he
should have laid to the account of his hearty dinners and his usual
little drop of Kuemmel. He was snappish as a horse-fly, and Habermann
would rally him, whenever he visited him in such a temper, about the
writing in his possession which he had received from the Herr Count,
granting him permission to marry and a pension, and then Braesig would
be angry, terribly angry, and would say, "Now just think, brother, in
what an outrageous dilemma that paper of the gracious Count places me!
If I want to marry, then says my gracious Count I am too young to need
a pension, and if I ask for the pension, then I must say to myself, I
am too old to marry! Oh! my gracious Count is not much better after all
than a regular Jesuit; he says the words and you see them under your
eyes, but virtually he has put all sorts of mocking paragraphs in the
paper, that a man who for eight and twenty years has worn out his bones
in his service cannot request a pension without depreciating himself
personally, or that a man who could have had three brides twenty years
ago, now that he is fifty years old cannot marry one. Oh, I laugh at
the gracious paragraphs and at the gracious Count!"

One man's owl is another man's nightingale. Braesig was spiteful over
the twitching of the thread; but in young Jochen's house, after the
knots were cut a guest entered, whom the young wife indeed had many
times invited at the door, but who had never before crossed the
threshold, and that was Peace. Now he had established himself
comfortably on the new divan, and ruled over the whole establishment.
The young woman cared for him, as if her nearest relative had come to
the house, and the two little twin-apples did everything to please him,
and young Jochen himself invited the guest in, and said it was all as
true as leather, and did his duty as the head of the family. He
continued to be monosyllabic, to be sure, and desired no other tobacco
than Fleigen Markur, and did not trouble himself about the oversight of
the farm. For, after the death of the old people, Habermann and Braesig
had taken the charge of out-door affairs quite out of his hands, and
had changed the crops, and had introduced improvements, and because the
old people had stowed away under the pillows, and in the stocking-box,
and about the stove, and here and there in other places, many a bag of
gold which they had forgotten to take with them, the business went very
quickly and without much ceremony; and as it was all dispatched young
Jochen said, "Yes, what shall I do about it?" and let things take their
course.

But the comfort and prosperity which surrounded him roused him up a
good deal, and his natural kind-heartedness, which had so long been
repressed by the avarice of the old people, became evident; and, if he
was a little rough about the head, it was no matter,--as the
schoolmaster with the red vest said at the funeral: "It is no matter,
Herr Pastor, since the heart is not bad!"

And how was it now with the Frau Pastorin and her Pastor? There the
Lord had touched the thread very lightly; he had done like young
Jochen, he had said: "What shall I do about it; let things take their
course!" And if the Pastor now and then perceived a little light touch
on his arm, and looked around, it was only his little friendly wife who
stood behind him, always with her dusting cloth, and polished away at
his arm-chair, and asked whether he would have the perch fried or
boiled; and if his sermon happened to be about Peter's wonderful
draught of fishes, or the evangelist's story of the meal of fish on the
shore, then all sorts of foolish, unchristian thoughts would dart
across his mind, of fried fish, and horse-radish, and butter to eat on
it, so that he had some trouble in going on with his sermon, and
sustaining the dignity of his office. But what were these little
troubles, to which his Regina had accustomed him from the first, in
comparison with his great joy?

God bless me! I have just received from my friend the gardener, Juhlke,
of Erfurt, a beautiful lily-bulb; and now in the March sun the first
leaves are sprouting, and my first thought in the morning is to see how
much the leaves have sprouted during the night; and I give it a little
pull to find out how the roots are striking, and I move it away from
the cool window to the warm stove, and back from the dark stove to the
light window, in the blessed sunshine, and it is as yet only a green
shoot springing out of the earth, with no sign of a flower-bud, and it
is but a plant, and not a human life, and yet how I rejoice over its
sprouting and growth and greenness! And the pastor had received also a
beautiful lily-bulb from his friend the Gardener, the Lord in heaven,
and he and his little wife had tended and watched it, and now a
flower-bud was growing, a human flower-bud, and the warm May sun shone
upon it, and the Frau Pastorin ran to her darling the first thing in
the morning, and buzzed about her at noon, and rejoiced over her
healthy appetite, and heaped another spoonful on her plate; "For," said
she, "life must have something to live on." And at evening, under the
lindens before the door, she wrapped the little maiden under the same
sheltering mantle with herself, on the side toward the warmth; and when
it was bedtime, then she gave her a good-night kiss: "God bless you, my
daughter; to-morrow morning early, at five o'clock, you must be up
again!"

And the Pastor's first thought was also of her; and he watched and
waited as leaf after leaf was growing green, and gave her a prop at her
side, and bound her to it that she might grow right up toward heaven,
and kept away all weeds and noxious insects. And when he went to bed at
night he would say, as full of hope as a child, "Regina, she must
blossom soon."

And so it came about, without the consciousness of the dear old people,
or of the child herself, that she became the angel of the household,
about whom everything turned, turned joyfully, without grumbling or
snarling, without clashing or force. As she in her simple dress, with a
little silk handkerchief tied around her neck, her fresh cheeks, and
unbound, floating hair, went dancing up and down in her glee, she was a
living spring of joy to the whole house; and when she sat still beside
her foster-father, and learned, and looked at him with her great eyes,
as if there must be something still more beautiful to come, and at last
with a deep sigh closed the book, as if it were a pity that it was all
done, and yet at the same time good that it was all done, because the
little heart could hold no more,--then the Frau Pastorin stole up
behind her, in stocking feet, with her dusting-cloth under her apron,
and her slippers lying at the door. "For," said she, "teaching children
is a different thing from making sermons; the old people are only
affected now and then when one hits them right hard with hell-torments;
but a child's soul,--one must touch that merely with a tulip-stalk, and
not with a fence-pole!"

Habermann's little daughter was always fair, but she looked the fairest
when, a step in advance, she held her father by the hand, and brought
him into the parsonage yard, where the good people sat under the great
linden; then shone out all the virtues which usually sleep quietly in
the human heart, and only now and then come to the light of day,--love
and gratitude, joy and pride,--from her sprightly face; and, if
Habermann walked beside her silent and half-sad that he could do so
little for his child, one could read in her eyes a sort of festal joy,
as if she thought to discharge all the debt of gratitude which she owed
her good foster-parents, by bringing to them her father. She was just
entering her thirteenth year and her young heart took no reckoning of
her feelings and actions, never in her life had she asked herself why
her father was so dear to her. It was otherwise with the Pastor and his
wife, there she was daily conscious how kind and good were their
intentions toward her, and she had daily opportunities of repaying
their love by little acts of duty and friendliness. But here--she knew
merely it was her father; he spoke often to her words that must come
from his heart, and he looked at her with such quiet, sad looks, that
must go to her heart. Reckoning up all they had done, these good people
had deserved more from her; but yet--the Lord must have knit these
human threads very closely together, up above, they run into each other
so, and cannot be separated.

To-day, as Habermann sat in the cool shade, it had been again a
festival day for his child, and it was one for him also. He overlooked
the whole region. The spring was over, the summer sun shone warm
through the light, fleecy clouds; a light breeze cooled the air, and
lifted the green corn into the sunlight, as if the earth were waving a
green, silken banner before her commander, the sun. The regimental
music, from the band of a thousand birds, had ceased with the spring,
and only the cuckoo's cry and the call of the quail still echoed, as if
a puff of wind bore with it out of the distance the sound of drums and
cymbals. But instead of music and singing the wind brought over the
fields a sweet odor which came indeed from a field of slaughter, where
thousands and thousands of slain lay in rows and heaps, who knew
nothing of bloody misery, however, and were a pleasure to mankind: the
hay-harvest had begun, and Habermann sat on the hill in the cool arbor,
and overlooked the fields, far and near. How beautiful is such a
region, where the fields in a thousand green and yellow stripes and
bands stretch to the summits of the hills, and shine far around like a
many-colored garment which industry has woven for the earth! But it
seems restless and anxious, when we tear the turf and the soil with
digging and scratching, and every one has his own task, and troubles
himself solely about the miserable profits he is to dig from his own
little piece of earth,--and all these green and yellow bands and
stripes only bear witness to our poverty. I know well it is not so, but
it seems so. Here it is otherwise: far out to the blue forest extend
the fields of one kind of grain; the rape fields stretch themselves out
like a great sea in the golden morning sunlight; broad pastures and
slopes harbor the bright-colored cattle, and over the green meadows
stretch in an oblique direction the long rows of mowers in white
shirt-sleeves; everything is of a piece, all works together; and
wherever one casts his eyes, he sees rest and security as the result of
riches. I know right well it is not so, but yet it seems so. But that
is an afterthought. The eye sees merely the riches and the rest, and
these, in the cool shade, with the humming of bees and the playing of
butterflies, sink softly into the heart.

So was it to-day with Habermann; he was in such a quiet, happy mood,
and thankfully he thought over the last eleven years. All was good and
growing better. He had paid his debts to Braesig and Moses, with his
employer he stood on the best footing. His intercourse with him was
almost confidential, for, although the Kammerrath was not at all in the
habit of discussing his private affairs with every body, Habermann's
behavior was so perfectly sure, he knew so exactly how to keep himself
in his place, that the Kammerrath often talked over matters with him,
which pertained more to himself than to the farm; of his family
affairs, however, he had never spoken. It was to happen otherwise
to-day.

When the inspector had been sitting a little while, he heard a couple
of carriages drive up before the door. "Good heavens, they are coming!"
he cried, and sprang up to go and receive the company.

The Kammerrath came with his wife and three daughters and his son; they
were to stay six weeks on the estate, and enjoy the country air. "Dear
Herr Habermann," said he, "we have come upon you a little sooner than
you expected, but my business at Rostock was dispatched more quickly
than I believed possible. How is it here? Is everything prepared for
the ladies?"

"All is in readiness," said Habermann, "but I fear the dinner may be a
little late."

"No misfortune! The ladies can be making their toilet meantime, and you
can show me our wheat. And," turning to his son who stood at his side,
a stately young man, in handsome uniform, "you can take your mother and
sisters into the garden, by and by, for in matters of domestic
economy," here he made a sickly attempt to laugh a little, "you take no
interest."

"Dear father, I----" said the son, rather uneasily.

"No, let it go, my son," said the father, in a friendly tone. "Come,
Herr Habermann, the wheat stands close behind the garden."

Habermann went with him. How old the man had become in so short a time!
And it was not age merely which seemed to weigh upon him, he seemed
oppressed by some other burden. As he caught sight of his wheat, he
became a little enlivened, and cried, "Beautiful, beautiful! I never
thought to have seen such wheat in Pumpelhagen."

That pleased Habermann, but, as is the way with these old inspectors,
he did not let it be noticed, and because he was laughing inwardly, he
scratched his head and said, "If we can make sure of this on the hill,
and it will be worth a good deal, and that down there by the meadow,
the devil may have his game with the rest."

"We cannot prevent what may still happen," said the Kammerrath. "It is
a real pleasure that you have given me to-day, dear Herr Inspector.
Ah," added he, after a little while, "why didn't we know each other
twenty years ago? It would have been better for you and for me!"

Habermann no longer scratched his head; the trace of humor, which
sometimes lightened his serious disposition, was gone, and he looked
anxiously at his master. They had come to the boundary of Gurlitz. "The
wheat over there doesn't look so well as ours," said the Kammerrath.

"No," said Habermann. "The soil is quite as good as ours, however; that
is the Gurlitz Pastor's field, but he has not received his due for it."

"Apropos," went on the Kammerrath, "do you know that Gurlitz is sold? A
few days ago it was sold in Rostock for 173,000 thalers. Farms are
rising, isn't it so, Habermann, farms are rising considerably. If
Gurlitz is worth 173,000 thalers, Pumpelhagen would be a good bargain
at 240,000 thalers;" and with that, he looked impressively at
Habermann.

"That it would, Herr Kammerrath; but the sale of Gurlitz means
something else for you; by contract, the Pastor's field falls out of
the estate, upon its sale, and it runs like a wedge into our land,--you
must rent the Pastor's field!"

"Ah, dear Habermann, don't talk of my renting!" cried the Kammerrath,
and turned about, and went slowly back, as if he might not look at the
beautiful piece of land, "I have already too much on my shoulders. I
have no desire for new trouble."

"You should have no trouble about it. If you will give me authority, I
will arrange the matter with the Herr Pastor."

"No, no, Habermann, it won't do! The expenditure, the advance of rent,
the increased inventory! I have besides so many expenditures, my hair
stands on end!" and with that the man moved so wearily up the ascent,
and stumbled so at every stone, that Habermann sprang toward him,
and offered him his arm; close by the garden the Kammerrath had an
attack of dizziness, so that Habermann was obliged to hold him up, and
could scarcely get him into the arbor. Here, in the cool shade, he soon
recovered from his attack; but his appearance was so altered that the
inspector in this weak-spirited, broken man could hardly recognize his
tranquil, decided friend of former years. The man became talkative, it
seemed as if he must unburden his heart. "Dear Habermann," said he, and
grasped his hand, "I have a favor to ask; my nephew Franz,--you used to
know him,--has finished his studies, and is going to undertake the care
of his two estates. He will follow my advice,--my deceased brother
appointed me his guardian,--he means to become a practical farmer, and
I have recommended you to him as his instructor. You must take the
young man here, he is an intelligent youth,--he is a good fellow."

"Yes," said Habermann. That he would do gladly, and so far as in him
lay it should not fail; he had known the young man from a child, he was
always a dutiful boy.

"Ah," cried the Kammerrath, "if my own boy had gone the same way! Why
was I weak enough to yield to my wife against my better judgment?
Nothing would do but he must be a soldier. But now it comes, now it
comes, my old friend, we have got into debt, deeper than I can tell,
for I see by his oppressed and shy manner, that he has not confessed
all to me. If he would only do so, then I could know where I stood, and
I could save him out of the hands of usurers. And if I myself should
fall into those hands!" he added gloomily, after a little, in a weak
voice.

Habermann was frightened by the words and the tone, but still more by
the appearance of his master. "It will not be so bad as that," he said,
for he must say something, "and then the Herr will yet have the
receipts from about fifteen hundred bushels of rape; for so I reckon
the crop."

"And for seventeen hundred bushels, which I have sold, I have already
received the money, and it is already paid out; but that is not the
worst, we could get over that. Ah, what a torment!" cried he, as if he
must shoulder his burden again. "My business at Rostock is not all
wound up, as I said to you before my family; I have taken a debt for
one of my sons-in-law, of seven thousand thalers, and cannot raise the
money in Rostock, and in three days it must be paid. The money is
promised to the purchaser of Gurlitz, and he is to pay the purchase
money day after to-morrow. Give me your advice, old friend! You have
been in similar circumstances, you know how you helped yourself--don't
take it ill of me! you were always an honest man. But I cannot bear not
to feel sure in my possessions or in my honourable name."

Yes, Habermann had been in such a condition, and he had failed for a
couple of hundred thalers; and this was seven thousand.

"Have you spoken with the purchaser of Gurlitz?" he asked, after some
thought.

"Yes," was the reply, "and I told him the plain truth about my
difficulties."

"And what was the answer?" said Habermann. "But I can imagine, he was
in pressing need of money himself."

"It was not that, as it seemed to me; but the man seemed to have a
spite against me, he was too short and abrupt, and when he noticed my
embarrassment his offers were too crafty, so that I broke off the
negotiation, because I still hoped to procure the money elsewhere. But
that is at an end, and I find myself more embarrassed than ever."

"I know of but one immediate resource," said Habermann, "you must go
and see Moses, at Rahnstadt."

"The Jew money-lender?" asked the Kammerrath. "Never in the world!"
cried he. "I could not bear to feel myself in such hands. No, I will
rather bear the insolence of Herr Pomuchelskopp."

"Who?" shouted Habermann, as if a wasp had stung him.

"Why, the purchaser of Gurlitz, of whom we were speaking," said the
Kammerrath, and stared at him as if he could not interpret his
behavior.

"And he is a Pomeranian, from the region on the Peene, short and stout,
with a full face?"

"Yes," said the Kammerrath.

"And he is going to be our neighbor? And you would enter into business
relations with him? No, no, Herr Kammerrath, I beg, I implore you,
don't allow yourself to get involved with that man! you most bear me
witness that I have never made mention, for good or for evil, of the
man who has ruined me; but now that you are in danger, now I hold it my
duty,--this man is the cause of my misfortunes," and with that he had
sprung up, and from his usually tranquil, friendly eyes shot such a
flash of hatred, that even the Kammerrath, absorbed as he was in his
own affairs, was terrified.

"Yes," cried the inspector, "yes! that man has driven me out of house
and home, that man has heaped all sorts of tormenting anxieties upon me
and my poor wife, and she has gone to her grave in consequence! No, no!
Have nothing to do with that man!"

The warning was too impressive to be disregarded by the Kammerrath.
"But who will help me?" asked he.

"Moses," said Habermann, quickly and decidedly. The Kammerrath would
make objections, but Habermann placed himself before him, and said
still more impressively, "Herr Kammerrath, Moses. After dinner we will
ride over there, and if I know him, you will have no reason to repent."

The Kammerrath stood up, and took Habermann's arm; he leaned not merely
upon that--no, evidently he was also sustained by the resolute advice
of the inspector. For a quiet man, when he is once aroused from his
repose, exercises a great influence upon another human being, even if
he be not so ill and in such perplexity as the Kammerrath; and
difference in rank goes down at the double-quick, in such an emergency,
before personal merit.

The conversation at dinner was but feebly sustained,--every one was
occupied with his own affairs; Habermann thought of his new, suspicious
neighbor, the Kammerrath of his money affairs, and the lieutenant of
cuirassiers looked as if he had lost himself in a calculation of
compound interest, and could not find the way out; and if the gracious
mama had not mounted her high horse a little, and talked of the visits
she must make to people of rank in the neighborhood, and the young
ladies had not revelled in the prospect of country delights and
unlimited grass and flowers, it would have been as silent as a funeral.

After dinner the Kammerrath drove with his inspector to Rahnstadt. As
they stopped at the door of Moses' house, the Kammerrath felt in much
the same mood as if he had dropped a louis-d'or in the filth, and must
stoop to pick it out with his clean hands. A musty odor met them, at
the entrance, for a "produce business" does not smell like otto of
roses, and the wool, when it has just left the mother-sheep's back, has
quite a different smell from that which it has after it has been about
the world a little, and got aired, and lies as a bright-colored carpet
on a fine lady's parlor, sprinkled with perfume.

And how disorderly it was in the passage and in the room! For Bluemchen
was a very good wife, to be sure, but she did not understand how to
ornament an entry and a counter with a cow's head and a heap of
mutton-bones; for Moses said shortly, that belonged to the business,
and David was constantly bringing in new treasures and turned the house
into a real rat's paradise, for those pleasant little beasts run after
the smell of a regular produce business, like doves after anise-seed
oil.

In the room, the Kammerrath did not find himself more agreeably
disposed, for Moses was orthodox, and on the Christian Sabbath, unless
his business demanded the contrary, he wore his greasiest coat, in
order to keep himself quite opposed to the customs of the dressed-up
Gentiles; and as he now, with his grip at his left coat-pocket, sprang
up and ran toward the Kammerrath,--"O heavens! the Herr Kammerrath! the
honor!" and shouted to David, who was improving the Sunday-afternoon
quiet in the "produce business" by napping a little on the sofa,
"David, where are you sitting? Where are you lying? What are you
lounging there for? Stand up! Let the Herr Kammerrath sit down," and as
he now endeavoured to force the Kammerrath into the place already
warmed by David, then would the Kammerrath gladly have left the
louis-d'or lying in the dirt; but--he needed it quite too pressingly.

Habermann threw himself into the breach, and set a chair for the
Kammerrath by the open window, and undertook the first introduction of
the business; and as Moses observed what the talk was to be about, he
hunted David about till he got him out of the room,--for although he
let him do a good deal in the produce business, he did not consider him
quite ripe, at six and thirty years, for the money business,--and when
the air was free,--that is to say, of David,--he exclaimed once and
again, what a great honor it was for him to have dealings with the Herr
Kammerrath. "What have I always said, Herr Habermann? 'The Herr
Kammerrath is a good man, the Herr Kammerrath is good.' What have I
always said, Herr Kammerrath? 'The Herr Habermann is an honest man; he
has toiled and moiled to pay me the last penny.'"

But as he perceived of what a sum they were speaking, he was startled,
and held back, and made objections, and if he had not held Habermann in
such high esteem, and read plainly in his looks that he seriously
advised him to the business, then indeed nothing might have come of it.
And who knows but the matter might still have fallen through, if it had
not been mentioned casually that the money was to go for the purchase
of Gurlitz, and that otherwise the Kammerrath must enter into
negotiations with Pomuchelskopp. But as this name was uttered, Moses
made a face, as if one had laid a piece of tainted meat on his plate,
and he cried out, "With Pomuffelskopp!" for he pronounced the name in
that way, "Do you know what sort of fellow he is? He is like that!" and
with that he made a motion as if he would throw the bit of tainted meat
over his shoulder. "'David,' said I, 'don't have anything to do with
Pomuffelskopp!' But these young people,--David bought some wool of him.
'Well!' said I; 'you will see,' I told him. And what had he done? There
he had smuggled in with the washed wool the tangles, the wool from dead
animals, he had smuggled in dirty wool from slaughtered sheep, he had
smuggled in two great field-stones. _Two great field-stones_ had he
smuggled in for me! When he came to get his money--'Good!' said I--I
paid him in Prussian treasury notes, and I made little packets of a
hundred thalers, and in the middle of each packet I smuggled in some
that were no longer in circulation, or counterfeit, and in the last
packet I laid in two played-out lottery-tickets--'Those are the two
great field-stones,' said I. Oh, but didn't he make an uproar? When he
came with the Notary Slusuhr,--he is such an one to look at,"--here he
again threw the bit of tainted meat over his shoulder,--"like one of
David's rats,--his ears stand out, and he lives so well, he lives just
like the rats, feeds on rubbish and filth, and gnaws open other
people's honest leather. Oh, but they made a disturbance, they would
bring a lawsuit against me! 'What is a lawsuit?' said I; 'I don't have
lawsuits. As the ware is, so is the money.' And do you know, gentlemen,
what else I said? 'The Herr Notary, and the Herr Pomuffelskopp and I
are three Jews, but four might be made of us if the two gentlemen could
count for three.' Oh, they made an uproar! They abused me all over the
city. But the Herr Burgomeister said to me, 'Moses, you do a great
business, but you have never yet had a law-suit, let them work!' Herr
Kammerrath, you shall have the money to-day, at your offer, of
commission and interest, for you are a good man, and you treat your
people well, and you have a good name in the land, and you shall not
have to deal with Pomuffelskopp."

To borrow money is a hard piece of work, and he who writes this knows
it by many years' experience, and can speak of it accordingly; but it
makes a difference whether one appeals to the kindness of an old
friend, or turns to a man who makes a business of this business. The
Kammerrath had debts on his estate, quite a number of debts; but they
were not significant bills of exchange, and his money affairs had
usually been arranged by writing, or through the medium of lawyers or
merchants; he was now for the first time not in a situation to raise
money easily, in the old way, he had been obliged to go himself to a
money-Jew--for so he called this sort of people; the repulsion which he
felt for this course, the very different place, and manner, and
disposition which he found here, the anxiety caused by the objections
of Moses at the outset, and now at last the speedy help which relieved
him from his pressing emergency, had overpowered the sick man; he
turned pale and sank back in his chair, and Habermann called for a
glass of water.

"Herr Kammerrath," cried Moses, "perhaps a little drop of wine, I can
have half a pint brought from the merchant, in a moment."

"No, water! water!" cried Habermann, and Moses ran out of the door, and
nearly upset David,--for David had been listening a little to the money
business, in order that he might finally become ripe,--"David what are
you doing, why don't you bring some water?"

And David came, and the Kammerrath drank water, and recovered himself,
and Moses told out the louis-d'ors on the table, and the Kammerrath
picked them out of the dirt, and looked at his hands, and they seemed
quite as clean as before; and as he got into the carriage, and looked
back from it into Moses' entry, it seemed to him as if among Moses'
pelts and mutton bones, there was a great bundle, and that was his own
trouble. And Moses stood in the door, and bowed and bowed, and looked
round at his neighbors to find whether they saw that the Herr
Kammerrath had been to him.

But for all the great honor, he did not sink under it. He held up his
head, and got Habermann aside, and said, "Herr Inspector, you are an
honest man; when I agreed to this business, I did not know the man was
so sick. You must promise me that the money shall be secured on the
estate. It is a matter of life and death. What am I doing with a sick
man and a note!"

The Kammerrath was relieved from his embarrassment; his agitation
subsided, his health improved, he looked at the world with quite
different eyes; and as Habermann, a few days later, again mentioned the
renting of the Pastor's field, he listened, and gave Habermann
permission to talk with Pastor Behrens. He did so, and during the
interview the little Frau Pastorin bustled about in the room, and it
sounded in the ears of the Pastor and Habermann continually,--"A higher
sum! A higher sum!"

"Yes," said Habermann, "that is understood. Frau Pastorin, the rent
must be raised; times are better, but there will be no difficulty in
the matter,--the advantage lies on both sides."

"Regina," said her Pastor, "it occurs to me that the flowers at the end
of the garden have not been watered."

"Ah, my dear life!" cried the Pastorin, and bustled out of the door,
"the flowers!"

"So," said the Pastor, "now we can soon settle it. I must confess to
you, that I prefer to have a renter from outside, rather than one
belonging to the place; there are so many little differences which
spring from such immediate neighborhood, and make such a relation so
doubtful and annoying, as it ought not to be between landlords and
ministers. And the Kammerrath is personally much dearer to me than the
new owner,--I have known him so many years. And you think I may demand
a higher rent?"

"Yes, indeed, Herr Pastor, and I am authorized to offer you the half
more. If I wished to rent the land myself, I could offer you still
more; but----"

"We understand each other, dear Habermann," said the Pastor, "we are
agreed in the matter."

And when the Frau Pastorin again bustled in with the little Louise, and
cried out, "It was not necessary! Louise had already attended to the
matter!" then was her Pastor's business all settled, and the dear
little Louise hung around her father's neck: "Ah, father, father, that
is so good!" Why should she hang about her father's neck? What had she
to do with rent-contracts? Much, much! Her father would now be a little
nearer to the Pastor's garden, ploughing and harvesting, and she should
see him the oftener.

As Habermann went back through the church-yard, he met Zachary Braesig,
who had passed happily, out of his dreadfully unphilosophical stage of
the gout, into the philosophical, as generally happened when his
troubles were over. "Good-day, Karl," said he, "I have been in your
quarters a while waiting for you. But the time seemed long, so I made
my compliments, meanwhile, to the Herr Kammerrath. He was very glad to
see me, and treated me with the greatest kindness; but how the man
looks!"

Yes, said Habermann, his master had--God bless him--grown very old and
weak, and he for his part feared he was soon to lose the friend he
esteemed so highly.

"Yes," nodded Braesig, "but what is life, Karl? What is human life? See
here, Karl, turn it over and over, like a leather money-bag, and not a
shilling falls out."

"Braesig," said Habermann, "I don't know what other people think about
it, but it seems to me as if life and labor were one and the same."

"Ho, ho, Karl! now I hear you run on; you got that sentence from Pastor
Behrens. He has sometimes talked with me on this subject, and he has
given me a description of human life, as if here below it was merely
the manuring time, and the Christian belief was the sun and the rain,
which made the seed grow, and there above, in the upper regions, came
the harvest; but man must work, and take pains and do his part. But
Karl, it don't agree, it goes against the Bible. The Bible tells about
the lilies of the field; they toil not, and they spin not, and yet our
Heavenly Father cares for them. And if our Lord takes care of them,
then they live, and they don't labor, and when I have this infamous
gout and do nothing,--nothing at all but hunt away the cursed,
tormenting flies from my face,--is that labor? and yet I live under the
good-for-nothing torture. And Karl," said he, and pointed to the right
across the field, "see those two lilies, that are picking their way
over here, your gracious Herr Lieutenant, and the youngest Fraeulein,
have you ever heard that the lieutenant of cuirassiers troubled himself
with labor, or that the gracious Fraeulein did any spinning? And yet
they are both coming, with living bodies, over your rape-stubble."

"Will you wait a moment, Zachary?" said Habermann; "they are coming in
this direction, possibly they wish to speak to us."

"For all me!" said Braesig. "But just look at the Fraeulein, how she
wades through the rape-stubble with her long skirts and her thin shoes!
No, Karl, life is trouble! And it begins always with the extremities,
with the legs, and you may observe that with me from my confounded
gout, and in the case of the Fraeulein by the rape-stubble and her thin
shoes. But what I was going to say, Karl--you have had your best time
here, for when the Herr Kammerrath is dead, there look out! You will be
astonished at the gracious lady, and the three unmarried daughters, and
the Herr Lieutenant. Karl," he began again, after a little thought, "I
would hold to the crown-prince."

"Eh, what! Braesig, what are you talking about?" said Habermann,
hastily, "I shall go right on my way."

"Yes, Karl, so should I, and so would every body who was not a Jesuit.
But look at the gracious Fraeulein once more! She goes right on her way
too, but through the rape-stubble. Karl----" But the young people were
too near, he could say no more; only in an aside he added, "A Jesuit?
No! But he is a vocative."

"I thank you, Herr Habermann, that you have waited here for me," said
Axel von Rambow, as they came up. "My sister and I are bound on two
different expeditions; she is seeking corn-flowers, and I colts; she
has found no corn-flowers, and I no colts."

"Gracious lady," said Braesig, "if you mean by corn-flowers our common
field blossoms,--but," he interrupted himself, "how this infamous
stubble has ruined your pretty dress, all the flounces torn off!" and
with that he bent down as if he would render the young lady the service
of a maid.

"No matter!" cried the Fraeulein, drawing back a little, "it is an old
dress. But where are the corn-flowers?"

"I will show you,--it is a real pleasure,--here close by, near
Gurlitz, corn-flowers, and scarlet-runners, and white-thorn, and
thistle-blows,--in short, a whole plantation."

"That will do nicely, dear Fidelia," said the lieutenant. "You go with
the Herr Inspector Braesig for the corn-flowers, and I beg Herr
Habermann to accompany me to see the colts. For, do you know," said he
to Habermann, "my good old papa was in such a good humor this morning,
that he has given me permission to select the best of the four-year-old
colts for my own use.

"I will show you the animals with pleasure," said Habermann, "there are
some fine fellows, among them."

So the two companies separated, and Habermann only heard further how
Braesig said to the Fraeulein Fidelia he was very glad to make her
acquaintance, because he had once had a dog which was also named,
"Fidele," and she was a famous rat-catcher!

Habermann went with the Herr Lieutenant toward the colt-paddock. They
talked together, naturally about farming matters,--the lieutenant was a
lively young fellow, and Habermann had known him from childhood,--but
the man had learned nothing about them, all his views were too far
beyond, and none of his questions were to the point, so that Habermann
said to himself, "He is good natured, very good-natured, but he knows
nothing, and yet--God bless him--when the old Herr is gone, he must
take the estate, and make his living off it!"

As they were come to the paddock, and had mustered the colts, the
lieutenant placed himself before Habermann, and asked, "Now, what do
you say? which shall I take?"

"The brown," said Habermann.

"I would rather choose the black. Look at the beautiful neck, the fine
head!"

"Herr von Rambow," said Habermann, "you don't ride on head and neck,
you ride on back and legs; you want a horse for use, and the brown is
worth three of the black."

"There seems to be English blood in the black."

"That is true, he is descended from Wildfire; but there is old
Mecklenburg blood in the brown, and it is a shame that one should let
that go,--that one should not value the good which the fatherland
offers, and exchange them for English racers."

"That may be true," said Axel, "but in our regiment my comrades have
only black horses,--I decide for the black."

That was a reason which Habermann did not rightly understand, so he was
silent, and as they went back, the conversation was a little one-sided;
but as they were near the house--right before the door, as if he had
spared himself to the last moment--the lieutenant held back the
inspector, and with a deep sigh, as if he would shake off a burden from
his heart, he said, "Habermann, I have long wished to speak to you
privately. Habermann, I have debts,--you must help me! It is nine
hundred dollars that I must pay, I must have it."

That was a hard request for Habermann, but in truly serious business,
age makes itself respected; he looked the young man of three-and-twenty
full in the face, and said shortly, "Herr von Rambow, I cannot do it."

"Habermann, dear Habermann, I have such pressing need of the money."

"Then you must tell your father."

"My father? No, no! He has already paid debts for me, and now he is
sick, it would vex him too much."

"Still you must tell him. Such business must not be done with strange
people, it should be settled between father and son."

"Strange people?" asked Axel, and looked him so beseechingly and
affectionately in the eye, "Habermann, am I then so strange to you?"

"No, Herr von Rambow, no!" cried Habermann, and grasped after the young
man's hand, but did not reach it. "You are not strange to me. Anything
that I _could_ do for you, I would do quickly. The matter itself is a
little thing, and if I could not do it alone, my friend Braesig would
help me out; but dear Herr von Rambow, your father is your natural
helper, this step ought not to be delayed."

"I cannot tell my father," said Axel, plucking at a willow-bush.

"You _must_ tell him," said Habermann as impressively as he could. "He
suspects that you have concealed debts from him, and it troubles him."

"Has he spoken to you about it?"

"Yes, but only in consequence of his own great embarrassment, which is
known to you."

"I know," said Axel, "and I know also the spring at which he has
pumped. Well, what my father does, I can do also," added he coldly and
shortly, and went in at the court-yard gate.

"Herr von Rambow," cried Habermann, and followed him hastily, "I
beseech you, for heaven's sake, not to take this course; it will be in
vain, or it will only plunge you into greater difficulty."

Axel did not listen.

A couple of hours later, the Lieutenant von Rambow stood with
Moses among the woolsacks and the hides in the entry of the Jew's
house,--where David had his pleasure among the mutton-bones, like a bug
in a rug,--and was making apparently a last, despairing attack upon
Moses' cautious money-bags; but Moses held firmly to the decision:
"Really and truly, Herr Baron, I can not. Now, why not, then? Why
should I not? I can still serve you, I can still serve you well in the
business. See, Herr Baron, there stands David. David where are you,
what are you staring at? Come here, David. You see, Herr Baron, there
he stands,--he stands before you and he stands before me. I will not
wink, I will not blink, I will go into the other room; now you
may ask David." And with that, he shoved himself with his right
suspender-shoulder, back into the room.

The poor lieutenant's business must stand a bad chance if he had to
settle it with David, for if he looked in his shining uniform as if he
were riding before the king's carriage, David's outside looked as
shabby as if he had been in the marl and dirt-cart. But this business
depended less on a stately outside, than on who could best get the cart
out of the mud, and at that David was terribly expert. He had three
things in and about himself which stood him in good stead; in the first
place he had a particularly gorgeous Jew-lubber face, and as he stood
there before the lieutenant, and chewed cinnamon-bark, which he stole
out of his mother's pantry, on account of the evil odor of the
business, and with his head askew, and his hands in his pockets, stared
at him, he looked as impudent as if the spirits of all the dead and
gone rats, through the long years of the produce business, had entered
into him; and then, in the second place, his feelings were tough, much
tougher than his father's, and they were not softened by his daily
intercourse with the toughest business in the world, with wool, and
hides, and flax; and, thirdly, he could make himself as repulsive as he
pleased to any one, thanks to this same business.

With such a happily gifted being, the lieutenant could not pull at the
same rope. He went very shortly, with a heavy heart, out of the door;
and David was so rejoiced over his own style and manners, that he
became really compassionate, and he gave him on his way the Christian
advice that he should go to the Notary Slusuhr. "He has it," said he,
"and he can do it."

Scarcely was the young man out of the door, when Moses sprang out of
the room; "David, have you a conscience? I will tell you some news; you
have none! How could you send that young man among those cut-throats?"

"I have only sent him to his own people," said David, churlishly; "if
he is a soldier, he is a cut-throat himself. If the notary cuts his
throat, what do you care? And if he cuts the notary's throat, what do I
care?"

"David," said the old man, and shook his head, "I say, you have no
conscience."

"What is a conscience?" muttered David to himself; "when you are doing
business, you drive me away; when you won't do business, you call me
in."

"David," said the old man, "you are still too young!" and went into the
room.

"If I am too young now," said David spitefully, "I shall always be too
young; but I know a place where I am not too young."

With that, he put on another coat, and went the same way that the
lieutenant had gone, to the Notary Slusuhr's.

What he had to do there, and what else was done there, I know not. I
know merely that the young Herr von Rambow, the same evening at
Pumpelhagen, wrote a number of letters, and sealed up money in them;
and that when he had finished, he sighed deeply, as if he had thrown
off a burden. The first necessity was met; but he had done like the old
woman in the story, he had heated water in the kneading-trough.




                               CHAPTER V.


A couple of days later, the sun looked down in the morning right out of
a rain-cloud, over the landlord's garden at Gurlitz. Her daughter, the
Earth, had been having a great washing, and now she would help her dear
child a little with the drying. It was, as it is always, a great
pleasure to see the old mother settle herself to the task, and with her
broad, friendly face peer out, now here, now there, from the white
cloud-curtain, and again grasp the sprinkler, to dampen the bleached
clothes a little more. On such an occasion she was always very
sportive; she had the drollest fancies, and played as many tricks in
her old age as the youngest girl, when she is beloved for the first
time,--now she was sad enough to cry, and again she laughed heartily.

To-day, moreover, the old woman had reason to laugh, as she looked down
into the Gurlitz garden. "Now, just look there!" cried she, and smiled
right goldenly over the meadow and the green corn, "how strangely
things go on in this crazy world! For long years I have always seen
down there that pretty, white fellow standing, and holding out a staff
to me, that the poor hungry creatures of the human race might be able
to know when it was mid-day, and time for their dinners; and now there
stands in his place a stout, malicious-looking beast, with green
breeches, smoking tobacco. Nowhere do things go on so strangely as in
the world!" And with that the old woman laughed from the bottom of her
heart over the landlord Herr Pomuchelskopp, who stood in his yellow
nankeen coat and green plaid trowsers, by the sun-dial, in the very
place where the handsome heathen god, Apollo, had stood, only instead
of a lyre he had a short pipe in his hand; and yet a shadow often
passed over her face when her eyes fell on her handsome, friendly
secretary, who had for so many years recorded her doings with his
pencil, and now lay among burdocks and nettles in the grass. But she
had to laugh again, for all that.

Pomuchelskopp laughed also; there were no indications of mirth in his
face, but, whenever, from the height which his short stature allowed,
he looked around him, he laughed in his heart: "All mine! All mine!"
The sunbeam which brightened the world was not noticed by him, it
touched neither his face nor his heart; the sunbeam which shone for him
was properly a sum in arithmetic, which warmed his heart, but there
were no signs of it in his face; there must be a joke, an actual joke,
to make him laugh outwardly, and that was not wanting at the present
moment.

His two youngest children, Nanting and Philipping, had come out, and
Philipping had made a rod of burdocks and nettle stalks tied together,
and was flogging the poor, white heathen god, so that Father
Pomuchelskopp laughed heartily; and Nanting ran into the kitchen and
brought a coal, to give him a pair of moustaches, but his father would
not allow this. "Nanting," said he, "let that go, it might disfigure
him, and we may possibly be able to sell him yet. But you may beat
him,"--and they did beat him, and Father Pomuchelskopp laughed as if he
would shake himself out of his green trowsers.

Meanwhile the "Madam" also walked out, the dryer half of Pomuchelskopp.
She was of an extremely tall figure, and as dry as the seven lean kine
of King Pharaoh. Her eyebrows were always puckered up into wrinkles, as
if the cares of the whole world weighed o'er her mind, or her forehead
was drawn into peevish lines above her nose, as if all the crockery
broken by the maid-servants in this world, during a whole year, had
belonged to her; and her mouth looked as sour as if she had drank
vinegar and fed on sorrel all her days. She wore in the morning at this
warm season of the year, a black merino over-sack, which she had once
bought in a time of mourning and still wore; and through the day,
cotton garments dyed olive-green with alder-bark, and to make up for
the extravagance of Pomuchelskopp's new blue dress-coat with bright
buttons, she bundled up her head with old bandages and caps, out of
which her anxious face peered like a half-starved mouse out of a bunch
of tow; and about the rest of her body she heaped one old thing above
another, till her poor little legs looked like a couple of pins lost in
a bundle of rags. However, I would advise every servant to keep out of
her way, for even when her poor bones flew around frivolously on velvet
and silken wings, her troubled soul was anxiously reckoning the expense
and the wearing out.

She was such a mother as one reads of in books,--she planned day and
night how she might make over Malchen's coat into an under-jacket for
Philipping; she loved her children according to the Scriptures, and
chastened them in like manner, and Nanting could often show for one
spot on his jacket two on his back, and for every one on his trousers
two on the flesh they covered. Yes, she was strong against herself and
against her own flesh and blood, but she could rejoice also, according
to the scriptures, with moderation; and, as she came out to-day, and
saw the joyous activity of her youngest offspring, there flew over her
face such a hopeful light as when the February sun looks down on the
fast-frozen soil, and says, "Patience! there will be a good crop of
potatoes here this year."

And she was also such a wife as one reads of in books; no neighbor
could charge her with neglecting her duties a hair's breadth in
thought, word or deed, all her days, although Pomuchelskopp was in her
opinion quite light-minded, because often when joking was going on he
would laugh right out loud, which she thought unbecoming in the father
of a family, and she feared he would at length ruin his fortunes and
bring herself and her children to beggary. She did another thing, which
the minister had not inculcated at her betrothal,--she condemned his
failings, and gave him daily of her own vinegar to drink and of her
sorrel to eat. She tutored him--that is to say when they were alone--as
she did her youngest child, her Philipping, and as if Pomuchelskopp
still wore his green plaid trousers fastened behind; in short, she
drove him just as she pleased. She did not beat him--God forbid! all
was with dignity. Merely by her manner of speaking, she knew how to
express her opinion of him: if he was unusually frivolous, she called
him sharply and shortly by the last syllable of his name, just "Kopp!"
ordinarily she called him by the middle syllable, "Muchel," and when he
was quite after her own heart, and sat sulkily in the sofa-corner
striking at the flies, she called him by the first syllable, and in an
affectionate tone, "Poeking."

She did not call him "Poeking" to-day. "Kopp!" said she, on account of
his light-minded behavior with the children, "Kopp, why do you stand
there smoking like a chimney? I think we should call at the Pastor's."

"My Kluecking," said Pomuchelskopp, reluctantly taking the pipe from his
mouth, "we can go. I will put on my dress-coat directly."

"Dress-coat! Why so? Do you think I shall dress up in black silk? It is
only our Pastor." She emphasized the "our," as if she had spoken of her
shepherd, and as if she considered the Pastor merely their hired
servant.

"Just as you please, my Haeuhning," said Pomuchelskopp, "I can put on my
brown overcoat. Philipping, let the beating go; Mama doesn't like it."

"Kopp! let the children alone, attend to yourself. You can keep on your
nankeen coat, it is clean and good."

"My Kluecking," said Pomuchelskopp, "always noble, my dear Kluecking! If
we owe nothing to the Pastor's family, we owe something to ourselves.
And, if Malcheh and Salchen are going too, they must dress themselves
up, and then we will set out."

This argument gained Pomuchelskopp the permission to array himself in
his brown overcoat. He was so rejoiced at having carried his point, a
thing which did not often happen, that in his gratitude he desired to
confer some pleasure upon his Kluecking, and make her a sharer in his
own satisfaction; for no one must do Pomuchelskopp the injustice to
suppose that he was overbearing in his own house,--no! there he was
rather humble and depressed. He pointed, therefore, across the fields
and said, "Just look, that is all ours!"

"Muchel, you point too far," said the lady shortly; "all that over
yonder belongs to Pumpelhagen."

"You are right, that is all Pumpelhagen. But"--he added, and the little
eyes looked greedily towards Pumpelhagen, "who knows? If God spares my
life, and I sell my property in Pomerania at a good bargain, and times
continue good, and the old Kammerrath dies, and his son gets into
debt----"

"Yes, Muchel," interrupted his wife, and across her face flitted that
derisive gleam, which was the only approach to a smile ever seen on it,
"yes, just as old Strohpagel said: 'If I were ten years younger, and
hadn't this lame leg, and hadn't a wife--you should see what a fellow I
would be!'"

"Haeuhning," said Pomuchelskopp, making a face as if he were grieved to
the heart, "how can you talk so? As if I wished to be rid of you!
Without the thirty thousand dollars, which your father left you, I
never could have bought Gurlitz. And what a fine estate Gurlitz is!
See! this is all Gurlitz!" and he pointed again over the fields.

"Yes, Kopp," said his wife, in a hard tone, "all but the Pastor's
field, which you have let slip out of your fingers."

"Ah, Kluecking," said Pomuchelskopp, as they left the garden,
"always the Pastor's field! what can I do? See, I am an honest,
straight-forward man; what can I do against such a pair of sly old
fellows as Habermann and the Pastor? But the day is not over yet,
Monsieur Habermann! We shall have something to say to each other yet,
Herr Pastor!"

At the Pastor's house, this morning, three pretty little girls were
sitting in the Frau Pastorin's neat parlor, busy as bees, their fingers
sewing and their tongues chatting at the same time, and looking, amid
the white linen, as fresh and red as ripe strawberries on a white
plate; these were Louise Habermann and the little twins, Mining and
Lining Nuessler.

"Children," said the little, round Frau Pastorin, as she now and then
looked in from the kitchen, "you cannot think what a pleasure it is to
one in my old age, when I put away my clean linen in the linen-trunk,
and think with every piece when it was spun and when it was sewed! And
how prudent it makes one, to know for oneself how much pains it has
cost! Mining, Mining, your seam is crooked! Good heavens, Louise! I
believe you are looking off half the time, yet you sew right along, and
get no knots in your thread. But now I must go and take up the
potatoes, for my Pastor will be here soon," and with that she ran out
of the door, looking back, however, to say, "Mining and Lining, you
must stay here to dinner to-day!" And so she flew from the kitchen to
the parlor, and from the parlor back to the kitchen, like the pendulum
of a clock, and kept everything in running order.

But how came Lining and Mining Nuessler to be in the Frau Pastorin's
sewing-school? It happened in this way.

When the little twins had got so far that they could speak the "r"
plainly, and no longer played in the sand, and ran after Frau Nuessler
all day long, saying, "Mother, what shall we do now?" then Frau Nuessler
said to young Jochen that it was high time the children went to school;
they must have a governess. Jochen had no objections, and his
brother-in-law, the Rector Baldrian, undertook the task of procuring
one. When she had been six months at Rexow, Frau Nuessler said she was a
cross old thing, she scolded the little girls from morning to night and
made them so skittish that they did not know how to behave; she must
go. Thereupon Kaufman Kurz looked up another; and one day, when nobody
in Rexow dreamed of impending evil, a sort of grenadier walked in at
the door, with heavy black eyebrows, and sallow complexion, and with
spectacles on her nose, and announced herself as the new "governess."
She began to talk French to the little twins, and as she observed that
the poor little creatures were so ignorant that they could not
understand her in the least, she turned, in the same language, to young
Jochen. Such a thing had never happened to young Jochen in his life; he
let his pipe fall from his mouth, and as they were drinking coffee he
said, in order to say something, "Mother, ask the new school-ma'am to
take another cup."

This one was a "governess" over the whole house, and Frau Nuessler stood
it bravely for a while; but finally she said, "Stop! This won't do; if
anybody is to command here it is I, for I am the nearest, as Frau
Pastorin says;" and she gave the grenadier her marching orders. Then
uncle Braesig offered his assistance, and engaged a teacher,--"A smart
one," he said, "always in good spirits, and she can play you dead on
the harpsichord." He was right; one evening in the winter, there
arrived at Rexow a little blue-cheeked, hump-backed body, who, after
the first ten minutes, attacked the new piano, which Jochen had bought
at auction, and belaboured it as if she were threshing wheat. When she
had gone to bed, young Jochen opened the piano, and when he saw that
three strings were broken, he shut it up again, and said, "Yes, what
shall we do about it?"

There were lively times in the house now; the girl-governess ran and
romped with the little girls, until Frau Nuessler came to the conclusion
that her oldest, Lining, had really more sense than the mamselle. She
wished to inform herself how the mamselle managed the children in
school-hours; she requested, therefore, to be shown a plan of their
studies, and the next day Lining brought her a great sheet of paper
with all the "branches" marked out. There was German and French,
Orthography and Geography, and Religion, and Biblical History, and
other History, and also Biblical Natural History, and then to conclude
with, music, and music, and music.

"Eh!" said Frau Nuessler to Jochen, "she may teach them all the music
she wants to, for all me, if the religion is only of the right sort.
What do you say, Jochen?"

"Yes," said Jochen, "it is all as true as leather!"

Well, she might have stayed, if Lining had not let out, accidentally,
that mamselle played jack-stones with them in the Biblical History; and
as Frau Nuessler heard one day, during the "Religion" hour, such a
romping in the school-room that she opened the door suddenly, to see
what kind of religion was going on, behold! Mamselle was playing
"Cuckoo" with the children. Madam Nuessler could not approve of this
lively sort of religion, so Mamselle "Hop-on-the-hill" hopped after the
grenadier.

It was very inconvenient, because it was now the middle of the fourth
quarter, and if Frau Nuessler complained that the children were running
wild, Jochen only said; "Yes, what shall I do about it?" But he began
to study the Rostock "Times" with uncommon interest; and one day he
laid aside the "Times," and ordered Christian to get out the "phantom."
His good wife was considerably astonished, for she had no idea what he
was thinking of; but as she looked at the pipe side of his face, and
noticed that his mouth was stretched wider than usual, which
represented a friendly smile, she gave herself no more anxiety, and
said, "Let him go! He has something good in his head."

After three days Jochen returned with an elderly, almost
transparent-looking lady, and it went through the whole region like a
running fire: "Only think! young Jochen has got a governess himself."

Braesig came the next Sunday to see her; he was tolerably contented with
her, "But," said he, finally, "look out, young Jochen, she has nerves."

Braesig was not only a good judge of horses, but a judge of human
nature; he was right,--Mamselle was nervous, very nervous indeed. The
poor little twins went about on tiptoe, Mamselle took away Lining's
ball, because she had accidentally thrown it at the window, and locked
up the piano, so that Lining could no longer play, "Our cat has
nine kittens," the only piece which she had learned from Mamselle
"Hop-on-the-hill." Before long Mamselle added cramps to her nerves, and
Madam Nuessler must run with sundry bottles of "drops," and both Fika
and Corlin must sit up with her nights, because either one alone would
be afraid. "Send her away," said uncle Braesig; but Frau Nuessler was too
good for that, she sent rather for the doctor. Dr. Strump was summoned
from Rahnstadt, and after examining the patient, he pronounced it a
very interesting case, the more so that he had lately been studying
"the night-side of Nature."

Young Jochen and his wife thought nothing worse from that than that the
doctor had lately been a good deal out of his bed o' nights, but he
meant something quite different.

One day, when the doctor was with the mamselle, Corlin called from the
stairs:--

"Frau, Frau! there is mischief going on. The doctor has been stroking
her over her face, and now she is asleep, and talking in her sleep. She
told me I had a lover."

"God bless me!" cried Braesig, who happened to be there, "what sort of
business is the woman carrying on?" and he went up-stairs with Frau
Nuessler. After a while he came down, and asked, "Now, what do you say
to, it young Jochen?"

Jochen reflected awhile, and then said, "Yes, that doesn't help the
matter, Braesig."

"Jochen," said Braesig, going up and down the room with great strides,
"I said to you before, 'send her away;' now I say, don't send her away.
I asked her if it would rain to-morrow, and she said to me, in her
somnambulic state, that it would rain torrents. If it rains torrents
to-morrow, then take down your barometer from the wall,--barometers are
of no use, and yours has stood there two years, always at fair
weather,--and hang her up there; you can benefit yourself and the whole
region."

Young Jochen said nothing, but when next morning it rained torrents, he
was silent indeed, and his astonishment kept him dumb for three days.

The rumor spread in the neighborhood, that young Jochen had a
fortune-teller at his house, and that she had prophesied the great rain
on Saturday, and also that Corlin Kraeuger and Inspector Braesig would be
married within a year. Dr. Strump naturally did his share toward
setting this interesting case in a clear light, and it was not long
before Frau Nuessler's quiet house became a kind of pilgrim's shrine, to
which resorted all who were curious, or scientific, or interested in
physical science; and, because Frau Nuessler would have nothing to do
with it, and Jochen was incapable, Zachary Braesig undertook the
business, when the doctor was not there, and ushered troops of visitors
into the mamselle's room, and explained her somnambulic condition; and
before the bed, by the mamselle, sat Christian the coachman, who was
not afraid of the devil himself, for Corlin and Fika would no longer
watch by her, even in the day time, having taken it into their heads
that she was not respectable; because they translated Braesig's
expression, "sonnenbuhlerisch" (somnambulic), into Platt-Deutsch, and
said the mamselle was "suennenbuhlerisch" (no better than she should
be).

Among the visitors, who came to see this wonder, was the young Baron
von Mallerjahn of Graeunenmur, who came daily to investigate the
physical sciences and thought no harm of going into mamselle's room
without Braesig. Frau Nuessler was disturbed by the impropriety of the
thing, and requested Jochen to put a stop to the nuisance, upon which
Jochen replied that they might put Christian up there; but when
Christian came down one day, and said the Herr Baron had sent him away,
because he smelled too strong of the stable, then Frau Nuessler's
annoyance broke out in a flood of tears, and, if Braesig had not arrived
just then, she would herself have treated the Herr Baron to a scolding;
but Braesig, like a true knight, took the business upon himself.

He went up-stairs, and said very courteously and decidedly, "Gracious
Herr Baron, will you have the kindness to step the other side of the
door for a moment."

It was possibly too fine for the Herr Baron's comprehension, he laughed
rather confusedly, and said he stood for the moment in magnetic
_rapport_ with the mamselle.

"Monetic apport!" said Braesig. "We need none of your money here, and
none of your apporters either; Christian was put here on purpose to
prevent such doings."

Braesig himself stood in magnetic _rapport_, without being conscious of
it, for when Frau Nuessler wept he fell into a passion, and in great
wrath he cried to the baron, "Herr, be off with you, out of the house!"

The baron was naturally astonished at this speech, and inquired rather
haughtily whether Braesig was aware that he was growing rude.

"Do you call that rudeness?" cried Braesig, taking the baron by the arm.
"Then I will show you something else!"

But the disturbance awoke the mamselle out of her sleep; she sprang
from the sofa and grasped the baron by the other arm: she wouldn't stay
here, nobody here understood her, he alone understood her, she would go
with him.

"The best thing you can do," said Braesig. "Don't let us detain you! Two
birds with one stone!" and he assisted her down stairs.

The carriage of the Herr Baron was all ready, and drove up to the door;
the Herr Baron himself was in great perplexity, but the mamselle held
fast.

"Yes, there's no help for it," said young Jochen, as he watched their
departure.

"Young Jochen," said Braesig, as the equipage left the yard, "she is
like leather, she is tough. And you, madam," said he to Frau Nuessler,
"let the man go, now he can see as much as he likes of his monetic
treasure."

Habermann had been absent a good deal of late, on business for his
master, and, when he came home for a day or two, he had so much to
attend to on the estate that he could not trouble himself about other
people's affairs. He had been at his sister's however, and had
comforted her about the mamselle, that it was merely sickness and would
pass over; but as he came home this time, the report was all over the
neighborhood that young Jochen's sleeping mamselle had gone off with
the Baron von Mallerjahn, but that she had previously infected Braesig
with prophesying, and Christian with sleeping. Braesig prophesied
wherever he went, and Christian fell asleep even on his feet.

Habermann went to Pastor Behrens, and inquired what he knew of the
story, and asked him to go with him to his sister's.

"Willingly, dear Habermann," said the Pastor; "but I have not troubled
myself much about this matter, for good reasons. I know very well that
in our good fatherland many of my brethren in Christ have occupied
themselves in healing the possessed, and casting out devils; but I
think such cases belong rather to the department of the physician,
or"--with a rather peculiar laugh--"to that of the police."

When they came to Rexow, the cheerful, active Frau Nuessler, who could
usually shake off easily the worst misfortune, or the most annoying
vexation, seemed quite another person.

"Herr Pastor," said she, "Brother Karl, that crazy woman has gone, and
I had trouble enough about her, and so have they all gone, that I have
had; but that is no matter, I shall get over that. What troubles me is
my poor little girls, who know nothing and learn nothing. And when I
think how the poor little dears will seem among their elders and equals
like a couple of fools, knowing nothing that is talked about, and not
even knowing how to write a letter--no, Herr Pastor, you, who have
learned so much, you cannot know how one feels, but I know, and, Karl,
you can understand it too. No, Herr Pastor, even though my heart should
break, and I should go about alone with Jochen in this great house,
like one in a dream, I will give up my little girls to go away to
school, rather than have them remain stupid all their lives. You see,
when Louise comes here, she is intelligent; one can talk with her, and
she can read the newspaper to Jochen. Min can read too, but if she
comes to a strange word, she begins to stammer. For instance the other
day Louise read 'Burdoh,' and the place is called so,--and Min read
'Bo-ur-de-aux.' What is the good of 'Bo-ur-de-aux,' when the city is
called 'Burdoh?'"

The Pastor had risen during this speech, and walked thoughtfully about
the room; at last he came to a stand before Frau Nuessler, looked at her
observantly and said, "My dear neighbor, I will make you a proposition.
Louise is a little more advanced, to be sure, but that makes no
difference; you shall not be separated from your little ones,--let me
instruct them."

Frau Nuessler had never thought of such an offer, and it seemed to her
like drawing the great prize in the lottery, or as if she had stepped
out of shadow into sunshine. She stared at the Pastor with her
wide-open, blue eyes; "Herr Pastor!" she cried, springing up from her
chair, "Jochen, Jochen, did you hear? The Herr Pastor offers to teach
the children himself."

Jochen had heard, and was also on his feet, trying to say something; he
said nothing, however, only fumbled and grappled for the Herr Pastor's
hand, until he grasped it, then pressed it warmly, and drew him to the
sofa, behind the supper table, which was spread; and when Frau Nuessler
and Habermann had fully expressed their pleasure, he also had become
capable of expression, and said, "Mother, pour out a cup for the Herr
Pastor."

So Mining and Lining were now daily guests at the Gurlitz parsonage.
They were as clearly a pair of twins as ever; only that Lining as the
eldest was perhaps half an inch taller than Mining, and Mining was a
good half inch larger round the waist, and--if one looked very
closely--Mining's nose was a trifle shorter than Lining's.

And so on the day when Pomuchelskopp set out to make his first call at
the parsonage, the twins were in the Frau Pastorin's sewing-school, for
the Frau Pastorin also meant to do her duty by the children, when the
Pastor was occupied with the business of his calling.

"God bless me!" exclaimed the Frau Pastorin, running into the room,
"children put your work aside; take it all into the bedroom, Louise;
Mining, pick up the threads and scraps; Lining, you put the chairs in
order! Here come our new landlord with his wife and daughters, across
the church-yard, right up to the house,--and, bless his heart! my
Pastor has gone to Warnitz to a christening!" And she grasped
unconsciously her duster, but had to lay it aside directly, for there
was a knock at the door, and upon her "Come in!" Pomuchelskopp with his
wife and his two daughters, Malchen and Salchen, entered the room.

"They did themselves the honor," said Pomuchelskopp, endeavoring to
make a graceful bow, which on account of his peculiar build was
rather a failure, "to wait upon the Herr Pastor, and the Frau
Pastorin--acquaintance--neighborhood----"

Frau Pomuchelskopp stood by, as stiff and stately as if she had that
morning been plated with iron, and Malchen and Salchen, in their gay
silk dresses, stared at the three little maidens in their clean cotton
garments, like a goldfinch at a hedge-sparrow.

The Frau Pastorin was the most cordial person in the world, to her
friends; but when she met strangers, and her Pastor was not present to
speak for himself, she took his dignity also upon her shoulders. She
drew herself up to her full height, looking as round and full as a
goose on the spit, and with every word that she spoke the cap ribbons
under her little double chin wagged back and forth with a dignified
air, as if they would say, "Nobody shall take precedence of me!"

"The honor is quite on our side," said she. "Unfortunately my Pastor is
not at home. Won't you sit down?" and with that she seated the two old
Pomuchelskopps on the sofa, under the picture-gallery.

Meanwhile, as the older people were discussing indifferent topics with
an appearance of interest, as the custom is, and now one and now
another advancing opinions to which the rest could not assent, Louise
went, in a friendly way, as was proper, to the two young ladies, and
shook hands with them, and the little twins followed her example, as
was also proper.

Now Malchen and Salchen were just eighteen and nineteen years old. They
were not handsome; Salchen had a gray, pimpled complexion, and Malchen,
though she was not to blame for it, bore too striking a resemblance to
her father. But they were _educated_--save the mark! and had recently
attended the Whitsuntide fair and Trinity ball, at Rostock, so there
was really a great difference between them and the little girls, and
since they were not very kindly disposed, they looked rather coldly on
the little maidens.

These, however, either did not notice it, or took it as a matter of
course that their advances should be received with coolness, and Louise
said with great admiration to Malchen, "Ah, what a beautiful dress you
have on!"

Even an educated young lady might be pleased at that, and Malchen
became a little more friendly, as she said, "It is only an old one; my
new one cost, with the trimming and dress-making, all of ten dollars
more."

"Papa gave them to us for the Trinity ball. Ah, how we danced there!"
added Salchen.

Now Louise had heard in sermons about Sundays before and after Trinity,
but of a Trinity ball she knew nothing; in fact she had no definite
conception of a ball itself, for though the Frau Pastorin in her youth
had taken pleasure like other people, and had occasionally set foot in
a ball-room, yet, out of consideration for her present dignified
position, she always answered Louise's questions what a ball was
like,--"Mere frivolity!"

As for Lining and Mining they would have known nothing of balls, for
though their mother danced in her younger days, it was merely at
harvest feasts, and young Jochen had indeed once gone to a ball, but
upon reaching the door of the saloon he was so frightened that he beat
a retreat,--but Uncle Braesig's descriptions had given the children a
confused idea of many white dresses with green and red ribbons, of
violins and clarionettes, of waltzes and quadrilles, and many, many
glasses of punch. And as Uncle Braesig had described it all, he had also
given an illustration, with his short legs, of the sliding step, and
the hop step, so that they laughed prodigiously; but what a "ball,"
such a ball as the last governess had taken away from Mining, had to do
with it all, they had never comprehended. So Mining asked quite
innocently, "But, if you dance, how do you play with a ball?"

Mining was a thoughtless little girl, and she should not have asked
such a question; but, considering her youth and inexperience, the
Misses Pomuchelskopp need not have laughed quite so loud as they did.

"Oh dear!" cried Salchen, "that is too stupid!"

"Yes, good gracious! so very countrified!" said Malchen, and drew
herself up in a stately attitude, as if she had lived under the shadow
of St. Peter's tower in Rostock from her babyhood, and the first
burgomeister of the city had been her next door neighbor.

Poor little Mining turned as red as a rose, for she felt that she must
have made a great blunder, and Louise grew red also, but it was from
anger. "Why do you laugh?" she cried hastily, "why do you laugh because
we know nothing about balls?"

"See, see! How excited!" laughed Malchen. "My dear child----"

She went no further in her wise speech, being interrupted by hasty
words from the group on the sofa.

"Frau Pastorin, I say it is wrong; I am the owner of Gurlitz, and if
the Pastor's field was to be rented----"

"It was my Pastor's doing, and the Kammerrath is an old friend, and one
of our parishioners, and the field joins his land as well as it does
yours, and Inspector Habermann----"

"Is an old cheat," interrupted Pomuchelskopp.

"He has already done us an injury," added his wife.

"What?" cried the little Frau Pastorin, "what?"

But her dear old heart thought in a minute of little Louise, and she
overcame her anger, and began to wink and blink. It was too late; the
child had heard her father's name, had heard the slander, and stood now
before the arrogant man, and the cold, hard woman.

"What is my father? What has my father done?"

Her eyes shot fiery glances at the two who had spoken evil of her
father, and the young frame which up to this time had known constant
peace and joy, quivered with passion.

People tell us that sometimes the fair, still, green earth trembles,
and fire and flame burst forth, and showers of gray ashes bury the
dwellings of men, and the temples of God. It seemed to her that a
beautiful temple, in which she had often worshipped, had been buried
under gray ashes, and her grief broke forth in streaming tears, as her
good foster-mother put her arms around her, and led her from the room.

Muchel looked at his Kluecking, and Kluecking looked at her Muchel; they
had got themselves into trouble. It was quite another thing from having
one of his laborer's wives come to him, in tears, and a pitiful tale of
sorrow and distress--he knew what to do in such cases; but here he had
no occasion for reproaches or advice, and, as he glanced about him in
his confusion, and saw upon the wall the hands of Christ stretched out
in blessing, it seemed to him that the flashing eyes of Louise had
turned appealingly toward them, and he remembered how Christ had said,
"Suffer little children to come unto me, for of such is the kingdom of
Heaven." He did not feel exactly comfortable.

His brave Kluecking also, was quite disturbed. She had heard her own
children screaming many a time under her vigorous discipline, but this
was a different matter; Malchen and Salchen had often shot fire from
their eyes, and stamped their feet, but this was a different matter.
She recovered herself soon, however, and said,--

"Kopp, don't make such a stupid face! What did she say about her
father? Is Habermann her father?"

"Yes," answered Mining and Lining, through their tears, "that is Louise
Habermann." And they followed their little friend into the next room,
to cry with her; for though they did not know how deeply her heart was
wounded, they reckoned themselves one with her, in joy and sorrow.

"I did not know that," said Pomuchelskopp; the very words he had used
years before, when Habermann's wife lay in her coffin.

"A foolish girl!" said his Haeuhning. "Malchen and Salchen, come, we
will go; the Pastor's wife won't come back again."

And so they went off, like the year 1822, of which Haeuhning represents
the 1, on account of her leanness, and because she would always be
number 1, Pomuchelskopp the 8, on account of his size and rotundity,
and the two daughters the two figure 2's,--for such a 2 always looks to
me like a goose swimming on the water.

As they stepped out of the door, the Pastor was just returning from his
duties at Warnitz, and had brought Uncle Braesig home with him. He knew
by their appearance that they had been making a ceremonious visit, and
sprung hastily from the carriage, that he might be in time for a part
of it.

"Ah, good day! How do you do? But," he added in surprise, "where is my
wife?"

"She went off and left us," said Frau Pomuchelskopp, stiffly.

"Eh, there must be some mistake! Do come in again, I shall be back
directly," and he ran into the house.

Meanwhile Braesig had gone up to his old comrade Pomuchelskopp: "Good
day, Zamel, how are you?"

"Thank you, Herr Inspector, very well," was the reply.

Braesig elevated his eyebrows, looked him square in the face, and
whistled square in his face. If Frau Pomuchelskopp wished to make him a
courtesy, she might do so, but only to his back, for he turned about
and went into the house.

"Come, Kopp," said she sharply, and the procession moved off.

As the pastor entered the house, he found nobody there; he went through
into the garden, and called, and it was not long before he saw the
little twins sitting under a raspberry hedge, with red eyes, and they
pointed to the birch-tree arbor, with anxious looks, as if to say he
must go there if he would find out what the trouble was. He went to the
arbor, and there sat his Regina, with the child in her lap, trying to
comfort her. When she saw her Pastor, she put the child gently down on
the bench, drew him out of the arbor, and told him the matter.

Pastor Behrens listened in silence; but as his wife repeated the wicked
word that the Herr Landlord had used, there flashed over his
intelligent, quiet face a look of bitter anger, and then his clear eyes
shone with the deepest compassion. He said to his wife that she might
go in, and he would speak to the child. So it had come at last! his
lovely flower had been pierced by a poisonous worm; the pitiless world
had grasped this soft, pure heart with its hard, coarse hand, and the
finger-marks could never be effaced; now it had entered upon the great,
never-ending struggle, which is fought out here on earth until hearts
cease to beat. It must come, yes, it must come, he knew that well
enough; but he knew also that the greatest art of one who would train a
human soul lies in keeping away, as long as possible, the hard hand
from the tender heart, until that also had become harder, and then, if
the evil grip should be even worse, the black fingers will not leave
such deep marks upon the heart, until then innocent of the never-ending
struggle. He went into the arbor. Thou art still happy, Louise; well is
it for one who in such an hour is blessed with a faithful friend!

Frau Pastorin, meanwhile, went into the parlor, and found Braesig.
Braesig, instead of sitting down on the comfortable sofa, under the
picture-gallery, or at least in a reasonable chair, had seated himself
on a table, and was working like a linen-weaver, in his excitement over
Pomuchelskopp's ceremonious behavior. "There you see me, there you have
me!" he cried angrily. "The Jesuit!" As the Frau Pastorin came in, he
sprang from his table, and cried,--

"Frau Pastorin, what should you say of anybody you had known forty
years, and you meet him, and you speak to him, and he calls you
"Sie?"[1]

"Ah, Braesig----"

"That is what Pomuchelskopp has done to me."

"Let the man alone! He has done worse mischief here;" and she related
what had happened.

Braesig was angry, exceedingly angry, over the injury which he had
received, but when he heard this he was angry beyond measure; he
stormed up and down the room, and made use of language for which the
Frau Pastorin would have reproved him severely, had she not been very
angry herself; at last he thrust himself into the sofa corner, and sat,
without saying a word, looking straight before him.

The Pastor entered, his Regina looked at him inquiringly.

"She is watering the flowers," he said, as if to compose her, and he
walked in his quiet way, up and down the room, finally turning toward
Braesig. "What are you thinking of, dear friend?"

"Hell-fire! I am thinking about hell-fire, Herr Pastor!"

"Why of that?" asked the Pastor.

But instead of replying, Braesig sprang to his feet, and said:

"Tell me, Herr Pastor, is it true that there are mountains that vomit
fire?"

"Certainly," said the Pastor.

"And are they good or bad for mankind?"

"The people who live in the neighbourhood consider the eruptions a good
thing, because then the earthquakes are not so violent."

"So? so?" said Braesig, apparently not quite satisfied with the answer.
"But it is true, isn't it," he went on, "that such mountains send forth
flame and smoke, like a chimney?"

"Something so," said the Pastor, who had not the slightest idea what
Braesig was driving at.

"Well," said Braesig, stamping with his foot, "then I wish that the
devil would take Zamel Pomuchelskopp by the nape of his neck, and hold
him over one of those fire-spouting holes till he got his deserts."

"Fie, Braesig!" cried the little Pastorin, "you are a heathen. How can
you utter such an unchristian wish in a minister's house!"

"Frau Pastorin," said Braesig, going back into the sofa-corner, "it
would be a great benefit to mankind."

"Dear Braesig," said the Pastor, "we must remember that these people
used the disgraceful expression without any intention of hurting us."

"It is all one to me," cried Braesig, "with or without intention. He
provoked me with intention, but what he did here without intention was
a thousand times worse. You see, Herr Pastor, one must get angry
sometimes, and we farmers get angry regularly two or three times a
day,--it belongs to the business; but moderately, what I call a sort of
farm-boy anger. For example, yesterday I was having the fallow-ground
marled, and I had ordered the boys to form a line with their carts.
Then I stood in the marl-pit, and all was going nicely. Then, you see,
there came that lubber, Christian Kohlhaas,--a real horned-beast of a
creature,--there he was with his full cart coming back to the pit. 'You
confounded rascal!' said I, 'what under heaven! are you going to bring
the marl back again!' Do you believe, that blockhead looked me right in
the face, and said he wasn't quite ready to empty the cart, and would
go into the line. Well, I was angry, you may be sure; but there are
different sorts of anger. This was a proper farm-boy anger, and that
kind agrees with me, especially after dinner; but here--I can't scold
Pomuchelskopp as I do the farm-boys. It all stays here, I can't get rid
of it. And you will see, Frau Pastorin, to-morrow I shall have that
cursed gout again."

"Braesig," said the Frau Pastorin, "will you do me a favour? Don't tell
Habermann anything of this."

"Eh, why should I, Frau Pastorin? But I will go to little Louise, and
comfort her, and tell her that Samuel Pomuchelskopp is the meanest,
most infamous rascal on the face of the earth."

"No, no," said the Pastor, hastily, "let that go. The child will get
over it, and I hope all will be well again."

"No? Then good-bye," said Braesig, reaching for his cap.

"Surely, Braesig, you will stay to dinner with us?"

"Thank you kindly, Frau Pastorin. There is reason in all things. One
must be angry sometimes, to be sure; but better after dinner than
before. I had better go and work in the marl-pit; but Christian would
do well not to come back today with his full cart to the marl-pit. So
good-bye, once more." And with that he went off.




                               CHAPTER VI.


Habermann heard nothing of this occurrence. His child said nothing to
him about it, only treated him with increased tenderness and reverence,
if that were possible, as if with her greater love to make up to him
the wrong which had been done him. Frau Nuessler, who had heard the
whole story from her little girls, could not find it in her heart to
say a word to her brother which could grieve him, or make him
suspicious of others. The Pastor and his wife had the same reason for
silence, and also the wish that the whole matter should be forgotten by
Louise.

Jochen Nuessler said nothing of consequence, and Braesig also held his
peace, that is toward Habermann. It happened, however, through
his feeling of injury at this self-restraint, and the attack of
gout,--which came as he said it would the next day,--that he excited
the whole neighborhood against Pomuchelskopp; and as the latter made no
special efforts towards friendship and sociability, it was not long
before his intercourse with his neighbors was like my wife's kitchen
floor at Pentecost, so naked and bare was he left in this respect.

Pomuchelskopp looked upon social intercourse as a garden merely, in
which he could plant his pride-beans; whether the garden gave him
shade, or produced flowers, was of little importance to him provided
that he had room for himself and what belonged to him to spread and
grow. He had come into Mecklenburg, in the first place, because he
could buy Gurlitz at a good bargain; but, secondly because he had a
vague idea of his future prospects as a landlord.

"Haeuhning," said he to his wife, "here in Pomerania, every body rules
us, and the landrath says, 'It shall be so and so,' but in Mecklenburg
we shall be law-givers ourselves, I among others. And I have heard it
is customary there for rich burghers, who live like the nobility, to
become ennobled in time. Think, Kueking, how it would seem to be called
'my gracious lady von Pomuchelskopp!' but one must not throw himself
away!"

And he took pains not to throw himself away, giving up, for that
purpose, one of his chief pleasures, the boasting and bragging of his
money, in order not to associate too familiarly with the farmers and
inspectors of the neighborhood. For that purpose, he had greeted old
Braesig with "Sie," and had honored only Braesig's Herr Count with a
formal visit. He went in his blue dress-coat, with bright buttons, and
the new coach with four brown horses, and was as welcome there as a hog
in a Jew's house. When he came home, he sat out of humor in the
sofa-corner, and struck at the flies; and as his wife who always became
affectionate when he was cross, said, "Poeking, what is the matter?" he
grumbled, "What should be the matter? Nothing is the matter, only these
confounded nobility, who are friendly to look at, and when you come
nearer it is good for nothing. Oh, yes, he asked me to sit down, and
then he inquired very politely how he could serve me. I don't want
anything of him, I am better off than he; but I could think of nothing
to say, at the moment, and then there was such a silence that I must
needs go."

But for all that, Pomuchelskopp would not throw himself away,--by no
means! He trailed after the nobility like the tail after a sheep, and
although he would never advance a penny of wages to his own people, and
the poor tradesmen in the city had to wait till the year's end for
their hard-earned pay, he had money for any spendthrift young
gentleman. And, while every poor devil of a fellow who went through his
fields was fined without pity, for trespassing, Braesig's gracious Herr
Count had permission, even in harvest time, to go over them with the
whole hunt; and while he cheated the Pastor shamefully in his
Easter-lamb, the Herr Count's hunter could shoot the roe-buck before
his very door, and he made no complaint. No! Zamel Pomuchelskopp did
not throw himself away!

Habermann kept out of his way. He was not a man for strife and
contention, and was too well satisfied with his situation, to be
looking here and there after other things. He was like a man, who,
after being out in a storm, sits warm and dry in the chimney-corner;
and his only trouble was his anxiety about his good master. He had some
time before received a letter from him, in a strange hand, and with a
black seal, which said that he had had a stroke of paralysis, and had
not yet recovered the use of his right hand; but the greatest
affliction which had befallen him was the loss of his wife, who had
died suddenly, in full health. And it said also that his nephew Franz
would arrive at Pumpelhagen, at Michaelmas, in order to learn farming.
"It is his own wish to handle the spade and learn everything for
himself. I also think it best." These words were written in the
Kammerrath's own hand. A couple of weeks later he received another
letter, in which the Kammerrath informed him that he had resigned his
post in Schwerin and intended, after the next Easter, to reside at
Pumpelhagen, with his three unmarried daughters; through the winter, he
must remain in Schwerin, on account of his health. Habermann should
however retain complete management of everything.

This would be a change, which would have some effect upon his
situation; and, though he had no occasion to dread the eye of the
master, and would gladly exert himself to do anything for his comfort,
yet he could not help saying to himself that the quiet peace and
simplicity of his life were over, and how long would it be before
greater changes must come?

Michaelmas came, and with it came Franz von Rambow. He was not what is
called a handsome young man; but he was healthy and strong, and upon
nearer view one was struck by the earnestness of his manner, and the
good-nature in his eyes. A shadow of sadness sometimes fell upon his
face, which may have been owing to the fact that he lost his parents in
early youth, and had since stood as an orphan, alone in the world. As
one might infer from his appearance, he was no fool; he had good
natural talents, which had been developed at the school in which he had
fitted for the university, and he had also learned a more important
lesson, how to labor. He was a young tree, raised in a nursery in a
hard soil, and the wood had grown slowly, but firmly; he had shot out
no rank shoots into the air, his branches were low, but wide-spread,
and when he should be transplanted he would need no prop. "Let him be,"
the gardener would say, "he is tough and strong, he can stand alone."

At present, he was twenty years old, and the three years' child whom
Habermann recollected had become a steady young man, with future
prospects such as few young men in the country were possessed of. He
owned two fine estates, which had become freed from debt by prudent
management during his minority. It was before his recollection, to be
sure, that Habermann had served as inspector with his father; but he
had been told how friendly the inspector had always been toward him,
and when a good, simple-hearted man knows that another has carried him
in his arms, as a child, confidence easily glides into his heart, and
he seems to see the little pillow in the cradle, and the tired head
lies softly down, and the dreams of childhood return once more.

Habermann returned this confidence, heartily and gladly. He cautiously
and quietly led the young man along, in the new and unaccustomed path;
he instructed him in matters of the farm-yard and of the field; he told
him the reasons why such a thing should be done, and why it should be
done just so, and not in a different manner. At the same time, he
endeavored to spare him; but as he noticed that his scholar had no wish
to be spared, and desired faithfully to fill his post, he let him have
his way, saying to himself, like the gardener, "Let him alone, he needs
no prop."

But to these contented companions another was to be added, who would
bring life into the house, and that was Fritz Triddelsitz.

The little Frau Pastorin had a brother-in-law, the apothecary
Triddelsitz, at Rahnstadt, and when he heard that Habermann had taken a
pupil to be instructed in farming, he took it into his head that his
Fritz, who was a foppish stripling of seventeen, should learn how to
manage an estate under Habermann's tuition. "Merely the higher
branches," said Fritz; "I know all about common things already, for I
have been twice in the dogdays at the miller's in Bolz, and helped
about the harvesting."

The little Frau Pastorin was not quite pleased with the proposal, for
she knew her greyhound of a nephew, and did not wish that Habermann
should be troubled with him; but her brother-in-law persevered, and the
matter was brought forward. Habermann would have gone through fire and
water for the Pastor and his wife; but he could not decide such a
question on his own responsibility. He wrote to his master about it:
young Triddelsitz wanted to come in as a third, he had many crotchets
in his head, but was good-hearted; his chief recommendation was that he
was the Frau Pastorin's nephew, to whom Habermann was under great
obligation, as the Herr Kammerrath was aware. For the rest, his father
would pay, for two years, a hundred dollars for board. Would it be
agreeable to the Herr Kammerrath, that Fritz Triddelsitz should come to
Pumpelhagen, to learn farming?

The Herr Kammerrath answered by return post; there was no question of
board, the hundred dollars were for tuition, and with that he had
nothing to do, that was Habermann's business; if he thought best, let
him take the young man, and welcome.

This was a great joy to Habermann; nothing more was said of board or
tuition money, for he could now discharge a small portion of the great
debt which he owed to the Pastor and his wife.

So Fritz Triddelsitz came, and in such a way! He was his dear mother's
only son,--to be sure she had a couple of daughters,--and she fitted
him out for his new place, so that he could represent an apprentice, a
travelling agent, an inspector, or a farmer and landlord, according to
the occasion, or as the whim took him to play at farming, in this
manner or that. He had dress-boots and working boots, laced boots and
top-boots; he had morning shoes, and dancing shoes, and fancy slippers;
he had button-gaiters, and riding-gaiters, and other gaiters; he had
dress-coats, and linen frocks, and cloth coats and pilot-coats;
overcoats and under-jackets, and rain-coats, and a variety of long and
short trousers, too numerous to mention.

This outfit for a gentleman farmer arrived at Pumpelhagen one fine day,
in several large boxes, with a fine, soft bed, and a great clumsy
secretary; and the carrier volunteered the news that the young
gentleman would soon be there, he was on the way, and was merely
detained by a struggle with his father's old chestnut horse, who would
come no further than the Gurlitz parsonage, because that had been the
limit of his journeys hitherto. How the contest terminated he did not
see, because he came away; but the young gentleman was coming. And he
came, and as I said before, in what a guise! Like an inspector over two
large estates belonging to a count, and who has the privilege of riding
to the hounds with his gracious Herr Count, in a green hunting-jacket,
and white leather breeches, top-boots with yellow tops, and spurs, and
over the whole a water-proof coat, not because it was likely to rain,
but it was new, and he wanted to hear what people would say about it.
And he came upon his father's old chestnut, and, from the appearance of
both, it was evident that their present relations were the result of a
contest. The horse had come to a stand in the middle of the great
puddle before the Pastor's house, with a fixed determination to go no
further, and Fritz had exercised him for a good ten minutes with whip
and spur, to the great dismay of the little Frau Pastorin, before he
could persuade him to advance; so when he dismounted at Pumpelhagen,
his rain-coat looked as if he had been pelted with mud.

The old chestnut stood before the house, and he pricked up his ears,
and said to himself, "Is he a fool, or am I? I am seventeen years old,
and he is seventeen years old. He has had his way this time, next time
I will have mine. If he treats me so with whip and spur and kicks, next
time I will lie down in the puddle."

When Fritz Triddelsitz came into the room where Habermann, and young
Herr von Rambow, and Marie Moeller, the housekeeper, were sitting at
dinner, the old inspector was struck dumb with astonishment, for he had
never seen him before. In his green hunting-jacket, Fritz looked like
one of those long asparagus stalks which spring up in the garden, and
he was so thin and slender that he looked as if one could cut him in
two with his riding-whip. He had high cheek bones and a freckled face,
and something so assured, and yet awkward in his whole demeanor, that
Habermann said to himself, "God bless me! am I to teach him? He feels
above me already."

His reflections were interrupted by a burst of laughter from Franz von
Rambow, in which Marie Moeller secretly joined, holding her napkin
before her mouth.

Fritz had begun, "Good-day, Herr Inspector, how do you do?" when he was
interrupted by the laughter; he saw his old schoolmate at Parchen,
shaking with fun; he looked at him rather doubtfully? but it was not
long before he joined in the laugh himself, and then steady old
Habermann could refrain no longer, he laughed till his eyes ran over.
"Man!" said Franz, "how you have rigged yourself up!"

"Always noble!" said Fritz, and Marie Moeller disappeared again behind
her napkin.

"Come, Triddelsitz," said Habermann, "sit down to dinner,"

Fritz accepted the invitation--the fellow was in luck, for he had come
at the best season for good living, in the roast-goose season, and as
it happened, a fine, brown bird stood before him, and this beginning of
his study of farming might well be agreeable. He was not at all sparing
of the roast goose, and Habermann reflected silently that if he sat on
horseback as well as at table, paid as much attention to farm-boys as
to roast goose, knew as much about horses' fodder as of his own, and
cleared up business as completely as he did his plate, something might
be made of him in time.

"Well, Triddelsitz," said Habermann, when dinner was over, "now you
can go to your room, and change your clothes, and put this smart
riding-suit away where the moths will not get at it, for you won't need
it again this two years. We don't ride much here, we go on foot, and if
there is any riding to do, I do it myself, by the way."

Before long, Fritz re-appeared, with a pair of greased boots, short
breeches, and a grass-green pilot-coat.

"That will do," said Habermann; "now come, and I will give you some
instructions to begin with."

They went over the farm, and next morning Fritz Triddelsitz stood with
seven of the farm laborers in the Rahnstadt road, and let the water out
of the puddles,--an agreeable business, especially in November, with a
drizzling rain all day long. "The devil!" said Fritz Triddelsitz,
"farming isn't what I took it for!"

A couple of weeks after his arrival, Braesig came riding into the yard,
one Sunday noon. Fritz had by this time become so far subdued by
Habermann, his monotonous work, and the everlasting rainy weather, that
he began to comprehend his situation as an apprentice, and his natural
good-heartedness made him ready for little services. So he started out
of doors, to assist Braesig down from his horse, but Braesig screamed,
"Don't come near me! Don't touch me! Don't come within ten feet of me!
Tell Karl Habermann to come out."

Habermann came: "Bless you, Braesig, why don't you get down?"

"Karl--no, don't touch me I just get me a soft chair, so that I can get
down by degrees, and then bring a blanket or a sheepskin or something
soft to spread under it, for I have got this confounded gout."

They did as he asked, spreading mats under the chair, and Braesig
crawled down from the horse, and hobbled into the house.

"Why didn't you send me word you were ill, Braesig?" said Habermann. "I
would gladly have gone to you."

"You ca

Showing first 200,000 characters. Full text: gutenberg.org/ebooks/35889