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 can do nothing for me, Karl; but I couldn't stay in that
confounded hole any longer. But what I was going to say is--I have
given it up."
"Given what up?"
"Getting married. I shall take the pension from my gracious Herr
Count."
"Well, Braesig, I would do that, in your place."
"Eh, Karl, it is all very well to talk; but it is a hard thing for a
man of my years to give up all his cherished hopes, and go to a
water-cure; for Dr. Strump is determined to send me there. I don't
suppose Dr. Strump knows anything about it, but he has had the accursed
gout himself, and when he sits by me and talks so wisely about it, and
talks about Colchicum and Polchicum, it is a comfort to think that such
a learned man has the gout too."
"So you are going to a water-cure?"
"Yes, Karl; but not before spring. I have made my plans; this winter
I shall grumble along here, then in the spring I will go to the
water-cure, and by midsummer I will take the pension, and go to live in
the old mill-house at Haunerwiem. I thought at first I would go to
Rahnstadt, but there I should have no house rent-free, and no village,
and they would take me for a fat sheep and fleece me and skin me; it
would be contemptible, and also too expensive."
"You are right, Braesig; stay in the country, it is better for you; and
stay in our neighborhood, for we should miss you sadly, if we did not
see your honest old face, every few days."
"Oh, you have society enough; you have these young people, and, I was
going to say, old Broeker at Kniep, and Schimmel of Radboom would be
glad to send you their boys also. If I were you I would put on an
addition to the old farm-house, to have plenty of room, and establish a
regular agricultural school."
"That does very well for a joke, Braesig. I have enough to do with
these."
"Yes? How do they get along."
"Well, Braesig, you know them both, and I have often thought I should
like to ask your opinion."
"I can't tell, Karl, till I have seen how they go. Young farmers are
like colts, one can't judge merely by looking at them, one must see
them put through their paces. See, there goes your young nobleman; call
him a little nearer, and let me examine him."
Habermann laughed, but complied with Braesig's request, and called the
young man.
"Hm," said Braesig, "a firm gait, not too rapid, holds himself together
well, and has his limbs under control. He'll do, Karl. Now the other
one!"
"Herr von Rambow," said Habermann as the young man came up, "where is
Triddelsitz?"
"In his room," was the answer.
"Hm," said Braesig, "resting himself a little."
"I don't know."
"Tell him to come down," said Habermann, "and come back yourself.
Coffee will be ready presently."
"Karl," said Braesig, when they were alone, "you will see, the
apothecary's son has been taking a nap."
"No harm if he has, Braesig; he is young, and has been at work all the
morning, giving out corn for fodder."
"But he oughtn't, Karl; it isn't good for young folks to sleep after
dinner. See, there he comes! Now send him somewhere, past the window,
so that I can see how he goes."
"Triddelsitz," called Habermann from the window, "go to the stables,
and tell Jochen Boldt to be ready to take Herr Inspector Braesig home,
by and by. He may take the two fore-horses----"
"Bon!" said Fritz Triddelsitz, and skipped vivaciously along the
causeway.
"God preserve us!" cried Braesig, "what an action! Just look how awkward
he is! See the weakness of his ankles, and the thinness of his flanks!
It will take you a good while to fat him up. He is a greyhound, Karl, a
regular greyhound, and, mark my words, you will make nothing of him."
"Eh, Braesig, he is so young, he will outgrow these peculiarities."
"Outgrow them? Sleeps in the afternoon? Says 'Bong' to you? And now
look here--for all the world he is coming back again, and hasn't been
near the stables."
Fritz was coming back again, to be sure; he came to the window and
said, "Herr Inspector, didn't you say Jochen Boldt should go?"
"Yes," said Braesig snappishly, "Jochen Boldt shall go, and shall not
forget what he is told. You see now, Karl, am I right?"
"Braesig," said Habermann, a little annoyed by Fritz's stupidity, "let
him go! we are not all alike; and, though it may cost a good deal of
trouble, we will bring him through."
Vexation was an infrequent guest with Habermann; and, whenever it came,
he showed it the door. Thought, anxiety, sorrow of heart, he admitted,
when they overpowered him; but this obtrusive beggar, which borrows
something from each of the others, and lies all day at a man's ears,
with all sorts of complaints and torments, he thrust out of doors,
headforemost. So it was not long before the conversation became lively
and pleasant again, and continued so until Braesig departed.