So now, for the first time, the future of the little maidens was marked
out, so far, that is, as one human being can arrange the course of life
for another; but destiny is a strange fellow for a godfather, and he
interferes often in the most quiet and reasonable plans that old,
serious, white-haired people can think out, with some stupid trick that
nobody could dream of. The worst of this plan-making is, that generally
the very wisest prove the stupidest in the end, because the good, old,
white-haired people think merely of their own white heads, and do not
take into account the black ones which they had in their youth.
It had never seriously occurred to the old Herr Pastor that his
foster-child might be taken off his hands by a young man; and the Frau
Pastorin, who, after the fashion of women, had thought much and often
upon this chapter in the woman's catechism, had always comforted
herself with the reflection that Louise was not acquainted with any
young men; since, on account of his nobility, she did not consider
Franz as a young man, and Fritz, with his stupid jokes and her own
motherly authority over him, seemed like a little, undeveloped boy. But
her eyes were to be opened, she was to discover that a young, pretty
maiden, even if she is hid in a parsonage, will attract young people as
surely as a flower the butterflies. The gay-colored caterpillar, which
had crept across her path so often to her annoyance, had popped out of
its chrysalis, a gorgeous, yellow, swallow-tailed butterfly, which
fluttered around the flower in her garden, and settled upon it, and
devoted himself to it, in a way which would have amused her extremely,
if the butterfly had not been her sister's son, and the flower Louise
Habermann.
Fritz came to Gurlitz, a few days after the confirmation, with a great
and righteous hatred in his heart, against the whole race of womankind.
The wash-bowl full of water, which he had got over his head, and the
banishment from his pantry-paradise, had exercised a damp, cold, hungry
influence upon him, and as he had learned from his romances that every
young man in love, when he quarrels with his loved one, has a right to
hate all other women too, he made use of his right. He had not been at
Gurlitz for a long time, because he wished to punish his aunt a little
for the everlasting fault-finding in which she allowed herself toward
him. Now, as he sat in the parsonage, feeding his hatred, and speaking
to no one but the Pastor, the Frau Pastorin rejoiced over his serious
behavior, and said to Louise, out in the kitchen, "Fritz is really
quite sensible. Thank God! he is coming to years of discretion."
Louise said nothing, but she laughed, for though she had not much
acquaintance with young people, she knew Fritz for the scapegrace that
he was. In undertaking to represent a new character, he was like the
donkey who attempted to play the guitar, and, however painful his
efforts had been to assume a strange role,--as for example, to-day,
that of a woman-hater,--it was not long before he stripped off the
whole disguise, and appeared in his proper person, as Fritz
Triddelsitz, much to the chagrin of his dear aunt. He had been but a
little while in the society of Louise, before he threw overboard the
whole cargo of hatred of the sex, and painful recollections of Marie
Moeller, the washbowl and pantry, and took in, beside the ballast of
romantic ideas, "a fresh, budding love for Louise,"--as he described to
himself his new lading,--and when he had stowed it away under the
hatches of his heart, and taken in his cable and made everything clear,
he set sail. At first he tacked and cruised about, and his aunt,
standing on the shore, could not tell thither he was steering, but that
did not last long, his course became more direct, and as he was now
fairly out on the high sea of "his feelings," and hoisted his topsail,
she saw to her dismay in what direction he was steering, and that her
beloved sister's son was no better than a reckless sea-rover, pirate
and corsair, who was pursuing, in a scandalous manner, the pretty
little brig, in which all her motherly hopes were embarked.
She spoke the strange craft, and asked "whence?" and "whither?"--but
the pirate paid no attention; she hung out signals of distress to her
Pastor, but the matter seemed only to amuse him, probably because he
foresaw no danger for the little brig; he sat there, and laughed to
himself, though he shook his head a little, now and then.
The little Frau Pastorin was disgusted beyond measure, with the
behavior of her nephew; "Stupid fellow, scape-grace, rascal!" she kept
saying to herself,--and when the pirate began to bombard the little
craft with honey-comb speeches, and bonbon verses, she put to sea
herself, and grappled the pirate, and when she had him fast, she sailed
away with him, out of the room. "Come with me, my son, come! I have
something to tell you, Fritz! And take your hat, too!" And when she had
got him into the pantry, she man[oe]uvred him into a corner, from
which, on account of the pots and pans, egress was difficult, and she
seized a loaf of bread and cut off a thick slice, with the words, "You
are hungry, Fritz, you have an empty stomach, my little son, and an
empty stomach leads to all sorts of mischief, see I have spread butter
on it, and here is cheese for you too, now eat!"
Fritz stood there, hardly knowing what had happened; he had designed to
win a heart, and he had got a piece of bread and butter; he attempted
to say something, but his aunt gave him no time: "I know, my boy, what
you would say; never mind, my child! But here,--if you will do me the
favor,--here is a bottle of beer,--Habermann is back of our garden,
sowing peas in the Pastor's field, take it to him, come along! and
greet him from me. I know he will be glad to get some of the
Stauenhagen burgomeister's beer." And with that she had him through the
kitchen, and out of the back-door, and before she shut the door, she
called to him, through the crack, "You will be too busy, Fritz, to
visit us much at present, for seed-time is coming,--no, never mind, my
boy, it is no matter,--but when you do come again, perhaps in the
autumn, Louise will be seventeen then, and you mustn't talk such
nonsense to her as you did to-day, she will be too sensible for such
folly. So, my son, now eat your bread and butter." And she shut the
door, and Fritz stood there, in one hand a great slice of bread and
butter, in the other a bottle of beer!
Fie! It was really infamous treatment on the part of his aunt! He was
very angry, and at first had a great mind to throw the bread and butter
through the kitchen-window, and send the beer-bottle after it, and he
swore never to set foot in the parsonage again; but reflection is a
man's best teacher, and he started at length, along the garden path,
looking alternately at his bread and butter and his beer-bottle, and
grumbling to himself: "The devil knows I am not hungry, and the old man
is not on this side of the field. She only wanted to get rid of me.
Just wait, though; you shall not succeed quite yet! I know when and
where Louise goes out walking. She must be mine! Whatever opposes, she
must be mine!"
Then he sat down on the garden fence, and planned out his new campaign;
but how angry he would have been if he had known that Louise was
watching him, that very minute, from her chamber window!
But he didn't know it, and as the bread and butter might have fallen
into the dirt, if he had laid it down on the fence, he eat it up
leisurely, and when he had finished it he said, "I laugh at my aunt,
and I laugh at Marie Moeller. Louise is an angel! She shall be mine! My
relations do not approve of our love, it is evident. Good! Louise
cannot be won without a struggle. I will--well, what shall I do?"
And before he did anything else, he preferred to drink up the beer so
he did that, and when he had finished it he went on, with fresh
courage, across the field, and with every step he stamped into the
soft-ploughed-ground the firm resolve: "She shall be mine!" and when
the seed had sprung up, the old peasants in the region often stopped on
their way, to look, and to say to each other: "The devil has been
sowing thorns and thistles in old Inspector Habermann's peas."
So Fritz was established in a new love, and it had one good effect; he
became very dutiful toward the old inspector, since he looked upon him
as his future father-in-law. He sat with the old man of evenings, and
told him about his expectations from his father, and asked his advice
whether he should rent or purchase a farm, or whether he would think it
better for him to buy a nice little estate in Livonia or Hungary. The
old man tried seriously to dissuade him from such ideas, which were a
little too absurd, but he could not help wondering what had wrought
such a change in his apprentice; formerly the youngster had talked of
nothing but riding, dancing, and hunting, and now he talked entirely
about serious matters, although in a foolish way. He wondered still
more when Fritz, one evening when Franz had gone to Gurlitz, told him
in confidence that if he remained in Mecklenburg, he should look
out for a handsome residence to purchase or to rent, with a park
attached,--"_park_," said he, "not garden,--for the latter he would be
indebted to his future wife, and she should have a good one; her
relations should be the same to him as his own," and with that he
looked at the old inspector so touchingly that the latter had much ado
not to laugh.
"Don't be a goose, Triddelsitz," said the old man. "Have you been
filling your head with love-stories?"
Maybe, said Fritz, maybe not; at all events, his old father-in-law
should live with him, and one wing of the house should be set apart
entirely for him, and if he wanted out-door exercise, either riding or
driving, a pair of horses should always stand ready for his use. And
then he got up, and walked about the room with great strides,
flourishing with his hands, and Habermann, sitting in the sofa-corner,
kept turning his head back and forth like a man with the palsy, to
observe the singular behaviour of his apprentice. As he took leave that
evening, Fritz pressed the old gentleman's hand with the deepest
emotion, and as Habermann cordially returned the pressure, he felt a
warm hand on his white hair, his head was bent gently back and a hot
kiss was pressed upon his forehead, and, before he recovered from his
astonishment, Fritz strode out of the room.
Fritz was a good fellow, he wanted to make everybody happy; his
disposition was good, but his discretion was small. Go to Gurlitz
again to see his aunt, he positively would not. He raged inwardly, and
the grief which he endured, in his separation from Louise, was a
bitter-sweet draught in which he indulged daily. But this bitter was
mingled with another, as if one should add gall to quassia--a draught
for the devil! and the gall was added by whom, of all persons in the
world--Franz! Franz ran over to Gurlitz that spring whenever he had
time, and when the three unmarried daughters came to Pumpelhagen, in
the summer, Louise often came to visit them, and Franz, naturally, was
not far away; but he--our poor Fritz--stood afar off, and could look on
only from a distance, which was a doubtful gratification for him.
I would not say, and nobody who has read this book so far would say,
that Fritz was that sort of a suspicious rascal who ferrets out
something for his purposes from any kind of tokens, but he must have
been a perfect idiot if he had not noticed that something was the
matter with Franz. Even if this had not been the case, a young man in
love must be jealous of somebody, it belongs to the business, and a
young man who is in love, and has no rival, always reminds me of my
neighbor Hamann, when he sits on horseback with only one spur. But it
was the case; Franz was truly his rival, and Fritz treated him as such,
and so before long he was as much vexed with Franz as with Marie Moeller
and his aunt, he scarcely spoke to him, and had friendly intercourse
only with his good, old, future father-in-law.
The human heart can hold but a limited measure of woe, what is too much
is too much; there must be some relief, and the only relief, for a
lover, is intercourse with the beloved object. Fritz must contrive
means to this end, and he went craftily to work; he lay in wait
everywhere for Louise. Every hollow tree was a sentry-box, from whence
he watched for his darling, every ditch on the Pumpelhagen estate was a
trench, from which he besieged her, every hill was a look-out, where he
stood on picket-guard, and behind every bush he lay in concealment.
Of course this could not last long without his attaining his desired
end, and frightening Louise out of her wits, for at times when she was
thinking of nothing at all, or perhaps--let us confess it--thinking of
Franz, his long body would shoot out from behind a bush, or he would
thrust up his head, like a seal, out of the green rye, or suddenly drop
down before her feet, from a tree, where he had been lying in wait,
like a lynx for a deer. At first, she soon recovered from her fright,
for she took those for some of his stupid jokes, such as she knew of
old; she laughed, then, and talked with him about ordinary matters; but
she soon became aware that the young man was in an extraordinary
condition. He was so solemn in his manner, he spoke of common things in
such an uncommon tone, he rubbed his head as if the deepest thoughts
were struggling for birth, he laid his hand on his heart, when she
spoke of the weather, as if he were taken with a stitch in his side, he
shook his head sadly, when she invited him to Gurlitz, and said his
honor would not allow him to accept; when she spoke of her father, a
stream flowed from his lips, as when one takes the tap from a barrel:
that was an angel of an inspector, never was such an old man born
before; his father was good, but this father was the father of all
fathers; if she asked after Fraeulein Fidelia, he said he did not
trouble himself about the ladies, they were nearly all alike to him,
and as she once, unfortunately, inquired after Franz, lightnings shot
from his eyes, he cried "Ha!" laughed in a fearful manner, grasped her
hand, thrust a paper into it, and darted headlong into the rye, in
which he disappeared, and when she opened the paper she found the
following effusion.
"To Her.
"When with tender, silvery light,
Through the clouds fair Luna beams,
When from vanquished shades of night,
Sunlight o'er the heaven gleams,
Where the whispering waters dance,
And the ivy leaves entwine,
Ah, bestow one loving glance
On a heart that beats for thine!
"Where thou goest with joyous tread,
Only truest love can be;
Spring flowers twine about thy head,
I, unseen, still follow thee;
Love is vanished, sweetest flowers
Bloom in vain, when thou art gone;
Ah, a youth has also hours,
Thou, alas! hast never known!
"But revenge will I enjoy,
I will lay my rival low!
I, who write this poetry,
Dream of vengeance only, now.
"Fritz Triddelsitz.
"Pumpelhagen, July 3rd, 1842."
When Louise read "this poetry" for the first time, she did not quite
understand it, she read it the second time, and understood it still
less, and when she had read it for the third time she did not
understand it at all; that is to say, she could not positively decide
upon whom the unhappy poet intended to execute vengeance, although she
was not so stupid as to be ignorant that the "Her" addressed was
herself.
She would gladly have taken the whole thing for a piece of his usual
buffoonery, and tried to think it nothing but a joke; but as she called
to mind his appearance and language, and his unusual behavior, she had
to acknowledge to herself that this was something beyond a joke; and
she resolved that, as much as possible, she would keep out of his way.
She was innocent enough to think it a great misfortune for Fritz, and
to feel profound compassion for his suffering. Compassion is a bridge
which leads over to love, and Louise stood for the first time, looking
over beyond the bridge into that fair meadow, adorned with rose-arbors
and jasmin-hedges,--and that is for a young maiden of seventeen like
cherries to a bird,--and who knows but she might have gone a little way
beyond the bridge, if she had not, in her mind's eye, seen Fritz, in
his yellow top-boots and green hunting-jacket, riding about, among the
rose-arbors, on old Chestnut, and sitting under the jasmin-hedges, with
a slice of bread and butter and a beer-bottle in his hands, and his
legs dangling. She had to laugh, in spite of her compassion, and
remained on the safe side of the bridge, preferring to contemplate
Fritz from a distance, for old Chestnut might lie down in the mud
puddle a second time, or Fritz might smear her with his bread and
butter.
The most stupid young man can sometimes lead a girl of seventeen by the
nose, and fellows, who carry a puff-ball instead of a heart under their
vests, can captivate such young hearts; only the poor fools, who wear
harlequin jackets, are never successful, for nothing is so fatal to
young love as a touch of the ridiculous. So, finally, she had to laugh
over the poetry, a clear, hearty laugh, and as she finished laughing,
she was startled, for it seemed to her as if a warm hand had pressed
her hand, and a pair of friendly eyes had looked deep into her own, and
the thought of Franz came into her mind, probably because he was that
moment approaching, in the distance. She tore up the vengeance-poetry
into little scraps, and as Franz came towards her, and greeted her, she
blushed, and, becoming conscious that she was growing red, she was
angry with herself, and grew still redder, and as Franz talked with her
about every-day matters, she became embarrassed, gave confused answers,
and, in her absence of mind, strewed the fragments of Fritz's vow of
vengeance upon the air.
"What can be the matter?" said Franz to himself, when he had
accompanied her a little way, and was returning. "She is so different
from her usual self. Is it my fault? Has something annoyed her? What
paper was that, which she was strewing the bits of to the wind?" With
such thoughts he came to the place where she had dropped them, and see!
There lay the fragments of paper, and, without picking them up, he read
on one of them,--"dreams of vengeance!! only now Fritz Triddelsitz," for
Fritz had forgotten to put a period after "now." This excited his
curiosity, for he recognized Fritz's handwriting; he looked further,
but found only a couple of fragments, and, fitting them together, made
out these disconnected words:--
"Entwine--a loving glance--heart that beats for thine--Spring
flowers--I unseen, still follow--Love is vanished--Bloom in vain--Ah, a
youth--But Revenge!--vengeance!! only now Fritz Triddelsitz;" the wind
had carried away the rest.
There was not much to be made out of this; the only thing which after
long reflection he believed himself positively to have arrived at, was
that Fritz Triddelsitz was in love with Louise, that he was upbraiding
her, and threatening her with vengeance. The thing was ridiculous, but
Fritz was a creature as full of stupid tricks as a donkey of gray
hairs, he was quite capable of doing some crazy thing, and giving
annoyance to Louise; so Franz resolved to be on the watch, and if Fritz
went toward Gurlitz, not to let him out of his sight.
Fritz had broken the ice now, he had done his part; now it was the turn
of Louise, she must speak, if anything was to come of the matter. He
waited and watched, but nothing came. "It is very provoking," he said
to himself, "but she knows nothing of such affairs, and it is doubtless
all right; I must show her the way." So he set himself to work, and
wrote a letter in a disguised hand.
Address:--"To One Who Knows."
Superscription:--"Sweet Dream of my Heart!"
"This letter is dumb, it says merely what is necessary, and will be
found on the _third_ rose-bush in the _second_ row; other things by
word of mouth. This by way of preliminary: when a cross is marked with
white chalk on the garden gate, the _contents of my heart_ may be found
under the pot of the third rose-bash in the second row. _Waving a
handkerchief_, from the Gurlitz side betokens thy presence, and desire
for an interview; my response will be three whistles on the handle of
my walking-stick. (Our shepherd taught me that, love is an apt
scholar.)
"Rendezvous: the great water-ditch at the right of the bridge.
"Thine ever!!
"One Whom thou Knowest.
"P.S. The loved one will excuse me for writing this in my
shirt-sleeves, it is so infernally hot."
This letter fell into the wrong hands; it was the little Frau Pastorin
who found it, as she was watering the flowers, while Louise, who was
learning housekeeping, was preserving gooseberries. She made no scruple
of opening and reading the letter, and when she had made herself
acquainted with its contents, she had no doubt that it was intended for
Louise, and that it came from Fritz, her precious nephew. She said
nothing to Louise of her discovery, that would have been playing into
Fritz's hand; but she alluded in a variety of ways to ridiculous
correspondence, just to ascertain if Louise had found similar epistles
before; it was to no purpose however, the child understood nothing from
her hints, and she then resolved to say nothing of the matter to her
Pastor,--why should he be worried about it? and then it went terribly
against the grain to confess that her own flesh and blood--for so,
unfortunately, she must consider Fritz--should perpetrate such a piece
of nonsense. She would gladly have spoken her mind to _him_, but he
kept out of her way.
She went about with such thoughts in her mind for a day or two, taking,
by the way, the watering of the flowers out of Louise's hands, once for
all, that she might suspect nothing. It was wise in her to do so, for
it was not long before she found a water-soaked letter, under the third
rose-bush in the second row. This spoke more clearly:
Address:--"To the _Only One_, known to me _alone_."
Superscription:--"Soul of my life!"
"Snares surround us; I know that the enemy lies in wait. Cowardly
_spy_, I _laugh_ at thee! Have no fear, my dearest, I can rescue thee.
One bold deed will give _freedom_ to our love. To-morrow afternoon, at
two o'clock, when the DRAGON sleeps, who guards my TREASURE, I will
expect thy signal with the handkerchief, I shall be strewing manure,
behind the water-ditch, three _whistles_ on the handle of my stick will
give thee warning, and though hell itself bursts forth, I have sworn
it. Ever
"Thine."
When the Frau Pastorin read this she was quite off her balance. "That!
That! Oh, the miserable scamp! 'Dragon Sleeps!' The rascal means me by
that! But wait! I will give you a signal, and if hell doesn't burst
forth, something shall crack about your ears, let me only get hold of
you!"
The next day, before two o'clock, the Frau Pastorin rose from her sofa,
and went into the garden. The house-door had creaked, and her Pastor
heard the gate-latch also rattle, so he got up and looked out of the
window, to see what his wife was doing in the garden, at this unusual
hour, for her nap generally lasted until three o'clock. He saw her go
behind a bush, and she stood there and waved her handkerchief in the
air. "She is beckoning to Habermann, perhaps," said he, and lay down
again. She was, however, merely giving a friendly signal to her nephew,
till she might get a little nearer to his ears.
But he did not come, nor did she hear the three whistles. Greatly
disappointed, she went back to the house, and when it was time for
coffee, and her Pastor asked her whom she had been beckoning to in the
garden, she was so much embarrassed, that, I regret to confess, she
fibbed, although she was a pastor's wife, and said she had been so
oppressed by the heat, she was merely waving her handkerchief to get a
little fresh air.
On the third day, she found another letter.
Address: "To MY OWN, destined for me by FATE."
Superscription: "Sun of my darkened Soul!!"
"Dost thou know what _hell-torments_ are? I suffered them yesterday
afternoon, at two o'clock, when I was strewing manure. The air was
free, the enemy was in the clover-field, and thy handkerchief fluttered
like one of my white pigeons in the perfumed air. I was just upon the
point of giving the pre-arranged signal of three whistles, when that
old horned beast of a Braesig came up to me, and stood talking a whole
hour, about the manure. When he was gone, I rushed down to the
water-ditch, but, vinegar!
"The time had seemed long to thee, and thou wert gone! But now,
_listen_! This evening, punctually at half past eight, when I have
eaten my sour milk, I will be at the _place of rendezvous_; to-day is
Saturday, the Pastor is writing his sermon, and the _dragon_ is
cleaning house; the _opportunity_ is favorable, and the underbrush will
conceal us there. (Schiller.) Wait but a little, thou too shalt rest,
(Goethe) in the arms of thy DEVOTED ONE, who would sell all that is
dear to him, to buy with it something dear to thee.
"Oh, meeting blest! Oh, meeting blest!
Awaiting which I calmly rest,
And all my longing, all my dreams,
Bury in Lethe's silent stream.
I shall behold thee, dear, once more.
When the waves wash me to the shore,
So farewell, yet not in sorrow,
We shall meet again to-morrow!
"The _beginning_ is my own, the _middle_ from Schiller, and the _end_
from a certain Anonymous, who has written a great deal; but I altered
it a little to suit my purpose.
"With torments of longing,
"THINE OWN."
"Well!" exclaimed the little Frau Pastorin, when she read this patch
work, "This goes beyond everything! Yes, my dear sister, you have
brought up a beautiful plant, and it bears fine fruit. But other people
must trim and prune it, and I think, as his aunt, I am the nearest to
him. And I'll do it!" she cried, in a loud voice, stamping her little
foot, "and I should like to see who will hinder me!"
"I for one would not think of it, Frau Pastorin," said Braesig, who had
come up, unperceived, behind the bee-hives.
"Have you been listening, Braesig?" asked the Frau Pastorin, still in an
excited tone.
"Listening?" said Braesig, "I never listen; I only keep my ears open,
and then I hear something, and I keep my eyes open, and see something.
For instance, I see now that you are provoked about something."
"It is true; but it is enough to drive an angel wild."
"No, Frau Pastorin, the angels have enough to do with their wings; we
need not incommode them about our matters, but if you want to see
something wild, I believe the devil has broken loose here in
Pumpelhagen."
"Good heavens, has Fritz----"
"No, I didn't say so;" said Braesig; "I don't know what it is; but there
is something going on."
"What is it, then?"
"Frau Pastorin, Habermann is irritable, and when that is the case, you
may be sure there is some disagreeable business in the wind. You see, a
few days ago, I came to Pumpelhagen, when he was busy with the hay and
the rape harvest, and I said, 'Good morning,' says I. 'Good morning,'
says he. 'Karl,' says I, and was going on to say something, when he
interrupts: 'Have you seen my Triddelsitz anywhere?' 'Yes,' said I.
'Where?' asked he. 'Sitting in the great water-ditch,' said I. 'Did you
see young Herr von Rambow anywhere?' asked he. 'He is sitting in the
next ditch close by,' said I. 'What are they doing?' asked he. 'They
are playing,' said I. 'You are joking,' said he, 'playing at this busy
time?' 'Yes, Karl,' said I, 'and I have been playing too.' 'What have
you played then?' asked he. 'Bo-peep, Karl. See! there is your
greyhound peeping over the ditch towards Gurlitz, and your nobleman is
peeping after the greyhound, and I was peeping out of the marl-pit
after both of them, and when one turned his head, the other ducked, and
so we sat there, peeping and ducking alternately, till the thing grew
rather tedious to me, so I went boldly up the nobleman. "Good day,"
said I. "Good day," said he. "Begging your pardon," said I, "what sort
of farm-work are you doing here?" "I?" said he, and stammered, "I was
looking after our peas, whether they were filling out well." "Hem!"
said I. "So?" said I. "Well!" said I, "good morning," and went towards
the greyhound.' You won't mind it, Frau Pastorin, I always call your
nephew so."
Not at all, said the Frau Pastorin, she called him worse names,
herself.
"'Good day!' said I, 'what sort of work are you doing?' 'Oh, nothing
just now,' said he, going off, like a whipped hound, 'I have been
looking after the peas.' 'Karl!' said I to Habermann, 'if your peas
fill up according as they are looked after, you will have a plentiful
harvest.' 'The cuckoo knows,' said he, terribly provoked, 'both of them
are as stupid as possible; I can't make out the young Herr at all, this
summer; he goes about like a man in a dream, forgets everything I tell
him, and is no longer always up to the mark, as he used to be; and the
other stupid fellow is worse than ever.' You don't mind Habermann
calling your Herr Nephew a stupid fellow, Frau Pastorin?"
"God forbid!" said the Frau Pastorin, "Habermann has reason."
"You see, this was, say, a week ago,--now I started out yesterday
morning early with my fishing rod, to see if the perch would bite; what
do I see? Your Herr Nephew, the greyhound, goes slyly down here into
the garden, and after a while comes out again, and behind him creeps
along the nobleman among the bushes, and along side the ditch, as if he
were tracking a fox, and when he has gone past my place of observation,
there comes my good Karl Habermann over the hill, following the other,
and when he had passed, I went on behind him, and so we went in a great
curve, with wide spaces between us, clear down around the village, each
one seeing only the man in front of him, which I found extremely
amusing. They will do it again to-morrow probably, and if you would
like to see the fun, Frau Pastorin, or the Herr Pastor, you can come in
behind me, for Habermann says he shall make thorough work of the
business, and he has been after them three times already."
"Thank you very much for the proposal," said the Frau Pastorin; "I have
had amusement enough already, from this affair. Can you keep a secret,
Braesig?"
"Like a sieve, with a hole in it."
"No; jesting aside, can you be silent?"
"Utterly," said Braesig, striking his hand over his mouth.
"Well, then listen," said the Frau Pastorin, and told him what she
knew.
"Why, he really is a stupid fellow, then, your Herr Nephew!" said
Braesig, and Frau Pastorin read him the letter.
"But, Frau Pastorin, how did this stupid fellow get such a command of
language? He is stupid, to be sure, but his writing is not so stupid,
he writes like a poet." And when Frau Pastorin read about the dragon,
Braesig laughed merrily: "He means you, Frau Pastorin."
"I know that," said she shortly, "but the horned beast here, in the
third letter, means you; and we have nothing to hold us back. The thing
to be done is simply this; let me get hold of the fellow, and I will
wash his head for him."
"You are right, and nothing is easier. You see, we two, you and I, will
hide here in the garden, about eight o'clock; at half past eight, take
Louise, and seat her in the water-ditch, and you shall see, he will
come, like a bear after honey, and when he has began to lick it, we two
will break loose and catch him."
"Ah, you are not very cunning, Braesig. If I am to tie the business to
the big bell, I don't need your assistance, It would be a great pity
for Louise to have anything to do with it; Habermann too, and even my
Pastor himself need know nothing of the matter."
"Hm, hm!" said Braesig, "then--then--hold! I have it; Frau Pastorin you
must make yourself as thin as possible, and put on Louise's dress, and
go to the rendezvous, and when he comes, and sits down by you, and
begins to caress you, you must catch him, so, by the throat, and hold
on until I come;" and with that he laid hold of the Frau Pastorin's
nearest hand, to illustrate his remarks.
"You are imprudent, Braesig."
"Yes, you say so, Frau Pastorin; but if he doesn't see his dearest
sitting in the ditch, he won't come down, and if we don't take him
unawares, we may whistle for him, for he is a confoundedly long-legged,
thin-ribbed hound, and we can never chase after him with our short legs
and our corpulence."
That was true, to be sure; but no! should she go to a rendezvous?
Braesig was going quite too far, and, besides, how could she get
Louise's clothes? But Braesig was not dismayed, he represented to her
that it was merely an interview with her own nephew, and that, if she
sat on the edge of the ditch, she need only wear Louise's shawl, and
her Italian straw hat: "But you must keep sitting, for, if you should
stand up, he will see in a minute that you are a foot shorter than
Louise, and that you are a foot larger round the waist."
Finally,--finally, the Frau Pastorin let herself be persuaded, and as
she went out about eight o'clock that evening, through the back door,
dressed in Louise's hat and shawl, the Herr Pastor, who stood at the
window, in deep thought over his sermon, said to himself, "Good
heavens! where is Regina going, with Louise's hat and shawl? And there
comes Braesig, out of the arbor. Well, he will come in, if he wants to
see me; but it is very singular!"
The Frau Pastorin went along the garden walk with Braesig prepared for
any emergency, opened the garden gate, and went through it alone, while
Braesig remained in the garden, and ensconced himself behind the fence.
"Braesig," said she, as the thought occurred to her, "you will be too
far off here; come down with me to the ditch, for when I have caught
him, I must have you close by."
"All right!" said Braesig, and followed het down to the ditch.
Such a ditch, as this water-ditch was, is not often seen now-a-days;
for out modern system of drains has made them unnecessary; but every
old farmer remembers them, how they were dug through a field, sixteen
or twenty feet from bank to bank, but narrow at the bottom, bordered
right and left with thorn-bushes, nearly always dry, only in spring and
fall there was perhaps a foot and a half of water; and occasionally in
summer also, after a heavy rain. This was the case at present.
"Braesig," said the little Frau Pastorin, "lie down behind that bush,
close by me, so that you can come quickly to my help."
"Why not? all right," said Braesig. "But, Frau Pastorin, you must think
up some catch-word, upon which I shall break loose."
"Yes, surely. Yes, that is necessary; but what? Wait a moment! when I
cry, 'The Philistines be upon thee,' then you must spring out."
"Good, Frau Pastorin."
"Good heavens!" said she to herself, "I seem to myself like a Delilah
indeed. Seated at a rendezvous, at half past eight in the evening! At
my time of life! How scandalized I should have been when I was a young
girl, at the thought of such a thing, and to be doing it now in my old
age! Braesig! Don't sneeze so dreadfully! One might hear you a quarter
of a mile off. And all this for that boy, for that miserable boy! God
bless me, if my Pastor knew! Braesig, what are you laughing at? I forbid
you to laugh!"
"I am not laughing, Frau Pastorin."
"Yes, you were laughing: I distinctly heard you laugh."
"I was merely yawning a little from weariness, Frau Pastorin."
"And can you yawn, over such a matter as this? I am ready to fly, hand
and foot. Ah, you miserable scamp! What have you made of me! And I can
tell nobody, I must fight it out alone. Braesig is a real godsend."
By and by Braesig spoke--in a whisper to be sure, but one could hear it
as distinctly as the cry of the quail in the distance:--"Frau Pastorin,
make yourself as long as Lewerenz's child, and as thin as possible, and
put on a lovely, shamefaced mien, for he is coming over the hill, I can
see him against the evening sky."
And the little Frau Pastorin's heart throbbed, and her wrath rose high
against the youth, and she glowed with shame at her own situation, and
now she would certainly have run away, if Braesig had not laughed again;
but that provoked her, and she meant to show him that she was in
earnest.
This time, Braesig really did laugh, for, behind the first dark figure
that came over the hill he saw a second, and behind the second a third,
and he chuckled to himself, behind his thorn-bush: "So! There is Karl
Habermann, too; and now the whole inspectorship of Pumpelhagen is on
foot, probably out to see how the peas look in the evening. This looks
like a comedy!"
The Frau Pastorin did not see the others, she saw merely her precious
nephew, who came straight towards her. Now he ran across the bridge,
now he ran along the bank of the ditch, now he sprang forward a couple
of feet, and clasped his dear aunt about the waist: "Beloved angel!"
"Wait, you rascal!" cried she in reply, and with the grip which Braesig
had taught her she seized him, not exactly by the throat, but by the
coat-collar, and cried with a clear voice, "The Philistines be upon
thee!" and Braesig, the Philistine, scrambled up. Oh, thunder! his foot
was asleep! but no matter! He hopped on one leg along the ditch, and
almost sprang upon Fritz; but the overtasked leg failed under the
weight of the hundred and eighty pounds it dragged after it; Braesig
fell backwards into a thorn-bush, lost his balance, and tumbled, a lump
of misfortune, into the foot and a half of ditch-water.
There he sat, for a moment, stiff and stark, as if he were at the
water-cure, taking a sitz-bath. Fritz, also, stood stiff and stark, and
felt as if he were taking a bath, but a shower-bath: he stood fairly
under the stream of his aunt's indignant reproaches, which rushed and
roared about his ears, ever ending with the words: "The dragon has you
now, my son! The dragon has you now!"
"And here comes the horned beast!" growled Braesig, who had scrambled
out of the ditch, and was close upon them. But Fritz had come to
himself by this time; he broke loose from his aunt, and would have
escaped, if a new enemy had not come upon him, from across the ditch.
This was Franz, and it was not long before Habermann also was there,
and the little Frau Pastorin had scarcely recovered from this shock,
when her Pastor stood before her, asking, "For heaven's sake, Regina,
what does all this mean?"
The little Frau Pastorin was at the last extremity; but Braesig was not
quite so far gone, although he felt as if he were changed into running
waters, and on the point of dissolving. "Infamous greyhound!" cried he,
giving Fritz a couple of digs under the ribs, "must I go and get my
cursed Podagra again, on your account? But they shall all know what a
confounded Jesuit you are. Habermann, he----"
"For heaven's sake!" cried the Frau Pastorin, catching breath again, in
the gathering storm, and springing between them,--"don't any of you
listen to Braesig! Habermann, Herr von Rambow, I beg of you! just go
quietly home, the business is over, it is all over, and what isn't
finished, my Pastor will attend to; it is a family affair, merely a
family affair. Isn't it so, Fritz, my son? It is just a family affair,
that concerns only us two. But now come, my son! We will tell my Pastor
all about it. Good-night, Herr von Rambow! Good-night, Habermann. Fritz
shall come back to you soon. Come, Braesig, we must get you to bed
immediately."
And so she dispersed the company. The two who were not to be
enlightened went off homewards, each by himself, shaking their heads;
Habermann annoyed at the inexplicable behavior of his two young people,
and that he could not penetrate its secret; Franz more than suspicious
of the whole concern, for he had clearly recognized Louise's hat and
shawl, in the half-twilight, and Louise must have some connection with
the affair though he could make no sense of it.
Fritz, quite abashed, followed the Pastor and the Frau Pastorin, while
the latter, in shame and sorrow, related the whole story. The
procession drew near to the parsonage, and the evil-doer had so far
recovered his courage, that he showed signs of running away; but Braesig
stuck so close to his side that he was compelled to yield outwardly;
but he raged inwardly all the more, and when Braesig asked the Frau
Pastorin, who it was that had come so opportunely to their aid, and she
mentioned the name of Franz, Fritz stood still, and shook his fist over
the peas, in the direction of Pumpelhagen, and exclaimed, "I have been
betrayed, and it shall be avenged, the Junker shall pay for it."
"Boy!" cried the Frau Pastorin, "will you hold your foolish tongue?"
"Softly, Regina!" said the Pastor, who was getting a tolerable idea of
the matter, "go in and see that Braesig is put to bed; I will have a few
words with Fritz."
She complied with his request, and as much reason as Fritz was capable
of taking in was then, in all kindness, administered by the old Herr
Pastor; but one can pour only so much clear wine into a full cask, as
the working off of the froth and scum leaves room for, and while the
Pastor gently poured in, Fritz was foaming out of the bung-hole: his
own relations had conspired against his happiness, and thought more of
the rich Junker than of their own sister's child.
Much the same thing was going on inside the house; only the cask,
before which the Frau Pastorin stood, neither foamed nor dripped; this
was Uncle Braesig, who would not be put to bed.
"I couldn't do it, Frau Pastorin," said he; "that is to say, I could,
to be sure, but I oughtn't, for I must go to Rexow. Frau Nuessler has
written me orders to report myself at Rexow."
The same spirit and leaven which worked in Fritz sending off froth and
scum not of the purest, fermented slowly but strongly in old Braesig,
although the old cask had stood long in the cellar, and had become
seasoned; and when he at last, out of respect for the Frau Pastorin and
the Frau Podagra, suffered himself to be persuaded into bed, his
thoughts turned the same corner which those of Fritz were turning, as
going through the pease-field, back of the Pastor's garden, he stamped
for the second time his heroic resolutions into the earth: "He would
renounce her! Renounce her! But the devil take the confounded Junker!"