The next morning--it was Sunday morning--Braesig awoke, and lay
stretching himself in the soft bed--"A pleasure," he said to himself,
which I have never allowed myself before, but which is very agreeable.
However, it is mainly from the novelty of the thing; one would soon get
tired of it; "and he was on the point of getting up, when Frau
Pastorin's maid-servant whisked in at the door, seized his clothes with
one grasp, and ran off with them, leaving in their place a black coat
and black trousers, and a black vest, lying on the chair.
"Ho, ho!" laughed he, looking at the black suit. "It is Sunday, and
this is the parsonage; can it be possible they think I am going to
preach to-day?" He lifted one garment after another, and said, at last,
"Now I understand! It is only because of the ditch yesterday; because
my own clothes are so wet and dirty, I must make myself comfortable in
the Herr Pastor's. Well, here goes!"
But it didn't go quite so easily, and as for being comfortable that was
out of the question. The clothes were long enough, to be sure, but as
for breadth, he found close quarters in the Herr Pastor's trousers, it
was utterly impossible to button the lower buttons of the vest, and
when he put on the coat, it cramped him dreadfully between the
shoulder-blades, and his arms stood out from his body, as if he were
ready on this Sunday morning, to press the whole world to his honest
heart.
So he went down stairs to the Frau Pastor in, his legs turned outward,
as was his usual manner of walking since he had been pensioned; but his
arms also were turned outward now, and the Frau Pastorin had to laugh
heartily; but retreated behind the breakfast table, as Braesig came
towards her, with open arms, as if she were to be the first subject of
the world-embrace.
"Don't come near me, Braesig!" cried she '"If I had dreamed that you
would cut such a ridiculous figure in my good, old Pastor's clothes,
you should have stayed in bed till noon, for it will be as late as that
before yours are washed and dried."
"Ho, ho!" laughed Braesig, "was that the reason? And I was flattering
myself that you sent me the Pastor's clothes that I might be more
pleasing in your eyes at our rendezvous this morning."
"Just listen to me, Braesig!" said the Frau Pastorin, with a face red as
fire. "I will have no such joking as that! And if you go round in the
neighborhood--you have nothing else to do now, but carry stories from
one to another--and tell about last evening, and that confounded
rendezvous, I'll have nothing more to say to you."
"Frau Pastorin, what do you take me for?" cried Braesig, advancing upon
her again, with outspread arms, so that she took refuge a second time
behind the table. "You need not be afraid of me, I am no Jesuit."
"No, Braesig, you are an old heathen, but you are no Jesuit. But you
must tell something. Oh, dear! Habermann must know, my Pastor says so
himself. But when he asks you about it, you can leave me out of the
story. Only think, if the Pomuchelskopps should get hold of it, I
should be the most miserable woman in the world. Oh, heaven help us!
And I did it only in the kindness of my heart, for that innocent child,
Braesig. I have sacrificed myself for her."
"That you have, Frau Pastorin," said Braesig, earnestly, "and therefore
don't worry yourself about it the least in the world; for, you see,
if Karl Habermann asks me what we were doing there, then I can
say--then--then I will say you had appointed a rendezvous with myself."
"With you? For shame, Braesig!"
"Now, Frau Pastorin, am I not as good as that greyhound? And surely our
years are more suited to each other!" And with that Braesig looked up as
innocently, as if he had thought of the best excuse in the world. The
Frau Pastorin looked keenly in his honest face, and folded her hands
thoughtfully on her lap, and said, "Braesig, I will trust you. But,
Braesig, dear Braesig, manage it as quietly as you can. And now come, sit
down, and drink a cup of coffee." And she grasped one of his stiff
arms, and turned him round to the table, as a miller turns about a
windmill to the wind.
"Good!" said Braesig, taking the cup, which he held out with his
stiff arm as if he were a sleight-of-hand performer, and the cup a
hundred-pound weight, and he was holding it before an appreciative
public in the open air; he tried to seat himself also; but as he bent
his knees something cracked, and he sprang up,--whether it was the
Pastor's chair, or the Pastor's trousers, he did not know; but he drank
his coffee standing, and said, "It was just as well; he could not wait
long, for he must go to Rexow, to Frau Nuessler."
All the Frau Pastorin's entreaties that he would wait till his own
clothes were dried were of no avail; Frau Nuessler's least wish was for
him a command, registered in the memorandum book of his conscience, and
so he sailed off,--the long, black flaps of the priestly garment flying
behind him in the summer morning,--toward Pumpelhagen and Rexow, slowly
and heavily, like the crows we used to catch, when I was a boy, and
then let fly again.
He came to Pumpelhagen, and there he was accosted by Habermann, who saw
him over the garden fence. "Good heavens, Zachary, how you look!"
"The result of circumstances, Karl! You know I fell into the mud, last
night,--but I haven't time, I must go to your sister."
"Braesig, my sister's business can afford to wait better than mine, I
have noticed for some time, there has been a great deal going on behind
my back, which I was to know nothing of. That wasn't so much; but,
since last night, I am sure that the Herr Pastor and the Frau Pastorin
know all about the matter, and if they are keeping anything from me, I
know it can be merely out of kindness."
"You are right, Karl; it is out of kindness," interrupted Braesig.
"I am sure of it, Braesig, and I am not disposed to be suspicious, but
for some time it has lain heavy on my heart that this is a matter which
concerns me very nearly. What did you have to do with the business last
evening?"
"I, Karl? I only had a rendezvous with the Frau Pastorin, in the
water-ditch."
"What did the Herr Pastor have to do with it?"
"Karl, we did not know anything about it, he surprised us."
"What had the Herr von Rambow to do with it?"
"He caught your greyhound by the collar, because I had tumbled into the
ditch."
"_What had Fritz Triddelsitz to do with the business?_" asked Habermann
with terrible emphasis. "And what had Louise's hat and shawl to do with
it?"
"Only this Karl, that they didn't fit the Frau Pastorin at all well,
because she is much too large for them."
"Zachary," said Habermann, reaching his hand over the fence, "these are
merely evasions. _Will_ you not tell me,--and we such old friends,--or
_dare_ you not tell me?"
"Karl--the devil take the whole rendezvous business, and the Frau
Pastorin's worry besides!" cried Braesig, and grasped Habermann's hand
across the fence, and shook it in the tall nettles that grew by the
fence, until both were stung, and drew back. "Karl, I will tell you.
The Pastor will tell you himself--why shouldn't I? Your Fritz
Triddelsitz, the cursed greyhound, loved you, doubtless because you
have been like a father to him, and now his love has gone on to Louise,
for love always goes on, for instance, mine for your sister and
Mining."
"Braesig, speak seriously."
"Am I not speaking seriously, when I speak of your sister and Mining?"
"I know that," said Habermann, reaching after Braesig's hand again, in
spite of the nettles, "but what had Franz to do with it all?"
"For all I know, he may love you too, for your fatherly kindness, and
for all I know, his love may have gone on to your daughter."
"That would be a misfortune!" cried Habermann, "a great misfortune! To
put that right again, is more than I can do; the Lord himself must help
us!"
"I don't know about that, Karl: he has two estates----"
"Not a word, Zachary: come in, and tell me all you know."
And when Braesig had told all that he knew, and was again under way, and
steering toward Rexow, Habermann stood looking after him and talking to
himself: "He is a good fellow, his heart is in the right place; and, if
I found it was really so, I should like it right well,--but--but----"
He did not mean Braesig this time, however, he meant Franz.
On this Sunday morning young Jochen was sitting, about breakfast time,
in his usual chimney-corner, and in his arm-chair. Lining and Mining
had spread the table for breakfast, and had brought in the dishes of
ham, and sausage, and bread, and butter, and when all stood ready on
the table, Frau Nuessler herself came in, and set down a platter of hot
scrambled eggs, saying: "There, Jochen, don't let it get cold!" and
went out again, to see about some thing or other.
The eggs were still crackling in the dish,--they were really
splendid--but young Jochen did not stir. Whether it was, that he had
not yet smoked out his pipe, and wanted to finish it, or that he was
lost in thought over two letters, which were lying in his lap, he did
not stir, and his eyes remained fastened upon one particular spot. And
on this spot, under the stove, close by him, lay young Bauschan,
looking at his master. Young Bauschan was the latest new-comer of the
whole Bauschan race, which had been brought up and weaned in the house,
since old Jochen's time; when one spoke _to_ him he was called
"Bauschan," but when one spoke _of_ him, he was called the
"Thronfolger" (crown-prince,) not on his own account, but on Jochen's
account, because, so far as anybody could recollect, this was the only
joke he had ever perpetrated.
So, as I said before, these two young people, young Jochen and young
Bauschan, sat and looked at each other, each thinking his own thoughts;
young Jochen's suggested by his letters, and young Bauschan's by the
savory smell which came to his nose. Jochen did not move, but the
crown-prince stroked himself with his paw over his thoughtful face, his
nose grew sharper, and the nostrils quivered, he crept out from under
the stove, put on a courteous mien, and made his compliments to young
Jochen with his tail. Young Jochen took no notice, and young Bauschan
inferring that everything was in its usual condition, went nearer to
the table, looked round sideways, more after Frau Nuessler than for
young Jochen, then laid his head against the table and indulged in
blessed hopes, as young folks will. Hope kept him quiet for a
time, but--one really needs something more substantial, for one's
stomach,--the crown-prince returned to put his two paws--merely the
fore paws--in a chair, and bring himself a little nearer. His nose came
directly over the dish containing the red bacon, and--now, young
folks--Bauschan snapped at it, exactly as we should in our youthful
days, when a pair of red lips smiled up to us; and--just like us--he
was frightened, in an instant, at his wickedness, and crept away,
but--that I should have to say it! with the bacon in his teeth.
"Bauschan!" cried young Jochen, as impressively as the mother, who
keeps guard over the red lips; but for all that, he did not move;
meanwhile Bauschan--whether that as crown-prince he believed himself
possessed of a species of regal right over all the red lips in his
realm, or that he was so spoiled that even such a sweet, clandestine
titbit made no impression upon him--looked Jochen boldly in the face,
licked his chops, and hankered for more. Jochen looked him right in the
eye, but did not stir, and after a little while Bauschan got up again
on a chair, this time with his hind legs, and ate up a plate full of
sausage. "Bauschan!" cried Jochen. "Mining, Bauschan is eating up the
sausage!" but he didn't stir. The crown-prince bestirred himself,
however, and when he had made way with the sausage, he addressed
himself to his chief dainty, the dish of scrambled eggs. "Mother,
mother!" cried young Jochen, "he is eating up the eggs!" But young
Bauschan had burned his moist nose against the hot dish, he started
back, upset the platter, knocked the Kuemmel bottle over with his tail,
and disordered the whole table, young Jochen never stirring the while,
only calling from his corner, "Mother, mother! The confounded dog! he
is eating up our eggs!"
"What are you roaring about, young Jochen, in your own house;" cried
one, who just then entered the door, but it was such a singular figure,
that Jochen was frightened. He let his pipe fall from his mouth, in his
terror, put out both hands before him, and cried, "All good spirits
praise the Lord! Herr Pastor, is it you, or, Braesig, is it you?"
Yes, it was Braesig, at least one who looked at him near enough, and had
time to consider, would recognize the yellow-topped boots as belonging
to an inspector's uniform, but Jochen had no time to consider, for the
figure which entered the door at once perceived Bauschan's misdeeds,
and ran into every corner of the room, in search of a stout stick for
the crown prince's back, and behind him fluttered in the air two long,
long black coattails, like the wings of a dragon, and out of the high
black coat-collar, and under the high black hat, which had slipped down
half over his eyes, shone a red, angry face, as if a chimney-sweep had
taken a glowing coal in his mouth, to frighten the children. Young
Jochen was no longer a child, to be sure, but yet he was frightened, he
had started up, and held on with both hands to the arms of his chair,
and exclaimed alternately, "Herr Pastor! Braesig! Braesig! Herr Pastor!"
and the crown-prince, who was still in his childhood, was terribly
frightened, he also ran into all the comers, and howled, and could not
get out of the room, for the door was shut, and when the black figure
beat him with the yellow stick--necessity works wonders--he sprang
through the window sash, and took half the glass along with him.
This made uproar enough to raise the dead, why, then, should not Frau
Nuessler hear it in the kitchen? and, just as she opened the door,
Braesig was shoving up his hat with one hand, and pointing with the
other, still holding the stick, to the broken window, while he uttered
the remarkable words, "You can thank nobody but yourself, young Jochen!
For what does the dumb creature of a crown-prince understand? All the
beautiful Kuemmel!"
"Good heavens!" cried Frau Nuessler, coming in. "What is all this,
Jochen? Bless me, Braesig, how you look!"
"Mother," said young Jochen, "the dog and Braesig--what can I do about
it?"
"For shame, young Jochen," cried Braesig, going up and down the room
with great strides, his long coat-tails almost dipping in the Kuemmel,
"who is master of this house, you, or young Bauschan?"
"But, Braesig, why in the world are you dressed so horribly?" asked Frau
Nuessler.
"So?" said Braesig, looking at her with great eyes, "suppose you had
gone to a rendezvous with the Frau Pastorin, last night, and tumbled
into the ditch, so that your clothes were all damp and muddy, this
morning? And suppose you got a letter, that you must come here to
Rexow, to a family council? And what was I to do? Is it my fault that
the Herr Pastor is tall as Lenerenz's child, and as thin as a shadow,
and that his head is so much bigger than mine? Why did the Frau
Pastorin rig me out in his uniform this morning, so that all the old
peasants going to church called out to me, from a distance, 'Good
morning, Herr Pastor!' but that I might come here, out of pure
kindness, to your family council?"
"Braesig," said young Jochen, "I swear to you----"
"Don't swear, young Jochen! You will swear yourself into hell. Do you
call this a family council, with all the Kuemmel running about the room,
and I in the Pastor's clothes, to be made a laughing-stock of?"
"Braesig, Braesig," exclaimed Frau Nuessler, who scarcely knew her old
friend in his anger, and who had been picking up the broken fragments
and setting the table-cloth straight, "don't mind such a trifle! Sit
down, it is all right again, now."
Under Frau Nuessler's friendly words, Braesig quieted down, and allowed
himself to be seated at the breakfast-table, only growling to himself,
"The devil knows, young Jochen, I have always lived in the hope that
you would grow a little wiser with years, but, I see well, what is dyed
in the wool will never wash out. Meanwhile though--what is the matter
here?"
"Yes," said Frau Nuessler--"Yes," said Jochen also, and his wife was
silent, for she thought Jochen was really going to say something; he
said nothing, however, but "It is all as true as leather." So Frau
Nuessler began again: "Yes, there is Rector Baldrian's Gottlieb,
Jochen's sister's son, a right good fellow, and well-educated, and has
studied his Articles as a Candidate--you have seen him here a great
many times."
"Yes," nodded Braesig, "a right nice young fellow, a sort of Pietist,
combed his hair behind his ears, and instructed me that I did wrong to
go fishing Sunday morning."
"Yes, that is the one. And he has got through with his schooling, and
the Rector wants us to take him here, for a while, till he studies some
last things into his head, and we wanted to ask you what we should do
about it."
"Why not? The Pietists are quiet people, their only peculiarity is
their love of instructing; and you, Frau Nuessler, are likely to give
them opportunity for it, and young Jochen, too,--God be praised!--since
he will not allow himself to be instructed by Bauschan and me."
"Yes, that is well enough, Braesig, but there is something else; there
is Kurz's Rudolph, he has studied for the ministry, too, and he also is
Jochen's nephew; he heard that the other wanted to come here, and he
wrote yesterday, saying he had wasted his time dreadfully at Rostock,
and he would come here to Rexow, and review what was necessary. Just
think of it! there in Rostock he has all the learned professors, and
here at Rexow only Jochen and me."
"Oh, I know him," cried Braesig, "he is an exceedingly fine fellow! When
he was first beginning to study, he caught me half a dozen perch out of
the Black Pool; the very smallest weighed a good pound and a half."
"Eh! How you remember everything! And he was the one who got Mining,
when she had climbed up on the ladder to the old stork's nest, and
stood there clapping her hands for joy, and we down below frightened
out of our wits, and he brought her down, safe and sound. Yes, he is
bright enough about such matters, but not so good at his books, and
Rector Baldrian says, there at Rostock he is always getting into
fights. Just think, they fought with bare swords, and he was in the
midst of it all, and it was all on account of a rich merchant's pretty
daughter."
"May you keep the nose on your face!" cried Braesig. "In a real, regular
fight, and about a pretty merchant's daughter! Well, young Jochen, all
the troubles come from the women!"
"Yes, Braesig, you may well say so; but what shall we do about it?"
"Why, where is there any difficulty? If you don't want the two young
ecclesiastics, write and say so, and if you do want them to come, write
and say so; you have room enough, and plenty to eat and drink, only
look out for the expenses for the books, for those make fearful holes
in the pocket. And if you wish to take only one, take the fighter, for
I, for my part, would much rather fight with the one, than be
instructed by the other."
"Yes, Braesig, that is all very well," said Frau Nuessler, "but we have
already written to Gottlieb Baldrian, and now we cannot refuse to take
Rudolph, without affronting the Kurzes."
"No? Well, then, take both."
"Yes, Braesig, it is easy to say so; but our two little girls--they have
just been confirmed--there, Jochen, you tell him!"
And Jochen really began to speak: "It is all as true as leather,--you
see, Braesig. Mining is just like--you know all about it--educated just
like a governess, and my old mother used to say, a governess and a
candidate in the same house--that would never do."
"Ho, ho! Young Jochen! Now I understand you. You are afraid of
love-affairs. But that little rogue and love-affairs!"
"Well, Braesig," said Frau Nuessler, hastily, "it is not so improbable!
I, as a mother, should know that. Why, I was not so old as they are,
when----" Frau Nuessler stopped suddenly, for Braesig had pulled a
terribly long face, and was looking very keenly in her eyes.
Fortunately, Young Jochen took up the conversation, and said;
"Braesig,--mother, fill Braesig's glass,--Braesig, you can understand
something about it, and now, what ought we, as parents, to do?"
"Let them alone, young Jochen! Why has the Lord put young people into
the world, and what else have they to do but make love to each other?
But that little rogue!"
"You are jesting, Braesig," interrupted Frau Nuessler. "You ought not to
talk so about such a serious matter, for out of a smooth egg many times
crawls a basilisk."
"Let him crawl," cried Braesig.
"So?" asked Frau Nuessler. "Do you say so? But I say otherwise. Jochen
is not accustomed to trouble himself about such things; for all he
cares, every one of our servant-maids might fall in love. Idle about,
and get married; and I--God bless me! I have both hands full of work,
and enough to find fault with before my eyes, without looking after
what goes on behind my back."
"What am I for, then?" asked Braesig.
"Oh, you!" said Frau Nuessler, off hand, "you have no experience in such
matters."
"What!" exclaimed Braesig. "I, who once had three sweethearts----" He
went no further, for Frau Nuessler put on a long face, and looked at him
with so much curiosity, that he covered his embarrassment by drinking
the Kuemmel in his glass.
"A miserable piece of business!" he cried, standing up, "and who is to
blame for it all? Young Jochen!"
"Eh, Braesig, what have I to do with it?"
"You let the crown-prince eat up the breakfast, under your very nose,
and take two ministerial candidates into your house, and don't know
what to do about it! But, never mind, Frau Nuessler, take the two young
fellows in, and don't be afraid. I will look after the little rogue,
and the two confounded rascals shall catch thunder and lightning. The
fighter, the duel-fighter--I will take care of him; but you must keep
an eye on the proselyter; they are the slyest."
"Well, we can't do otherwise," said Frau Nuessler, also rising.
And at Michaelmas the two clerical recruits arrived at head-quarters,
and Franz went away to the agricultural college at Eldena, and as he
went out of the Pastor's garden, there looked after him, over the
fence, in the same place where Fritz had sat, with his bread and butter
and his beer-bottle, a dear, beautiful face, and the face looked like a
silken, rose-red purse, out of which the last groschen had been given
for a dear friend.
When Louise came back into the parlor, in the twilight, that evening,
the Frau Pastor in took the lovely girl upon her lap, and kissed
the sweet mouth, and pressed the pure heart to her own. Well the
women-folks can't help doing such things!