Fritz Triddelsitz darted about the Pumpelhagen court-yard next morning,
like a pickerel in a fish-pond, for he had put on his little uniform,
the green hunting-jacket, and gray breeches, to please the gracious
lady,--as he said,--that her lovely eyes might have something agreeable
to look upon. His own eyes, which were usually directed to Habermann's
window like the compass to the north star, wandered this morning over
the whole front of the manor-house, and when a window was raised, and
the young Herr put his head out and called to him, he darted across
the court-yard, like a pickerel, as if Axel in his silver-gray
dressing-gown were a flat-fish, and the red handkerchief about his neck
were the fins.
"Triddelsitz," said Herr von Rambow, "I have decided to make a little
address to my people this morning; get them together here at nine
o'clock, before the house."
"To command," said Fritz, using this form of speech to do honor to the
Herr Lieutenant.
"Where is the inspector? I wish to speak to him; there is no hurry,
however."
"He has just gone out with Inspector Braesig."
"Very well. When he comes back."
"Fritz made a particularly fine bow, and went off; but turned back
after a little, and asked:--
"Does Herr von Rambow wish the women to come also?
"No, merely the men. However,--wait a moment,--yes, you may tell the
housewives to come."
"To command," said Fritz, and went to the village, and told the
housewives and the men who were at work about the farmyard, to put
on their best clothes. It was eight o'clock already, and if the
farm-laborers who were at work in the fields were to be there by nine,
and also in state, they must be called. So he started for the fields.
Habermann had walked a little way with his old friend, and was now
crossing the field to join the laborers, when Fritz came hurrying over
the hill, as fast as his slovenly gait and the broken ground of the
ploughed field would allow.
"Herr Inspector, you must let them stop work, the people are all to be
at the manor-house by nine o'clock, the Herr is going to deliver an
oration."
"What is he going to do?" asked Habermann, in astonishment.
"Deliver an oration," was the reply, "the laborers have already been
notified, and the woman also. He had forgotten them, but I reminded him
of them in time."
"You might----" have been in better business, Habermann was going to
say, but controlled himself, and said quietly, "then do your errand to
the people."
"You are to come, too."
"Very well," said the old man, and turned, quite out of humor, towards
the house. He had pressing work for his teams, and they would be taken
out of the field for the whole morning; however he could have got over
that, that was not the trouble. His master had issued orders, the very
first day, without taking him into counsel, he had consulted with
Triddelsitz instead, and there could be no hurry about the matter; but
although he felt the slight, it wasn't that so much which annoyed him;
it was the "oration" itself. Why should he talk to the people? Would he
admonish them about their duties? The people were good, they did their
work as simply and naturally as eating and drinking, they had no idea
that they were doing any thing remarkable; and it was a mistake to
lecture such people about their duties. If they were much talked to,
they would begin to grow discouraged. In one sense laborers are like
children, they would soon reckon their duty as a merit. Or was he going
to bestow gifts upon them? He was good-natured enough. But what would
he give them? They had all that they needed, and he could not give them
anything definite, he did not know their circumstances well enough, he
could merely give them fair words and general promises, which each
would fill out according to his own wishes, and which it would be
impossible to make good. And so he would make the people discontented.
These were his thoughts, as he entered his master's room. The young
wife was there, ready for the walk agreed upon the night before. She
came towards him in a friendly manner: "We must wait a little while,
Herr Inspector; Axel will speak to the people first."
"That will not take long," said Axel, who was turning over his papers.
There was a knock at the door. "Come in!" and Fritz entered, with a
letter in his hand. "From Gurlitz," said he.
Axel broke the seal, and read; it was an odious letter, it was from
Slushur, the notary, who announced himself as coming before noon, with
David; they were accidentally at Herr Pomuchelskopp's, and had heard
from him that Herr von Rambow was returned, and since they must speak
with him on necessary business, they begged his permission, etc. The
business was very urgent, however, as was mentioned in a postscript.
Axel was in great perplexity, for he could not decline the visit; he
went out and told the messenger the gentlemen were welcome, and when he
came in again, he seemed so disturbed that his wife asked, "What is the
matter?"
"Oh, nothing. But I think my talk to the laborers may take longer than
I supposed; it will be best for you to go alone with the Herr Inspector
to see the fields."
"Oh, Axel, I was so pleased at the thought of going with you."
"Yes; but it cannot be helped, my dear child. I know the fields well
enough. Go with the Herr Inspector, dear Frida, and--well, as soon as
ever I can, I will follow you."
It seemed to Habermann that he was really in haste to get rid of them;
so he helped him in his design, and the young lady finally started,
upon his invitation, though a little out of humor.
When they were gone, and the whole village had come together. Axel made
his address, although the pleasure of this state occasion was quite
spoiled for him by that infamous letter; for, however he might put it
to himself, his own pleasure, and the importance which he felt as
master, were his chief reasons for the undertaking. As for the speech
itself, it happened much as Habermann had feared. Admonitions and
promises, in lofty words and fine figures of speech, paraded themselves
quite unintelligibly before the old laborers' eyes, and the only things
which they saw clearly, though somewhat dizzied by these, were the
golden wings of the benefits he promised them, saying that his people
were to come to him with every wish; he would care for them like a
father.
"Yes," said Paesel to Daesel, "'father;' I like that. He will do it. I
shall go to him to-morrow, and ask him to let me wean a calf next
year."
"But you had one last year."
"That is no matter; I can sell it to the weaver in Gurlitz."
"Yes," said Kegel to Degel. "I shall go to him to-morrow, and ask him
to let me have twenty roods more of potato land next spring; mine will
not last through the winter."
"Eh! you didn't hoe your potatoes at the right time; the old man gave
you a fine scolding for it."
"No matter; _he_ knows nothing about it, and he is master now, and not
the inspector."
So unrest and discontent were in full progress; Axel himself was
restless and discontented, because he dreaded the coming visit, and the
only being at the Pumpelhagen farm, who, though restless, was yet
contented, was Fritz Triddelsitz, so the young Herr had not altogether
thrown his pearls before swine.
Slusuhr and David came, and what shall I say about their visit? They
sang the same song which they did before, and Axel had to write the
notes for it. This time, he did it readily. Borrowing is certainly a
bad business; but there is not a business in the world, down to
beheading and hanging, so bad that somebody will not pursue it with
satisfaction; I have known people who were not contented till they had
borrowed money of all Judea and Christendom, and if Axel had not gone
quite so far, he was ready enough to improve favorable circumstances;
he added a new debt, to-day, to those he already owed David, that he
might pay for the new furnishing of his house, "in order not to have to
do with so many people, but with one;" but he probably did not reflect
that this one was worse than a thousand others.
Meanwhile Habermann and the young Frau were going through the fields.
The clear summer morning soon drove away the little shadows of
annoyance from her fresh face, and her bright eyes looked at everything
with hearty interest, and desire to inform herself, and Habermann saw,
with great pleasure, that she understood the business. She had been
brought up in the country, and it was natural to her to observe things
that lay a little out of her usual way, and that not superficially, she
must know a reason for everything. Thus she knew enough about farming
to feel quite at home here, although her father's place was a great
sand-hill, and Pumpelhagen was the finest wheat soil, and if she saw
anything unfamiliar which she did not understand, the old Inspector
helped her, with brief, simple explanations. The walk was, for both of
them, a real pleasure, and from a pure, mutual pleasure grows the fair
blossom, Confidence.
They came to the Gurlitz boundary, and Habermann showed her the
Pastor's field, and told her how the late Kammerrath had taken it in
lease.
"And the barley, over yonder?" asked the young Frau.
"That is Gurlitz ground and soil; that belongs to Herr Pomuchelskopp."
"Ah, that is the proprietor who greeted us yesterday, with his family,"
said Frida. "What sort of a man is he?"
"I have no intercourse with him," said Habermann, a little embarrassed.
"But you know him, don't you?" asked the young lady.
"Yes--no--that is, I used to know him, but since he has lived here, we
have nothing to do with each other," said the old man, and would have
spoken of something else; but Frida laid her hand on his arm, and
said,--
"Herr Inspector, I am a stranger in this region,--Axel seems to be
acquainted, though only superficially, with this man; are they suitable
associates for us?"
"No," said Habermann, short and hard.
They walked on, each occupied in thought. The young Frau stood still,
and asked, "Can you, and will you, tell me the reason why you have
broken off intercourse with this man?"
Habermann looked at her thoughtfully.
"Yes," said he, finally, rather as if he were speaking to himself, "and
if you receive my words with the same confidence that the blessed
Kammerrath did, it may be for your profit," and he told her his story,
without heat or anger, but also without restraint. The young Frau
listened attentively, without interrupting him, and when he had
finished said merely:
"I half disliked those people yesterday; I quite dislike them to-day."
They had just come through the Pastor's field, up to the garden fence,
when a clear, joyous voice sounded from the other side: "Good morning,
father! Good morning!" and the lovely young girl, whom Frida had seen
yesterday, came running through the garden gate towards the old
inspector. She stopped suddenly as she saw the gracious lady, and stood
blushing, so that Habermann must help himself to his good-morning kiss,
if he meant to have it at all.
Full of happiness and pride, the old man introduced his dear daughter;
the young Frau spoke to her very kindly, and urged her to come often to
Pumpelhagen, to visit her father and herself; and when Habermann had
sent greetings to the Pastor and the Pastorin, she took leave, and they
continued their walk.
"The Pastor and his wife must be very good people?" said Frida.
"Gracious lady," said Habermann, "you ask this question of no impartial
man. These people have saved for me all that was left out of my
misfortunes; they have given loving protection and nurture to my only
child, and taught her everything good; I can only think of them with
the highest respect and the deepest gratitude. But ask in the
neighborhood, if you will; rich and poor, high and low, will speak of
them with respect and affection."
"Herr Pomuchelskopp, too?" inquired the gracious lady.
"If he would speak honestly, and without prejudice, yes," said the old
man, "but as he is now--he quarrelled with the Pastor, soon after his
arrival here, about this very field, in which we are walking. It was
not the Pastor's fault; I gave the first provocation to his anger,
because I advised the blessed Herr to rent the field. And, gracious
lady," he added, after a moment, "Pumpelhagen cannot spare this field;
the advantage is too great for us to give it up."
Frida asked him to explain it more fully, and, when she understood the
matter, it was easy to see that she said to herself, she would do what
she could to keep the field.
As they came into the Pumpelhagen court-yard Slusuhr the notary and
David were just starting off, and Axel stood before the door taking
leave of them as politely as if Slusuhr were the colonel of his
Regiment, and David a young count.
"Who is that?" asked Frida of Habermann. He told her. Then she greeted
her husband, and asked, "But, Axel, what business have you with these
people, and why are you so uncommonly polite to them?"
"Polite?" repeated Axel, "why not? I am polite to everybody," with a
quick glance at Habermann, who met it quietly and firmly.
"Of course you are," said his wife, taking his arm, in order to go into
the house with him, "but towards a common Jew moneylender and----"
"Dear child," interrupted Axel hastily, to prevent her saying more,
"the man is a produce-dealer, and wool-merchant, I shall often have
business to transact with him."
"And the other?" she inquired.
"Oh, he--he only came along with him accidentally. I have nothing to do
with him."
"Adieu, Herr Inspector," said Frida, giving her hand to the old man, "I
thank you very much for your friendly company."
With that, she went into the house. Axel followed her; at the door he
looked round, the old inspector's eyes rested sadly upon him, and he
turned away. He followed his wife into the house.
In this honest and mournful glance lay the whole future of the three
persons who had just separated.
Axel had lied; he had betrayed, for the first time, the confidence of
his young wife, and Habermann knew it, and Axel knew that Habermann
knew it. Here was a stone in the path, over which every one must
stumble who passed that way, for the path was darkened by falsehood and
dissimulation, and no one could speak to another of the stone, and warn
him against it. Frida went onward innocently and trustfully; but how
long would it be before she would stumble over this stone? Axel tried
to deceive himself, also, he thought he could bring her safely over it,
in the darkness, without her being aware of it, and, beyond, the path
would be smooth. Habermann saw the danger clearly, and could and would
have helped; but if he stretched out his hand to point it out, and warn
them against it, Axel repulsed him with coldness, and secret
resentment. People say that a bad man will, in time, conceive a hatred
for one who has bestowed benefits upon him; it is possible, but that is
nothing to the secret gnawing and boring of resentment, which a weak
man feels towards one who is the only person in the world conscious of
his falsehood. Such a feeling is not developed at once, like downright
hatred, born of open strife and contention, but bores slowly and
gradually into the heart, like the death-worm into dry wood, and eats
deeper and deeper, till the whole heart is full of ill-will and
bitterness, as the wood is full of worm-dust.