And Fritz was happy, he was the happiest being at Pumpelhagen Court,
for there was not much happiness there, and that which was painted as
such was not in fast colors. Habermann became, from day to day, more
and more conscious that his good times were over, for his young Herr
meddled with business that he did not understand, and that merely by
fits and starts, with a heat and haste, which spoiled the farming, and
confused the people, and when things did not go as they should, and the
cart got into the ditch, then the inspector had to bear the blame. The
young Herr also was unhappy, he was tormented by debts, which he wished
to keep secret from his wife, he was also tormented by letters from
David and Slusuhr,--personally they no longer troubled him, he had
settled that, on account of the secrecy he wished to maintain, and they
were very willing to consent, for the more secret the business was so
much the better could they shear him, and when they had him quietly by
themselves in Rahnstadt, they could use quite other knives and pincers,
than they could at Pumpelhagen, where he was host, and they were
obliged to treat him with some degree of respect.
But, besides this, he was not happy; he wanted to play the master, and
had not the stuff in him, for he who would command must have capacity
as well as knowledge; he had knowledge enough, more than many
people,--"but capacity! neighbor, capacity!" said old Flegel, the
wheelwright, and he had reason; the unhappiest of men is he who will,
and can not. And Frida? She also was unhappy; she observed that her
husband's full confidence was not given to her, she noticed that upon
many serious questions they differed widely in opinion, she noticed
that the business he had taken as his life work was one for which he
had no training, she felt that he was unfair enough to visit his own
failings upon other people, and more than all,--and worst of all for a
sensible wife,--she felt that he made himself ridiculous, and that
Pomuchelskopp, who, against her wishes, came often to Pumpelhagen, must
have other reasons than ordinary civility, for not laughing at the
confused and inconsiderate opinions of her husband. She resolved to
keep watch over him, but such an occupation did not increase her
happiness.
Fritz Triddelsitz was the happiest creature in all Pumpelhagen, and, if
we except the two little twin-apples, in the whole region; but we must
except these, for in happiness and blessedness a bride goes beyond all
other beings, even the bridegrooms themselves, for if old Gottlieb, who
had taken a candidate's place, with a cheerful, brisk, burgher-like old
proprietor, taught and flogged the boys with uncommon pleasure and
fidelity, and if Rudolph also, with Hilgendorf at Little Tetzleben,
strewed manure so that it was a pleasure to see him, and the Tetzleben
soil looked like a velvet coverlid, and went to bed at night singing
and piping, and regularly fell asleep, for weariness, in the middle of
a verse,--in comparison with the little twin-apples' blessedness as
they sat together and sewed, stitching on their trousseuax, and
chatting, and joking with father and mother, and telling Louise, and
showing their letters, all the bridegrooms' blessedness went for
nothing.
But the old fellow was really very happy. The first thing in the
morning, he went to the stable, where the young Herr's two
riding-horses, and Habermann's old Gray stood, together with his
treasure; he fed her, stealing the oats from the very mouths of the
other horses, yes, although he had never been trained to the work, he
groomed her, single-handed, for Krischan Daesel, who had charge of the
riding-stable, did not give him satisfaction. On Sunday afternoons,
when there was nothing else to do, he went to the stable, shut the door
behind him, seated himself on the fodder-chest, folded his hands on his
stomach, and thoughtfully contemplated the dear old creature, as she
munched her oats and straw, and if she groaned from fullness he got up,
stroked her back, and called her affectionately "his good old woman;"
and three times a day he exercised her, for which devotion he should
not be blamed, for upon her depended his future income.
But no happiness is perfect, a little annoyance always creeps in. And
he had his share. In the first place, it went very much against him,
that his chestnut mare should stand next Habermann's stiff old Gray:
the company was not suitable; and secondly, he was in everlasting
conflict with Krischan Daesel, about fodder and grooming.
"Herr Triddelsitz," said Krischan, once as they were disputing, "let me
tell you, I feed the horses all alike, and groom them all alike; but I
have often noticed that you take away the oats from the inspector's old
gray, and give them to your mare. Now, don't take it ill of me, Herr
Triddelsitz, but the gray is just as good a creature as the other, and
has an equal right to a living. And what is this?" he asked, going up
to the rack. "How? this is calf-hay; how comes this calf-hay here? I
will have no vermin getting into the pelts, when the inspector comes
round."
"I know nothing about it," said Fritz, and he really was ignorant.
"Well, it is all the same to me," said Krischan, "but if I catch any
one bringing it into the stable, I will break his bones for him, for I
won't be troubled with such things."
After that Krischan Daesel lay in wait, to catch the bringer of the
calf-hay, and it was not long before he was successful. And who was it,
who transgressed all law and order, for the love of Fritz's chestnut
mare? Who was so hard-hearted as to deprive the innocent calves of
their food, for the sake of Fritz's chestnut mare? Who was so
foolhardy, for the sake of the chestnut mare, as to risk the breaking
of her bones by Krischan Daesel? Who was it? I must tell, but let no one
repeat it. It was Marie Moeller, who, every time she came from feeding
the young calves, and passed the riding-stable, brought an armful of
the sweet hay for Fritz's old woman.
Some one may turn upon me here,--hold! here you have blundered! How
came they to have little calves in summer? I reply. Friend, that is my
affair. I can skip over as much time as I please, and am now in the
middle of winter, after the new year 1844. And if any one should
inquire further. How came Marie Moeller to do such a thing? I would
answer, that is as stupid a question as the one about the calves; have
I not a right to introduce good-hearted people, who forgive and forget,
into my book, as well as the spiteful and venomous, who bear malice to
all eternity?
Marie Moeller could forgive and forget, and, since it was not suitable
for her to throw herself openly upon Fritz's neck, she threw herself
with her affection, and the calf-hay, upon the neck of the old mare,
which was, just then, the dearest thing Fritz had in the world. And it
was quite touching, and Fritz was really affected, when he learned the
occasion of the quarrel between his old sweetheart and Krischan Daesel;
he made his peace with his old love, and the pleasant ham-and-sausage
relationship was resumed.
It was now winter, as I have said, And nothing remarkable had occurred
in the region, only that Pomuchelskopp, late in the autumn, had taken
his journey to the Landtag, causing a great excitement in his quiet,
simple family. Haeuning skirmished about the house, threw the kitchen
utensils around,--that is to say, such as were not liable to
break,--banged the doors, and said, openly, the Herr Proprietor had
gone crazy; Malchen and Salchen took the other side,--although
secretly, for they had heard that the lieutenant, who commanded the
Landtag Guards, derived a great part of his income from a splendid ball
which he gave, with tickets of admission a louis-d'or each. They had
been to the Whitsuntide-fair ball, at Rostock, they had been to a
cattle-show; but a Landtag's ball? That must go beyond everything! They
teased their father so persistently, that he took courage to speak out
to his wife.
"Kluecken," said he, "I cannot do otherwise, I have promised Herr von
Rambow, and he went yesterday, and will wait on me there."
"So?" said Haeuning, "and his peacock of a wife, will she wait on me?"
"Kluecking, that has nothing to do with it; and if I lose every
opportunity of showing that I am a man who stands up for the nobility,
how shall I get made a nobleman myself? See, I shall ride away to-day,
with a black coat, we will talk about it again, when I come back with a
red one."
"A pretty figure you will cut in it!" said the old woman, going out of
the door.
"As good as any other nobleman," growled Pomuchelskopp, after her.
"Gracious! father, I know," cried Salchen, and she ran out, and came
back with a scarlet flannel petticoat, which she threw over her
father's shoulders, like a herald's mantle, and placed him before the
mirror; and the Herr Proprietor turned about, and contemplated himself
with great satisfaction, until the old woman came in again, and
snatched off the petticoat: "If you will positively make a fool of
yourself, you may do so at the Landtag, but not here in my house."
The Herr Proprietor took this for full permission to journey to the
Landtag, and journeyed accordingly. But when he arrived at Malchin, and
got down at Voitel's, his troubles began at once, for he had got into
the wrong box; he should have stopped at the Bull, where the
nobility resorted, and here he was among mere burgomeisters and
burgher-proprietors, who could in no way aid his designs. He stood
about in everybody's way, not knowing what to do with himself, and
nobody else seemed to know, till at last he plucked up courage to
inquire if any one had seen Herr von Rambow of Pumpelhagen, for he
meant to pattern after Axel. Nobody had seen him; at last some one said
that the Herr von Rambow had gone off that afternoon, with the Herr von
Brulow, to Brulowshof, to see his blood horses. In his great
embarrassment, he finally went up to a rather large and stately
gentleman, who had something friendly in his appearance, but with a
roguish gleam in his eyes as if he enjoyed a joke, when he had an
opportunity.
"Begging your pardon," said he, "I am the proprietor Pomuchelskopp, of
Gurlitz, and am here, for the first time, as a deputy. You appear to be
a friendly man, and I want to ask you what I have to do here."
"Yes," said the stranger, taking a pinch of snuff, "what have you to do
here? You have nothing further to do; you will have made the necessary
visits already?"
"No," said Pomuchelskopp.
"Well, then, you must pay your respects to the deputy-governor, the
land-marshal, and the landrath. Good evening, Langfeldt, where are you
going?" he interrupted himself, and addressed this question to a man
who was just going out with a lantern in his hand.
"To make the stupid old visits," said he, turning round in the doorway.
"Do you stay here, Brueckner? I will come back again, by and by."
"Don't wait too long, then," said the friendly Herr, and turned again
to Pomuchelskopp. "So you have not made your visits yet?"
"No," said the Herr Proprietor.
"You should make them at once, then. The gentleman with the lantern has
to make the same visits, you need only follow behind his lantern. That
will do finely! But be quick, quick!" And Pomuchelskopp snatched his
hat from the nail, rushed out of doors, and ran through the streets of
Malchin, as fast as his stoutness and short breath would allow. The
friendly Herr took a pinch of snuff, with his eyes full of mischief,
and sat down quietly behind the table, laughing to himself, and saying,
"I only wish I could see Langfeldt."
And it would really have been worth his while. When the burgomeister
from Gustrow had gone in, to see the deputy-governor of Schwerin, and
had given his lantern to the footman, something came puffing up the
steps, and Pomuchelskopp made a low bow to the footman, and asked,
"Herr Footman, where is the Herr whom one must visit here?" The man
opened the door for him, and Pomuchelskopp bowed himself in, making his
deepest reverences to Langfeldt, whom he took for the deputy-governor,
for which he should not be blamed, since the Herr Burgomeister from
Gustrow always held his head forward as if he were going to push
through a wall with it, which would suit very well for a Mecklinburg
deputy-governor. He turned Pomuchelskopp round, however, and showed him
the right man, and since he was out of the fight, he went out, and took
up his lantern. Pomuchelskopp feared that he would desert him, he made
a couple of bows, and was off again, after Langfeldt's lantern.
At the land-marshal's, it was just so; the Herr Burgomeister had begun
a courteous speech, when Pomuchelskopp came puffing in, behind him.
"What is that beast coming here again for?" said Langfeldt to himself,
and quickly took leave, thinking to escape him; but the Herr Proprietor
was persistent, the lantern was his only reliance, he rushed after him
again. The performance was repeated at the landrath's; the burgomeister
was getting very angry, and because he was well acquainted with the
landrath, since they had sat together on the select committee, he did
not restrain himself from speaking out:
"Herr, why do you run after me, so?"
"I--I--" stammered Pomuchelskopp, "I can make visits, as well as you!"
"Make them alone by yourself, then," cried the burgomeister.
The landrath endeavored to smooth matters, and Pomuchelskopp grew
supercilious and obstinate; but when the burgomeister took leave, he
followed him again, on account of the lantern. But the burgomeister's
patience was wholly exhausted. "Herr!" said he, turning round on him in
the street, "what are you running after me for?"
Pomuchelskopp, however, was no longer in distinguished company, he had
found that he had only to do with a burgomeister, so he cleared his
throat, and said:
"Herr, I am just as good a Fasan (pheasant) of the Grand Duke's as you
are!" He meant to say Vasall (subject), but got it wrong. Even an angry
man must have laughed at such a speech, and the burgomeister, who was
an honest old fellow, quite forgot his vexation, and, laughing
heartily, said:
"Come along then! Now I know what sort of a fellow you are."
"And where you can go," cried Pomuchelskopp, still in anger, "there I
can go, any day!" and he trotted on again, after the lantern. He should
not have done that, for Langfeldt had finished his visits, and was now
going to his lodgings, to get his latch-key, and a little money for
playing ombre. Pomuchelskopp followed him into his room. The Herr
Burgomeister put down the lantern on the table,--the thing was getting
to be very amusing,--turned round, and asked, laughing:
"Will you be kind enough to tell me what you want?"
"To make my visits as well as you," cried Pomuchelskopp, in great anger
at being laughed at.
"To whom, then, here?"
"That is none of your concern," cried Pomuchelskopp, "the gentleman
will come," and he sat down in a chair.
"Why, this is really a comedy," said the burgomeister, and he called
out of the door: "Fika, bring a light!" and when Fika came he pointed
to Pomuchelskopp, and asked her, "Fika, did you ever see a pheasant?
See, this is a pheasant! This is the Grand Duke's pheasant!" and Fika
shouted and laughed, and ran laughing out of the room, and the
burgomeister's host came in, to take a look at the pheasant, and the
host's children came in, and there was such a frolic, that
Pomuchelskopp finally discovered whom he was visiting. He rushed out of
the house, in great wrath, and the Herr Burgomeister went softly behind
him, with the lantern.
"Langfeldt," inquired the friendly Herr, at Voitel's, taking a pinch of
snuff, "have you made your visits properly?" and his eyes were full of
roguery.
"Let me tell you," cried the Herr Burgomeister, "now I know! I might
have thought that it was you who sent that beast after me." And he told
the story, and so it came about, for the gentlemen at the Landtag will
have their jokes, that Pomuchelskopp was called the pheasant, and Axel,
after whom he was continually trotting, was called the "pheasant's
keeper," and when Malchen and Salchen came up to the Landtag's ball, in
gorgeous array, they were the "pheasant-chickens." When Pomuchelskopp
wrote his assent on a ballot, with a "Jah!" (instead of "Ja," yes,)
there were some who were for calling him the Landtag's donkey; but it
wouldn't go, the "pheasant" had got the start too thoroughly.
No, he did not enjoy himself very much, at the Landtag, for even the
nobility, after whom he dawdled, and with whom he voted, would
have nothing to do with him, lest they should make themselves a
laughing-stock; but when he reached home, his real trials began, for
his Haeuning called him "Poeking," continually, and he knew what o'clock
that was, and Malchen and Salchen did not stand by him, as they ought,
for at the Landtag's ball they had sat, as if they were sitting on
eggs. And they pricked and stung the poor, simple man and lawgiver, in
his sofa corner, till a stone would have pitied him: "Poeking, what did
you really do at the Landtag?" and "Father, are you going to be a
nobleman soon?" and "Poeking, what do they _do_, any way, at the
Landtag?"
"Oh, I don't know. They cut at each other."
"Poeking, who did you cut at?"
"Oh, I don't know. One cuts at one, and another at another."
"Father, what did they decide about the convent-question?"
"Oh, I don't know; you will find out soon enough, from the Rostock
'Times;'" and with that he went out to the barn and took refuge among
the threshers.