This was a very favourable year for Pumpelhagen; and when the harvest
came, and the prices of grain went up, Axel von Rambow was relieved
from all his anxieties and embarrassments.
He made calculations, and was quite sure, reckoning the rape at such a
figure, and the profit of the sheep and of the dairy-farm at so and so
much, that, with the quantity of wheat he should have, he could pay the
last dollar of his debts. The devil must be in it, if he didn't finish
this year, completely out of debt. There was good reason why this year
should be prosperous, he had been himself at Pumpelhagen, he had
concerned himself in the management of affairs, and every one knows
that the eye of the master is for husbandry what the sun is for the
world, everything grows and ripens in its light, and the grass grows
green beneath the master's tread. So Axel took the gifts and mercies of
the Lord coolly out of his hands, and gave himself the credit of the
blessed year,--even the high price of grain seemed to him a deserved
reward for his industry.
So he sat on his high horse, and although he found it for the moment a
little difficult to meet the necessary expenses of the estate, and to
pay the notes held by David and Slusuhr, as they fell due, yet it gave
him no uneasiness, for he had gained great credit, in the region, for
his intelligent and industrious management, as he inferred from the
fact that Pomuchelskopp had several times taken occasion to offer him
money. He had accepted it, without reflection, to satisfy David and
Slusuhr, and he paid them with Pomuchelskopp's money, and they paid it
again to Pomuchelskopp, and he again to Axel, and so it went round the
circle. This arrangement would have been very fine, if he had not been
the only one to suffer by it, and if Pomuchelskopp had not had the
inconvenience of unpacking the rouleaux, every time, lest Axel should
notice that he got his own money again. But this was unavoidable,
unless Pomuchelskopp would come out from his cover, under which he lay
in wait for Pumpelhagen; so he yielded to the necessity, especially
since he found the business so amusing.
Axel also took pleasure in this business, for he always had money to
supply his necessities, and the amount that he gave for it seemed to
him quite insignificant, since it had never occurred to him to reckon
the interest for a whole year. He also thought seriously of introducing
great improvements upon the estate. It is an old story, though a sad
one, that these young masters, who understand nothing properly about
farming, are always introducing improvements, whereby they ruin
themselves in the speediest manner. I mean, particularly, with the
live stock. Why is this so? I think it is mainly because the young
masters have very little trouble in procuring a new bull or a pair of
new-fashioned rams, and because the laws of cattle-breeding are so
plainly laid down, that the stupidest person can discourse wisely about
them. They need only to shove aside the experience of years, and that
is not hard for them, and then they stand there, with their young
heads, as important as the old people with their gray ones.
Upon the Pumpelhagen estate, there was a dairy-farm, of Breitenburg
cows, which the old Kammerrath had purchased with Habermann's
assistance, and upon Habermann's recommendation. Something new must be
done here, so Axel journeyed to Sommersdorf, in Pomerania, where there
was a cattle-auction, and bought, upon Pomuchelskopp's advice, a
wonderful Ayrshire bull. Why? Well, firstly, because he was handsome,
secondly, because he came from Scotland, and, thirdly, because he was
something new. There was a flock of sheep on the estate, of the
Negretti-stock, which yielded a great deal of wool, and were always
profitable, but Pomuchelskopp, _as he said_, had got a thaler and a
half more the stone, at the wool-market, so the young Herr let himself
be persuaded into buying of his neighbor, for ready money, a pair of
very fine Electoral rams. That he could estimate the value of them and
reckon it against Pomuchelskopp, to his great advantage, did not occur
to him; he had enough else to think of.
Habermann strove, with all his might, against these new arrangements,
but in vain; in the eyes of his young Herr he was an old man, who had
fallen astern and could not keep up with the times; and although the
old man based his opposition on very strong and reasonable arguments,
he had always the same answer: "But, good heavens! we can at least try
it;" not thinking that, in some things, trying and ruining are the
same. The inspector could do nothing, and was only thankful his master
had not taken to raising thorough-bred horses, which was the business
he detested, of all others. The young wife also, could prevent nothing;
she did not know the manner in which Axel relieved himself from his
difficulties,--without being an indifferent observer, she must judge by
what she saw, and this was just at present with Axel great contentment
and golden prospects.
In Gurlitz, also, Pomuchelskopp and his Haeuning were in a state of
great, though not strictly speaking, family contentment; but this they
did not expect, in their modesty, no, they were contented with the
smooth progress of the money business, And their prospects became,
literally, more and more golden, for the boundary between Pumpelhagen
and Gurlitz was growing more and more undefined, and Pomuchelskopp,
meanwhile, had only the unpleasant task of clipping his Haeuning's
wings, lest she should positively fly over the hedge, and scratch for
worms on the other side.
In Jochen Nuessler's house, the old lady Contentment had established
herself comfortably on the divan, and, if one had spoken of golden
prospects there, it must have been in the sense in which the poets
speak of the "golden morning sky," not because they think that the glow
of the morning sky is like the glitter of gold, but only that they know
nothing more beautiful than the latter, possibly because they see it so
seldom. Gottlieb was getting rid of his long-haired, Pietistic ways,
and beginning to look at the world with his natural eyes, instead of
through the blue spectacles he had acquired at Erlangen, or elsewhere.
To Braesig's joy, he played Boston--very badly; he had been on
horse-back once, and had fallen off, without getting hurt, and when he
came to Jochen Nuessler's harvest feast, though he did not exactly
dance, that is to say, openly, before all the people, he had practised
a Schottische with Lining in the parlor, and, at its close, had sung
with a clear though rather plaintive voice, "Vivallera!"
But Rudolph? Well, we will only repeat what Hilgendorf himself said to
Braesig about him: "He, Braesig? Just as I was, true as I live! Bones
like ivory! Just looks at a thing, and knows how, just as I used to!
And books? Won't touch 'em! Just like me!"
Frau Nuessler was happy in the happiness of her children, and young
Jochen and young Bauschan sat together peacefully, for hours, without
saying a word, and thought of the time when they should have a new
crown-prince, young Jochen Rudolph, and young Bauschan the seventh.
That was not exactly a morning sky, but for moderate people, like
Jochen and Bauschan, an evening sky often looks golden.
So in every house, in the whole region, there was happiness for each
after its kind, but in one house, where Peace had long been an inmate,
and had sat in his own place by the warm stove, in winter, and under
the lindens before the door, or in the arbor in the garden, in summer,
like a good old grandfather, and had kept a watchful eye upon little
Louise's joyous bounds, and had guided the Frau Pastorin's duster, and
kept the Herr Pastor's papers in order, the good old grandfather was no
longer there,--he had silently taken his leave, and had shut the door
softly behind him, and was gone to the place whence he came; and, in
his stead, unrest and anxiety had entered, for the good old Pastor was
daily growing weaker. He was not confined to a sick-bed, and had no
particular disease, and Doctor Strump, of Rahnstadt, with the best
intentions in the world, could find, out of the three thousand, seven
hundred, seventy and seven diseases which humanity is subject to, by
good rights, no single one which suited him. So he must minister to
himself, and he did so, for good old grandfather Peace, when he took
his departure, had laid his hand on the Pastor's head, saying, "I go,
but only for a short time; then I will return to thy Regina. Thou dost
not need me, for I entered thy heart years ago, in the solemn hour when
thou didst choose between God and the world. Now sleep, for thou mayest
well be weary."
And he was weary, very weary. His Regina had placed him on the sofa,
under the picture-gallery, according to his desire, that he might look
out of the window; his Louise had covered him warmly, and they had both
gone out on tiptoe, that they might not disturb his repose. Out of
doors, the first snowflakes of the winter were falling from the sky,
gently, ever gently; and it was as quiet without as within, as within
his heart; and it seemed to him as if the outstretched hands of Christ
beckoned and pointed,--no one saw it, but so his Regina afterwards
explained the matter,--and he got up, and opened his old chest of
drawers, which he had from his father, and which his mother had always
polished, herself, and had seated himself in the arm-chair before it,
wishing once more to look over things which he had valued so much.
The chest was his cabinet of curiosities, for everything that had been
important or remarkable in his life had its memento here; it was his
family medicine chest, in which he stored his remedies for the troubles
and cares of this world, which he used when he was sick at heart;
simple remedies, but they always answered the purpose. They were not
put up in vials and bottles and boxes, and no labels were fastened on
them; they were merely plucked by his hand, in happy hours, and
preserved for use. Everything, by which he could recall to his memory
the purest joys of his life, was gathered here, and whenever he was
sad, he refreshed his soul with them, and he never closed the old chest
without deriving strength from his remedies, and expressing gratitude
for them. There lay the Bible, which, when a boy, he had received from
his father, there was the beautiful crystal glass, which his best
friend had given him, when he left the University, there was the
pocket-book, which his Regina had embroidered for him, when they were
betrothed; there were sea-shells, which a sailor, whom he once directed
into the right way, had sent to him, years after; there were little
Christmas and New Year notes, from Louise and Mining, and Lining, which
they had indited with infinite labor, and also their first attempts at
needlework; there was the withered bridal-wreath worn by his Regina on
their wedding-day, and the great silver-clasped, pictorial Bible,
Habermann's gift, and the silver mounted meerschaum pipe, Braesig's
gift, upon his seventy-fifth birth-day. In the cupboard underneath,
were old shoes; the shoes which Louise and Regina and himself had worn,
when they first entered the Pastor's house.
Old shoes are not beautiful, but these must have been very dear to him,
for he had taken them out, and placed each pair by itself, and looked
long at them, and thought much, and then he had taken his first Bible
upon his lap, and opened at our Lord's Sermon on the Mount, and read
therein. No one saw him, to be sure, but it must have been so; his
Regina knew very well how it all happened. And then he grew weary, and
laid his head back against the chair, and fell softly asleep.
So they found him, and the little Frau Pastorin sat down by him in the
chair, and put her arms around him and closed his eyes, and laid her
head against his, and cried silently, and Louise threw herself at his
feet, and folded her hands upon his knees, and looked, with tearful
eyes, at the two dear, still faces. Then the little Frau Pastorin
folded down the leaf in the Bible, and took it gently out of his hand,
and she rose up, and Louise rose also, and clung about her neck, and
they both broke into loud weeping, and sought protection and comfort in
each other, until it grew to be twilight. Then the little Frau Pastorin
took the Pastor's boots and her shoes, and put them back into the
cupboard, saying, "I bless the day, when you came together into this
house;" and Louise put her little shoes beside them, saying, "And I the
day, when you first crossed the threshold," and then they locked up the
chest, with all its joys.
After three days, good Pastor Behrens was buried, in his churchyard, in
a place which he had selected, during his life, which one could see,
through the clear panes of glass, from the living-room of the
parsonage, and upon which fell the first beams of the morning sun.
The funeral guests had departed, Habermann also had been obliged to go;
but Uncle Braesig had explained that he should spend the night at the
parsonage. Through the day, he had lent a helping hand, and now, as he
saw the two women standing at the window, arm in arm, lost in sorrowful
thoughts, he stole softly out of the room, up to his sleeping-chamber,
and looked, through the twilight, over to the churchyard, where the
dark grave lay in the white snow. He thought of the man who lay beneath
it, how often he had extended the hand, to help and to counsel him, and
he vowed to repay the debt he owed him, with all his might, to the Frau
Pastorin. And underneath, in the living-room, stood the two bereaved
women, also looking over at the dark grave, and vowing silently, in
their hearts, each to the other, all the love and friendship, which he
had so often enjoined, and so constantly practiced. And the little Frau
Pastorin thanked God and her Pastor that she had so sweet a comforter
in her sorrow as she held in her arms, and she stroked Louise's soft
hair, and kissed her again and again; and Louise prayed to God and her
other father, that she might be endowed with all that was good and
lovely, that she might lay it all in her foster-mother's lap.
Fresh graves are like hot-beds, which the gardeners plant; the fairest
flowers spring out of them; but poisonous toadstools shoot up, also,
from these beds.
That same evening, two other people in Gurlitz, were standing at a
window, and looking through the panes, in the twilight,--not at the
God's acre, that was far from their thoughts, no, at the Pastor's
acre,--and Pomuchelskopp said to his Haenning, now they could not fail,
now the field fell out of the lease, now they would have it, he would
speak to the new Pastor about it, before his appointment.
"Muchel," said Haenning, "the Pumpelhagen people will never allow it,
they will not let that field slip out of their fingers."
"Haeuning, out of their fingers? I hold it in my own hands."
"Yes, if the young Herr must accommodate you; but how if we should get
a young priest here, who will farm it himself?"
"Kluecking, I don't recognize you, my dear Kluecking! We have the choice;
we will choose a Pietist. That kind are all taken up with their Bibles
and Psalm-books and tracts, and have no leisure for farming."
"Yes, but you don't choose alone, there are Pumpelhagen, and Rexow, and
Warnitz."
"Kluecking, Warnitz and Rexow! What can they do against. Pumpelhagen and
Gurlitz?--If the Pumpelhagen people and my people agree----"
"Don't trust to your people, you will get nothing but vexation. Don't
you know how the Pastor's wife treated you? and she can do anything she
pleases with the villagers, they stick to her like burs."
"Can't I get her out of the way? She shall move out of the village!
There is no Pastor's-widow-house here, and am I likely to build one?
Make the most of your meal, Frau Pastorin, you will have to go
further!"
"Kopp, you are a great blockhead! The election of the new Pastor comes
first." With that she left him.
"Kluecking," he called after her, "I promise you, dear Kluecking, I will
make it all right."
Yes, many a poisonous weed grows out of a fresh grave, when the heirs
reach out impatient hands for the money and goods of the silent man,
when a neighbor profits by the distress of the widow and orphan to make
his own house and garden and fields larger and finer, and when the
coarse fellow sits in his comfortable sofa corner, and grumbles at it,
as a great trial, that he must go out to water a new milch cow.