Braesig had remained at the parsonage through the week. He made all the
arrangements rendered necessary by such a change; he made out the
inventory, wrote whole heaps of the drollest mourning letters, and
carried them to the post himself, in spite of snow and cold and
podagra; he settled with the tailor and shoemaker at Rahnstadt, and
now, on the Monday after the funeral, he was sitting with the Frau
Pastorin and Louise at the breakfast-table, intending to leave
immediately after, when a carriage stopped before the door, and Franz
von Rambow jumped down, and soon after, healthy and joyous, entered the
room. But how his face changed when he saw the black mourning dresses
of the two women. "Good heavens!" he exclaimed, in his first surprise,
"what has happened? Where is the Herr Pastor?"
The little Frau Pastorin rose from her chair, and going up to the
young Herr she gave him her hand, and said, with an effort, "My Pastor
has gone a journey to his last home, and he left greetings for all,
all"--here she was overcome, and put her handkerchief to her eyes, "all
whom he once loved, you also."
And Louise came up, and gave him her hand, without speaking. The color
had risen in her face, when she first saw and recognized him, but now
she was composed again, and seated herself. And Braesig shook hands, and
talked of this and that, to turn their attention to other subjects, and
away from their fresh grief; but Franz did not listen, he stood like
one thunderstruck, the news was so unexpected, and fell so heavily upon
his joyous hopes.
He had spent two years at the academy in Eldena, had been industrious,
and had stored his mind with all the sciences which he would need in
the widest field of agriculture, or which could assist him in his
chosen calling; the practical part of it he had already acquired, under
Habermann's instruction; he was now of age, and could take possession
of his property, nothing stood in the way of his establishing a
household, but his own consideration. This, and the late Pastor's
quiet, sensible letters, which had carefully avoided the remotest
question or allusion, and with all their joyous heartiness had showed
so much intelligence and reason, had kept him from hasty steps and rash
actions. He had not a cold heart, it beat as hotly in his breast as
that of any other young man, who falls over head and ears in love at
first sight, and at once offers his heart and his hand; but, from his
childhood, he had been thrown upon his own judgment, and been
accountable for his own actions, and had decided the smallest matters
after much reflection,--some said too much reflection,--but it did no
harm! In this matter he was right, he would take this important step in
life with a warm heart, but with a cool head. He had restrained his
heart, had locked all his sweet dreams of joy and happiness in his own
breast, like the sweet kernel in a hard nut; he would not crack the nut
for his mere pleasure, he would wait patiently, till favorable
circumstances, like the sun and rain, should make the shell open gently
of itself, and the green sprout should come to light, and a tree should
grow from it, beneath whose shade he and his Louise might sit happily
together. And when his heart beat faster, and urged him to visit her,
and see her again, he strove against it, with a right feeling toward
his maiden, she should not be troubled till she had time to learn and
to comprehend herself; and he had a feeling of pride, that he would
have no match-maker meddling with his happiness. And when his heart
often bled in the conflict, he called to it, fresh and strong; "Hands
off! We are playing no lottery, here! Such a gain is too easily won,
and too easily lost. The reward shall pay for the trouble. No bitter,
no sweet!"
But now he was of age, now he was in all respects a man, now his own
pride and his honor toward the dearest, sweetest maiden in the world
were to receive their reward, now the tender green of the sprouting
kernel pushed through the softened shell, and through the dark earth,
up to the light, and it was time to care for it, that the tree might
grow; and it was not time, merely, it was also duty. Now he threw
himself into his carriage, the strife between the cool judgment and the
warm heart was at an end, the former he left at home, safely stowed
away, so that it might not be lost, for he might need it afterwards,
and the latter he took with him, and comforted and soothed it, and sung
it sweet song all the way, as if it were a child in the cradle, and he
the mother.
And now all this joy was gone, the songs of happiness and love had been
sung in vain, between these two sorrowful, black-robed forms, his heart
throbbed as restlessly as before, and though he had left his judgment
at home, his kind feelings, his reverence for so great a sorrow, and
his remembrance of the worthy, silent man, were too strong for him, and
against such a power, no honest heart could strive; it surrenders,
although with wounds and suffering. Love is full of selfishness, and
knows no consideration for others, people say,--and there is truth in
it! It is a world for itself, and goes its own way, as if it had no
concern for anything else; but if it comes from God, its path is marked
out by eternal laws, that it should do no injustice, nowhere give
offence, and beam upon other worlds with its sweet, gentle light, like
the evening star, when it sheds peace upon the weary heart.
Such was Franz's love, it could not offend, could not bring trouble
upon others, it must comfort and heal; so he restrained his heart, and
was silent, and when he took his leave of the parsonage, he felt like a
wanderer, who has come, with labor and weariness, to the church tower,
which beckoned to him in the distance, and when he reaches the first
houses in the village, he finds that this is not the right place, and
that the end of his journey lies far beyond; he takes one deep,
refreshing draught, and travels sturdily on.
It was a lovely, bright winter's day as Franz walked towards
Pumpelhagen, letting the carriage follow slowly behind him; Braesig went
with him. The young man was absorbed in his own thoughts, Braesig quite
the contrary, so they did not accord well together. Braesig should have
held his tongue instead of telling all the stories which haunted his
brain, but it was one of Uncle Braesig's happiest peculiarities, that he
never observed when he was troublesome. At last, however, he became
aware that the young Herr gave him no replies; he stood still, as it
happened, in the very place where Axel had treated him so shabbily, and
asked, "How? Am I perhaps an inconvenience to you? It has happened to
me before, in this very place, with your gracious Herr Cousin; I can go
on by myself, as I did then."
"Dear Herr Inspector," said Franz, grasping the old man's hand; "you
must not be offended with me; the death of the good Pastor, and the sad
change in the dear old parsonage, have affected me very deeply."
"So?" said Braesig, pressing his hand, "if that is it, then I am not at
all offended, and I always said also, to the Frau Pastorin and the
little Louise, that you were an educated farmer, like the man in the
book, since you keep kind feelings in your heart, and can look out for
the good-for-nothing farm-boys; and I have always told Rudolph he
should take you for a model. Do you know Rudolph?" And he began to tell
about Rudolph and Mining, and Gottlieb and Lining, and brought the
whole region into the story, and Franz compelled himself to listen
attentively, so that before he reached Pumpelhagen, he knew all about
everybody, even about Pomuchelskopp and his Haeuning.
"So," said Braesig, when they reached the court-yard, "you go now to
your gracious Herr Cousin, and I to Habermann, and what I have said to
you about Pomuchelskopp, and his secret projects must remain _praeter
propter_ between us, and you may rely upon it, I will keep watch of
him, and if he attempts any more scurvy tricks I will let you know."
But Franz did not go into the manor house, he ran before Braesig into
the farmhouse, into the room where he had spent so many quiet, happy
hours with his good old instructor, and he fell upon the old man's
neck, and old and young lay in each other's arms, as if the time and
the years between the two had been blotted out, and the old eyes grew
moist, and the young cheeks took a fresher color, as if age were giving
its dew and its blessing that youth might grow fresher and brighter. So
it was, and so shall it ever be!
Then Franz went up to Fritz Triddelsitz, and offered his hand:
"Good-day, Fritz!"
But Fritz had his pride, also, his burgher-pride, and he had also his
revenge, the revenge which he had stamped into the pease-field, after
the ditch-rendezvous, so he said, coldly, "How do you find yourself,
Herr von Rambow?"
"Fritz, have you no sense?" said Franz, and turned away and left him,
as if Fritz were an inexplicable riddle, and he would turn to something
else; he shook hands with the two old men, and went to his cousin.
"Karl," said Braesig, sitting down to the table, where the dinner stood
ready, "an excellent young man, this Herr Von! And what a beautiful
piece of roast pork you have here! I have seen no such roast pork, in
seven cold winters."
The reception given Franz, by his cousin Axel, was cordial, and the joy
he expressed was sincere, as might well be supposed, for the two
cousins were the only male descendants of their race. Frida, whom Franz
had previously met at her wedding, was particularly pleased with the
kind-hearted, sensible young man, and did everything in her power to
make his visit agreeable, and as Habermann, having given Braesig his
company a little way after dinner, was returning across the court, she
sent out, and invited him in to coffee, believing rightly that it would
please Franz. Upon this occasion, it came out that Franz had gone
already to the farm-house, and had made his first call on the
inspector. This annoyed Axel a little, he wrinkled up his forehead at
the intelligence, and his wife, at least, noticed before long that he
began to put on the master. This would have been a matter of
indifference, if he had not been so unreasonable and unjust as to
punish Habermann, by a cold, ceremonious manner, for the fault of
Franz,--if it were a fault.
The company was not quite harmonious; every friendly word, which was
exchanged between Habermann and Franz, disturbed Axel; he became
stiffer and colder, and the whole conversation, in spite of the lovely
warm sunshine which the young wife always diffused around her, was
dropping to the freezing-point, when Habermann suddenly sprang up, went
to the window, and, without a word, ran out of the room. Axel's face
turned a dusky red with the anger that rose in him; "That is very
strange behavior!" cried he, "the Herr Inspector seems to consider
himself exempt from the ordinary rules of politeness.
"It must be something very important," said Frida, going to the window.
"What is he doing to that laborer?"
"That is the day-laborer, Regel," said Franz, who was also looking out
of the window.
"Regel! Regel!" said Axel, springing up, "that is the messenger that I
sent to Rostock yesterday, with two thousand thalers in gold; he cannot
be back so soon."
"That must be what has disconcerted the old man so," said Franz. "Only
see, he is laying hands on the fellow! I never saw him so excited!" and
he ran out of the door, and Axel after him.
As they came out the old inspector had seized the young, strong
day-laborer in the breast, and shook him till his hat fell off into the
snow.
"Those are lies!" cried he, as he shook him, "those are miserable lies!
Herr von Rambow, this fellow has lost the money!"
"No, they took it from me!" cried the laborer, standing there, pale as
death.
Axel also turned pale; the two thousand thalers should have been paid
in Rostock, long ago, but he had delayed till the last moment, and then
borrowed the sum of Pomuchelskopp,--and now it was gone.
"They are lies!" repeated Habermann, "I know the fellow. They took the
money away from you by force? No ten fellows could take even a pipe of
tobacco from you by force!" and he attacked him again.
"Hold!" cried Franz, coming between them. "Let the man just tell his
story, quietly. How was it about the money?"
"They took it from me," said Regel. "As I was beyond Rahnstadt, this
morning, near the Gallin wood, two fellows came toward me, and one of
them asked me for a little fire for his pipe, and while I was striking
it, the other seized me behind, by the belt, and pulled me off, and
they took the black package out of my pocket, and then they ran off
into the Gallin wood, and I after them, but I could not catch them."
"What is that?" interrupted Axel, "how did you come to be near the
Gallin wood this morning? It lies only half a mile beyond Rahnstadt.
Did I not charge you expressly, to get a pass from the burgomeister at
Rahnstadt, and ride all night, so that the money might be in Rostock at
noon to-day?" (This was the last day on which the note could be paid,
it would otherwise be protested.)
"Yes, Herr," said the laborer, "I got the pass, and here it is," and he
pulled it out of his hat band, "but to ride all the winter night was
too much, and I stayed with my friends in Rahnstadt, thinking I could
get to Rostock in time."
"Krischan Daesel!" called Habermann, across the courtyard. He had become
perfectly composed, for it was merely the conviction that the laborer
was lying to his face, which had roused the old man to such a state of
excitement.
"Herr von Rambow," said he, as Krischan came up, "don't you wish the
justice to be sent for?" and as Axel assented, he said, "Krischan, take
two of the carriage horses, and put them to the chaise. You must bring
the Herr Burgomeister from Rahnstadt; I will give you a letter to him.
And you, Regel, come with me, I will show you a quiet place, where you
can recollect yourself." With that, he went off with the day-laborer,
and locked him into a chamber.
When Axel returned to the house with his cousin, he had an excellent
opportunity to make the young man acquainted with his pecuniary
embarrassments; but, although he knew that Franz could easily and
willingly help him, he was silent. It is a strange but indisputable
fact, that people who run in debt will turn sooner to the hard heart of
the usurer, for assistance, than to the soft ones of friends and
relatives. They are too proud to acknowledge their debts, but not
too proud to beg and to borrow of the most good-for-nothing Jew
money-lenders. But it is not pride, it is nothing but the most pitiable
cowardice, which is afraid of the reasonable and well-meant
remonstrances of friends and relatives.
So Axel was silent, and walked restlessly up and down the room, while
Frida was talking with Franz over this singular occurrence. The
business was a very serious one for him, the money must be procured, or
he would be sued for it,--his note was probably already protested. He
could no longer endure it; he ordered his horse, and, although it was
growing dark, he went off for a ride,--so he said, at least,--but he
went to Pomuchelskopp.
Pomuchelskopp listened to Herr von Rambow's troubles with a great deal
of sympathy, and lamented the wickedness of mankind, and expressed the
opinion that Herr von Rambow might as well have no inspector at all as
one who had not understanding enough to choose a safe messenger on such
an important business,--he would not say anything but there must be
something behind; he would say nothing prematurely, but this much he
would say, Habermann had always looked out sharply for his own
interests, for example, there was the Pastor's acre; he had advised the
late Herr Kammerrath to rent it, so that his own salary might be
increased; but it was certainly an injury to the Pumpelhagen husbandry,
as he could convince the Herr, and he inflicted upon Axel a long
chapter of calculations which the latter did not attempt to follow,
for, in the first place, he did not understand calculations, and
secondly, he was absorbed, for the moment, in thoughts of his troubles.
He said "Yes" to everything, and at last came out with the request that
Pomuchelskopp should advance another two thousand thalers.
Pomuchelskopp hesitated a little at first, and scratched behind his
ear, but at last said, "Yes;" on condition that Axel would not rent the
Pastor's acre again, of the new Pastor. This might well have startled
the young Herr, and Muchel was conscious of the danger, so he proved to
him again, with figures, that it would be much better that the Gurlitz
farm should undertake this lease, and that in this way both would be
gainers. Axel gave but little attention, and finally consented to give
the desired promise in writing; his difficulty was pressing, he must
meet the first necessity, and he was just the sort of man to kill his
milch cow, in order to sell her skin.
The business was now settled; Axel wrote his bond, and Pomuchelskopp
packed up the two thousand thalers, and sent it, with a letter from
Axel, by his own servant, to Rahnstadt, to the post. That was the best
way; no one in Pumpelhagen need know anything about it. As Axel rode
home, he repeated two lies to himself, until he really believed them;
first, that Habermann alone was properly to be blamed for the loss of
the money, and second, that he ought to be glad to get rid of the
Pastor's acre.