The year 1845 had arrived, and the world went on in its old course, and
turned itself over, as usual. Day and night, and joy and sorrow,
succeeded each other, just as they have done since time began, since
the Lord appointed day and night, and placed man in the garden of Eden,
and then expelled him from it. How many days and nights, and how much
joy and sorrow! The day always dawns, and the night always comes; there
is no difference. But is it even so with joy and sorrow? Are they as
impartially divided? I think so! The Lord's hand stretches over all,
and from his hand falls happiness and unhappiness, comfort and anxiety,
upon the world, and every one has his share; but men are perverse, they
will call their misfortunes happiness, and their happiness they take
for misfortune; they push aside the cup of comfort, as if it were
filled with gall, and they laugh away their anxieties.
The people, whom I have written about in this book, were no better than
others, they did just like the rest; but there are two things which the
Lord sends into the world as joy and sorrow, and no gall can embitter
the one, and the other cannot be laughed away,--these are birth and
death, beginning and ending. In my little world also, there was
beginning and ending, birth and death; the fair, young Frau sat in
Pumpelhagen, and held a little child, a little daughter, upon her lap,
and the door of her heart stood wide open, for God's clear sunlight to
shine in. She could not help it. The dark shadows which had been
closing around her were no longer visible to her eyes,--she must
rejoice! and before the parsonage at Gurlitz, lay a grave, and two
figures in black went silently back and forth, and when spring came,
they planted flowers upon it, and when the linden leaved out, before
the house, and the lilacs blossomed, they sat together on the bench,
and leaned against each other, as in the old time, when the Frau
Pastorin had wrapped the little Louise in her shawl. Now it was
reversed, now Louise threw her shawl around the little Frau Pastorin.
And so these two mourners sat together, and looked over at the
churchyard, and when Habermann came, there were three, and they sat
patiently in the shadows, and did not push aside the cup of comfort,
and when they separated, the evening star was shining.
The first, violent grief was gone from the parsonage, but its marks
were yet to be seen, beautiful marks, which the death-angel leaves upon
human faces. He had kissed Louise upon her clear, high forehead, and
the kiss remained there, lighting her face like an earnest thought; he
had embraced the little, round Frau Pastorin, at his departure, and had
taken away almost all her own quick, eager vivacity, and had left in
its place only loving thoughts of her Pastor. She lived entirely in
these. All must remain as it had been in his life; in his study, the
arm-chair stood before the writing-table, the last sermon which he had
written lay upon it, and the pen by its side, and the Bible of his
childhood lay open, where she had turned the leaf at his death. Every
morning she went first into this room, with her duster, and dusted and
put everything in order, and stood long in thought, and looked at the
door, as if he must come in, in his dressing-gown, and give her a kiss,
and say, "I thank you, dear Regina." And at dinner, Louise put plates
for three; and her Pastor's chair was always in its place, and it
seemed to her as if he were sitting opposite, and talking in the most
cheerful manner, and the remains of her own vivacity, which grief had
left, reappeared at these times, for she did not push aside the cup of
comfort.
But how long could this last? The parish must be supplied with a new
pastor, and then she must leave the house, she must leave the village,
she must sever herself from the grave; for there was no widow's house,
and Pomuchelskopp would not build one, for he had no occasion for one.
For the last time she watched the blooming of the fruit-trees, which
her Pastor had planted, for the last time she sat under the fragrant
lilacs, where she had sat so happily with him, for the last time came
the spring, and wound its wreath around the peaceful dwelling, for the
last time came the summer, and strewed its golden blessing upon it:
"Louise, when the swallows fly, in the autumn, we must be flitting
too," she said, sadly, and she felt that it would be like another
death.
Habermann was her truest friend, and she gave herself wholly into his
hands, what he did must be right. He thought and thought, but could
think of no way to spare them the removal; but he would make it easier.
Kurz the merchant had a roomy house, near his own, with a garden
attached, which could be altered to resemble the parsonage. And Louise
must secretly measure the rooms at the parsonage, how large the parlor
was, and how long the wall, and then drive with her father to
Rahnstadt, and Schultz the carpenter was sent for, to draw a plan
after Louise's measurements. But he wouldn't do it, for "in the first
place," said he, "I couldn't draw a plan after a woman's ribbon
and apron-string measuring, and, secondly, it is not necessary;
plan-drawing is plan-drawing. I don't believe in plan-drawing, I carry
my plans in my head." And Kurz said, if it were arranged differently it
would be much better, but Habermann was firm; it should be so, and if
it could not be made so, the business was settled; and Schultz the
carpenter said there was no sort of difficulty, and, if it could
only be managed, he would go over, and take the measurements himself.
This was arranged, and he came before daylight while the Frau
Pastorin was still sleeping, and measured the rooms, talking to
himself the while: "Seven--seven--five and twenty, five and
twenty,--Kurz--Habermann--Kurz--Habermann--awkward, awkward,--here
there must be a projecting beam,--too great a strain, a bolt carried
through,--so, so,--all right,--so, now out! out!"--and he went out to
his brown ponies, and drove softly away, with the finest building-plan
in his head that ever a man could make. The building began immediately,
and Habermann, who took a diligent supervision, was, on the whole, very
well satisfied, only he did not quite understand the projecting beam,
but he yielded, when he observed that Schultz himself felt strongly
about the matter, and when he came to know that that architect never in
his life put up a building without a "projecting beam." Kurz also
yielded his opposition, and so the removal was made as easy as it was
possible for him to make it.
At Pumpelhagen, as I have said, there was great joy: the clear eyes of
Frida rested on her little daughter, and before these clear eyes,
mother-love had woven a light, sweet veil, as if it would conceal from
the mother the future of the little one, and leave her undisturbed to
dream and create. And there was nothing in her way, one happy dream
succeeded another; and now again the clear sunlight beamed from her
heart to Axel, when she held up to him her child. Axel's heart was also
full of joy, he came continually to inquire after mother and child; but
yet he had a slight feeling of disappointment; he had wished for a son,
an heir of his ancient name. It is a horrible thing that a little
innocent girl, from the first moment she opens her eyes to the
daylight, should have to contend with the unjust wishes and prejudices
of other people, and suffer on account of them. It any one had said
this to Axel, he would have been very angry, for he was really glad, in
spite of his disappointment; he had seated himself directly, and
announced the "happy event" to all his acquaintances, even his
horse-acquaintances, and Pomuchelskopp; three people only, he had
intentionally omitted; his cousin Franz,--"that stupid boy,"--the Frau
Pastorin at Gurlitz,--"that matchmaker,"--and Frau Nuessler,--"that
uncultivated old woman." And when he laid the letters on his wife's
bed, and she wondered that these three were forgotten, he said coldly,
he had nothing to do with these people, if she wished to do it, she
must do it on her own responsibility.
She did it, accordingly; and after a few days came Louise, to offer
congratulations, in the name of the Frau Pastorin, and Axel came into
the room, and seeing the inspector's daughter said, "Ah, Mademoiselle
Habermann! I beg you will excuse me," and went quickly out of the room.
And again after a few days, Frau Nuessler came, with Krischan and the
Phantom, driving into the yard, and Axel went off to the fields, when
he saw them coming; and when he returned, and learned from Daniel that
Frau Nuessler was still with the gracious lady, he exclaimed
impatiently: "I do not comprehend my wife, how she can take any
pleasure in the society of such uneducated people!"
That was a very droll thing for him to say, for only a few weeks
before, in a company of horse-raisers, he had pronounced his friend,
Herr von Brulow, of Brulowshof, a very cultivated man of science, and
when a young doctor, who was accidentally present, had remarked that
his education and science were not carried to a very great extent. Axel
rose up, and said, over his shoulder, to the mistaken young man, if one
had, in any direction whatever, such an experience as the Herr von
Brulow in raising thorough-bred horses, and especially in the
management of colts, he must be allowed, by the most envious person,
the name of an educated and scientific man, even if he understood
nothing else; for that business was one of the greatest importance. And
yet in his eyes, this good woman was uneducated, though nobody in the
world was better qualified to advise his wife in the nursing and
management of his own little infant. Pomuchelskopp also had come, in
his blue dress-coat, with gilt buttons, and the coach with the coat of
arms, and the four brown horses, and had brought his congratulations.
That was another thing, that was a genteel equipage! And he was very
cordially received by Axel, and must stay for luncheon, and afterwards
Axel showed him his thorough-bred mares with their colts, and
Pomuchelskopp was highly delighted, and laying his hand impressively on
Axel's arm, and looking up in his eyes, he said, "All very fine, Herr
von Rambow, very fine for a beginning, but if you want to do something
worth while, in horse-raising, you should have paddocks. The young
animal should naturally be brought up in the open air. Freedom,
freedom, Herr von Rambow! That is the first condition, if you mean to
do anything of importance. And, you see, you have here the finest
opportunity, if you take off four paddocks here, behind the park, for
your thoroughbred mares, and let the field, up as far as the hill, be
sowed with grass and clover, instead of grain; there is the brook down
there, and you have the finest water. Something can be done. Of
course," he added, as Axel looked a little thoughtful, "your inspector
will not like the idea."
"My inspector has nothing to say, if I command anything," said Axel
hotly.
"I know that," said Pomuchelskopp, pacifying him, "he knows nothing
about such matters."
"But the meadow will be too small, if I take off this corner of the
best soil," said Axel.
"Yes," said Pomuchelskopp, and shrugged his shoulders, "you must make a
change with the meadow, for you have had the pastor's acre, hitherto,
for meadow land, and the lease is out; and a little more or less will
not signify."
"That is true," said Axel, with some hesitation, for what he had
promised in an emergency had often annoyed him since, and it always
puts a man out of humor, when he must give up something from which
he has derived advantage and pleasure. But Pomuchelskopp was so
friendly, so well-meaning and upright; he gave him so much good
advice,--and--this he said by the way--if things didn't go right, he
was always at hand,--that Axel shook hands with him cordially, as he
took leave, and sat down to his reflections, with his head full of
paddocks.
Habermann was crossing the courtyard; Axel opened the window, and
called to him: "Herr Habermann," said he, "how far have you gone with
the barley-sowing, behind the park?"
"I think we shall finish the meadow day after to-morrow; to-morrow we
begin down here, by the brook."
"Good! From there up to the hill--I will tell you about the rest
afterwards--you may sow Timothy, rye-grass, and white clover, with the
barley. Send Triddelsitz to Rahnstadt, in the morning, to get the seed
from David."
"But pasture grass does not follow barley."
"Do you hear me? I wish this piece of ground sowed for a pasture. I am
going to put up paddocks there, for the brood-mares."
"Paddocks? paddocks?" asked the old man, as if he could not believe his
ears.
"Yes, paddocks," said Axel, preparing to close the window.
"Herr von Rambow," said Habermann, laying his hand on the window-seat,
"this is the finest soil in the whole meadow, if you take it away,
there will not be enough for grain. That was the very reason the late
Herr Kammerrath rented the pastor's acre."
It was the very thing which Axel had said to himself, and he knew very
well that the inspector was right; but it is very irritating for a
master, to acknowledge his inferior in the right.
"I shall not rent the pastor's acre again," said the young Herr.
The old man let his hands fall to his sides.
"Not rent the Pastor's acre again?" said he, "Herr, the field has
brought us--I have kept a special book for it----"
"It is all one to me! You hear me, I shall not rent it again."
"Herr von Rambow, it cannot be possible----"
"Did you hear me? _I shall not rent it again!_"
"But Herr, I beg of you, reflect----"
"Eh, what!" exclaimed Axel, and closed the window. "A tedious old
fellow!" he exclaimed, "an old fogy!" and he went back to his chair,
and thought about his paddocks; but the fine pictures which his fancy
had painted would not return, he must first get rid of the thought that
he had again committed an injustice.
And the old man? How deeply grieved he went back to the meadow! How his
attachment and gratitude to the late Kammerrath struggled against the
mortification he had so often endured from the only son of his old
master! And of what use was this struggle? Of what use was he to the
young Herr? None at all! Step by step, the young man went forward to
his destruction, and his hand which could save him, and so gladly
would, was thrust aside, and his heart which was brimful of love and
friendliness to the young Herr, and his whole household, was treated as
if it beat in the breast of an unfaithful servant, who thought merely
of his own reward.
"Triddelsitz," said he, when he came to the meadow, "this corner,
between the brook and the hill, the Herr will have sowed with grass; he
will come out himself, and show you about it; let them sow the barley a
little thinner."
"What is he going to do with it?" asked Fritz.
"He will tell you himself, when he sees fit. There he comes, from the
garden," said the old man, and went out of his master's way.
"Triddelsitz," said Herr von Rambow, "this piece of ground, up to the
hill, is to be sowed with grass; you shall get the seed from David
to-morrow; I am going to have paddocks here."
"Famous!" cried Fritz. "I have always thought of that, whether we
couldn't have paddocks, or something of the kind."
"Yes, it is necessary."
"To be sure, it is necessary," said Fritz, fully convinced. For no one
must think that he was a flatterer; he really meant what he said, and
if he had known what an expense and what trouble these paddocks would
cost, he would certainly not have expressed this opinion; but--as I
have said before--in all such crazy performances, he was united, with
his whole soul, to his master.
"Have you a measuring-rod here?" asked Axel.
"A measuring-rod? No," said Fritz, laughing, in a rather contemptuous
and yet shamefaced manner, "I have myself invented a measuring
instrument. If you will allow me, I will show you," and he ran to the
nearest ditch, and brought out a great barrel-hoop, which was all
entangled with strings; into the midst of these strings he put his
walking-stick, as in the axle of a wheel, and let the machine run.
"The circumference of the hoop is just the length of the rod," said
Fritz, "and this hammer strikes on the board, when it has turned
completely round."
"See! see!" cried Axel, his old delight in inventions reviving. "And
did you invent that, all by yourself?"
"All by myself," said Fritz, but he should have said his laziness
invented it, for he had a great dislike to stooping his long body.
"Well, you can measure the land for me," said Axel, and went back to
the house, saying to himself, Triddelsitz was a skilful farmer, and a
wide-awake fellow, he would rather have him for a manager than
Habermann.
After a while, the old inspector returned to Fritz, very much out of
humor.
"Triddelsitz," said he, "what are you doing? You have let them sow the
barley much too thick."
"God forbid!" said Fritz, "I arranged the machine just as you ordered,
I measured the land myself."
"It isn't possible!" cried Habermann, "then my eyes must deceive me.
Where is your measuring-rod?"
"I haven't a measuring-rod," said Fritz, "and don't need one either,"
he added, spitefully, for the great approbation of the young Herr had
gone to his head. "I measure everything with my instrument," pointing
to his invention which lay at his feet.
"What?" cried Habermann, "what is that?"
"An invention of mine," said Fritz, looking as proud as if he had set
up the first steam-engine.
"Ah!" said Habermann, "well, take the trumpery, and measure me ten
rods."
Fritz took his invention in hand, and let the thing run. Habermann
walked by his side, and asked:
"How much have you?"
"Ten rods," said Fritz.
"And I have nine, and two feet," said the old man.
"It isn't possible," said Fritz, "you must have counted wrong, my
instrument is right."
"Five of my steps are a Mecklenburg rod," said the old man hotly, "but
because you are a fool you have spoiled the whole field of barley. How
can such trumpery measure in the fresh furrow, when it could hardly do
upon perfectly even ground. Oh, laziness, laziness! Go in directly, and
bring me out a proper measuring-rod!" and he took his knife out of his
pocket, and cut Fritz's invention into little pieces, and then went to
the machine, and arranged it differently.
Fritz stood there, looking first at him, and then at his invention,
which lay about him, in little bits; it is really a hard thing for a
man, who wishes to accomplish something in the world, to be so taken
down, at his first attempt. He had such benevolent intentions,--of
course towards himself first, but also towards all his colleagues, and
all the clerks in Mecklenburg,--that that infamous stooping might go
out of fashion, and now his good intentions lay in fragments at his
feet.
"I must bring the measuring-rod," said he, "there is no help for that;
but I would a thousand times rather manage with the gracious Herr, than
with old Habermann." And as he went up to the house after the rod, a
great bitterness came over him towards Habermann, and he forgot all
that he had promised him in a happy hour,--the best rooms in his house,
two carriage horses, and a saddle horse,--and as he was speaking, for a
moment, with Marie Moeller, who had again taken possession of his vacant
heart, and learned from her that the young Herr had spoken sharply to
Habermann at the window, he comforted himself, and went off with the
rod over his shoulder, and a bit of sausage in his hand, saying:
"Well, the old man will not do for us much longer; he is getting too
old; he has no capacity for new ideas."