The Sunday after the wedding the young Frau von Rambow was busy in the
morning with her housekeeping, and wrote down her expenses in her
account book, and then sat in deep thought, till she was wholly
disheartened with vague distress and anxiety, for she felt certain that
things were going badly with Axel; but she had no idea of the desperate
condition at which they had really arrived, through his unwise
management, for her worst suspicions and anxieties fell far short of
the truth. She merely inferred from his unsteady, hasty demeanor, and
the restlessness which drove him hither and thither, that he was in
great difficulty. That it was the most extreme difficulty, that the
knife was at his throat, and a slight accident, a little maliciousness,
might finish the business, she truly did not dream. He had told her
nothing; he had ordered horses to be put to the carriage that morning,
and had gone off for three days. Where? Why? Those were questions that
no longer passed her lips, for why should she knock at a door from
which issued only falsehood and evasion? She closed her account book
with a sigh, and said to herself, "What is the use? A woman's hands
cannot prop up a falling house." And as she saw Fritz Triddelsitz,
through the window, strolling wearily and sleepily across the yard, she
let her hands fall in her lap, saying, "And all the management depends
on _him_; and it is fortunate too, for he is honest, and has been
brought up by Habermann. Ah, Habermann! Habermann!" she cried, and
mournful and remorseful thoughts overcame her, and enclosed her in
their grasp. Who has not, some time in his life, passed such an hour,
when one thought crowds upon the heels of another, like the ghosts of
by-gone days, and all point with their fingers to the weak places in
our hearts? They will not stir nor move, they stand like wall and
mortar, ever pointing to the place, and connecting our present trouble
with that place, and calling in our ears, this is the consequence, why
hast thou acted thus? And what she had done, had been only out of love;
but the ghosts did not turn any for that,--what does a ghost know of
love?
As she sat there, Daniel Sadenwater came in, and announced the Herr
Proprietor Pomuchelskopp. The Herr was not at home, Frida said. He had
told him so, said Daniel, but the Herr Pomuchelskopp had said
expressly, he wished to speak with the gracious Frau. "I will come
directly," said Frida. She would not have said that usually, but at the
moment she was glad to escape from her gloomy thoughts; she had a great
aversion to Pomuchelskopp, but still he was a flesh and blood man, he
was none of her grisly ghosts.
But she would not have done it, if she had known what awaited her.
Pomuchel had previously, and at last on that very morning, held wise
counsel with David and Slusuhr, and they were agreed in this
conclusion: that it would be best for him to buy the estate of Axel, at
private sale; "For" said Pomuchelskopp, "if it comes to an auction,
they will put it up too high for me. Ah, how they would drive it up!
the old nobility would come together, and some of them have a great
deal of money,--and they stick to each other, like burs,--and they
would pay his debts, if it came to the hammer, or buy it in for him."
"You must look out for them," said Slusuhr.
"No! no!" cried Pomuchelskopp. "If I can get it quietly, that is the
best way. He is as mellow, as mellow as a rotten apple, and I know him,
he never looks over the fence, he only reaches after the nearest thing,
and if I offer him a good bit of money, enough to pay his debts and
have a little left over, he will take it."
"You forget one thing," said the notary, "she is there still."
"Oh, she knows nothing about it," said Muchel. "Fortunate for us, else
it would not have gone so far. She looked at me once,--when they had
that fuss about the stolen money,--with a pair of eyes that I shall
never forget, so long as I live."
"Well," said David, "what of that? she is a woman,--not such a woman as
Frau Pomuchelskopp, for _she_ is a dreadfully clever woman,--she is a
noble lady, she knows a great deal about some things, and nothing at
all about others. If he is mellow, well, she must be made mellow too."
David's advice prevailed; yes, when the poor lady should learn all,
blow upon blow, then she must become pliable in their hands, then she
would not oppose the sale of the estate; and it was decided that
Pomuchelskopp should make a beginning, and the others should follow
him, that very morning; they knew that Axel was not at home.
When the Frau von Rambow went down to Pomuchelskopp, he looked as
gentle and compassionate as if he were a clergyman, come to condole
with her upon her mother's death; he stretched out both hands with a
cordial gesture, as if he would take her hand in his, and press it
warmly. Not getting her hand, however, he folded his own together, and
regarded her with such a fatherly expression, in his old fat eyes, as a
crocodile assumes when he is just ready to cry.
He had come, he said, as an old friend, as a true neighbor, to speak
with the Herr von Rambow; the business was very pressing, and since the
young Herr was not at home, it was necessary that he should speak with
the gracious lady. It would be a great grief to him, if he, as a
neighbor, could not help, when there was such a misfortune in prospect
as the public auction sale of Pumpelhagen.
Frida started back, exclaiming, "Sale of Pumpelhagen!"
And now Pomuchelskopp looked like an unfortunate, innocent mother, who
has overlaid her child in sleep; "God bless me!" he cried, "what have I
done! I believed, gracious Frau, that you knew already----"
"I know nothing," said Frida, pale, but firm, and looking at the old
sinner as if she would look him through; "I know nothing, but I wish to
know all. Why should Pumpelhagen be sold?"
"Gracious lady," said the Herr Proprietor, almost wringing his hands,
"the many debts----"
"Whom is my husband indebted to?"
"I believe, to many people."
"To yourself, also?"
And now it seemed as if a sluice were drawn up in Pomuchelskopp's
heart, and the streams of friendliness, which had been accumulating for
long years, were poured out at once upon the house of Pumpelhagen. Yes,
he said, he had also demands upon him, but the money which he had
loaned had been given out of friendship, and so it should remain. He
had merely come over, this morning, to give the young Herr good advice,
how the business might be managed, and if possible to help him out of
his difficulties. So far as he knew, it was Moses who insisted on the
sale, and if his mouth could be stopped everything might be settled.
And as he took leave, he said, very kindly, with such a dignified
shaking of the head, and much blinking of the eyes, as if to repress
tears, if he had known that the gracious lady knew nothing about it, he
would rather have pulled out his tongue than have uttered a word on the
subject.
If it had been a matter with which she was less nearly connected, she
must have perceived the falseness of Pomuchelskopp's behavior; but she
had only a vague feeling of it, for distress and terror prevented her
from seeing clearly. She felt as if the house had been shaken by an
earthquake, as if the walls, which had hitherto protected from the
storm, were ready to fall upon her and her child, and bury, beneath
themselves, the little happiness she still hoped for in the future, she
must get out into the open air, into the garden; and there she walked
up and down in the cool shade, thinking and thinking, and it seemed to
her as if the very shadows cast by the trees were hers no longer, or
even the flowers blooming at her feet, which she herself had planted.
She sat down on the same bench where her father-in-law, the old
Kammerrath, had sat, when he told Habermann of his troubles; Habermann
had helped then,--where was Habermann now? The same tree shadowed her,
which she had first seen from the distance when Axel had so proudly
pointed out to her his fair estate; where was this pride? where was the
estate? To whom did this tree belong?
She sat there for a moment, as she thought, but the moment lasted two
hours. She heard steps approaching on the Gurlitz pathway, and started
to go; but before she could get away the notary and David stood before
her. Slusuhr was a little startled, coming unawares upon the woman whom
he was about to put to the torture; but David grinned like a monkey,
into whose hand an apple had fallen unexpectedly. The notary went up to
the gracious lady with great respect, and with a low bow inquired if
they could speak with the gracious Herr.
"He is away from home," said Frida.
"It is very necessary that we should see him," said David. Slusuhr
looked at David over his shoulder, as if to say, "Will you hold your
stupid tongue?" but he repeated the same words:
"Yes, gracious lady, it is necessary that we should see him."
"Then you must come again on Wednesday; Herr von Rambow is coming back
on Tuesday," and she turned to go.
The notary stepped before her, saying, "The business is not so much
ours, as the Herr von Rambow's; perhaps a messenger might be sent after
him. It is really a very pressing case. We know of a purchaser for
Pumpelhagen, a thoroughly safe man, who wishes, however, a definite
answer, within three days, whether Herr von Rambow will dispose of the
estate at private sale, or let it come to an auction, at the end of the
term. The Herr, here, is the son of Moses, who has given notice of his
money for St. John's day, and through me, as his man of business, urges
the private sale."
Of course this was all a tissue of lies. The fair young Frau stood
still and looked at the two rascals; her first fright was over, and all
the pride of her innocent soul rose against this undeserved misfortune.
"Gracious lady," said David, after he had fumbled at his watch-chain a
while, in great embarrassment under her steady gaze, "bethink yourself;
there is my father with the seven thousand thalers,--with the interest
and costs, it amounts to eight,--there is Herr Pomuchelskopp's eight
thousand thalers, there are the trades-people at Rahnstadt,--we have
the accounts by us,--three thousand, then there are the bills of
exchange, and, here and there, ten thousand more, owing,--well, what do
I know? perhaps to Israel at Schwerin. If you should sell, now, to a
safe man, and you could sell the furniture, and the beds, and the
linen, you would have ten thousand thalers over, or perhaps eleven, or,
for all I know, even twelve thousand. And then, if you should move to
Rahnstadt, and rent a house there, you would have nothing to do, and
could live like a countess."
Frida said nothing, but bowed coldly to the two companions, and went
into the house. Nothing drives a high spirit to defend itself and to
present a brave front to the world, like the rude intrusion of the
world into one's private affairs. Then the foot advances to tread upon
the head of the adder, and pride and honor and a good conscience turn
out all other emotions which have restlessly worked in the heart, and
there is no longer strife, there is calm repose; but it is like the
repose of death.
"There she goes, like a princess!" said David.
"You blockhead, you!" cried Slusuhr. "Well, I will never, in my life,
go on any business again with such a dunce."
"Why, what is the matter?" asked David. "Didn't we do just that way with
the peasant at Kanin, and the matter was settled at once?"
"Yes, with a peasant. But did you come into the world yesterday, that
you don't know that a noble lady is no peasant? We wanted to make her
mellow and pliable--well, much good may it do you! we have only
stiffened her neck. If it had come over him in that way, he would have
said yes to everything; but," he added, rather to himself than to
David, "there are men,--yes, and women, truly,--who are really strong,
for the first time, under misfortune."
As they returned to the Herr Proprietor, and he learned how the young
Frau had received them, he was greatly enraged.
"Good heavens!" said he to David, "how is it possible you could go
about such a critical business in such a rough way? You should merely
have bored and pricked and teased her, instead of setting her whole
future life before her. God bless me! I had it all so nicely in train;
and now, you shall see, when he comes home she will stiffen his back up
as well, and the end will be, it will come to an auction."
"Then you can buy it," said Slusuhr.
"No, no! They will drive it up too high for me, and it joins so finely
to my estate!" So the worthy Herr complained and disputed with the
others, and consulted what should be done, and how they could manage
it.
In another part of Gurlitz, there were also consultations going on. In
weaver Ruhrdanz's room, day-laborers and day-laborers wives were
sitting together, and the talk that went round was not hasty and
reckless, but thoughtful and deliberate, though venomous.
"Well, what do you say, brother?"
"Eh, what should one say? He must be got rid of, he is a regular
skinner! Well, now you, Ruhrdanz?"
"You are right there, I say so, too; he must be got rid of! But,
friends, you should see, they would send him back to us again. If we
only had papers about it, so that he dare not come back."
"Oh, your stupid papers!" cried a great rough woman, from behind the
stove, "when you come home, in the evenings, from the city, with your
heads full of brandy, you are ready to do great things, and afterwards
you flop together, like a dish-cloth. What? Must I send my children
about the country, begging? I have had no bread, for three days, but
such as the children have brought home."
"Things are a little better than they were, though," said old father
Brinkman.
"Yes," cried Willgans, "but from fear, not from kindness. We will go up
to the court, each with a good staff, and there we will teach him to
know the Lord, and then we will lead him over the boundary, and give
him a start on the way: 'There! now travel!'"
"What?" cried Kapphingst, "and that Satan of a woman, who almost killed
my girl about an old chicken, will you let her stay?"
"And the old girls," cried a young woman, "who tormented us so, when we
were servants at the court, and seemed like merciful angels in the
parlor, when there was company, and knocked us round in the kitchen,
like regular devils,--shall they stay too?"
"We must get rid of the whole concern," said Willgans.
"No, children, no!" said old Brinkman. "Do not meddle with the innocent
children!"
"Yes," said Ruhrdanz's old wife, who sat by herself, peeling potatoes
for dinner, "you are right, Brinkman, and Gustaving must stay too; I
saw him bringing old Schultz a measure of potatoes, secretly; and when
he measures the land for potatoes and flax, he always gives a couple of
rods more than _he_ does; and, Willgans, see! your oldest boy wears a
pair of his outgrown breeches, at this moment. He cannot do as he
would, the old man looks after him too closely. No, against Gustaving
and the little ones, nobody must lift a hand."
"Mother, I say so, too," said Ruhrdanz. "And, let me tell you
something, we must do everything regularly! The others are not here
now; this evening we will talk about it again. He will not be at home;
Johann Jochen had to get the glass coach ready, they are going to the
ball, in the city, this evening; then we can talk it over."
"Yes," cried the great rough woman, "yes, talk and talk! You drink your
heads full of brandy, and we are starving. If _you_ don't get rid of
these people, _we_ shall do it, for we can do as other women have done,
all over the country; thorn-bushes and nettle-stalks are not far to
seek." With that, she went out of the door, and the company dispersed.
"Bernhard," said Ruhrdanz's wife to him, "the matter may turn out
badly."
"So I say, mother, and you are quite right; but if the business is only
conducted with regularity, the grand-duke can have nothing against it.
The only trouble is that we have no proper papers to show; but if he
should have to show _his_ papers, fine papers they would be."
Ruhrdanz was right; as for the grand-duke, I don't know about that; but
he was right about the glass coach, and Pomuchelskopp's journey to the
ball; for towards evening the Herr Proprietor sat in the coach, in his
blue dress-coat, and his brave, old Haeuning sat by him, looking, in her
yellow-brown silk, like one of her own cookies, with all sorts of
scalloped flourishes, though the soapy flavor was lacking; she was as
dry and tough as a leather strap, and her bones clattered over the
rough roads, like a bunch of hazelnuts, hung in the chimney-corner.
Opposite sat the two fair daughters, sumptuously arrayed; but greatly
vexed, because their father positively insisted upon taking them to
_this_ ball, a _burgher_ ball. To punish him for it, they made no
effort to amuse him, and talked of the burghers as _canaille_, and also
wrought vengeance upon his shins, by the way, by means of the new hoops
in their crinoline, which the wheelwright had put in freshly, that
morning, of stout hazel stock. Gustaving sat by the coachman, Johann
Jochen, on the box.
I cannot think of dancing, this evening, with my pretty readers, at the
fraternity ball, I am too old, and besides, it is only three days since
Rudolph's wedding, where I did my utmost. I will merely go as a
spectator, and enjoy the pleasant summer evening, on the bench before
Grammelin's door; I can look into the hall for a few moments, later in
the evening, and drink a glass of punch, and fraternize a little, like
the rest.
There were great doings at Grammelin's. All the grandees of Rahnstadt
were there, the burghers, head and tail and neck and crop, a few
proprietors, Pomuchelskopp at the head, a few noblemen and their
sons,--their wives were not there, they were all troubled with corns
that afternoon, and the daughters were absent from home,--the paechters
in the neighborhood, and the young country people came in crowds. Very
few of our friends were to be seen, for it was church-going with Jochen
Nuessler's family, and the Frau Pastorin and Habermann and Louise had
gone out there, and Rector Baldrian and Kurz, with their wives and
Braesig, had also gone, but had returned in time to go to the ball. Kurz
did not go, however, for he had been so provoked over Jochen's stout
relations, that his wife put him to bed, which was a good thing, not
only for himself, but for Herr Suessmann and the ball, for the young
Herr could manage his affairs as dance-director without disturbance. He
had got himself a new pair of trousers, and had put so much lard on his
hair, that there was plenty to spare to grease his joints with. The
little assessor went with her parents, and Fritz Triddelsitz, who was
aware that she was coming, appeared as a proprietor of the highest
rank, connected with the nobility. The little pupil, whose groschens
were all gone, and who had discovered that Braesig's niece would not be
there, sat just across the street from Grammelin's, before a forlorn
old piano, which he belabored, while he sung:
"Mich fliehen alle Freuden, ich sterb vor Ungeduld,"
and so forth, only he mispronounced, in his distress, and said:
"Mich freuen alle Fliegen!"
Rector Baldrian came, with his wife, and Braesig with Schultz the
carpenter, and Slusuhr and David. David had on two gold rings more than
usual, which had been given him in pawn, and chewed cinnamon bark, to
counteract the odor of the produce business.
And when they were all there, and they were ready to begin, David
Berger played the "Mamsell jaes"--as the dyer Meinswegens called the
thing,--and Herr Suessmann sang out, quite loud:
"Allons enfant de la partie!"
At first, all seemed very good-natured, but, as a whole, there wasn't
much fraternity. On one side it was all right, the young gentlemen
among the grandees, and those from the country, were very brotherly
towards the pretty little burghers' daughters; but the young ladies
from the country, and the grandees' daughters, were positively
determined not to fraternize with the burghers' sons, and the first
open quarrel began with Malchen Pomuchelskopp. The shoemaker, the wit
of the Reformverein, who was a burgher's son in Rahnstadt, asked her to
dance, and she thanked him, but she was engaged; and then she sat
there, and waited for Fritz Triddelsitz or Herr Suessmann, or some other
helping angel, whom providence might send to dance the next hop waltz
with her. But there were no angels of the kind ready, and she remained
sitting. The rogue of a shoemaker cracked his jokes over it, and at
last said, quite aloud, that if the distinguished ladies would not
dance with them, they ought not to let the distinguished gentlemen
dance with their women-folks, for they had not come there to look at
each other. And then the storm broke upon the poor, pretty, innocent,
little burghers' daughters, and their brothers and lovers attacked
them: "Fika, don't you dance any more with that long-legged
apothecary's son!" and "Duert, wait, I shall tell mother!" and "Stine,
another dance with the advocate, and we are parted!" So it went through
the hall, and at last it came to Father Pomuchelskopp's ears, how the
trouble originated, and it disturbed him so much that he went to
Malchen, and represented to her in the most pathetic terms the mischief
she had done. The shoemaker, he said, was a very worthy young man, he
was counted equal to any ten in the Reformverein, on account of his
terrible wit, and it must be made up, and in spite of all her
opposition Father Pomuchelskopp took his educated daughter upon his
arm, and led her through the hall to the shoemaker, and said it was a
great mistake, his daughter would consider it a special honor to dance
with such a distinguished member of the Reformverein. And, behold! the
shoemaker and Malchen were dancing together!
Father Pomuchel had now, so to speak, sacrificed his first born upon
the altar of fraternity, but it did not avail much, the discordant
elements would not harmonize. Uncle Braesig was doing his utmost, on the
other side, he puffed about in his brown dress-coat, introduced Herr
von So and So to the wife of Thiel the joiner, and compelled himself to
walk arm-in-arm, about the hall, with his worst enemy in the
Reformverein, the tailor Wimmersdorf, and at last, before everybody,
gave the wife of Johann Meinswegens, the dyer, a couple of fraternity
kisses on her red face; but it was a hopeless task, what could one man
accomplish, though with the best will in the world? "Herr Schultz," he
said, at last, quite worn out with his labors, "when it comes to the
eating and drinking, I hope we may be a little more brotherly; the
dancing only seems to bring us farther apart."
But even the eating and drinking did not help the matter; the people of
rank sat at one end of the table, the burghers at the other; at one end
they drank champagne, at the other a frightful tipple, which Grammelin
sold, with the greatest impudence, as fine red wine, at twelve
shillings the bottle. The shoemaker, indeed, was invited by
Pomuchelskopp to be his guest at table, he sat by Malchen, and Father
Pomuchel filled his glass assiduously; the dyer, Meinswegens, had sat
down with his wife between two proprietors, and ordered "Panschamber,"
for he had filled his pocket with four-groschen pieces; but when he
went to pay he became aware that he had made a mistake, in the
twilight, for he brought out a handful of dyer's tickets. Braesig had
seated himself between a couple of the dearest little burghers'
daughters, whom he treated in such a fatherly way that the Frau
Pastorin, if she had seen it, would not have given him a good word for
a week, and Gottlieb would certainly have preached him a sermon; but
what good did it all do? Grammelin's sour wine did not suit well with
his champagne, and so at supper they were farther asunder than ever.
"Herr Schultz," said Braesig to his old friend, who sat opposite, "now
it is time to play our last trump, you speak to Herr Suessmann, I will
tell David Berger."
Herr Schultz went round to Herr Suessmann. "Have you your song-books
ready?"
"Oh, yes."
"Go ahead, then! Now is the time!"
Herr Suessmann distributed the songbooks, while Braesig went up to David
Berger, and inquired:
"Herr Berger, do you know that air of Schiller's:
"'Schwester mit das Leinwand mieder,
Bruder in das Ordensband?'"
"Yes, indeed," said David.
"Well, go ahead, then! Begin!" And suddenly resounded through the hall:
"Freude, schoener Gutter funken,"
but fewer and fewer voices joined the chorus, weaker and weaker grew
the song, till, at last, old Uncle Braesig stood there, with the book
before his nose, and the tears running down his cheeks, and sung:
"Seid umschlungen Millionen,
Untergang der Luegenbrut!"
That was too strong, they couldn't stand that. "Lying brood!" No, that
was too much; they all lied, to be sure, but only when it was
necessary. The company rose from table, very much out of humor. Braesig
sat down in a corner and began to grumble, he was vexed to his inmost
heart; the young people began to dance again, and David and Slusuhr sat
in an adjoining room, drinking champagne, and cracking their jokes over
Uncle Braesig.
"Herr Inspector," said the carpenter Schultz to Braesig, after a while,
"there are some people sitting in No. 3, and the notary and David are
poking fun at you, because you bring your politics into everything, and
the notary said, if the French should get no king after Louis Philippe,
then you might become King of France; you had nothing to do, and might
like the situation."
"Did he say that?" asked Uncle Braesig, rising from the corner, with
great energy.
"Yes, he said that, and the others laughed at it."
"And he is sitting in Grammelin's No. 3?"
"Yes, he is sitting there."
"Come with me, Herr Schultz."
Braesig was angry, as I have said, he was exceedingly angry; the fine
fraternity _fete_, from which he had hoped so much for mankind, was
hopelessly ruined; he felt like the patriarch Abraham, when he offered
up his darling child, he would have nothing more to do with it, he
would go home; then providence sent him this scapegoat, upon whom he
could express his anger, and so much the better, since he was the
friend and tool of Pomuchelskopp.
"Come along, Herr Schultz," said he, crossing the hall with great
strides to the dressing room, where he had left his hat and buckthorn
walking-stick. The hat he left there, but the stick he took with him to
No. 3.
There were many guests sitting here, over their bottles, and laughing
at the jokes of the Herr Notary. All at once a great silence fell upon
the merry company, as they saw a face among them which frightened them
out of their laughter. That was Braesig's, which looked, in a very
singular way, first at his buckthorn stick, and then at the notary, so
that the company, with a suspicion of what might possibly happen,
hastened to withdraw from the table.
"What rascal wanted to make me King of France?" cried Braesig, in
such a voice that the plastering fell from the ceiling, and his
stick seemed like a live thing in his hand: "I will not be made
King of France!"--whack! came the buckthorn, between the notary's
shoulder-blades. "Oh Lord!"--"I will not be made King of France!" and a
second time the buckthorn did its work, and Uncle Braesig and his stick
alternated in the assurance that they had no ambition for the French
crown. Candlesticks, lamps and bottles entered actively into the
battle-royal, and David got under the table, that is to say, he crept
there for refuge. The notary shrieked for help, but no one stood by
him; only when the affair was over, David plucked up courage, under the
table, to inquire: "Begging your pardon, Herr Inspector, is this what
you call fraternity?"
"Yes!" cried Braesig, "you miserable scamp! Between a man and a dog,
blows are the best fraternity."
"Out! out!" said Herr Schultz and he grappled David, under the table,
and dragged him to light.
"Gentlemen," cried Slusuhr, "you are witnesses how I have been treated,
I shall enter a complaint."
"I have seen nothing," said one.
"I know nothing about it," said another.
"I was looking out of the window," said a third, although it was pitch
dark.
"Herr Schultz," said Braesig, "you are my witness that I have treated
the Herr Notary Slusuhr with the greatest forbearance," and with that,
he left the room, got his hat, and went home.
The blows which Slusuhr had received in No. 3 had echoed by this time
through the hall, and in no way tended to harmonize the existing
discords. The two Herrs von So and So with their sons had taken leave
long before, and some of the grandees had also quietly retreated. The
little assessor had her hat on, and her cloak wrapped around her,
though Fritz Triddelsitz was almost on his knees before her, begging
for one more, just _one_ more little Schottische.
Pomuchelskopp also prepared for departure; he had an indefinite, but
just, premonition that something was going to happen to him that
evening, so he went to his family and told them it was time they were
starting for home. His family afforded a sad picture of the whole
entertainment, for they were quite divided. Gustaving was still hopping
about, contentedly, with tailor Wimmersdorf's youngest daughter,
Salchen was standing a little aside with Herr Suessmann, listening
attentively while he related how merely by way of joke he had taken the
stupid situation at Kurz's shop, but he should remain there no longer
than till he could decide which of the places to accept, which were
offered to him in Hamburg, Luebeck or Stettin, or possibly he might
conclude to establish himself in Rostock, for he had a rich uncle
there, who was constantly urging him to get married and come and live
with him. Malchen sat in a sofa-corner, crying with vexation over her
shoemaker. Kluecking, our brave old Haeuning, sat there stiff as a stake;
however agitated by the events of the evening she may have been, she
gave no sign, she remained steadfast, even the shoemaker had not moved
her out of her composure, and when Muchel proposed that they should go
she merely said, in a very friendly way, "Poeking, will you not invite
your friend, the shoemaker, to ride with us? You might also invite one
of your noble acquaintances. And then, if you ask weaver Ruhrdanz, and
Willgans, and your other brothers of the Reformverein, the company will
be complete."
And with this matrimonial sting in his great fraternal heart, our
friend set off on his homeward journey.