Gloomy, heavy, leaden hours oppressed the young Frau von Rambow, after
Pomuchelskopp's visit; slowly, step by step, they passed over her, and
in their footprints new cares and anxieties sprang up; with firm,
energetic hands, she pulled up these weeds from her path; but in time
the most active hand grows weary, and the strongest heart longs for
rest.
Her husband had not returned on the day appointed; instead there had
come a messenger, with a letter, bearing Slusuhr's seal, who said he
had orders to wait, until he could give the letter into the hands of
the Herr von Rambow himself. What that signified, she could easily
understand. She sat, in the twilight, in her room, by her child; her
hands were folded in her lap, and she looked out, in the hazy summer
evening, at the dark clouds gathering over the sky.
The day had been sultry, and in such weather, the blood flows heavily
through the veins, not leaping and throbbing, like a living spring of
clear water, but dragging; sleepily along, like the black water in a
ditch, and even as Nature sighs and pants for the storm, which shall
give her fresh life, so the heart longs and sighs, in impatience,
for the whirlwind and thunderbolt of destiny, which may save it from
such wearing torture,--come what may, deliver us from this fearful
suspense. This was Frida's mood, so she longed and sighed for a sturdy
thunder-bolt which might drive away the foul air in which she was
stifling, and make everything clear around her; and she did not sigh in
vain.
Korlin Kegel came in, bringing the post-bag, and stood there as if she
wanted to do something, then unlocked the bag, and laid a letter on the
table before her mistress, and again stood still.
"Gracious Frau, shall I light the lamps?"
"No, let them be."
Korlin did not go, she remained standing:
"Gracious Frau, you have forbidden us to come telling tales, but----"
"What is it?" asked Frida, rousing herself from her thoughts.
"Ah, gracious Frau, the Gurlitz people have driven away Herr
Pomuchelskopp, and his wife and his two daughters."
"Have they done that?" cried Frida.
"Yes, and now all our day-laborers are standing outside, and want to
speak to you."
"Are they going to drive us away?" asked Frida, rising, very quietly
and proudly, from her chair.
"No, no! dear, gracious Frau," cried Korlin, throwing herself on the
floor, and grasping her about the knees, while the tears started from
her eyes, "no, no! There is no talk of that, and my old father says, if
any one should propose such a thing, he would beat out his brains with
a shovel. They only say there is no use in speaking to the Herr, he
breaks up their talk too shortly. They want lo speak to you, because
they have confidence in you."
"Where is Triddelsitz?"
"Dear heart! he is going round among them, but they won't listen to
him, they say they have nothing to do with him, they want to speak to
the gracious Frau."
"Come!" said Frida, and went down.
"What do you want, good people?" asked the young Frau, as she stepped
outside the door, before which the laborers were assembled. The
wheelwright, Fritz Flegel, stepped up, and said:
"Gracious Frau, we have only come to you because we are all
agreed,--and we told the Herr so before; but nothing came of it. And
the Herr answered us harshly, and we have no real confidence in Herr
Triddelsitz, for he is so thoughtless, and doesn't know yet how things
should be managed, and we thought you might help us, if you would be so
kind. We are not dissatisfied because we want more, we are contented
with what we get, and we get what belongs to us;--but never at the
right time; and poor people like us cannot stand that."
"Yes," interrupted Paesel, "and last year, the famine year, the rye was
all sold, and you see, gracious Frau, some of us get our pay in grain;
and I was to have twelve bushels of rye, and live on it, and I got
none, and they said we must be patient. Oh, patience! And all the
potatoes bad! How can we live?"
"Gracious Frau," said an old white-haired man, "I will say nothing
about the means of life, for we have never gone hungry; but for an old
man like me to stand, all day long, bent over in the ditch, shoveling
water,--and at evening I am too stiff to move, and cannot sleep at
night for misery,--it isn't right. We didn't have such doing? when Herr
Habermann was here; but now it is all commanding and commanding, and
the commanders know nothing about the work."
"Yes, gracious Frau," said the wheelwright, stepping forward again,
"and so we wanted to ask you if we couldn't have a regular inspector
again, if Herr Habermann will not come, then some other; but one that
would treat us kindly, and listen when we have something to say, and
not snap us up, and scold us when we haven't deserved it, or knock our
children about with sticks, as Herr Triddelsitz used to."
"That shall be put a stop to," cried Frida.
"Yes, gracious Frau, he has broken off that habit; about six months ago
I had a very serious talk with him about it, and since then he is much
better behaved, and more considerate. And if our gracious Herr would be
considerate too, and think of his own profit, he would get a capable
inspector, for he himself understands nothing about farming, and then
he need not have a whole field of wheat beaten down by the wind, as it
was last year, and the people would not talk about him so. And,
gracious Frau, people talk a great deal, and they say the Herr must
sell the estate, and will sell it to the Herr Pomuchelskopp; but we
will never take him for our master."
"No!" cried one and another, "we will never take him." "A fellow who
has been driven off by his own laborers!" "We can't put up with him!"
Blow after blow fell the words of the day-laborers upon Frida's heart.
The little love and respect which they professed for her husband, the
knowledge of their embarrassed situation, which was evident even to the
common people, weighed heavily upon her, and it was with extreme
difficulty that she controlled herself, and said:
"Be quiet, good people! The Herr must decide all these matters, when he
comes home. Go quietly home, now, and don't come up to the house again
in such a crowd. I will join in your petition to the Herr, and I think
I may safety promise you that there will be a change in the management
by St. John's day,--in one way or another," she added with a sigh, and
paused a moment, as if to reflect, or perhaps to swallow something that
rose in her throat. "Yes, wait until St. John's Day, then there will be
a change."
"That is all right then."
"That is good, so far."
"And we are very much obliged to you."
"Well, good-night, gracious Frau!"
So they went off.
Frida returned to her room. It was beginning to thunder and lighten,
the wind blew in gusts over the court-yard, driving sand and straw
against the window-panes. "Yes," she said, to herself, "it must be
decided by St. John's Day, I have not promised too much, there must be
a change of some kind. What will it be?" and before her eyes rose the
dreary picture which David had so coarsely drawn; she saw herself
condemned to live in a rented house in a small town, with her husband
and child, with no occupation, and no brighter prospects for the
future. She heard the neighborhood gossip; they had seen better days.
She saw her husband rising in the morning, going into the town, coming
home to dinner, smoking on the sofa in the afternoon, going out again,
and going to bed at night. And so on, day after day, with nothing in
the world to do. She saw herself burdened with household cares,
comfortless, friendless; she saw herself upon her death-bed, and her
child standing beside her. Her child; from henceforth a poor, forsaken
child! A poor, noble young lady! It is a hard thing to occupy a station
in which one must keep up appearances, without the requisite means. A
poor young gentleman may fight it through, he can become a soldier; but
a poor young lady? And though the Lord should look down from heaven,
and endow her with all the loveliness of an angel, and her parents
should do for her all of which human love is capable, the world would
pass her by, and the young Herrs would say, "She is poor," and the
burghers, "She is proud." So Frida saw her child, who lay meanwhile in
peaceful child-sleep, undisturbed by the storm and tempest without, or
by the storm and tempest in her mother's breast.
Korlin Kegel brought a light, and the young Frau reached after the
letter which lay upon the table, as a person will do, when he wishes to
prevent another from noticing that he is deeply moved. She looked at
the address, it was to herself, from her sister-in-law, Albertine; she
tore open the envelope, and another letter fell into her hand,
addressed to her husband.
"Put this letter on your master's writing-table," she said to the girl.
Korlin went.
Her husband's sisters had often written to her, and their letters were
generally such as ladies write to drive away ennui. Frida opened the
letter; but ah! this was no letter born of ennui. Albertine wrote:--
"Dear Sister:
"I do not know that I am doing right. Bertha advises me to it, and
Fidelia has twice taken away the paper from under my pen, she thinks it
will only worry our dear brother Axel. But--I don't know, I cannot help
myself,--necessity really compels us. We have already written twice to
Axel, without getting an answer; he may be absent from home a good
deal, in these hard times, and also very much occupied,--for these
unhappy political troubles are beginning to reach us, as we have
evidence enough in Schwerin,--and so I believe I am doing right in
turning to you; you will give us an answer. You know that Axel borrowed
the capital which our dear father left us, to invest it on the estate
at Pumpelhagen; he promised us five percent, interest, instead of four
and a half, which we got before,--it was not necessary, for we did well
enough,--but he promised us the interest punctually, every quarter, and
it is three quarters since he has sent us any. Dear Frida, we should
certainly have said nothing about it, if we were not in the greatest
embarrassment. Added to this, our brother-in-law Breitenburg has been
here, who knew nothing of Axel's having borrowed from us, and when he
found it out, he spoke of Axel in the most dreadful way, and declared
that we were three geese. He asked to see our security by mortgage,
which we could not show him, because Axel has always delayed sending
it; and then he said, right to our faces, we should never see our money
again; it was notorious that Axel was so deeply in debt, through his
bad management, that Pumpelhagen would be sold over his head. We know,
to be sure, how to make allowance for our brother-in-law's speeches,
for he was always unfriendly to our dear Axel,--and how could it be
possible? Pumpelhagen sold? In our family for hundreds of years! The
Grand-Duke would not allow it, and we told him as much,--Fidelia in her
lively way,--then he took his hat and stick, and said in his coarse
way, 'Your brother Axel was always a fool, and now he has become a
scoundrel,' whereupon Fidelia sprang up, and showed him the door. It
was a frightful scene, and I never would have written you about it, if
I had not a secret anxiety lest Axel and Breitenberg should encounter
each other, and, like the brothers-in-law, Dannenberg and Malzahn,
out of an exaggerated sense of honor, shoot each other, across a
pocket-handkerchief. Caution Axel to avoid such a meeting, and, if it
is possible, take care that he sends us our interest.
"We think of visiting you this summer; we have taken a childish
pleasure in the thought of seeing you and the dear old place again,
where we played as children, and dreamed as maidens, and--alas!--where
we parted from our dear father. Yes, Frida, I rejoice in thinking of it
all, and Bertha and Fidelia with me, for we live only in recollection;
the present is dreary and comfortless. Only now and then some friend of
our father's comes in, and tells us what is passing in the world, and
it is really touching for Bertha and me to see how our little Fidelia,
with her natural vivacity, will throw aside her sewing and interest
herself in everything. She is very much interested in the court. Now,
farewell, dear Frida, pardon my gossip, and give the enclosed letter to
Axel. I have written him very earnestly and trustingly; but have spared
him, as much as possible, anything disagreeable. We shall see you in
August.
"Yours,
"Albertine von Rambow.
"Schwerin, June 11, 1848."
Frida read the letter, but she did not read it through; when she came
to the place, "Your brother Axel was always a fool, and now he has
become a scoundrel," she threw the letter on the floor, and wrung her
hands, then sprang to her feet, and walked up and down the room,
crying, "That he is! that he is!" Her child lay sleeping before her;
she threw herself down in the chair, and took up the letter again, and
read over the terrible words, and the dark picture she had been making
to herself of her child's future was gone like a shadow, and before her
eyes another shone, in livid colors; on it stood the three sisters, and
underneath was written: "Betrayed! betrayed by a brother!" And in the
back-ground stood her husband; but, dimly seen, she could not tell what
was truth and what was falsehood, and underneath was written:
"Scoundrel!" Horrible! horrible! Now all was lost,--doubly lost! For it
was not her own loss merely, it was the loss of one whom she had loved,
dearer than her own soul. That was fearful! Oh, for help, to remove
this glowing brand from the brow she had so often lovingly kissed! But
how? Who could help her? Name after name shot through her head, but
these names all seemed inscribed on a distant, inaccessible, rocky
wall, where she could find no footing. She wrung her hands in distress,
and the prospect grew darker and darker, when, all at once, there
beamed upon her in her anguish and torment an old, friendly, woman's
face. It was Frau Nuessler's face, and she looked just as she had when
she had kissed Frida's child.
The young Frau sprang up, exclaiming, "There is a heart! there is a
human heart!" It thundered and lightened, and the rain poured in
torrents; but the young Frau caught up a shawl, and rushed out into the
storm.
"Gracious Frau! For God's sake!" cried Korlin Kegel, "in the rain? in
the night?"
"Let me alone!"
"No, that I will not!" said the girl, as she followed her mistress.
"A human heart, a human heart," murmured the poor young Frau to
herself; the rain beat in her face,--onward! onward!--she had the shawl
in her hand, and never thought of it, her feet slipped in the muddy
path, she did not know it, there was a voice in her ears crying ever,
"Onward! onward!"
"If you must go, gracious Frau, then come along!" cried Korlin Kegel,
taking the shawl and wrapping it about her head and shoulders, and
encircling her waist with a strong arm. "Which way?"
"Frau Nuessler," said the young Frau, and murmured again, "a human
heart!" And a human heart was beating close beside her, and she never
thought of it; nothing keeps hearts asunder like the words, "Command
and obey." She had always been good to her people, and had received
every kindness from her servants with acknowledgments; but at this
moment she did not think of Korlin Kegel, her whole heart was absorbed
in the thought that Axel must be saved from shame and dishonor; and the
friendly face of Frau Nuessler shone upon her through the rain and the
darkness, like the nearest, and the only star. "Thither! thither!"
"Good heavens!" said Frau Nuessler, going to the window, "Jochen, what a
storm!"
"Yes, mother, what shall we do about it!"
"Dear heart!" said Frau Nuessler, sitting down again, in her arm-chair,
"suppose one were out in it! I should be frightened almost to death."
Frau Nuessler went on knitting, and Jochen smoked, and everything was
quiet and comfortable in the room, when Bauschan, under Jochen's chair,
uttered a short bark, such as signifies, in canine language: "What is
that?" Receiving no answer, he lay still, but all at once he started
up, and went with his old stiff legs, to the door, and began to whine
vehemently.
"Bauschan!" cried Frau Nuessler, "What ails the old fellow? What do you
want!"
"Mother," said Jochen, who knew Bauschan as well as Bauschan knew him,
"Somebody is coming." And the door was thrown open, and a pale, female
form tottered in and a strong girl supported her, and seated her on
Frau Nuessler's divan.
"Dear heart!" cried Frau Nuessler, starting up, and seizing the young
Frau's hands, "what is this? What does it mean? Good gracious! wet
through and through!"
"Yes, indeed!" said Korlin.
"Jochen, what are you sitting there for? Run and call Mining! Tell
Mining to come, and bid Duert to make camomile tea."
And Jochen also sprang up, and ran out, as fast as he could, and Frau
Nuessler took off the young Frau's shawl, and wiped the rain from her
face and her fair hair, with her handkerchief, and Mining shot into the
room like a pistol-ball, and was full of questions; but Frau Nuessler
cried, "Mining, there is no time for looking and questioning; bring
some of your clothes and linen, quickly, into my bedroom." And when
Mining was gone, she herself asked:
"Korlin Kegel, what does this mean?"
"Ah, Madam, I don't know; to be sure, she got a long letter this
evening."
Mining returned quickly, and Frau Nuessler and Korlin took the young
Frau into the bedroom, and when she was undressed, and had drunk the
tea, and lay in Frau Nuessler's bed, her senses returned, for it was
mere physical weakness which had overpowered her, and if the first
shock, and the dreadful feeling that there was no creature who could
help her, had turned her brain a little, here by this friendly face,
and this friendly treatment, she was herself again. She sat up in bed,
and looked confidingly into Frau Nuessler's eyes: "You told me once, if
I were ever in trouble, you would help me."
"And so I will," said Frau Nuessler, quite overcome, and stroking her
hands she said "Tell me, what is it?"
"Ah, much!" cried the young Frau, "our laborers are discontented, we
are in debt, deeply in debt, they are going to sell the estate----"
"Preserve us!" cried Frau Nuessler, "but there is time enough for that!"
"I could have borne that," said the young Frau, "but another trouble
has driven me to you, and I cannot and dare not tell you----"
"Don't speak of it, then, gracious Frau. But this isn't business for
women; we ought to have a man's counsel, and if you feel able, we might
drive over to see my brother Karl, at Rahnstadt."
"Ah, I could go; but how should I look the man in the face, whom----"
"That is where you are mistaken, gracious Frau, you don't know him.
Jochen!" she cried at the door, "let Krischan harness up, but let him
make haste, and do you make haste, too! Mining!" she cried at another
door, "bring your new Sunday mantle and hat, and a shawl; we are going
out."
All was quickly ready, and as she got into the carriage, Frau Nuessler
said to Krischan:
"Krischan, you know I don't like fast driving; but drive fast to-night!
We must be in Rahnstadt in half an hour. Else they will have gone to
bed," she added to the young Frau.
The little assessor had just gone home from the Frau Pastorin's,
Habermann and Braesig had said "Good-night!" and gone up-stairs, and
Braesig opened the window and looked out, to observe the weather:
"Karl," said he, "what a fragrance there is after the storm! The whole
air is full of atmosphere." Just then a carriage stopped at the Frau
Pastorin's, and the light from the house shone directly upon it.
"Preserve us!" cried Braesig. "Karl, there are your sister and Mining,
at this time of night!"
"Can any misfortune have happened!" exclaimed Habermann, snatching the
candle, and running down to the door.
"Sister," he asked hastily, as Frau Nuessler met him at the foot of the
stairs, "why have you come here, in the night? Mining,"--but he stopped
abruptly,--"gracious Frau! You here, at this time?"
"Karl, quick!" said Frau Nuessler, "the gracious Frau wishes to speak
with you alone. Make haste, before the others come!"
Habermann opened the Frau Pastorin's best room, and led the young Frau
in; he followed her, just catching, as he shut the door, the beginning
of Braesig's speech, on the stairs:
"May you keep the nose on your face! What have you come here for?
Excuse me, for coming down in my shirt sleeves; Karl very
inconsiderately took away the light, and I couldn't find my coat, in
the dark. But where is he, and where is Mining?"
Frau Nuessler was not obliged to answer these questions, for Louise came
out of the Frau Pastorin's room with a light.
"Bless me! aunt!"
"Louise, come in here, and you, Braesig, put your coat on, and come down
to the Frau Pastorin's room!" They did so, and Frau Pastorin came in
also, and the hall was left empty and still, and if one had put his ear
to the door on the right, he would have heard the honest, touching
confession, which the young Frau, at first with embarrassment and
bitter tears, but afterwards with entire confidence and secret hope in
her heart, poured out to the old inspector; and if he had listened at
the door on the left, he would have heard the most frightful lying from
Frau Nuessler, for it had occurred to the good lady that, since they had
taken the gracious Frau for Mining, she might as well pass for Mining,
till she had finished her business, so that they need not torment her
with questions, and so she told them that Mining had a dreadful
toothache, and that her brother Karl knew of a remedy, a sort of
magnetism, which must be applied between twelve and one o'clock at
night, in perfect silence; and Frau Pastorin said she thought that was
an unchristian proceeding, and Braesig remarked, "I never knew that Karl
had any taste for magnetism and doctoring." And after a little,
Habermann put his head in at the door, and said, "Frau Pastorin, leave
the door unlocked, I have an errand out, but I shall be back soon," and
before Frau Pastorin could say a word, he was gone, and he went to the
street where Moses lived.