A few weeks passed by, during which Alick, instead of going about the
place and seeing how his estate was managed, shut himself up with
Flegel, the carpenter, and busied himself in making a machine from
the model he had formerly invented, that would act as harrow and
clod-breaker at one and the same time. He wanted to complete it as soon
as possible, for the benefit of himself, and the world at large. All
the letters and accounts which ought to have been attended to
regularly, and which form a portion of the necessary daily work of any
one who has a large estate to manage, were pushed aside as matters of
small moment. When Alick came home to dinner or supper he looked as
grave and important as if he had been busy at the farm all day, and
wished his wife to see how very necessary his presence was for the
proper conduct of affairs. And who is so credulous as a young wife?
Some one may say: a girl during her engagement. But that is a mistake,
for her position is not so assured. She is always trying to know and
understand her future husband better. But when once a woman thinks she
knows a man's character, and has given him her hand, she follows him
blindly until the bandage is torn rudely from her eyes. Then she
strives against the truth, refuses to credit what she sees, and thinks
it her duty to disbelieve the testimony of her own eyes. They were not
wicked actions that he hid from her; they were only follies which he
firmly believed would improve his affairs. But it was a pity that he
did not know what he was doing, and that she did not see it. It never
occurred to her that he could act differently with regard to his share
of the duties of the estate, from what she did in her own domain of
kitchen, larder and dairy, where she went about daily, looking
carefully into everything, and learning all that she could, so as to be
able to take the charge of everything into her own hands.
Nothing lasts more than a certain time, and as old Kopk, the shepherd,
said: Puppies have their eyes opened on the ninth day.
Late one afternoon when Mrs. von Rambow was walking up and down the
garden under the shade, of the high hedge which ran round the corner of
the yard near the workshop, she heard an angry dialogue on the other
side of it. "So--you don't like the looks of it! Do you think that I
like it any better? Ugh! Get along with you! Get along with you,
or ...."--Thud came something against the door. She wondered what was
the matter and peeped through the hedge, but could only see the old
carpenter Frederic Flegel. There was no one else there, and all the
noise was made by the carpenter, who was quarrelling with his tools and
his work. It is amusing to see a man in a rage with his own handiwork,
and Mrs. von Rambow smilingly watched the old man: "Go to the devil!
You're a deal more trouble than you're worth."--Thud! Thud! His
foot-rule flew over the half-door, and when he had picked it up, he
stood staring at the ground at his feet, muttering: "Confound the
thing! It has nearly bothered me out of my life!"--"Good-evening,
Flegel," said another voice, and Kegel, the labourer, coming up, leant
upon his spade and asked: "What are you working at here? It's a holiday
you know."--"Working at, did you say? There's enough to be done in all
conscience! It'll be the death of me! Look. That's supposed to be a
model! I can work from a model as well as any man, but devil a bit can
I make head or tail of that thing."--"Is it the same machine that you
were working at before?"--"Of course it is, and it won't be finished
this summer either."--"He must be a clever fellow to be able to invent
a thing like that."--"Do you think so? Then let me tell you that any
fool can do that sort of inventing, but it takes a wise man to make a
really useful machine. Look you, there are three kinds of people in the
world. Those who understand how a thing ought to be, but can't make it
themselves; those who can't understand, but can work under direction,
and those who can neither understand how a thing should be made, nor
are able to make it, and he belongs to the last class," so saying he
flung his foot-rule at the door again, adding: "And what's to be done I
don't know."--"Well, Flegel, I must say that I can't make out what he
means. He said we were to go straight to him whenever we wanted
anything, so I went and told him I required more potato-ground, and he
said he didn't understand the rights of the case, and that he would ask
Mr. Hawermann. And you see if it comes to that I've no chance, for he
knows that the reason I ran short before was because I didn't hoe my
potatoes properly."--"Mr. Hawermann's a great deal easier to work for
though. He says to me: 'Flegel,' says he, 'make a handle for this hoe;'
I do it, and then he says: 'Flegel, this wheel wants mending;' I mend
it as he desires, and have no more trouble; but with him ..... Ah well,
Kegel, mark my words, he'll come to grief, and so shall we before very
long."--"You're right there," answered the labourer, "it's all of a
piece with my potato-ground."--"Fair play's a jewel!" said Flegel as he
locked the workshop-door and put on his blouse. "It's your own fault
about the potatoes, remember. If you'd looked after them properly you'd
have had enough."--"Yes," replied Kegel, shouldering his spade, and
walking away with the carpenter, "but that doesn't help me to the
garden, and it seems that I must just get on with what I have."
It is a true saying that even great and learned people are pleased when
they hear the praises of those they love from the mouths of children or
inferiors, and it is equally true that a harsh judgment coming from the
same source hurts and saddens those who hear it. It was not much that
she had heard. It was only village-gossip such as foolish men
continually utter, but the smile had died out of the young wife's eyes,
and a look of displeasure had taken its place. Circumstances had
prevented her husband fulfilling the promises he had made in ignorance
of all they implied; his kindness of heart had carried him further than
he had intended.
Mrs. von Rambow was very silent when Alick came in to supper, and he on
the contrary was more talkative than usual. "Now then, Frida dear," he
began, "we are pretty well settled, and I think it's high time for us
to make some calls on our neighbours."--"Very well Alick, but who do
you mean?"--"I think," he said, "that we ought to begin with those who
live within walking-distance of us."--"Then we should go to see our
clergyman first."--"We'll go there of course--but not quite yet."--"Who
else is there?" asked Frida thoughtfully. "Oh, Mr. Pomuchelskopp and
Mr. Nüssler."--"Dear Frida," said Alick, looking a little grave,
"surely you're joking when you speak of the Nüsslers. We can't admit
tenant-farmers to our acquaintance."--"I don't quite agree with you
there," answered his wife quietly. "I think more of what people are,
than of their position. Your customs here may be different from
ours in Prussia, but when I lived in my father's house we knew a great
many families intimately, who only rented the land on which they lived.
Mrs. Nüssler is said to be very nice."--"She is the sister of my
bailiff. I can't call at her house; it wouldn't do."--"But Mr.
Pomuchelskopp?"--"That's quite different. He is a land-owner, is rich,
and is a justice of peace as well as myself ...."--"And has a bad name
in the parish, and his wife still worse. No, Alick, I won't go
there."--"My dear child ...."--"No, Alick; I don't think that you quite
see all the bearings of the case. Supposing Mr. Nüssler had bought
Gürlitz, would you have called on him?"--"That's supposing an
impossibility. I will not call on the Nüsslers," he said angrily.--"Nor
I on the Pomuchelskopps, I dislike them so much," said Mrs. von Rambow
decidedly.--"Frida," began her husband.--"No, Alick," she said firmly,
"I'll drive to Gürlitz with you to-morrow, but will get out at the
parsonage."
That was the end of it. There was no quarrel, but both held to their
own determination. Frida would gladly have given way to her husband, if
it had not been for the disagreeable feeling left on her mind by what
she had heard, which made her feel that Alick said and did things
rashly without considering the consequences, and wanted firmness to
carry out his intentions. Alick would gladly have given way to his wife
had he not felt that Pomuchelskopp was a rich man, and that he might
find it useful to be on friendly terms with him; and he would have
liked to have gone to Rexow, had it not been that the foolish notions
he had picked up in his regiment stuck in his throat.
It was all over now, and could not be altered. The beginning of strife
had made its way into the house, and the door had remained ajar so that
it might enter in and take up its abode there. Domestic strife may be
likened to the tail of a kite, such as children play with, the string
forming it is very long, and there are small bundles attached to it at
regular intervals. Now though these bundles are only scraps of paper,
still when once they get entangled it is long and weary work trying to
straighten out the tail again, for there is neither beginning nor end
to be found.
The next afternoon they started on foot for Gürlitz, as Alick had
agreed to Frida's request to walk instead of driving. After taking her
to the door of the parsonage Alick left her, and promising to call for
her on his way home, set off for the manor-house.
They had just finished coffee at the Pomuchelskopps, and Phil, Tony and
the other little ones were still hanging about the table like foals
before the hayrack. They dipped bits of bread into the sugar at the
bottom of the coffee-cups, and smeared their faces therewith. Then they
mashed up the softened bread with tea-spoons and their fingers, and
wrote their own beautiful name "Pomuchelskopp" on the table with spilt
coffee and milk, glancing at their mother every now and then
innocently, as much as to say, it wasn't me. Mrs. Pomuchelskopp was
seated at the table, dressed in her old black gown, and watching the
children to see that they were behaving themselves. Pomuchelskopp
himself was lying on the sofa smoking, and looking at the picture of
domestic happiness, sloppy bread and melted sugar before him. He had
finished his coffee, for he always had a cup made particularly for
himself, though he never got it, for Mally and Sally whose duty it was
to make the coffee in turns used to drink half of the cup prepared for
him, and then fill it up from the family coffee-pot. He lay back in the
sofa-corner, his left leg crossed over his right according to the
ordinance of Duke Adolphus of Cleves: "When a judge is sitting in the
judgment-hall, let him always cross his left leg over his right," &c,
and if he was not a judge, he was in point of fact more than that; he
was a law-giver, and was busy thinking how absolutely necessary it was
for him to attend the Mecklenburg parliament when it next met.
"Henny," he said, "I intend to go to the next parliament."--"Oh!" said
his wife, "hav'n't you any other opportunity of spending money?"--"Why,
chick, my position demands that I should show myself there, and it
won't cost me much. The next parliament is to meet at Malchin, which
isn't far from here, and if I take a basket ....."--"Then I suppose you
expect me to put on your boots, and wade through the mud to see that
the men are doing their work?"--"You needn't trouble to do that, my
chick. Gus will look after everything of that sort, and if I'm wanted I
can be home at an hour's notice."--"But father," said Mally, who was
considered a great politician because she was the only one of the
family who ever read the Rostock newspaper to such purpose as to know
where their Serene Highnesses the Grand-Duke and Grand-Duchess were
staying, for Pomuchelskopp looked at nothing but the state of the corn
and money markets. "But father," she said, "you ought not to go unless
you are prepared to try and bring about some reforms of great
importance, such as allowing middle-class landowners to wear red coats,
and then the convent question." She spoke as if she thought the convent
question had reference to herself.--"What!" cried Pomuchelskopp, rising
and pacing the room with long strides, "you surely don't think so
meanly of your father as to imagine that he would go and give his votes
and influence to the middle-class landowners and neglect the interests
of his own family? No, if anything goes wrong here, write for me to
come home. And as for the red coat, if I'm to have it I know the best
way--Let everyone look out for himself--It'll redound more to my honour
if I win it for myself _alone_, and not merely as one of a lot of poor
wretches who have only a few hundred pounds to bless themselves with.
When I come home and say: Mally, I alone have got it; you may be proud
of your father." While saying this he crossed the room, and blew a
cloud of tobacco smoke right in the face of his innocent child, making
her look like one of the angels with a trumpet sitting in the clouds,
and as if she had only to put the mouth piece of the trumpet to her
lips to blow a blast in her father's honour.--"Are you crazy, Kopp?"
asked his wife.--"Let me alone, Henny. We must keep up our dignity.
Show me your friends and I'll tell you who you are. If I vote with the
nobles and ....."--"I should have thought that you'd have had enough
snubbing from the nobles already."--"Henny," remonstrated
Pomuchelskopp, but was stopped by Sally who was seated at the
window, exclaiming: "Law! Here's Mr. von Rambow coming across the
court."--"Henny," said Pomuchelskopp again, turning his expressive eyes
reproachfully on his wife, "you see that a nobleman is coming to my
house! But now, clear out of this, will you," he went on, driving his
younger olive branches out at the door. "Mally take away the coffee
things. Sally bring a duster and be quick about it. And Henny go and
put on another gown."--"What!" said his wife. "Is the young man coming
to my house, or am I going to his? As he thinks fit to come here, he
may just take me as he finds me."--"Henny," entreated Pomuchelskopp,
"let me implore you to do as I ask, you'll spoil the whole visit if you
appear in that old black dress."--"Are you a fool, Muchel?" she asked
without moving. "Do you think that he is coming here for the sake of
either of us? He's only coming because he needs our help, and so my
dress is quite good enough."--Muchel begged her once more to do as he
wanted, but in vain.--Mally and Sally hastened from the room to make
themselves tidy, but their mother remained sitting on her chair as
stiff and upright as a poker.
Alick entered and greeted the worthy couple, and it must be confessed
that his politeness was as great to the lady in the old black dress as
to the gentleman in the green checked trousers. He made himself so
pleasant and talked so agreeably that Henny was charmed and called her
husband Pöking; indeed before the end of the visit, even she came to
the conclusion that the old gown looked too shabby to be worn any
longer.--Mally then came into the room pretending that she had
forgotten something, and she was soon afterwards followed by Sally, who
pretended that she had come for something. Pomuchelskopp introduced
them, and the meaningless chit chat of the earlier part of the visit
was changed to a learned discussion about Sally's worsted-work, which
in its turn gave place to a political conversation, when Mally took up
the newspaper. Philip now came in and stationed himself in the corner
behind his mother; he was followed by Tony, who joined him in his
retreat, and then all the little ones came in singly and surrounded
their mother, till Henny looked like an old black hen with all her
chickens taking refuge under her wing when a hawk is overhead. And when
she took the key of the linen press out of her basket--for she felt she
could do no less--and left the room, she was followed by the whole
brood, for they knew that the short-bread was kept there which Henny
baked twice a year, and then kept for any important occasion. It cannot
be denied that these cakes were uncommonly good at first, but in course
of time they contracted a slight flavour of brown soap from their
proximity to the linen; but that was no drawback in the estimation of
the family at Gürlitz manor, they had been accustomed to the flavour
from their infancy and would quite have missed it if it had not been
there. If Alick had not been so deeply engaged talking to Pomuchelskopp
he could not have helped hearing the begging and coaxing going on
outside.--"Do give me some, mother"--"And me too, mother."--But
Pomuchelskopp had taken him in hand and was determined to give his
visitor a good impression of himself and his family. "Look here, Mr.
von Rambow," he said, "you will find that ours is an extremely quiet
family; I myself am a quiet man, and my wife," here he glanced round
the room to make sure that his Henny was well out of hearing, "is also
quiet, and so we have brought up our daughters and our other children
very quietly. We make no show, and only care to live a simple family
life. We don't desire to make many acquaintances, for I am thankful to
say we are sufficient to ourselves, but," he added putting on a
dignified patriarchal air, "everyone of us has some duty to perform;
each of us has some necessary work which he or she _must_--I say _must_
carry out after having once undertaken to perform it, and I am
convinced that the blessing of God rests upon such work when it is
conscientiously done."--Alick replied politely that these sentiments
did him honour.--"Yes," said Pomuchelskopp taking Phil by his coat
collar and drawing him forward with his mouth ninety eight per cent
full of short bread and two per cent of brown soap, "Make a bow, Phil.
Look at this little fellow, Mr. von Rambow. It's his duty to hunt for
eggs, I mean for the eggs of those hens that may chance to lay out in
the wood, he gets a ha'penny far every dozen he brings in, and the
money is put in a savings-box for him. Phil, my boy, tell us how much
you've made already by egg hunting?"--"One pound, four, and seven
pence," answered Philip.--"You see then, my dear boy," said
Pomuchelskopp patting his son on the head encouragingly, "that God's
blessing always rests on the diligent. Then," he continued turning to
Alick, "Tony gets so much a pound for all the old iron, nails and
horse-shoes that he can find, while Polly, Harry and Steenie are
allowed to sell all the apples, pears and plums--of course I only mean
those that have fallen under the trees, most of them are mere trash,
but still the townspeople are glad enough to buy them. So you see
Mr. von Rambow that my children have each their own particular
apartment"--Alick smothered a laugh at the last word, while Mally and
Sally glanced to each other and then looked down and smiled at their
father's mistake. Pomuchelskopp like Bräsig was sometimes guilty of
mispronouncing or using a long word in the wrong place, but there was
this difference between them, that Bräsig used long words from sheer
love of them, and although he knew that he often made absurd mistakes
he did not mind that a bit, while Pomuchelskopp who did it in
self-glorification, took such accidents rather ill-humouredly. He knew
that he had made some ridiculous blunder when he saw his daughters
laughing at him, and was much relieved by his wife coming in with the
cake and wine. She had taken the opportunity of changing her dress, and
now wore a light yellow silk gown and a large mob-cab.--"Henny," said
Pomuchelskopp, "not that wine. When we have such distinguished visitors
let us always have the best we possess."--"Say what you want then,"
replied his wife shortly. He did so, and then went on with the thread
of his discourse. "Even my two eldest daughters have their own
particular lines. Sally is most interested in art, such as embroidery
and music; while Mally delights in reading the newspaper and in
studying politics." Alick was surprised to hear that, so few young
ladies cared about such things, and Mally assured him that it was quite
necessary for some member of a household to know what was going on at
the seat of government, and her father did not read that part of the
paper. She then went on to say that just as Mr. von Rambow arrived they
had been agreeing that her father ought to attend the next meeting of
parliament. "Yes, Mr. von Rambow," said Muchel, "I intend to go; not
because of the changes my middle class colleagues want to bring
about, I care nothing for them, and I know the difference between
lords and commons perfectly. I'm only going because I wish to show
those people what is the proper mode of action." Alick now enquired,
for something to say, whether Mr. Pomuchelskopp had many acquaintances
in the neighbourhood. "Who is there for me to know?" asked
Pomuchelskopp. "Mr. Nüssler at Rexow? Why he's a fool. And as for the
farm-bailiff that wouldn't quite do, and there's nobody else in the
neighbourhood."--"Then I suppose that you are only intimate with the
clergyman and his family?"--"No, not even with them. The parson's
conduct has been such from the very first, that I could have nothing to
do with him. He has friends whom I don't like; and besides that, he has
adopted the daughter of your bailiff Hawermann, and I don't wish my
girls to be thrown into such society."--"I thought that she seemed to
be nice," said Alick.--"Oh yes, I've no doubt she is," replied
Pomuchelskopp. "I've nothing to say against the girl. You see, Mr. von
Rambow, I'm a quiet man. I used to know Hawermann long ago, and I won't
say he deceived me, but ..... Besides that, I didn't like the way in
which the girl was thrown with young Mr. von Rambow by her father
and the people at the parsonage."--"With my cousin Frank?" asked
Alick.--"Yes, his name was Frank. I mean the young gentleman who learnt
farming with Hawermann. I don't know him myself, for he never entered
my house, and I'm just as well pleased if what people tell me is
true."--"He still writes to her," said Henny.--"No, mother," said
Mally, "you can't say that, his letters are always addressed to Mr.
Behrens. Our postman carries the parsonage letters too," she added,
addressing Alick.--"It's all the same," said Henny, "which he writes
to."--"This is the first time I've heard of it," said Alick looking
down at the floor.--"Oh," said Pomuchelskopp, "the whole country-side
knows it. She ran after him wherever he went, under pretext of
visiting her father and your sisters, and if ever anything came between
them Hawermann and the people at the parsonage made it all right
again."--"No, father," cried Sally, "old Bräsig was the greatest
match-maker amongst them, and he always carried their letters to
each other."--"Who is this Bräsig?" asked Alick who was now very
angry.--"He's a sly rogue," cried Henny.--"Yes, that's just what he
is," said Pomuchelskopp disdainfully. "He has a small pension from
Count .... and has nothing earthly to do but to go about making
mischief. Besides that he's ....."--"No, father," interrupted Mally,
"I'll tell. The old man is a democrat, Mr. von Rambow; an out and out
de-mo-crat."--"You're right there," said Pomuchelskopp, interrupting
Mally in his turn, "and I shouldn't be at all surprised if the
scoundrel were also an incendiary."
Alick remembered that he had had that good-for-nothing fellow to dine
with him at his own table, and that by Hawermann's fault. The
conversation had irritated him so much, that he, not finding the
shortbread a sufficient inducement to prolong his visit, took leave,
and was accompanied by Pomuchelskopp as far as the gate of the
court-yard. "Is what you have told me about my cousin quite true?"
asked Alick as they crossed the yard.--"Mr. von Rambow," said
Pomuchelskopp, "I'm a quiet old man, and people at my age don't trouble
themselves about love stories. I only repeated what others had told
me."--"Ah well, I suppose that it's a mere passing caprice; a case of
'out of sight, out of mind.'"--"No, I don't think so," replied
Pomuchelskopp thoughtfully. "If I know Hawermann at all, he's a sly
dog, and too wide awake to his own interest to let such a chance slip
out of his fingers. Your cousin has fallen into his toils."--"The boy
has only lost his head," said Alick, "and he'll soon learn more sense.
Good-bye, Mr. Pomuchelskopp. Thank you for telling me about my cousin.
I hope soon to have the pleasure of seeing you at my house. Good-bye,"
and with that he turned down the road to the right--"I beg your
pardon," cried Pomuchelskopp. "You're going the wrong way. The
Pümpelhagen road is to the left."--"I know," said Alick, "but I'm going
to the parsonage to fetch my wife. Goodbye."
"Ah!" said Pomuchelskopp as he went back to the house. "This is
charming, de-lightful! And why shouldn't she be there? It's quite
proper for Mr. von Rambow to come to my house, but I'm not good enough
for his wife to know! Children," he exclaimed as he entered the family
sitting-room, "Mrs. von Rambow is at the parsonage. We ar'n't grand
enough for her ladyship I suppose!"--"Well, Pöking," said his
wife, "I congratulate you upon having been again taken in by an
aristocrat."--"Is it possible!" cried Sally.--"It's an undoubted fact,"
said her father, giving Tony and Phil the remains of the short bread,
and then added: "Now be off, you young rascals." After that he threw
himself into the sofa corner and slashed at the flies, while his wife
hovered about him, and made satirical remarks about grand
acquaintances, beggars and aristocrats: "Sally," she said at last,
"take that bottle of wine back to the cellar, there's enough of it
remaining for your father to treat another of his grand friends on some
future occasion."--After a long silence she exclaimed: "Come to the
window, father. Look there. Your grand friend and his butterfly wife
are passing, and do you see who they've got with them. Your incendiary
old Bräsig."
It was quite true. Bräsig was walking along the Pümpelhagen road with
the Rambows, and was so pleased with the young lady's gentle kindness,
that he took no notice of Alick's short answers. He had met Mrs. von
Rambow at the parsonage and thought her even prettier and nicer than on
the memorable occasion of the dinner-party.
Well might he like and admire her; well might anybody like her who had
seen her in the parsonage that day. When she entered the parlour she
found the clergyman lying on the sofa weak and ill; he would have risen
to receive her, but she would not allow him to do so. Then laying both
hands on little Mrs. Behrens' shoulders she entreated the good old lady
to help her in her new life, saying that she often needed good advice.
After that she went to Bräsig and shook his hand warmly like an old
friend.--When Louisa came in shortly afterwards, she greeted her also
like an old friend, and could not help looking at her again and again,
as if there were always something new to be read in her face, and as
she did so she grew thoughtful like a person reading a beautiful book,
who cannot turn to a new page before thoroughly understanding the
preceding ones.
Mrs. von Rambow found that there were many pages of the book of human
life for her to study in that quiet room. Mr. Behrens, with his long
experience and loving sympathy for all men; Mrs. Behrens with her great
housekeeping talents, her happy nature and true-heartedness; Louisa
with her modesty and thoughtfulness, and her pleasure in making
acquaintance with Mrs. von Rambow, who bore the same name as that she
used to know so well, and which was so dear to her; and then there was
Bräsig, who might be looked upon as forming a sort of commentary upon
the others to make their meaning clearer, and Mrs. von Rambow read the
commentary with as much pleasure as we young rogues used to do the Ass'
Bridge ad modum Minellii in Cornelius Nepos. There was so much innocent
mirth and affectionate sympathy amongst these people that Mrs. von
Rambow felt almost as gay as if she were making one of a party of happy
children dancing "kringel-kranz," with Louisa for their queen, round
the bole of a shady old tree.
Alick at last joined the happy circle at the parsonage, but what he had
just heard had made him too cross to be able to enter into the spirit
of what was going on. He disliked the thought of his wife being in such
company as he now found her, and was still more put out when Bräsig
said: "How d'ye do, Lieutenant von Rambow." Instead of answering, he
turned to the clergyman, and addressed a few words to him about
his health and the weather, but his manner was so cold that his
warm-hearted wife could not bear to see it, and hastily rose to take
leave, that the friendliness with which she had been received might not
be utterly chilled, and that Alick's manner might have no worse effect
than a slight shower of hail on a summer-day.
They took their departure, but uncle Bräsig went with them. Mr. von
Rambow's coldness made no impression on him, for he knew that he had
done nothing to deserve it; his conscience was clear of offence.
Another reason for his going with them was that he had a high opinion
of his powers of conversation being able to charm any man out of a bad
temper, and bring him back to a more cheerful view of life. He
therefore walked on beside the young squire, and talked to him about
this and that, but all his efforts were unavailing to change the short
cold answers he received into more friendly ones. When Mr. von Rambow
stopped at the end of the road leading to the church, and asked him
which way he was going, it suddenly flashed upon the old man that his
companion thought he wanted to thrust himself upon him.--"This takes me
by surprise, Sir," he said, standing still in his turn. "Are you
ashamed of walking with me in the public road? Well, let me assure you
that it wasn't for your sake that I came with you, but entirely out of
respect, for your wife, she has been so very kind to me. I won't
incommodate you any further," then making a deep bow to Mrs. von
Rambow, he went across the rape-stubble to where Hawermann was busy
superintending the stacking of the rape-straw.
"Why were you so unkind to that good-natured old man, Alick," asked
Frida.--"That good-natured old man, as you call him, is nothing better
than a mischievous fellow and a match-maker."--"Do you really think so?
And do you think that our Hawermann would be so fond of him if he
were?"--"Why not, when he finds him useful?"--Frida looked at him
anxiously: "What's the matter with you, Alick? You used to be so kind
to every one, and so trustful. What can have set you against these two
people? People who have always been friendly and honest in all their
dealings with you."--"Friendly!--Well, why not? It's their interest to
be so, I'm the owner of the estate. But honest?--Time will show. From
all that I hear honesty isn't quite the term _I_ should use."--"What
have you heard? And from whom did you hear it?" cried Frida quickly.
"Tell me, Alick. I am your wife."--"I've heard a good many things,"
answered Alick with a sneer. "I've heard that 'our' Hawermann, as you
call him, was once bankrupt, and the best that I've heard is that he
made use of the influence he had acquired as teacher to bring about a
sort of engagement between my cousin Frank and his daughter. In this he
was assisted by Mr. and Mrs. Behrens, and that old match-maker, Bräsig.
And," he continued angrily, "the young fool has allowed himself to be
caught in their snares."--Mrs. von Rambow felt her spirit rise against
such a base libel. She knew how impossible it was for that innocent
child Louisa Hawermann to have lent herself to such a scheme, and more
than that, she resented the scandalous story as an insult to womanhood.
Her eyes flashed, as laying her hand on her husband's arm, She made him
stand still, and said: "You've been in very bad company, and have
allowed yourself to be influenced by unworthy people." Then letting her
hands fall to her side she went on sadly: "Oh, Alick, Alick, you are so
good and true, how can you let such mean whispers affect your honest
judgment?"--Alick was astonished at the zeal with which his wife took
up the case, and would willingly have withdrawn what he had said, but
he _had_ said it, and he would have despised himself if he had not
stuck to his opinion, so he asked: "What is the matter, Frida? It is a
fact that my foolish cousin has got his name mixed up with that of the
girl. It's the common talk of the neighbourhood."--"If you will change
your way of putting it. If you will say that your cousin has fallen in
love with the girl, I will believe it. I hardly know him, but I shall
like him all the better if it is so."--"What? Do you think that my
cousin who is rich and independent ought to marry my bailiff's
daughter?"--"The advantage of being rich and independent is that a man
is free to choose as he likes, and your cousin has not chosen
unworthily."--"Then you think that it would be a pleasant thing for me
to be connected by marriage with my farm-bailiff! And let the plotters
win the day! No, I'll never consent to bear that silently."--"Why,"
cried Frida, "don't you see that the lie and calumny are in that part
of your story. How can you believe such a wretched piece of scandal?
How can you believe--putting aside the lovely innocent face of the
girl--such ill of that unsophisticated old man, that loving father
whose only joy is in his daughter's happiness; how can you think such
wickedness possible in that dignified old clergyman or his true-hearted
wife; or even in the good man who has just left us deeply wounded by
your harshness to him, and whose uprightness and honesty are easily
seen in spite of his mistaken use of long words? Do you really think it
possible that these good people would make a mere speculation of their
darling's beauty?"--"But," said Alick, "they only want to make her
happy."--"Oh," answered Frida gravely and sadly, "then you and I have
very different notions of happiness. Nobody can be made happy by such
means."--"I'm not talking of my _own_ idea of happiness," said Alick,
struck by her reproachful tone. "I only mean what these kind of people
think happiness."--"Don't deceive yourself, Alick. For God's sake,
don't deceive yourself. A high worldly station may enable one to take a
large view of human affairs, but believe me, in a less exalted position
love influences the lives of men in a way that it unfortunately can
seldom do those of higher rank. In short, we often have to do without
it," she said slowly, and wiping a tear from her eyes as she thought of
her motherless childhood passed in the society of a father whose life
was spent in a hard struggle to keep up his position, and who found an
unfailing comfort in every distress--in field-sports.
Then they went home. Alick in the goodness of his heart was kind and
affectionate to his wife, and she took his kindness and affection as
they were meant; thus peace was ratified between them--outwardly at
least--for they each held to their own opinion.
Bräsig meanwhile made his way to where Hawermann was standing by
the rape-stacks. He was angry, very angry. Such a thing had never
happened to him before, except that once when Pomuchelskopp was rude to
him, and he felt that the only way to get rid of his wrath was to
expend a little of it on some labourer who might deserve it from his
stupidity.--"Good-day, Charles," he said, passing Hawermann with his
head in the air, and his eyebrows raised as high as they would go. He
walked round one of the stacks, and then placing himself in front of
his friend, asked: "Are you trying to make a pancake?"--"Don't talk of
it," said Hawermann, looking very much put out, "I've been angry enough
about it as it is. I sent Triddelfitz to look after the stacking of the
rape yesterday, and told him to make the stacks twenty feet broad and
high in proportion, and he has only made them half what I told him.
When I came out here I found the mischief done, and I hav'n't time to
undo it all. It must just remain as it is--fortunately it's only straw,
so that it won't hurt much if it should happen to rain before I can get
it into the yard, but I hate to see such unworkmanlike stacks in one of
my fields."--"Yes, Charles, and your neighbour Pomuchelskopp won't fail
to draw attention to it."--"Let him! But what Triddelfitz means by
it I can't make out. He has been neither to hold nor to bind since Mr.
von Rambow promised him the horse."--"Have you spoken to him
seriously?"--"What's the good of it? He can think of nothing but
horses. He doesn't want my advice about that even, for Mr. von Rambow
advised him to get an English mare, and has promised to buy all the
foals. He won't listen to a word I say, and I'm sure he'll end by
buying that wretched screw."--"Doesn't he want to get Augustus
Prebberow's sorrel-mare Whalebone?"--"Yes, that's the very one he has
set his heart on."--"Capital!" cried Bräsig. "Splendid! He'll ride
about, and show himself off on that old mare when the Grand Duke makes
his triump'ant entrance into Rahnstädt. Charles, that grey-hound of
yours is a treasure."--"Yes," answered Hawermann drily, and glancing at
his stacks, "you're about right there."--"Oh, I don't mean as a farmer,
but as an amusing fellow, especially when he and your young squire get
together."--"Bräsig," said Hawermann gravely, "don't speak in that way
of my master before the labourers."--"Quite right, Charles, I oughtn't
to have done so, but come away with me."--When they were, out of
hearing of the work-people Bräsig stood still, and said slowly and
emphatically: "Charles, that _young gentleman_ was ashamed to be seen
walking with me on the public road. What do you say to that? He gave me
to understand as much in the presence of his lovely wife."--He then
told all that had happened. Hawermann tried to talk him into a better
humour, but did not quite succeed. Bräsig at last exclaimed with
indignant emphasis: "It was his own folly that made him act as he did,
but it was Samuel Pomuchelskopp who roused him to do it. He had just
been calling at Gürlitz manor. And you may say what you like, Charles,
your master's a fool, and when once you've been sent about your
business, I'll amuse myself by coming over here, and standing on the
top of this hill that I may see what a mess your master and your
grey-hound make of the farm."--"Well," said Hawermann, "if you want to
see something queer you needn't wait till then. Just look over there!"
He pointed as he spoke over the thorn-bush behind which they happened
to be standing, and down the road. Bräsig did as he was desired, and
was so struck by amazement at what he saw, that he was unable to utter
a word. At last he said: "Why, Charles, your grey-hound has gone crazy.
Apothecaries often go mad, and I daresay their children inherit the
disease from them."--It really seemed as if Bräsig was right. Fred was
riding the famous sorrel-mare up the road at a foot's pace. He had
taken off his hat, and was waving it violently, and shouting as loud as
he could: "Hurrah! Hurrah!" and all apparently for his own edification,
for he could not see the two old men behind the thorn-bush till
they advanced towards him, and Hawermann asked whether he had gone
mad.--"It's all a lie," said Fred.--"What's a lie?" asked Hawermann
angrily.--"That the mare won't stand shouting," and with that he began
to hurrah again.--"Look!" he said dismounting and tying his horse to a
willow-branch, and then going to a little distance he shouted "hurrah!"
once more. "You see she doesn't shy a bit. And you," turning to Bräsig
who looked as if he were on the point of bursting out laughing, "told
me she couldn't stand it, and you see it isn't true."--"I see," said
Bräsig, shaking with laughter, "but still it's quite true. I said what
I said, and it was this, that she couldn't _hear_ it, and neither she
can, for the creature's as deaf as a post, and has been so for all the
five years that I've known her."--On hearing this Fred Triddelfitz,
clever, quick-witted Fred Triddelfitz stood staring at the old man with
the most sheepish expression in the world. "But," he stammered out at
last, "Augustus Prebberow is a great friend of mine, and he never told
me that"--"Ah," said Bräsig, "you'll soon find out that friendship
counts for less than nothing in horse-dealing."--"Never mind,
Triddelfitz," said Hawermann kindly, for he was sorry for the lad. "The
mare may suit you very well though she's deaf; it's better to be deaf
than tricky."--"Oh," said Fred, his spirits rising. "I know what to do.
Look now--yes, that's spavin she has got, but still she's a
thoroughbred. She's in foal by Hector. Mr. von Rambow has promised to
buy all the foals, and when I've sold three or four ...."--"You'll buy
a large estate," interrupted Bräsig. "We all know that. Now ride home
quietly, and take care that you don't break your milk-jug on the way
like that girl. You remember it Charles. In Gellert's Fables."
Fred rode off.--"The rascally grey-hound!" said Bräsig.--"I don't know
why," said Hawermann, "but I can't help liking the lad. He is so
sweet-tempered."--"That's because he's young, Charles."--"Perhaps so,"
answered Hawermann thoughtfully, "but just look at him, riding away on
the deaf old mare as happy as a king."