The new year 1844 had come and winter was gone. Spring was waiting at
the door till the Lord of the house gave him permission to enter, and
re-clothe the earth with her garment of leaves, grass and flowers. When
the ice and snow melted all hearts at Pümpelhagen grew lighter as
though awakened to new life by the sunshine. Even old Hawermann was
happier as he worked away in the fields, and while he sowed the
corn-seed in the dark soil, God sowed the seed of hope in his sad
heart. As Mr. and Mrs. von Rambow had gone to visit some of their
relations he was able to get on quicker with the work of the farm, and
also to see more of his daughter than during the winter. He had seen
and spoken to her that morning at church, and he was now spending the
Sunday afternoon quietly in his sitting-room thinking over the past. No
one interrupted him for a long time, as Fred was in the stable with his
mare, and that was a great comfort to the old man, for he could now
find his pupil at a moment's notice if he wanted him, which was not
always the case before.
Bräsig came in: "How-d'ye-do, Charles," he said.--"What?" cried
Hawermann, starting up, "I thought you were laid up with gout, and was
just meditating paying you a visit, but the difficulty was that Mr.
von Rambow is from home, and Triddelfitz isn't to be trusted just
now."--"Why, what's the matter with him?"--"Oh, his old mare is going
to foal very soon."--"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed Bräsig. "The thoroughbred
foal that he's going to sell to the squire."--"Yes. But tell me,
hav'n't you had another attack of gout?"--"Well, Charles, it's very
difficult to tell whether one has had the real thing or not. But it
comes to much the same thing in the long run, for one's suff'ring is
quite as severe in the one case as in the other. The only great
difference is in the _cause_. You see _real_ gout is brought on by good
eating and drinking, and what I had wasn't quite the right kind, for it
was caused by wearing wretched thin-soled patent leather boots."--"What
on earth makes you wear such things then?"--"I had them when I was in
the Count's service, and I can't throw them away. But what I wanted to
say was this: have you seen the parson today?"--"Yes."--"Well, how is
he?"--"He looks ill, and is very weak; when he got into the pulpit the
perspiration stood in great beads on his forehead from the exertion,
and he had to rest quietly on the sofa for some time after he went
home."--"Hm! Hm!" sighed Bräsig, shaking his head. "I'm sorry to hear
that, Charles, but we must remember that he's an old man now."--"Yes,
that's true," said Hawermann thoughtfully.--"How's your little girl?"
asked Bräsig.--"She's very well, thank you, Zachariah. She was here
last week, but I had no time to speak to her, as I had to go and see to
the sowing of the corn. Mrs. von Rambow saw her though, and called her
into the house where she kept her till the evening."--"Charles," said
Bräsig, and getting up from his chair he walked up und down the room,
biting the mouth-piece of his pipe so hard in his excitement that the
knob broke short off, "believe me, your squire's wife is a capital
product of humanity."--Hawermann also rose and paced the room. Every
time the old friends passed each other in their walk they gave their
pipes a vehement puff, and Bräsig said: "Well, Charles, am I not
right?" and Hawermann answered: "Quite right, Zachariah."--Who knows how
long they would have gone on repeating this question and answer, if a
carriage had not driven up to the door, and Kurz and the rector made
their appearance.
"How-d'ye-do! How-d'ye-do!" cried Kurz as he entered the parlour. "Oh,
I see, you're here too, Mr. Bräsig. How are you, old friend? I've come
to speak to you about the clover-seed, Hawermann."--"Good-day!" said
Baldrian to Bräsig, drawling out the word "day" till one would have
thought he wanted that day to last to all eternity, "how are you my
worthy friend?"--"Pretty bobbish," replied Bräsig.--"Hawermann,"
interrupted Kurz, "isn't it splendid seed?"--"Well, Kurz," said
Hawermann, "I've seen worse seed and I've seen better. I put a little
of it on a hot shovel, and as you know, if it's good seed it ought to
jump off the shovel with a skip like a flea, but a good many of the
grains never moved at all."--"You don't look quite so blooming, my dear
Sir," continued the rector, "as on that memorable occasion when we met
round the punch-bowl to celebrate the betrothals at Rexow."--"There's a
good reason for that," said Hawermann, laying his hand affectionately
on Bräsig's shoulder, "my dear old friend has been suffering from
gout."--"I see," laughed the rector, trying to be witty,
"'Vinum, der Vater,
Und c[oe]na, die Mutter,
Und Venus, die Hebamm,
Die machen podagram.'"[4]
"The seed is splendid," cried Kurz again, "you won't see finer between
Grimmen and Greifswald."--"Take care, Kurz!" said Hawermann, "don't
crow too loud, remember the proverb!"--"Listen!" Bräsig exclaimed, at
the same moment addressing the rector. "Don't talk French to me! I
can't understand you. But what do you mean by talking of Fenus? What
have I and my gout to do with Fenus?"--"My honoured friend," said the
rector with a deep bow, "permit me to inform you that Venus was the
name given in ancient times to the goddess of love."--"I don't care
about that," answered Bräsig, "she may have been anything you like, but
now-a-days every stupid shepherd's dog is called Venus."--"No,
Hawermann," exclaimed Kurz eagerly, "I assure you that when clover has
the real purply red colour it ....."--"Yes, Kurz," was the answer,
"but yours wasn't like that."--"My good friend," said the rector to
Bräsig, "Venus was a goddess, as I told you before, and how a
shepherd's dog ...."--"But," interrupted Bräsig, "you make a mistake in
saying she was a goddess, for a Fenus was a kind of bird. Now,
Charles, us'n't we to hear of a bird called the Fenus when we
were children?"--"Ah, I see what you mean now," said the rector,
who had received a new light on the subject. "You're thinking of
the Arabian bird, the Ph[oe]nix, which builds its nest of costly
spices ..."--"Humbug!" interposed Kurz. "How is it possible
for any bird to build a nest with cloves, pepper, cummin and
nutmegs."--"My dear brother-in-law, are you not aware that it is an old
saga?"--"Then," said Bräsig, "the saga tells what isn't true, and
besides that, you don't pronounce the word rightly. It isn't Ph[oe]nix
but Ponix, and they arn't birds at all, but small horses that come from
Sweden and Ireland, and not from Arabia, as you say. The Countess
always used to drive two of these ponixes in her carriage."--The
rector was going to put his friend right, but Kurz stopped him:
"No, brother-in-law," he said, "just let it alone. We're all willing
to admit that you're much better up in learned subjects than
Bräsig."--"Let him say what he will," said Bräsig, standing before the
rector, and looking quite ready to fight out the point.--"No, no,"
cried Kurz, "we didn't come here to quarrel about Venuses or
clover-seed, but to have a good game at Boston."--"That's much better,"
said Hawermann, beginning to prepare the table.--"Stop, Charles," said
Bräsig, "that isn't proper work for you to do; the apprentice ought to
do it for you."--He then put his head out at the window and shouted
"Triddelfitz" across the court. Fred came running to see why he was
wanted. "We're going to play at Boston, Triddelfitz, so please put the
table in order for us, and get a dish of some kind for the pool, then
you can fill our pipes and make a handful of matches."--As soon as Fred
had done this they sat down to play, but could not begin at once, as
they had first to determine what the stakes were to be. Kurz wanted to
do things grandly when he was about it, and proposed penny points, but
he was always of a reckless disposition, and the others agreed with
Bräsig that the stake was too high, as they were not playing for the
pleasured of winning other people's money. At last Hawermann got them
to fix on a smaller sum, and to begin.--"Diamond begins," said the
rector.--"Kurz deals," said Bräsig. They might have begun now,
but the rector laid his hand upon the cards, and said as he looked
round upon the circle: "What a strange thing it is! We are all
sensible men, and yet we are playing at a game, which, if old tales are
true, was invented for the amusement of a mad king. King Charles of
France ....."--"No, no, good people," said Kurz, pulling the cards
from under the rector's hand, "if we're going to play let us play, and
if we're going to talk let us talk."--"Fire away!" said Bräsig, and
Kurz began to deal, but in his haste, he misdealt. "Try again!" This
time it was all right, and they could begin.--"I pass," said Hawermann.
It was now the rector's turn, and they had all to wait till he had
arranged his cards, for he had a superstitious fancy for picking up his
cards singly, thinking it would bring him better luck, and as he was
very conscientious in all his actions he was careful to arrange them in
regular order, placing the sevens and fives in such a way that he could
see the centre mark on each card, and so distinguish between them and
the sixes and fours.--Kurz meanwhile laid his cards on the table,
folded his hands and sighed.--"I pass," said the rector.--"I knew
that," said Kurz, who was quite aware that it would be very odd play if
his brother-in-law were to declare anything, but still he was always
frightened, lest Baldrian should return the lead when he himself had
declared anything, and when in consequence he had nothing more, or else
should not lead up to him when he ought.--"Pass," said Bräsig whose
turn it now was.--"Boston grandissimo," said Kurz.--"Who can
follow?"--"Pass," said Hawermann.--"Dear brother-in-law," said the
rector, "I--I--one trick, two tricks--this'll be the third. I
follow."--"Oh," said Kurz, "but remember, we're not going to pay
together, we're each to pay for ourselves."--"Then, Charles," said
Bräsig, "if that's the way _of_ it we'll have to give them a double
beating."--"No talking," said Kurz.--"Certainly not," answered
Hawermann, laying the ten of hearts on the table; "'Archduke Michael
fell on the land.'"--"C[oe]ur, Mr. Bräsig," said the rector throwing
down the knave of hearts.--"'Hug me (Herze mich), and kiss me, but
don't crumple my collar,'" said Bräsig playing the queen.--"The lady
must have a husband," said Kurz putting down the king and taking the
trick. He then played a small club; "clubs."--"Quick, snap it
up," cried Bräsig to Hawermann.--"Hush!" said Kurz, "no talking
allowed."--"Of course not," said Hawermann playing a small club.--"Well
done our side," said the rector playing the nine.--"I've conquered with
a club and a lady," said Bräsig taking the trick with the queen.--"What
the mischief!" cried Kurz. "He has no more clubs. I wonder what he
has!"--"Keep a bright look out, Charles, we're going to begin," cried
Bräsig; "Sir," he went on turning to Kurz, "this is Whist. The
ace of spades leads the way," and he threw down the ace. The king
followed: "Long live the king!" and then the queen: "Give place
to the ladies!"--"Hang it!" cried Kurz laying his cards on the table
and staring at the rector; "what _can_ he have? He has no spades
either!"--"Dear brother-in-law," said the rector, "I'll do my part
afterwards."--"And then it'll be too late," said Kurz taking up his
cards again with as deep a sigh as if the rector had been ill-treating
him and he was determined to bear it with the resignation of a
Christian--"Charles," asked Bräsig, "how many tricks have we
altogether?"--"Four," answered Hawermann.--"Hush," said Kurz. "That's
not the game. No talking allowed."--"I wasn't giving any hints," said
Bräsig. "I was only asking a question. Now, Charles, do your best. I
can make _one_ more trick, and so if you make another we'll do."--"_I_
shall make one," said Kurz positively.--"And so shall I," said the
rector.--After a couple of rounds, Kurz laid his hand over his tricks
and said: "I've got mine now."--Diamonds were led. Baldrian recklessly
played his queen, and Bräsig threw down the king, exclaiming: "Where
are you going to, my pretty maid?" so the poor old rector was
out-done, and he muttered confusedly: "I don't understand how that
happened."--"Because you don't know the rules of Whist," cried
Kurz.--"Charles," said Bräsig, "if you had only been paying proper
attention to the game you might have got another of their good
cards."--"Might I? Well, you made a mistake too, you ought to have
returned my lead that time I led hearts."--"Now, Charles, how could I
when I had none. I had nothing but the king."--"Well, brother-in-law,"
exclaimed Kurz, "you threw away the game. Why did you play the nine of
trumps when you had the king. If you hadn't done that the game would
have been ours."--"Faugh!" said Bräsig with great contempt, "you boy,
you savage! How can you say that, when you remember what a strong hand
I had in spades, to say nothing of my other cards. What do you mean by
it?"--"Sir, do you think that when I agreed to play at Boston I should
be afraid of your stupid grumbling?" said the rector.--"Don't let's
talk about it any more," said Hawermann beginning a new deal. "It's
always unpleasant to play a game over again."
They began to play once more with the firm determination to get the
better of their adversaries.--The rector won as was right and proper,
for, as is well known, the one who loses the first game is sure to win
the second.--Kurz looked gloomy for a time, but afterwards brightened
up: "Ten grandissimo," he said. Everybody was astonished, and so was
he. He looked at his cards again, and repeated: "Ten grandissimo," laid
the cards on the table and began to walk up and down the room: "That's
the way they play in Venice and in other great towns," he said in
conclusion.
Fred Triddelfitz entered the parlour at the moment when Kurz was
triumphant and the others hardly knew what to do next. He looked pale
and frightened: "Mr. Hawermann," he said, "do please come with
me."--"What's the matter?" asked Hawermann starting up, but Kurz forced
him back into his chair, saying: "You mustn't go till you've finished
the game. The same thing happened to me once before, at the time of the
great fire, I had just laid a grandissimo on the table when everyone
ran away."--"Confound it," cried Hawermann freeing himself from Kurz,
"can't you tell me what it is. Is there a fire?"--"No," stammered Fred,
"it's--it's--it's only something that has happened to me."--"What has
happened to you?" asked Bräsig sharply across the table.--"My mare has
got a foal," said Fred.--"Is that all?" said Bräsig, "she has often had
one before and I don't see what's to frighten you in that. Such an
event is always a subject of rejoicing."--"I know," said Fred,
"but--but--it looks so very odd. You must come, Mr. Hawermann."--"Is
the foal dead?" asked Hawermann.--"No," answered Fred. "It's quite
well, it only looks so odd ..... Christian Däsel says it's a young
camel."--"Bless me!" cried Hawermann. "We'll put off the game till
another time. Will you all come with me?"--And in spite of Kurz's
expostulations they all followed Fred to the stable.--"I never saw a
foal like it," said Fred while they were on their way there, "its ears
are so long," and he showed them his arm from his elbow upwards.
When they came to the stable they found Christian Däsel in the stall,
where the sorrel-mare was making much of her foal, which was trying to
skip about merrily though rather staggeringly. He turned to Bräsig and
said with a shake of his head: "Please, Sir, what in all the world is
it?"--Bräsig looked at Hawermann and said emphatically: "Yes, I know
what it is, Charles, this thorough-bred foal is neither more nor less
than a mule."--"You're right," said Hawermann.--"A mule?" cried Fred,
rushing into the stall and, notwithstanding the mother's displeasure,
succeeding in getting hold of the foal's head and examining its face,
eyes and ears with anxious scrutiny. As soon as he was convinced of the
dreadful truth, he exclaimed angrily: "I'd like to strangle the
creature, as I can't get at Augustus Prebberow."--"For shame,
Triddelfitz!" said Hawermann gravely. "Don't you see how pleased its
mother is with it although it isn't a thoroughbred?"--"Yes," said
Bräsig, "and she's 'the nearest' to it, as Mrs. Behrens would say. You
may strangle Augustus Prebberow though for all I care; he's a thrice
distilled contraband rascal!"--"Nay," said Fred, whose wrath had given
place to sadness, "how is it possible? He was my best friend, and yet
he cheated me into buying a deaf mare and a mule. I'll prosecute
him."--"I tell you that friendship and honesty are nowhere in
horse-dealing," said Bräsig, taking Fred by the arm and leading him out
of the stable, "but I'm _very_ sorry for your disappointment. You've
paid dearly for your experience in horse-dealing, but that's what
everyone has to do. You mustn't go to law about it, for a law-suit is
an endless thing; it'll still be going on long after the mule is dead.
Look here," he said, making Fred walk up and down the yard with him,
"I'll tell you a story as a warning. Old Rütebusch of Swensen sold his
own brother-in-law, who was bailiff here before Hawermann, a regular
porcupine of a riding-horse. Well, or as you always say, 'Bong,' three
days afterwards the bailiff wished to try his new inquisition. He
climbed into the saddle, and it was really climbing, I can tell you,
for the horse, which had very short legs, had poked up its back till it
looked more like a rainbow than anything else. No sooner was he mounted
than the beast ran away with him, and never stopped till it had got
deep into the village pond, right up to the neck in fact, and there was
no inducing it to move either one way or the other. That was a blessing
though in one sense, both for the horse and the bailiff, as they would
otherwise most likely have been drowned. The bailiff shouted for help.
The water was too deep to allow him to wade ashore, and he couldn't
swim, so at last old Flegel the carpenter had to save him in a boat.
Then there was a law-suit, for the bailiff said the horse was incurably
mad, or as we farmers call it 'witless,' and Rütebusch must take it
back, as madness when proved was sufficient cause to dissolve any
bargain. Rütebusch refused, and the brothers-in-law became on such bad
terms that they couldn't see each other three miles off without getting
into a rage. The law-suit went on. All the Swensen people were called
upon to swear that the horse was in full possession of its senses, and
the Pümpelhagen people had to swear to the contrary. The law-suit went
on for five years, and during that time the horse was left quietly in
the stable eating his oats comfortably, for the bailiff had never
ridden him since the first day, as he looked upon him as a dangerous
wretch that had sold his soul to the devil, and he didn't dare to kill
the beast because he was what is called the _corpus delictus_ of the
whole affair. The most learned vetinairy surgeons, six in number, were
brought to look at the horse, but no good came of that, for they didn't
agree. Three of them said he was all there, and the other three
pronounced him mad. The lawsuit went on, and a number of other
law-suits branched out of it, for the learned horse-doctors accused
each other of being malicious and rude, and ended by going to law. Then
a famous professor of vetinairy surgery in Berlin was applied to, and
he wrote to desire them to cut off the horse's head and send it to him,
as he must examine the brain before he could pronounce judgment. It's
very difficult to say of any reasonable human being whether he is
witless or wise, and how much more difficult is it to speak decidedly
of an unreasoning animal. The bailiff determined to do as the professor
wished, but old Rütebusch and his legal advisers wouldn't consent, so
the law-suit went on as before. At last Rütebusch died, and six months
later his brother-in-law died also. They hadn't made up their quarrel
at the time of their death and each of them went into eternity clinging
to his own opinion; the one that the horse was in his right senses and
the other that he was mad. The law-suit was then suspendicated and
three weeks afterwards the old horse died of fat and idleness. The head
was nicely pickled and was sent to the learned professor at Berlin, who
wrote clearly and decidedly that the horse had never been mad in all
its life; that in point of fact it had been every bit as sane as he was
himself, and that he only wished for the sake of the rival litigants
that their brains had been in as perfect a condition as that of the
horse. And he was right, for the rascally boy who had saddled the
bailiff's horse, confessed to me afterwards when he was in my service,
that he had tied a burning sponge under the poor beast's tail out of
revenge, because the bailiff had thrashed him the day before. Now I ask
you as a reasonable mortal, didn't the horse show his wisdom by running
into the pond and so putting out the fire? The great law-suit was at an
end, but the little ones between the farriers are still going on. And
now I'll tell you something; Hawermann is a great friend of old
Prebberow, the father of your roguish friend, and he will try to make
an arrangement for you and see that you have fair play. You may go now,
but don't be unkind to the innocent little foal or its mother, for they
are not to blame for your having been cheated, indeed the mother was as
much cheated as you were." Bräsig then went to join his friends and
they all resumed their places at the card-table.
"All right!" said Kurz, "well it was ten grandissimo, and my turn to
play."--"Charles," said Bräsig, "you must have a talk with old
Prebberow some time or other, and try to make better terms for that
confounded grey-hound of yours."--"I'll see to it, Zachariah, and it'll
all come right. I'm heartily sorry for the poor boy having his pleasure
spoilt like this--a mule of all things in the world!"--"I perceive,"
said the rector, laying down the cards which he had just finished
arranging, "that you all talk of that little new born foal as a mule,
and mule is the term used in natural history ....."--"Don't drive us
mad with your natural history!" cried Kurz who had been sitting
on thorns in fear of a long harangue. "Are we playing at natural
history or at cards? Look, there's the ace of diamonds lying on the
table."--They went on with their game and Kurz won. He was never tired
of talking of his ten grandissimo during the next few weeks.
They played in the most friendly manner, till the rector who had
arranged his money in a half circle, found out that he had won ten
shillings, and then seeing that fortune was beginning to go against
him, determined to stop playing; he therefore rose, and complaining of
his feet having grown very cold, put his winnings in his pocket.--"If
you suffer from cold feet," said Bräsig, "I'll tell you an excellent
cure; take a pinch of snuff every morning before you have eaten
anything and that'll prevent your ever having cold feet."--"Nonsense!"
cried Kurz, who had been winning, "what's to make his feet
cold?"--"Why," said the rector, defending himself, "can't I have cold
feet as well as you? Don't you always complain of having cold feet at
the club when you've been winning?" And so Baldrian succeeded in
keeping his right to cold feet and to what he had won. After a little
further talk the two town's people drove away taking Bräsig with them
as far as their roads went in the same direction.
Just as Hawermann was going to bed he heard loud talking and scolding
outside his door, and immediately afterwards Fred Triddelfitz and
Christian Däsel came into the room.--"Good evening, Sir," said
Christian, "and I don't care a bit."--"What's the matter?" asked
Hawermann.--"Well, Sir," said Fred, "you know--how--how disappointed I
was about the--the mule, and now Christian won't let the poor thing
remain in the stable."--"Why not," asked Hawermann.--"You see, Sir,"
answered Christian, "I don't mind anything else, but I can't consent to
that. My work lies amongst horses and foals, and I never set up to
undertake camels and mules. And why? If I did Mr. Triddelfitz would be
for bringing apes and bears into my stable next."--"But if I tell you
that the mule is to stay there, and that you're to treat it as you
would any other foal?"--"Nay then, of course I must do it if you tell
me that, and it's all right now. Well, goodnight, Sir, I hope you'll
not take it ill of me saying what I did," and so saying he went
away.--"Mr. Hawermann," asked Fred, "what do you think that Mr. von
Rambow will say when he hears what has happened, and Mrs. von Rambow
too?"--"Don't distress yourself, they won't trouble themselves about
it"--"Ah," sighed Fred as he left the room, "I'm awfully sorry that
this has happened."
When the squire came home he was told the whole story of the
sorrel-mare by Christian, and as he was a good-natured fellow at heart,
and really liked Fred, whom he felt to be somewhat like himself in
disposition, he spoke kindly and comfortingly to the lad, saying:
"Never mind! Our little traffic in thorough-bred foals has come to
nothing as the mare had made a mésalliance. We'll soon put her and her
foal out into the field, and you'll see that things will turn out
better than you expect"--Every one took an interest in the little mule,
which soon became a general favourite. When the village children were
passing through the field on Sunday afternoons they went to the
enclosure where the foals were kept and looking at the mule used to
say: "Look, Josy, that's it."--"Yes, that's the one. Just look how he's
waggling his ears."--"I say, he's kicking like a donkey."--And when the
young women who worked on the farm trooped past the enclosure, they
also stood still, saying: "Look, Stina, that's Mr. Triddelfitz's
mule."--"Come, Sophie, let's go a little nearer."--"No, I'd rather not.
What an ugly beast it is to be sure."--"You've no right to say so. You
don't dislike him so much, for he always gives you the easiest bits of
work."--The sorrel-mare, the mule and Fred became well known in all the
country side, and wherever the latter showed himself, he was asked how
the mule was getting on, much to his chagrin. The little mule was happy
and careless of all the remarks made about him, he ran and jumped about
the paddock with the other well-born, high-bred foals, and when one of
them tried to bully him he was quite able to take his own part.