Everything went on well at Pümpelhagen that year. The harvest was
plenteous, and the price of corn was high. Alick von Rambow saw a way
opening before him of getting out of his difficulties; he did up his
accounts over and over again, and saw clearly that if he sold the rape
for so much, the sheep for so much, and the cattle for so much, that
all this, with what he got for the wheat would be amply sufficient to
pay off the last farthing of his debts. The devil himself must take
part against him, if he failed to do so. He thought that the reason of
his good fortune this year was that he himself was at Pümpelhagen, and
was therefore able to look after things with his own eyes. The eye of
the master is to a farm what the sun is to the world, everything ripens
under it, and the tender blades of grass grow green under his footstep.
So thinking, it was not long before Alick quite forgot that these
blessings were the gift of God, and began to look upon them as the
result of his own efforts, and even the high price of corn seemed to
him to be a piece of well merited good fortune.
He rode his high horse without fear, and even when the farming and
household expenses of the moment ran away with all the bank-notes with
which David and Slus'uhr had provided him, and his small change began
to run short, he congratulated himself on his excellent farming which
gave him such unlimited credit in the neighbourhood, that Pomuchelskopp
had offered to lend him various small sums from time to time. He had
accepted loans from Pomuchelskopp without fear, in order to get rid of
David for the time being, so that he paid David and Slus'uhr with
Pomuchelskopp's money, and they paid it back to Pomuchelskopp, and he
again lent it to Alick, thus the money was kept continually going round
and round in a circle. It would altogether have been a very pleasant
little arrangement, if Pomuchelskopp had not been obliged to take the
trouble of removing the marks from the bills for fear of Alick's
finding out that it was always his own money that he got back. It could
not be helped however if Pomuchelskopp still wished to keep his plans
for gaining the Pümpelhagen acres a profound secret from his victim,
and indeed he enjoyed the sense of power which came of his rapid
intimacy with Alick far too much to grudge the trouble he had to take.
Alick was also perfectly satisfied with the course events were taking,
for he was always well supplied with money to ward off the attacks of
the usurers, and at what seemed to him a very small price, for he never
thought of adding up at the end of the year how much the total came to,
and he was firmly convinced that his affairs were better attended to
now that he lived at Pümpelhagen than they had ever been before. It was
the old story over again. When a young squire who knows nothing
whatever of farming wants to make improvements, he always begins with
the live-stock. And why is this the case? Well, I imagine it is because
young gentlemen think this subject the easiest to understand. All that
they have to do is to buy a new bull, and a ram or two of some new
fashioned breed, and then, as the laws of cattle-breeding are still
sufficiently indefinite to allow of much theorising, even the stupidest
of them has no difficulty in speaking learnedly on the subject. They
have only to pass over as of no account, all that the old men around
them have learnt from the experience of years, and they do not find it
hard to do; after that these youthful farmers are as worthy of being
listened to, in their own opinion at least, as those whose hair has
grown grey at the work.
There was a dairy of Breitenburg cows at Pümpelhagen, which the old
squire had bought by Hawermann's advice and with Hawermann's
assistance. This dairy must now be improved, so Alick went to
Sommersdorf in Pommerania where there was a great cattle-show, and
bought a splendid Ayrshire bull by Pomuchelskopp's advice. He bought
this bull because he was handsome, because he came from Scotland, and
because he was something new. There was a flock of Negretti sheep which
produced a great quantity of wool, and were of a high market-value, but
as Pomuchelskopp _said_ he had got four and sixpence a stone more for
his wool, the young squire was induced to buy a couple of Electoral
rams from his worthy neighbour, for which he was obliged to pay ready
money. It never occurred to Alick to set the sum he made by the large
quantity of wool given by his sheep, against that gained by
Pomuchelskopp for the smaller quantity of finer wool; had he done so he
might have found the result to be in his own favour, but unfortunately
for him he had enough to do adding up other sums on a different
subject.
Hawermann defended himself from the new arrangements as well as he
could, but his efforts were vain. His master looked upon him as an old
man who clung to the traditions of his youth too vehemently to be able
to advance with the age, and when the old man's reasons against the
introduction of some new method were unanswerable, he always said
impatiently: "Hang it! Let's try how it does at all events," and it
never entered his head to remember that experiments run away with more
money than anything else. The bailiff could do nothing, and only
thanked God that the squire had not yet really thought of breeding
thorough-bred horses, though he spoke of doing it every now and then.
Mrs. von Rambow could do nothing, for she was not aware of the way in
which her husband put off the evil day of paying his debts, and in
ordinary matters she was obliged to be contented with the result of
what she saw, and that was that Alick was apparently satisfied with the
course of events, and was looking forward to a golden future.
The Pomuchelskopps at Gürlitz manor were also happy; I do not mean that
they enjoyed great domestic happiness, they were too modest to expect
such a thing? but they were satisfied with their financial condition,
and looked forward to still greater wealth coming to them in a short
time, for the boundary between Pümpelhagen and Gürlitz was growing more
shadowy every day. Pomuchelskopp's only difficulty after any new
business-transaction with Alick was to keep his Henny quiet, for in her
ardour for possession she was anxious to cross the boundary, and seize
upon Pümpelhagen without further delay.
There was great contentment in Joseph Nüssler's house, and much looking
forward to a golden future of the ideal sort, such as poets mean when
they try to describe the "golden glory of the dawn," not that they
think the brilliance of gold an exact representation of that wonderful
light in the eastern sky, but because they know nothing more beautiful,
they so seldom get a glimpse of it. Godfrey gradually got rid of his
long hair, and began to look upon the world with other eyes than
before. He no longer used the mental blue spectacles they had provided
him with at Erlangen or elsewhere, and much to Bräsig's delight he even
went so far as to play at Boston, though it must be confessed that he
did it very badly; on another occasion he had got on horse-back, and
had managed to fall off without hurting himself, and he had appeared at
Joseph Nüssler's Harvest Home. He did not dance, that is to say before
all the rest, but he enjoyed a quiet turn with Lina in the next room,
and at the end of the evening he sang "Vivallera!" clearly but
wretchedly ill. And Rudolph? It is sufficient to repeat what Hilgendorf
said to Bräsig about him: "He'll do, Bräsig. He's just such another
youngster as I was myself; there's no tiring him; he's as strong as a
horse. He has only to glance at a thing, and he knows how to do it at
once, and it was just the same with me. And as for books? He never
opens one! And that's like me again."--Mrs. Nüssler rejoiced in her
children's happiness; and young Joseph and young Bolster sat quietly by
the hour together, gazing straight before them, and saying nothing,
they were thinking of the time when they would each have a new heir to
their dignities, young Joseph in Rudolph, and young Bolster in young
Bolster the seventh. Theirs could not be called a looking forward to a
golden dawn, but to contented natures like Joseph and Bolster the
evening-sky has likewise its golden light.
Every house in the parish had its share of happiness, each of them
after its kind, but one house formed an exception to this rule,
although it used to have its full share. In winter round the fire-side,
and in summer under the great lime-tree, or in the arbour in the garden
there always used to be a calm peaceful happiness, in which the child
Louisa as she played about the old house and grounds, and little Mrs.
Behrens, who ruled all things duster in hand, had had part, and also
the good old clergyman, who had now done with all earthly things for
ever. Peace had taken leave of the house, and had gone forth calmly to
the place from whence she came, and during that time of illness, care
and sorrow had taken up their abode there, deepening with the growing
weakness of the good old man. He did not lie long in bed, and had no
particular illness, so that Dr. Strump of Rahnstädt could not find
amongst all the three thousand, seven hundred and seventy seven
diseases of which he knew, one that suited the present case. Peace
seemed to have laid her hand on the old man's head in blessing, and to
have said to him: "I am going to leave thee, but only for a short time,
I shall afterwards return to thy Regina. Thou needest me no more,
because thou hast had me in thy heart during all the long years thou
hast fought the good fight of faith. Now sleep softly, thou must needs
be tired."
And he was tired, very tired. His wife had laid him on the sofa under
the pictures, that he might look out at the window as much as he liked,
Louisa had covered him comfortably with rugs and shawls, and then they
had both left the room softly that he might rest undisturbed. Out of
doors the first flakes of snow were falling slowly, slowly from the
sky; it was as quiet and still outside as within his heart, and he felt
as if the blessing of Christ were resting upon him. No one saw it, but
his Regina was the first to find it out--he rose, and, pushing the
large arm-chair up to the cupboard, opened the door, and sitting down,
began to examine the treasures that he had kept as relics of the past.
Some of them had belonged to his father, and some to his mother, they
were all reminiscences of what he had loved.
This cupboard was the place where he had stowed away whatever reminded
him of all the chief events of his life, and they had become relics the
sight of which did him good when he was down-hearted. They were not
preserved in crystal vessels or in embroidered cases, but were simply
placed on the shelf, and kept there to be looked at whenever he wanted
to see them. When he felt low and sad it did him good to take out these
relics, and to live over again in thought the happy days of which they
reminded him, and he never closed the cupboard-door without gaining
strength and courage, or without thanking God silently for his many
blessings. There lay the Bible his father had given him when he was a
boy; the beautiful glass vase his old college-friend had sent him; the
pocket-book his Regina had worked for him during their engagement; the
shell which a sailor had sent him in token of his gratitude for having
been shown the way to become a better man; the pieces of paper on which
Louisa, Mina and Lina had written their Christmas and New Year's-day
messages of affection, as also some of their earlier bits of handiwork;
the withered myrtle wreath his wife had worn on her wedding-day; the
large pictorial Bible with the silver-clasps that Hawermann had given
him on his seventieth birthday, and the silver-mounted meerschaum that
Bräsig had given him on the same occasion, and down below on the lowest
shelf were three pairs of shoes, the shoes that Louisa, Regina and he
had worn when they first entered the parsonage.
Old shoes are not beautiful in themselves, but the memories attached to
these made them beautiful in his eyes, so he took them out of the
cupboard, and laid them down by his side, and then placing his first
Bible on his knee, he opened it at our Lord's Sermon on the Mount, and
began to read. No one saw him, but that was not necessary, and his
Regina knew it when it was all over. He grew very tired, and resting
his head in the corner of the great chair fell asleep like a little
child.
And so they found him when they came back. Mrs. Behrens seated herself
on the arm of his chair, clasped him in her arms, closed his eyes, and
then resting her head against his, wept silently. Louisa knelt at his
feet, and laying her folded hands on his knee, looked with tearful eyes
at the two quiet faces that were so dear to her. Then Mrs. Behrens
rose, and folding down the leaf of the Bible, drew it softly out of her
husband's hand, and Louisa also rose and threw her arms round her
foster-mother's neck. They both wept long and passionately, till at
last when it was growing dusk Mrs. Behrens replaced the shoes in the
cupboard, saying as she did so: "I bless the day when we came to this
house together," and while laying Louisa's little shoes beside them,
she added: "and I bless the day when the child came to us." She then
closed the cupboard-door.
The good old clergyman was buried three days later in the piece of
ground he had long ago sought out for his last resting-place, and
any one standing by the grave, which was lighted by the earliest
rays of the morning-sun, might easily see into the parlour in the
parsonage-house.
The people who had been at the funeral were all gone home, and
Hawermann had also been obliged to go, but uncle Bräsig, who had spent
the day at the parsonage helping his friends in every possible way, had
announced his intention of remaining for the night. Seeing the two
women standing arm in arm at the window buried in sad thought, he
slipped quietly upstairs to his bed-room, and going to the window
looked sorrowfully down into the church-yard, where the newly made
grave showed distinctly against the white snow surrounding it. He
thought of the good man who lay there, who had so often helped him with
kindness and advice, and he swore to himself that he would be a
faithful friend to Mrs. Behrens.--Down-stairs the two sad-hearted women
were gazing at the same grave, and silently vowing to show each other
all the love and tenderness that he who was gone from them had been
wont to bestow. Little Mrs. Behrens thanked God and her husband for the
comforter she had in her adopted daughter whom she held in her arms,
and whose smooth hair she stroked, as she kissed her lovingly. Louisa
prayed that God would bless the lessons she had learnt from her
foster-father, and would give her strength to be a good and faithful
daughter to the kind woman who had been as a mother to her. New-made
graves may be likened to flower-beds in which the gardener puts his
rarest and most beautiful plants; but alas, ill-weeds sometimes take
root there also.
Two people were standing in one of the windows at Gürlitz manor on the
same evening, and gazing out in the dusk, but not towards the
church-yard and parsonage; no, they were looking covetously at the
glebe-lands, and Pomuchelskopp said to his Henny that they were
sure to fall into their hands soon, for he would be the first to
propose to take a lease of them when the new clergyman came to the
parish.--"Muchel," answered his wife, "the Pümpelhagen people will
never stand that; they'll take very good care not to let the land slip
through their fingers."--"Through _their_ fingers did you say, Henny?
Why, don't you know that their very fate is in my hands?"--"That's
quite true as far as it goes, but perhaps a young clergyman may come
who would like to farm his own glebe."--"Chuck, Chuck, you're not as
clever as you used to be. We have to choose the new parson, and we'll
choose a methodist. Those clergymen who are never to be seen without a
Bible and hymn-book are the kind we want, for they have no time to
farm."--"You ar'n't the only patron, remember. Pümpelhagen, Rexow, and
Warnitz have votes as well as you."--"But, my Chick, don't you know
that Warnitz and Rexow have no chance if they vote against Pümpelhagen.
If the Pümpelhagen people and mine only vote together ....."--"Don't
trust to your people, Kopp, they've no particular love for you. Mrs.
Behrens will be against you, and all the villagers will do her bidding
to a man."--"I shall get rid of her as soon as possible. She must leave
the village at once. There's no house in the neighbourhood for a
parson's widow to live in, and _I_'m not going to build one. No,
no, Mrs. Behrens must go away, and the sooner the better in my
opinion."--"What a fool you are, Kopp! Don't you know that she has a
right to remain at the parsonage until the new clergyman is elected?"
And with that Henny walked away.--"Chuck," Pomuchelskopp called after
her, "I'll manage it, dear Chuck."
Many an evil weed flourished upon that quiet grave, and covetous hands
were stretched out to seize the place left vacant by the good old man,
but harm always comes sooner or later to him who with greedy joy uses
the misfortunes of the widow and orphan for his own advantage, and
makes capital for himself of his neighbour's necessities.