The year 1845 had come, and the earth had completed another of its old
crooked courses. Day and night, joy and sorrow had changed places again
and again, just as they used to do in the old time, just as they have
done since the Lord God created day and night, placed man in the Garden
of Eden, and then drove him out again. How many days and nights, and
how much joy and sorrow have come into the world since then! The day
shines for every man, and the night closes over every man; there is no
respect of persons. But is it the same with joy and sorrow? Are they
meted out to every one with equal justice? I think so. God stretches
His hand over each individual, and happiness and grief, consolation and
care are equally spread over the world, and each has his share in them;
but man does not see clearly, he often changes what is meant for his
happiness into sorrow, and thrusts the cup of consolation away from him
as if it contained gall, and then laughs away his care.
The men and women whose history I am relating in this book were no
better than the rest of their kind, and acted in the same way as their
neighbours would have done. Two things that God has sent into the world
especially form our joy and sorrow; in the first there is no gall
mixed, and our feelings about the other cannot be laughed away; these
are Birth and Death, the Beginning and the End. And in the little world
of which I am writing there was also Beginning and End, Birth and
Death. A beautiful young wife was sitting in the manor-house at
Pümpelhagen with to little daughter on her knee, and the child had
reopened the doors of the mother's heart, so that she was able to feel
the sunshine of God's goodness. The dark shadowy figures which had
surrounded Frida ha vanished in the clear light of day, and she was
happy, very happy.--Close by Gürlitz parsonage was a grave often
visited by two women clothed in deep mourning, who, when spring came
on, planted flowers upon it, and who later in the season, when the old
lime-tree came into leaf, sat side by side on the bench beneath it, as
in the old days when Mrs. Behrens and her little Louisa had been
wrapped in the folds of the same shawl. But now it was Louisa who
sheltered her foster-mother, and wrapped her own shawl round her. Thus
the two women sat silently blessing the memory of him who was gone from
them; they were often joined by Hawermann, and then the three mourners
would sit together till the shades of evening fell; none of them thrust
aside the cup of consolation which had been given them, and so when
they separated they felt comforted and refreshed.
The first violence of grief was over at the parsonage, but its traces
were still to be seen in the look of chastened sorrow, the Angel of
Death had imprinted on the faces of those who remained, after he had
taken their husband and father from them. The Angel had kissed Louisa's
forehead as he went and had left her graver, higher thoughts than she
had ever had before; he had clasped little Mrs. Behrens in his arms,
and after that embrace her old lively impetuosity had died away leaving
in its place a calm gentle determination to dedicate her future life to
the carrying out of her pastor's wishes. She only lived in her memory
of him, everything must remain as he had been used to see it. His
arm-chair was placed before his study-table on which his last sermon
was lying with the pen beside it, and his old Bible was kept open at
the place where his hand had ruffled the leaves when he was dying. The
first thing she did every morning was to go to his study with her
duster and put everything in good order for the day, and when this was
done she would often look round at the door as though she expected him
to come in and say: "Thank you, dear Regina," as in the old time. At
dinner Louisa always prepared for three people, and the pastor's chair
was kept in its old place because her foster-mother liked it to be so,
and it seemed to her as if he must needs come in as usual with some
cheerful greeting. She took care not to indulge in the luxury of woe,
but always tried to make the meal pass as pleasantly as it used to do,
and never despised any consoling thought that came to her. This state
of things could not go on for ever. Some new clergyman must have the
living sooner or later, and then Mrs. Behrens would be obliged to leave
the house and even the village, for there was no house for her to go
to. She must go away from her husband's grave, for Pomuchelskopp, who
alone had power to let her stay, had determined that she should go. She
watched the fruit-trees her husband had planted blossom for the last
time. She sat under the flowering palm-willow where she had so often
sat by his side for the last time. She had seen the spring come and
wind his leafy garlands round her old home for the last time. Now
summer was showering his golden glory over the world. She said to
Louisa one day with a sad smile: "When the swallows take their flight
in autumn, Louisa, we shall have to go too." As she spoke she felt the
full bitterness of death had come to her.
Hawermann was her most untiring friend and she allowed herself to be
guided by him in all things. With the best will in the world to spare
her, he could not save her from having to leave the parish; but at
least he could make the parting as easy as possible for her. Kurz the
shopkeeper had a house adjoining the one in which he himself lived,
which he wanted to let with its back garden, and this house Hawermann
arranged as much as he could in the style of the parsonage. He took
Louisa into his confidence and got her to measure the size of the
parsonage rooms, after which, Schulz the cabinet maker was ordered to
furnish the rooms in the new house according to Louisa's measurements
and description; but he utterly refused to do so, "for," he said, "I
can't do it. Women always measure by their belts or apron strings and I
can't do anything from that sort of measurement. All the same, plans
are plans, and I don't like drawn plans; I get on much better
when I carry my plans in my head."--Kurz was of opinion that the
more the new house differed from the old one, the better it would
be, but Hawermann was not to be dissuaded, and Schulz seeing how
determined he was, said: "If you will have it so, I'll go out to
the parsonage and make all the measurements myself."--So one morning
early while Mrs. Behrens was asleep, Schulz appeared and made all
the necessary measurements. When he was doing so he might have
been heard muttering: "Seven--seven--five and twenty--five and
twenty--Kurz--Hawermann--Kurz--Hawermann--bother--a mistake here would
have put it all wrong--too great a space--a beam across--Ah, yes--all
right--yes, yes, done, done!" After that was done he went out, and
getting into his tax-cart drove his lazy brown pony home, and as he
jogged along the road he matured his plan. The furnishing was now
begun, and Hawermann was very well pleased with the result of Schulz's
plan upon the whole, although he would have liked a few little things
to have been different, however the cabinetmaker was so pleased with
the look of the house that he would change nothing, and Hawermann was
obliged to be satisfied with things as they were. Kurz helped as much
as he could, by giving a ready consent to all their wishes.
As I said before, there was great joy at Pümpelhagen. Frida's clear
eyes were turned lovingly on her little daughter, and motherly love had
woven an invisible veil with which to cover their clear-sightedness,
and hide the impending gloom from her for the time being. It had never
been the case before in her active life, but now she indulged in one
dream after another of the future happiness of her husband and child,
especially when she held the baby out for its father to look at.
Alick's heart was also full of joy. He came out and in continually to
look at his wife and child, but still there was one drop of bitterness
in his cup: he had hoped for a son to carry on his old and noble race,
and he was disappointed. It is a sad thing for an innocent little girl
to come into the world when she is not wanted, and to have to suffer
because of the disappointed hopes of other people. Alick would have
been angry if any one had said that to him, for he had really rejoiced
in spite of his disappointment. He had at once announced the "good
news" to all his acquaintances, not excepting the horse-dealers he
employed, and Pomuchelskopp; he had only forgotten to announce the
event to three people: to his cousin Frank--"the young fool"--to Mrs.
Behrens--"the match-maker"--and to Mrs. Nüssler--"the under-bred old
woman." When he laid the envelopes containing the announcements on his
wife's bed and she expressed her surprise that he had omitted these
three people, he answered coldly, that he did not care to have anything
to do with such persons, and that if she wished to send them
announcements she must do it herself. She did so.
A few days later Louisa called to congratulate Mrs. von Rambow in Mrs.
Behrens' name. While she was there, Alick came into the room, but as
soon as he saw her, he bowed and went away again, saying: "Ah, Miss
Hawermann. Pray excuse me."--A couple of days after that Mrs. Nüssler
drove up to the door in the "phantom," and Alick seeing her arrival
went off into the fields. When he came back he heard from Daniel that
Mrs. Nüssler was still with Mrs. von Rambow, and exclaimed angrily: "I
can't understand what pleasure my wife can find in the society of such
uneducated people!" This was a very uncalled for remark on Alick's
part; for only a few weeks earlier he had spent an evening in the
society of some horse-breeders of the same quality as his friend, Mr.
von Brülow, who was pronounced by some of the people present to be a
man of vast knowledge. A young doctor, who happened to be one of the
party, had then remarked that he did not think the knowledge Mr. von
Brülow had displayed was so very great after all, upon which Alick had
risen and glancing over his shoulder at the overbold young man, had
said, that any one who had met with Mr. von Brülow's success in rearing
foals and keeping up a good stock of thoroughbreds must assuredly be
looked upon as a man of vast knowledge and experience. And now forsooth
he regarded good Mrs. Nüssler as an ignorant old woman, although she
was giving his wife the benefit of her experience, together with
sensible and practical advice as to the best way of rearing his little
child. Pomuchelskopp came in his turn, dressed in his blue coat and
brass buttons, seated in his carriage with the coat-of-arms on the
panels and drawn by four horses. That pleased Alick better. His ways
were so much more high-bred! The young squire received Pomuchelskopp
heartily, and made him stay to supper; after which he showed his
visitor his thoroughbred mare and foal, with both of which
Pomuchelskopp seemed to be much pleased. At last laying his hand on the
young man's arm, Pomuchelskopp said: "This is very good, Mr. von
Rambow, very good indeed for a beginning; but if you really intend to
make money by horse-breeding you must set up a paddock, for as you know
fresh air is a necessity when you want to bring up young creatures of
any kind. Freedom, freedom, Mr. von Rambow. That's one of the most
indispensable requisites to ensure success. And you could manage it so
easily here. You might make the land behind the park into four
paddocks, one for each of your four mares. Look, I mean the land over
there stretching up to the top of the hill; you'd only have to sow it
with grass and clover seed instead of with corn, and then you see how
conveniently the brook flows through the field. You couldn't have a
better place. Naturally," he went on after a pause during which Alick
had been thinking silently, "your bailiff wouldn't approve of that
plan."--"My bailiff has to obey orders," said Alick hastily.--"Of
course," answered Pomuchelskopp soothingly, "and besides that he
doesn't understand horses."--"The space you propose wouldn't be
large enough for corn if I left out the best bit of ground," said
Alick.--"Ah," replied Pomuchelskopp, glancing over his shoulder, "but
you'll have to alter the fences at any rate, for you have always had
the glebe hitherto, and now you're going to give it up. Taking in a
little more or less can make no difference."--"True," said Alick
shortly, for the promise he had given in his time of need was weighing
heavily upon him, and he had as great a dislike as any other man to
give up an advantageous possession in which he had taken pride. But
Pomuchelskopp was so true and honest in his desire for his welfare, and
gave him such good advice, that--as he thought--he could not want for
much when he had such a friend at his side; and when they parted, Alick
shook his neighbour heartily by the hand and then retired to his room,
his head full of the new paddocks.
Hawermann came across the yard, and Alick seeing him, put his head out
at the window, and called: "Mr. Hawermann." When the old man had come
up to the window, he said: "How far have you got on with sowing the
barley behind the park?"--"I think that we shall be finished by the
day after to-morrow; we're going to begin the bit beyond the brook
to-morrow."--"Good. It goes to the top of the hill--I will tell you the
particulars afterwards--be sure you sow Timothy, rye-grass and white
clover with the barley. Send Triddelfitz to Rahnstädt to-morrow for the
seed; he had better get it from David."--"But no one ever lays down
grass immediately after barley."--"Did you not hear me _tell_ you to
sow grass in that field? I intend to make paddocks there for the mares
and foals."--"Paddocks? Paddocks?" questioned the old man, as if he
could not believe what he had heard.--"Yes, paddocks," said Alick,
preparing to shut the window.--"Mr. von Rambow," entreated Hawermann,
laying his hand on the window sill, "that bit of ground is the best in
the whole field, and if you separate it from the rest the field will be
too small. That was the reason the late squire took a lease of Gürlitz
glebe." The bailiff said exactly what Alick had himself said a short
time before, and Alick knew that he was right; but what master likes to
confess that a dependent is right!--"I don't intend to renew my lease
of the glebe," said the squire.--The old man's hands sank to his side:
"Give up the glebe," he murmured. "Sir, that land has brought us .... I
have it all written down and ...."--"I don't care. I'll tell
you, I don't intend to keep it."--"Mr. von Rambow, it is impossible
....."--"Didn't you hear me say that _I don't intend to take a new
lease of the glebe_."--"Oh, Sir, let me entreat you to consider
....."--"What do you mean?" cried Alick, slamming down the window and
muttering as he turned away: "A troublesome old fool! A self-important
old humbug!" He then threw himself into a chair and thought about the
paddocks he was going to set up; but the brilliant pictures of success
his imagination had painted but a short time before, would not return
at his call, and at last he put aside the thought for the moment with a
vague sense of ill-usage.
And the old man? He went back to the field feeling pained and sad at
heart. He found it very difficult, in spite of all his love and
gratitude for the kindness of the old squire, to bear the unkindness of
his benefactor's only son. And what was the use of it all? What good
did his remaining at Pümpelhagen do? How could he help the young
squire? In nothing. Step by step, Mr. von Rambow was approaching the
edge of the precipice, and when he put out his hand to save him, he was
thrust back; and though his heart was full of love and good-will to his
young master and his whole house, he was treated like an unfaithful
servant, who cared for nothing but his wages.--"Triddelfitz," he said
when he got to the barley field, "the squire wants this part of the
field near the brook and up to the top of the hill sowed down with
grass. He will explain what he wishes to be done more particularly
when he comes out. You'd better sow the barley rather thinner
here."--"What's he going to do with it?" asked Fred.--"He'll tell you
himself if he thinks fit. There he is coming out of the garden," added
the bailiff as he turned to go away.
"Triddelfitz," said Mr. von Rambow when he came up, "I want to have
this piece of ground up to the top of the hill sowed with grass, and so
you must get the seed for it from David to-morrow. I intend to turn
this part of the field into paddocks."--"Capital!" cried Fred. "I
wondered whether we shouldn't have to set up something of the kind
before long."--"Yes, it's quite necessary."--"Of course it is. Quite
necessary," said Fred in a tone of the utmost conviction. Let no one
think that he was merely swimming with the stream; he meant every
word that he said thoroughly, and if he had had the slightest notion of
the expense and misery these paddocks were to cause, he would never
have said a word in their favour, but--as I said before--he was
honestly of the same opinion as his master in all matters of this
description.--"Have you a measuring pole here?" asked Alick.--"A
measuring pole? No," said Fred with a slightly contemptuous and at the
same time modest and conscious laugh. "I have invented a new instrument
for measuring. If you'll allow me, I'll get it and show it to you," and
then he hastened to the nearest ditch, out of which he pulled an
enormous wooden hoop that originally had been round a barrel. A piece
of rope was woven and twisted about the hoop, and into the centre of
this rope, he thrust the end of his walking stick, as if through the
nave of a wheel, thus making the hoop roll round. "The circumference of
the hoop is exactly the same as the length of one of those measuring
poles," he explained, "and whenever the hoop has turned completely
round this hammer strikes that board, so you see we have only to count
the number of times it goes round to be able to measure the land
exactly."--"Let me see! Let me see!" cried Alick with all his old
love of invention awake within him. "Was it entirely your own
thought?"--"Yes, it's quite my own invention," replied Fred; but he
ought to have said that he owed the discovery to his own laziness, for
he did not like making his long body stoop.--"Well, measure that bit of
land for me," said Alick. And then he went home, and as he went he said
to himself: Triddelfitz will make me a capital farm-bailiff. He's
wide-awake, and it's much easier to work with him than with Hawermann.
After a short time the old bailiff came back, and said angrily to Fred:
"What are you about, Triddelfitz? You're sowing the barley much too
thick."--"I don't see how that can be the case," said Fred, "I held the
machine as you told me, and I measured the land myself."--"Impossible!"
cried Hawermann. "My eyes can't deceive me so completely. Where's the
measuring pole?"--"I hav'n't a measuring pole," said Fred, "and I don't
require one," he added defiantly, for the squire's recognition of this
discovery was too pleasant to be forgotten. "I measure everything with
my instrument," he said, pointing to his invention which was lying at
his feet--"What?" cried Hawermann, "What on earth is that?"--"An
invention of mine," answered Fred, with as much pride as if he had
invented the first steam engine.--"Oh, that's it, is it?" said
Hawermann. "Take your hoop and measure me off ten poles length along
there."--Fred lifted up his invention, and set it rolling; Hawermann
walked by his side pacing the ground: "How much is that?" he
asked.--"Ten poles," answered Fred.--"I only make it nine, and two
feet," said the bailiff.--"That's impossible," answered Fred, "you must
have miscounted, for my hoop goes quite right."--"Five of my steps make
a Mecklenburg pole," said the bailiff, "but you see that you're
mismanaging the whole piece of ground because you're too stupid
to set to work properly. How could you expect a machine like that
to answer on a hill-side, when it would require very smooth and
even ground before it could possibly do at all? It's nothing but
laziness--laziness! Go and get a proper measuring pole at once!" Then
opening his pocket-knife he cut Fred's invention into small pieces, and
after that he re-arranged the sowing-machine.
Fred stood still gazing blankly at his invention which was being
chopped to bits before his eyes. It is a dreadful blow to anyone who
thinks he has made a discovery that will benefit the world, when he
suddenly finds that he has failed to realize his idea. Fred had meant
so well--to himself first of all--and then to his colleagues, and to
all land-measurers throughout the province of Mecklenburg; he had
wanted to save them the trouble of stooping, and now his invention was
lying at his feet an utter wreck. "I'll get the measuring pole," he
said to himself, "it's no good trying now. I'd rather a thousand times
work with the squire than with old Hawermann." During his walk home to
get the pole, he felt very bitter against the bailiff, and quite forgot
that he had ever wished to give him the best rooms in his house, and to
keep a pair of carriage horses and a hack for his use. On his arrival
at the farm he had a few minutes talk with Mary Möller, with whom he
was on as friendly terms as ever. She told him of the squire's
interview with Hawermann at the window, and he was much comforted when
he heard of it. As he went back to the field with the measuring pole
over his shoulder, and a nice little bit of sausage in his hand, he
said to himself: "Poor old fellow, I'm not a bit angry with him now.
He's old, and can't take in new ideas."