So the seed-time passed away, and summer came in its turn. Mrs. von
Rambow no longer went about the farm as much as before, and the old
bailiff had to do without the comfort of her kindly smile and friendly
words of greeting, which used to give him encouragement to persevere.
She had other and pleasanter occupations now, which fully engrossed her
attention. She was so much taken up with hopes, wishes, and plans for
the little child she rocked in her arms, that she rather neglected
outside duties. Alick had also changed a good deal since the birth of
the baby. He took a vaguely gloomy view of his responsibility as
the father of a family, and instead of going about his estate as
formerly, and seeing how matters were going on, in the same manner as a
field-marshal looks after what is under his charge, he now inspected
each farming-detail as carefully as a corporal does those regimental
matters which lie in his department. He put his finger into every pie,
not excepting the feeding-troughs in the cattle-sheds. He might always
have done that if he had liked, and it is delightful to see a squire
interesting himself in such things, but he had better not have meddled
with the existing regulations, for he did not understand how to improve
them. He would give foolishly ignorant orders, alter all the
arrangements the bailiff had made, and then when he had got everything
at sixes and sevens, he would go home and say grumblingly: "That old
man is of no use whatever. He's far too old. I can't stand it much
longer."--Christian Segel said one day to Derrick Snäsel: "What's to be
done now, I wonder; the squire tells me to do one thing, and the
bailiff tells me to do another."--"Well, lad," said Derrick, "if the
squire says ...."--"But it's such a stupid thing to do."--"You needn't
be in too great a hurry, and if the squire desires you to do it, it
can't be helped."
Harvest had begun, and the grain was falling under the mower's scythes.
The rye was all cut, and the sheaves had been standing in the fields
for three days.--"Mr. Hawermann," cried Alick out at the window, and as
soon as the bailiff had come up he went on: "I want you to lead in the
rye to-morrow."--"It's too soon, Sir. The weather has been so damp and
heavy both yesterday and to-day, that the corn hasn't dried properly;
besides that it's still quite soft, and some of the ears are rather
green yet."--"It'll do all right. Where shall you begin to lead
in?"--"If we are to do it, we should begin below the village, and
have two sets of carts going, one to take the rye to the great barn,
and the other to the barn where we usually store the barley."--"What?
Below the village? Two sets of carts? Why?"--"Because the nearer the
village we begin the more we shall be able to save in the day, and it
looks rather like rain. The reason I proposed having two sets of carts
was to prevent the people and the waggons getting into each other's
way."--"H'm!" said Alick, "I shall take what you have said into
consideration," and then he shut the window. After due consideration he
made up his mind that he would get in the rye alone, with Fred
Triddelfitz's help. Hawermann should have nothing whatever to do with
it, and in order to show him that he was of no use, the rye should be
taken from the field to the barn with _one_ set of carts. Alick did not
quite understand what one set or two sets of carts meant, but that was
of no consequence, as of course it was only one of the old bailiff's
antiquated notions with which he would have nothing to do.
At five o'clock next morning he was up and about. Finding the bailiff
in the yard, he went up to him, and said with a friendly smile:
"I've been thinking it over, Mr. Hawermann, and--don't be angry with
me--would so much like to manage this all by myself with young
Triddelfitz to help me"--The old man stood before him in speechless
amazement. At last he said slowly and sadly: "And I am only to look on
then, Sir. You'd rather have the assistance of a foolish young
apprentice than have mine." Then grasping his walking-stick more
firmly, he gazed at Mr. von Rambow with sparkling eyes that looked
quite youthful in the old face. He continued: "You were a little boy,
Sir, when I entered your good father's service, and devoted myself to
him. He thanked me on his death-bed, thanked me. But you--you have made
my life hard to me, and now you want to insult me."--He walked away,
and Alick followed him, saying: "Indeed, Mr. Hawermann, I never meant
to do that, I assure you. I only wished to try ....."--But he had meant
it so; he knew very well that he had meant it so; he wanted to rid
himself of the old man, for he knew too much of his affairs, and often
made him feel ashamed.
The bailiff went to his room, shut his door, and sat down to think, but
it was long before he could make up his mind to any course of action.
Meanwhile there was much shouting and talking going on in the yard.
"Triddelfitz."--"Mr. von Rambow."--"Where are you going, Joseph?"--"I
don't know, I've had no orders."--"What are you going to do with that
harrow, Fred Päsel?"--"How can I tell, I'm going to harrow the ploughed
land."--"What a fool you are," cried Fred Triddelfitz, "we're going to
lead in the rye."--"I'm sure I don't care, what isn't to be, isn't to
be," pulling the harrow out of the cart, "I shall do whatever the
bailiff tells me."--"Flegel," shouted the squire.--"Fred Flegel,"
repeated Triddelfitz.--"What do you want," shouted a gruff voice from
the hay-loft.--"Where are the boards to heighten the waggons?" asked
Fred Triddelfitz.--"There, just as they were," was the answer, "no one
told me, they'd be required to-day."--"What's to be done now?" asked
the labourer Näsel.--"God alone knows," answered Pegel, "we've received
no orders."--"Flegel," cried Fred, "we're going to lead in the rye, and
the waggon-wheels must be greased."--"You may do it for all I care,"
shouted Flegel from the loft. "Here's the tub if you want it"--"Where's
Hawermann, Mr. von Rambow, mayn't I call him?"--"No," answered Alick
lowly as he turned away.--"Well then," said Fred, who was growing
rather anxious, "we won't get any of the rye in this morning."--"That
doesn't matter. We can begin this afternoon."--"But what are the
labourers to do till then?" "Confound the labourers," said Alick
petulantly and turning to go, "it's always the labourers. They can
make themselves useful here in the yard until they are wanted. Stop
a moment," he added looking back, "they can help to grease the
waggon-wheels."
Meantime the old bailiff was sitting at his desk, thinking how best he
could write something that it nearly broke his heart to have to write.
He was about to sever the tie that bound him to the place where the
late squire had been so good to him. He heard some of the foolish talk
that was going on in the yard, and started to the window to put things
right, but no sooner had he got there than he drew back again,
remembering that he had nothing more to do with it. He crumpled up the
letter he had begun, and tried to write another, which gave him as
little satisfaction as the first. He put all his writing things
together and shut his desk. What was he to do now? What was there for
him to do? Nothing! He was supposed to be beyond work. He threw himself
into the corner of the sofa, and thought and thought.
Everything was ready for leading in the rye by the afternoon, thanks to
the exertions of the old carpenter, and of two or three of the
steadiest of the old labourers. So the work began. Alick got on
horseback, and took command of the whole affair, and Fred, not to be
outdone by his master, must needs ride also. As his deaf mare was lame
he mounted a spirited old thoroughbred, and acted as adjutant. They set
off. Six pairs of horses were taken out, and a pair of these was
harnessed into each of the six harvest-waggons, which were then driven
out of the yard in a row. Order was of more importance than anything
else. On one side were the forkers, and the men who standing in the
waggons arranged the sheaves on them, then others went to the barns to
be ready to receive the loaded waggons, and the field-workers got into
the waggons, and set off for the corn-field preceded by Alick and Fred
on horseback. Such an arrangement was never known before at Pümpelhagen
as on that lovely afternoon; but order must be maintained. The old
carpenter, Frederic Flegel, stood at the barn-door and watched the
harvesters set out: "Wonders will never cease," he muttered, scratching
his head, "however it's no business of mine," and as he went back to
his work, he said: "What has become of our old bailiff?"
Hawermann was still sitting quietly in his room thinking. His first
anger had passed away, and he was able to write calmly, so he rose and
wrote a few lines giving up his situation at Christmas, and asking for
leave of absence during harvest, for he knew that he could be of no use
there. Having done this he took his hat and stick, and went out; he
felt that he must have fresh air; he was stifling in the house. He
seated himself on a stone wall under the shade of an elder-bush, and
gazed down the Warnitz road to see if the waggons were coming; but
there were no waggons to be seen; the only moving object he could
descry was Bräsig, who was coming towards them along the Warnitz
road.--"As sure as your nose is in the middle of your face, I can't
understand you, Charles! Why are you leading in the rye so soon? It's
as green as grass! And what do you mean by letting six waggons follow
one another in a row? And why are the loaded waggons stopping on the
road?"--"I don't know, Bräsig. You must ask the squire and
Triddelfitz."--"What?"--"I've nothing more to say, Bräsig"--"How? Why?
What do you mean?" asked Bräsig, raising his eyebrows as high as he
could in his astonishment.--"I've nothing more to say," repeated the
old man with quiet sadness, "I am put on one side; the squire thinks me
too old to be of any use."--"Charles," said Bräsig, laying his hand on
his friend's shoulder, "what's the matter? Tell me."--And so Hawermann
told him all that had happened. When Bräsig knew the whole story he
turned round, and clenched his teeth savagely, looking as if he wished
the beautiful world, at which he was glaring so angrily, were a
hazel-nut that he might grind it between his teeth. Then he growled
passionately as he looked down the Warnitz road: "The Jesuits! The
beastly Jesuits!" and turning again to Hawermann, he said: "Triddelfitz
is another serpent you have warmed in your bosom, Charles."--"How do
you make that out, Bräsig? He must do as he is told."--"Here he comes
at a gallop, and all the six waggons after him! Will they ever keep up,
I wonder--just look how top-heavy they are! It's a comedy, an
agricultural comedy! Mark my words! There'll be an upset at the old
bridge!" cried uncle Bräsig, dancing as vehemently on his poor gouty
legs, as if he wished to make them pay the penalty of all the mischief
that had been done that day. I am sorry to have to confess it, but it
is nevertheless true that Bräsig was full of delight at the thought
that the returning harvesters were almost certain to meet with an
accident, which he thought would only serve them right after what had
happened that morning. "There it is, as flat as a flounder!" he
exclaimed joyfully when the first overloaded waggon reached the turn of
the bridge, and then upset.--"Wo!" was shouted from the bridge.
"Confound it! won't you stop! Wo, can't you!" Fred looked round about
him, what was to be done? He did not know what to do. Suddenly he
caught sight of Hawermann and Bräsig, seated on the wall, galloped up
to them, and said: "Oh, Mr. Hawermann ....."--"Sir, you've made your
bed, and must lie upon it!" interrupted Bräsig.--"Oh, Mr. Hawermann,
what are we to do? The first waggon is lying right across the bridge,
and the others can't move."--"Ride quickly ...."--"Hold your tongue,
Charles, you've been set aside like a lamb for the sacrifice, and have
nothing to do with it," exclaimed Bräsig.--"No, never mind, the men are
wiser than you, they're putting everything right down there."--"It
isn't my fault, Sir," said Fred, "Mr. von Rainbow gave all the orders
himself. The waggons are to go in a row, and are to move on quickly
though they are overloaded."--"Then obey orders, and ride till your
tongue hangs out of your mouth like a dog's," said Bräsig.--"He's on
horseback over there on the heather-hill, and is overlooking and
ordering everything himself."--"Then, I suppose, he has a telespope in
one hand and a field-marshal's baton in the other like old Blücher in
the hop-market at Rostock," said Bräsig scornfully.--"Ride on to the
farm," interrupted Hawermann, "and see that each waggon sets off again
for the field the moment it is emptied."--"I dar'n't do that," answered
Fred, "the squire has given express orders that the waggons are all to
go back to the field in a row as they came. He says that order must be
maintained."--"Then you can tell him that I never saw a finer specimen
of a donkey in all my life ....."--"Bräsig, take care what you say,"
cried Hawermann warningly.--"Than--than your little mule, Mr.
Triddelfitz," added uncle Bräsig with great presence of mind.
Fred rode away to the farm.--"Charles," said Bräsig, "let us go too. We
shall see everything capitally from your window."--"It's all the same
to me," said Hawermann with a deep sigh, "where I am; whether here or
there." So they went. The waggons all drove into the yard, the first
right up to the barn, and the others in a row behind it. The forkers
muttered that they were being worked to death; the labourers grumbled
about the wet rye, and asked who was to thrash it out in winter; the
men in charge of the horses laughed and played each other stupid tricks
to while away the time they had to wait doing nothing, and Fred rode
about the yard with a quiet conscience, for he was doing his duty, and
carrying out his master's orders. As soon as the rye was all put in the
barn, he placed himself at the head of the empty waggons and the
procession moved off. The forkers and stackers closed the barn door
softly to shade them from the sun, lay down and went to sleep, for they
had plenty of time to enjoy a nap.--"What a delightfully quiet harvest
time, Charles," said Bräsig, "the yard is as silent as death, and not a
leaf is stirring! It's a great pleasure to me to see anything of the
kind, for I assure you I had never thought such a thing possible."--"It
isn't at all pleasant to me," replied Hawermann, "I see misfortune
coming. Two or three mistakes of this kind will deprive the squire of
the people's respect. As soon as they begin to see that it's really
ignorance and not a new mode of farming that has brought about
the changes, they'll begin to take their own way. I am very sorry
for the unfortunate young squire, and still more so for his poor
wife."--"There's Mrs. von Rambow coming out of the house, and there's
the nursery-maid with the baby asleep in a perambulator. But,
Charles--come to the window quick--what's all this?"--It was certainly
worth the trouble of hastening to the window, there was now a stir and
movement in the yard, which a moment before had been so still and
quiet, Fred Triddelfitz thundered up to the farm on the old
thoroughbred Bill, Alick followed about twenty yards behind, and
shouted: "Triddelfitz."--"Coming," cried Fred, galloping out at the
other gate with Alick still in pursuit.--"What the devil does
all this mean?" asked Bräsig. He had hardly time to ask the question
when Fred and Alick came back and recrossed the yard shouting:
"Triddelfitz."--"Coming."--"Have you gone mad, Sir?" asked Bräsig as
Fred galopped past the farm-house, but he received no answer. Fred was
sitting crumpled up like a sack in his saddle, and when he heard
Bräsig's question could not help giggling from fright and misery. As he
passed Mr. von Rambow he tried to touch his cap, but knocked it off
instead, and Frida cried out anxiously: "Alick, Alick, what's the
matter?" but got no answer, for Alick was too busy. Suddenly Bill
jumped over the fence in front of the sheep's pen, and Fred was thrown
head over heels into a heap of straw. Alick now drew in his horse and
called again: "Triddelfitz."--"Coming, Mr. von Rambow," answered Fred
from out of the straw.--"What devil drove you to ride so hard?" asked
Alick.--"None," said Fred, getting up, and finding to his great joy
that he had met with no injury, "I was riding one, that's all, and I
think that Bill ran away with me."--"You're right enough there," said
Christian, who had come out of the stable to see what was the matter.
"You gee, Sir," turning to Mr. von Rambow, "the count used to ride Bill
in steeple-chases, and when once the beast gets his head, he goes on
till he finds a fence or hurdle to jump, and after he has had a good
run he stands as quiet as a lamb. Just look at him now."--"Alick,"
asked Mrs. von Rambow, who now came up, "what is it?"--"Nothing, my
dear; I had given Triddelfitz an order, and no sooner had he ridden off
than a better plan occurred to me, so I followed him to make the
desired change, but his horse ran away with him, and I went in
pursuit."--"Thank God it was no worse," she said. "But, Alick, won't
you come in and have some tea?"--"Yes," he said, "I've been working
very hard to-day and am rather tired. Triddelfitz, just go on as we
have been doing."--"All right, Sir," answered Fred, and then Alick went
back to the house with his wife.
"Alick," she asked, when they were seated at tea, "I don't understand.
The harvest waggons used always to come into the yard one by one as
they were filled, at my father's place, but I see that you're making
them come in a string of six."--"I know the old-fashioned way
perfectly, Frida dear, but I think that it's a bad way, and one in
which it's impossible to keep order; while if you have a train of six
waggons you can easily maintain order."--"Did Hawermann arrange it in
that way?"--"Hawermann? No. He has nothing whatever to do with it. I
have at last found it necessary to emancipate myself from the bailiffs
leading-strings, and have told him that I intend to bring in the
harvest without his assistance."--"Alick, what have you done! He'll
never stand that."--"He must though. He must learn that _I_ am
master here."--"He has always treated you as such. Dear Alick,
what you have done to day cannot fail to do us a great deal of
harm," and she leant back in her chair in deep and painful
thought.--Alick felt uncomfortable and a little cross.--The door opened
and Daniel Sadenwater brought in a letter: "With Mr. Hawermann's
compliments."--"There it is," said Frida.--Alick read the letter: "The
bailiff gives up his place at Christmas. He may go now for all I care.
I don't require a bailiff. Besides that, I could get a hundred instead
of him if I liked. I'm only sorry that it was he who gave up his place,
not I who told him to go," and starting to his feet, he began to walk
up and down the room. Frida sat still, and said nothing. Alick felt
that her silence was meant as a reproach. He knew that he was in a
difficult position, but that he must not confess it even to himself,
and must lay the blame of what had happened on the shoulders of
another, so he went on: "But it's your fault, it all comes of your
taking that pretentious old scoundrel's part"--Frida made no answer;
she rose and left the room.
That evening she sat by her little daughter's cradle and rocked her to
sleep. Alas, who can rock his thoughts to sleep as she did her child! A
baby comes straight from God, and still has the peace of heaven in its
heart; but human thoughts come from earth, and are full of care and
trouble and utter weariness; to such as are burdened with these, sleep
is unattainable. Alick was right, he could easily get another bailiff,
a hundred if he wanted them. But Frida was also right: they were losing
a true friend.