Wheat was again growing in the field by the mill, as when Hawermann
came to Puempelhagen eleven years before. Hawermann was on his way back
from church, for it was Sunday, and he had that morning listened to Mr.
Behrens' sermon and visited his little daughter. He was on foot, for
the church was but a short distance from home, and the weather was
as beautiful as midsummer could make it. As he went through the
wheat-field his heart was full of joy at the thought of the visible
blessing God had bestowed on that which had been sown in hope, and in
ignorance of what the future might bring forth. He himself profited
nothing by the blessing of the rich harvest, it all belonged to his
master, but he had the pleasure of seeing it, and the sight made his
heart overflow with joy and thankfulness. He whistled a merry air and
then smiled at himself when he found what he was doing, for he very
seldom felt inclined to show any outward signs of rejoicing. "Well," he
said to himself, "I've gone my rounds here for eleven years now, and
the worst is over. Let me go round once more, and other eyes shall see
it."--He turned into the path leading through the garden, which lay on
high ground to one side of a small plantation of oaks and beeches. The
foot-path was well swept and weeded, for the Squire and his family were
expected that afternoon. When Hawermann got to the edge of the wood, he
turned round and looked back at the wheat-field, saying to himself with
a smile: "Yes, it's a much heavier crop now than it was eleven years
ago; but I must be just; the weather has been far better for farming
this year than it was then. I wonder what the old gentleman will say to
it.--There's still a good long time to pass before the harvest though,
but we've got the rape as good as safe, that's one thing. I only hope
and trust that it isn't sold already," and he sighed. Then thinking
over the events of the past eleven years: "The old gentleman isn't a
bit richer than he was when I came. Indeed, how could he, with five
daughters and two sons-in-law to drain his purse, to say nothing of my
lady, who seems to think that because money is round, it may be set
rolling with impunity. And then the son, what a lot of money it takes
to keep him in a Prussian cavalry regiment!--Yes, the times are better,
far better than when I had my farm; but when a man once gets into
difficulties it's hard work getting straight again, and he has grown so
much older looking in the last year or two."--Hawermann was in no
particular hurry to get home, as dinner was put off until Mr. von
Rambow came, not that the Squire had given orders to that effect, but
it was an understood thing: "Yes," he thought, as he seated himself in
the shade, "he will be glad to see that the wheat is good, for it will
help him on, and he is in need of money. Fortunately the times are
better."
The times were really better, and for farmers the times may be likened
to a long, long cord stretching over England and America and the whole
earth, and uniting the different countries to each other. When this
cord gets slack and entangled, things go ill with the farmers and the
whole land, but when it is firm and steady again there is great
rejoicing in every heart. The cord was drawn much tighter now in our
little corner of the world, and young Joseph had turned his old
clay-pipe, his leaden snuff-box, the blue painted cupboard, and the
polished sofa out of the house, and the old yellow carriage was no
longer in the coachhouse; instead of these he had now a silver-mounted
meerschaum, and a "m'og'ny secletair," and a magnificent ottoman, and
there was a new carriage in the coach-house, which Braesig always called
a "phantom," and he wasn't far wrong, for it was like a dream to see
such a carriage there. And the same cord passing from the Count to
Braesig gave the latter, after his five and twenty years service,
written permission to marry as soon as he liked, and the promise, also
written, of a comfortable pension for his old age. When the cord was
slack it had twisted itself all round little Mrs. Behrens, in like
manner as boys tie up a cock-chafer, and when it was tightened she went
to her pastor, and continually buzzed in his ear that he ought to get
double the rent for his glebe lands now, to what he had done before.
And when Moses, at the end of the preceding year, added up his sum
total, and wrote under the long column of figures, a little one, and a
five and two large noughts: "Take away the book, David," he said, "the
balance is quite right."
But this cord, however straight and tight it may be drawn, is
influenced by human action, though God takes care that the slackening
and tightening are done properly, so that mankind is not either
destroyed or allowed to tumble aimlessly about like peas in a bag that
is violently shaken, but the _individual_ has as little power over the
cord as a cock-chafer has on the thread to which it is tied when
children play with it; like it, he can only buzz about within the space
allowed him. There is yet another cord which rules the world, and it
comes down from heaven, and God himself holds the end of it; this cord
was pulled a little tighter, and Zachariah Braesig had gout, and it was
pulled a little tighter still, and the two old Nuesslers lay upon their
last bed; a little bit was broken off the end of it, an they were laid
in the grave.
Zachariah Braesig was very cross when he found he had gout, and in his
ignorance declared that it was the new fashion of wearing brightly
polished boots, and the cold damp spring they had been having which had
given him gout, whereas he ought to have set it down to good eating and
to his daily little glass kuemmel. He was as troublesome as a gad-fly,
and whenever Hawermann went to see him when the pain was bad, he used
to find him studying the papers the Count had given him relating to
marriage and a pension, and then he was always as cross as two sticks.
"Don't you see," he would say, "what a horrible position the Count's
paper puts me in. If I marry, my lord, the Count, will say that I am
too young for the pension and if I ask for the pension, I acknowledge
by so doing that I am too old to marry. Oh yes, the Count's not much
better than a Jesuit. He speaks me fair, and gets the better of me. He
writes down all sorts of scoundrelly padagraphs on a bit of paper which
prevent a man, who for the last eight-and-twenty years has worn himself
out in his service, enjoying his pension without blame; a man who was
engaged to three women twenty years ago, and who, now that he is fifty
cannot marry even _one_ woman.--Oh, I laugh at my lord's padagraphs!"
One man's meat is another man's poison! Braesig was angry because the
cord had been pulled, but in young Joseph's home it had brought about a
pleasant change. In the old days, Mrs. Nuessler had tried in vain to
bring peace into the house, now it reigned there, and ruled the actions
of the whole family. Mrs. Nuessler was careful to keep it there now that
it had come; and the twins showed its gentle influence in their ways
and thoughts, and young Joseph also felt the change and tried to do his
duty as head of the family. It is true that he spoke as little as ever,
and still disliked smoking any tobacco except twist, and it is true
that he had not even yet grown out of tutelage, for after his parents'
death Hawermann and Braesig had undertaken the guardianship of all
out-door affairs, had arranged about the work, had seen that the farm
was properly stocked, and had got everything in order. As the old
people had forgotten to take away with them the money they had hidden
under pillows, in old stockings, and in odd corners, it was easy to
make everything go on smoothly and well, and when at last the whole
place was in good order, young Joseph said: "What am I to do now?" and
left everything to go its own way. But the comfort and peace in which
he now lived had made him much more cheerful, and his kindness of
heart, which had never been allowed free play by his parents, was
patent to all, and if it sometimes made him do foolish things, it
mattered no more than did the schoolmaster's appearing at a funeral in
a red waistcoat, for, as he said in excuse: "What does it signify,
Reverend Sir, when one's heart is black?"
And what changes had time made at the Parsonage? The cord had been very
little pulled there. When Mr. Behrens felt a light touch on his arm
when he was busy writing his sermon, and looked round to see what it
was, it was only his little wife standing beside him, duster in hand,
and while she gave his chair an extra rub, she asked him whether he
would like the perch to be fried or boiled, and if he had just got in
his sermon to S. Peter's draught of fishes, or to the great fish-dinner
mentioned in the Gospel, so many tiresome unchristian thoughts of fried
fish served with horseradish and butter _would_ disturb him, that he
had hard work to keep his sermon and clerical dignity uninjured.--Once,
a long time ago, I got a beautiful lily-root from my friend Juelke, the
great gardener in Erfurt. Its leaves began to show in March, and the
first thing I did every morning, was to go and see how much the leaves
had grown during the night, and I watched it carefully to see when the
flower-bud began to form. Long before there was any sign of the flower,
when only green leaves were to be seen, I used to carry it from the
cold window to the warm stove, and again from the dusty stove to the
bright sunny window. And as with the plant, so with human life, there
is to me great delight in watching and tending it as it grows.--The
parson had also received a lily-root from the great Gardener, the Lord
God of Heaven, and he and his little wife had loved it, and tended it,
and now the flower was there--a human flower, which grew in the warm
sun-light of loving hearts, and Mrs. Behrens went to look at her the
first thing in the morning, buzzed round her at mid-day, rejoiced in
her healthy appetite, and put another spoonful on her plate, for she
said: food is necessary to life. In the evening under the lime-tree
before the door, she drew the same shawl round herself and the little
girl, that she might know the child was warm, and when it was time to
go to bed she gave her a good-night kiss: "God bless you my darling,
I'll call you to-morrow early, at five o'clock."
And the parson's first act was to go to her; he watched the tender
green leaves opening, propped his lily carefully, and taught her how to
grow straight and true, and when she had gone to bed, he said with the
implicit faith of a little child: "Regina, our lily will soon blossom
now."
So it came about without the dear old clergyman or his wife noticing
it, and without the child noticing it, that she had grown to be the
most important personage in the family. When she went dancing about the
house in her simple frock, her little silk handkerchief round her neck,
her cheeks rosy with health, and her hair hanging down her back
unconfined by ribbon or comb, the whole household rejoiced in her
happiness. When she sat quietly beside her foster-father learning her
lessons, and looking up at him with her great eyes while he taught her
something new and interesting, and then at last closed her books with a
deep sigh, as though she were sorry that lessons were over for the day,
and yet glad, for she had been hard at work for some time, and could
not have properly understood anything more, Mrs. Behrens would leave
her clippers at the door, and go about dusting the furniture in her
stockings. She was afraid of disturbing the lessons: "For," she said,
"teaching children is quite different from writing sermons, and if it's
a deadly sin to speak to old people when they're busy, a child's
mind--good gracious, the waving of a tulip-stalk would be enough to
distract its attention!"
Hawermann's little daughter was always pretty, but she never looked so
pretty as when running to meet her father, she took him by the hand and
led him to the great lime-tree under which the good clergyman and his
wife were sitting, and if Hawermann sometimes looked sad at the thought
of how little he could do for his own child, there was a whole heaven
of joy in her eyes because he was there, and she seemed to feel she
could best repay the love and kindness her foster-parents showed her,
through her love and gratitude to her father. She had just entered her
thirteenth year, and as yet hardly understood the feelings and impulses
of her own heart. She had never asked herself why her father was dear
to her. With Mr. and Mrs. Behrens it was different. She had daily signs
of their affection, and daily opportunities of doing little loving
services for them in return. While with him--she only knew he was her
father, and that he often said things to her that must have come from
his heart, and often looked at her with a quiet sadness that could not
fail to go to hers. If she had made out a debtor and creditor account,
the clergyman and his wife deserved more at her hands, but still----!
The Lord our God has so joined people together by the ties of nature
that they cannot be divided.----
This day had been a happy one for both Hawermann and his child, and now
he was sitting in the shady arbour overlooking the fields he had tilled
and the neighbouring country. Spring was gone, and the summer sun was
shining warmly and brightly through white fleecy clouds, a soft breeze
slightly cooled the air, and the green ears of corn were waving in the
sunshine as though the earth were fluttering her green silken banner in
honour of her sovereign lady the sun. Her regimental music sung by
thousands of birds was hushed now that the spring was gone, and only
the cuckoo and corn-crake were to be heard; and instead of the songs
that but a few weeks ago had sounded in every thicket, the wind came up
over the fields laden with sweet odours, for the hay-harvest had begun.
How pleasant it is to see a long stretch of country lying before one,
divided into stripes of green and yellow, here and there interspersed
with wooded hills; to see old earth decked out in the brilliant
garments which the seasons have woven for her. But still life in such a
place is not without its anxieties, and people are fearful lest by any
misfortune they should not reap as abundant a harvest as they ought,
from their little bits of land, and even these long lines of colour,
and the hills and trees, seem in their eyes poor and barren.--I am
quite aware that it is not so in reality, but they think so at the
time.--With us it is quite different, our fields stretch out in one
kind of corn as far as the woods, the rape-fields resembling a great
sea in the golden sunlight. Large meadows and paddocks are to be seen
full of cattle, and immense hay-fields in which long rows of mowers are
at work in their white shirt-sleeves. Everything is for the best and
works for a good end, and wherever the eye falls there is peace and
fruitfulness.--I know quite well that it is not the case, but one
thinks so at the time.--It all depends upon the way we look at a thing.
One man sees nothing but riches and peace, while another slips away
into the shade and lets the humming of the bees, and the soft
fluttering of the butterflies around him sink into his heart.--Hawermann
was filled with quiet thankfulness as gazing on this scene he went over
again, in thought, the events of the past eleven years. Everything had
gone well with him during that time, he had paid both Braesig and Moses
what he owed them, and he was on good terms with his employer. Indeed
Mr. von Rambow had become almost confidential with him, for although
he was not accustomed to talk over his private affairs with anyone,
he had always found Hawermann so respectful, trustworthy and zealous
in his service, that he had gradually got into the habit of consulting
him about things that had more to do with himself individually than
with the management of the estate. As yet however he had never spoken
to him about his family worries, but now he was going to do so.
When Hawermann had been sitting in the arbour for a short time, he
heard a couple of carriages drive up to the door. "Here they are
already," he exclaimed, springing to his feet, and going towards the
house to receive the squire and his family.
Mr. von Rambow, with his wife, his three daughters and his son, had
come to spend six weeks or so at Puempelhagen to enjoy a little
country-air. "Well, Mr. Hawermann," he said, "I fear that we have come
upon you sooner than you expected, but I got my business in Rostock
finished much more quickly than I had thought possible.--How is all
going on?--Is everything ready for the ladies?"--"Quite ready," said
Hawermann, "but I'm afraid that you'll have to wait a little before
dinner can be served."--"All the better," he answered. "The ladies will
have time to dress, and you can show me the wheat-field.--Alick"
turning to his son, a handsome young man in uniform, "you can
afterwards take your mother and sisters for a turn in the garden, for,"
with an effort to smile, "you take no interest in agriculture."--"Dear
father, I ....." the son began, but his father interrupted him, saying
kindly: "Never mind, my boy.--Now, Mr. Hawermann, come and show me the
wheat. It's in the field just below the garden, I think."
They walked away together. What a terrible change had taken place in
Mr. von Rambow's appearance, he had grown so old, and it was not only
the hand of time that had aged him, he seemed to have some anxiety
which was wearing him out.--At the sight of his wheat-field he cheered
up, and said: "What a splendid crop! I don't remember ever having seen
such wheat at Puempelhagen before."--Hawermann was much pleased, but
like all of his class he did his best to hide it, and because his heart
laughed within him, he just scratched his head, and said they must wait
and see what sort of weather they had at the time of harvest, and that
there was generally a frightful quantity of rust down there at the edge
of the meadow.--"Anything that may happen to it now will be by no fault
of ours," said Mr. von Rambow, "I am very much pleased with the look
of this field.--Ah," he went on after a short pause, "why didn't we
know each other twenty years ago, it would have been better for us
both."--Hawermann became grave and sympathetic at once when he found
his master was in trouble.--They had now reached the place where the
Guerlitz estate marched with Puempelhagen.--"That wheat doesn't look as
well as ours," said the squire.--"Well," replied Hawermann, "the soil
is every bit as good as ours, but it hasn't been well treated, it is
the Guerlitz glebe."--"A propos," interrupted Mr. von Rambow, "do you
know that Guerlitz is sold? It was sold a few days ago in Rostock for
twenty-five thousand nine hundred and fifty pounds. Prices are rising,
are they not, Hawermann? If Guerlitz is worth twenty-five thousand nine
hundred and fifty pounds, Puempelhagen would be cheap at thirty-six
thousand," and he looked sharply at Hawermann as he spoke.--"Yes, Sir,
it would," replied Hawermann. "But the sale of Guerlitz may bring you
good luck in another way. You see it was arranged that the sale of the
estate should break the lease of the glebe lands which belong to it,
and as these lands march with your wheat-field, the best thing that you
can do is to take a lease of them yourself."--"My dear Hawermann! _I_
take the lease!" cried the squire, and then he turned away sadly, as if
he could not bear to look at it any longer. "I have enough on my
shoulders already," he added, "without undertaking anything new."--"You
shall have no trouble whatever about it, only give me power to act for
you, and I will arrange everything with Mr. Behrens."--"No, no,
Hawermann, it's impossible. The expense, the payment of rent in
advance, the large amount of stock required. I can't do it. I have
so many calls on my purse as it is, that I hardly know where to
turn."--Mr. von Rambow went back up the hill with so much difficulty,
and stumbled so often over the stones on the road, that Hawermann
sprang to him and offered him his arm. Just as they reached the garden
the old man became so giddy that the bailiff took him into the arbour,
and made him sit down and rest.--The squire soon recovered when brought
out of the hot sun, but Hawermann looking at him could hardly imagine
him to be the same man who had taken him into his service eleven years
ago. At last he began to speak again, and it seemed a relief to him to
unburden his mind.--"Dear Hawermann," he said, "I want you to do
something for me. My brother's son, Frank--you used to know him--has
left school, and will soon be of age, when he will have to take the
management of his estate into his own hands. I am his guardian by my
late brother's will, and have advised him to learn farming practically,
and as he has agreed to do so, I have chosen you to be his teacher. You
will find him an intelligent, good-hearted young fellow."--Hawermann
answered that he would do his best, he had known the lad when he was
quite a child, and had liked him.--"Ah!" sighed Mr. von Rambow, "why
couldn't my own boy have done the same? Why was I weak enough to give
way to my wife's entreaties against my better judgment? Nothing would
satisfy her but he must go into the army.--And now it has come to this,
he is deeply in debt, and I know he has not told me all, I see it in
his manner. If he would only confess I should know where we stand, and
I might be able to set him free from the money-lenders.--And what if I
also were to fall into their hands," he concluded in a low, broken
voice.--Hawermann was even more frightened by the expression of his
master's face than by his words, and he answered with emotion: "It
won't be so bad as that comes to, and then. Sir, you must remember that
you have still to be paid for the fifteen hundred bushels of rape, and
I'm certain there's all that."--"Ah," said Mr. von Rambow, "and I have
already been paid for seventeen hundred bushels, and the money is all
spent; but that isn't the worst of it. If that were all I shouldn't be
so troubled," he exclaimed, as though he must speak and so lighten the
burden of his anxiety. "The business I had to do at Rostock isn't
settled yet, though I told you it was. I only said that for the sake of
my family. I have undertaken to pay a debt of a thousand and fifty
pounds for one of my sons-in-law, and I find that I cannot raise so
large a sum in Rostock, though I had hoped to do so, and yet the money
must be in the hands of the man who has just bought Guerlitz in three
days' time.--Can you advise me what to do, old friend? You were once in
the same position as I am now, and you succeeded in freeing yourself;
don't be angry with me for referring to it. You are and have always
been an honest man, and can understand how miserable it makes me not to
know how to keep my honest name unstained."--Hawermann understood him
perfectly, he had once been in the same distress for want of thirty
pounds, as the squire was now for a thousand. "Have you spoken
to the purchaser of Guerlitz?" he asked, after a long pause of
deliberation.--"Yes," was the reply, "I told him frankly that I
should find it difficult to pay so large a sum at once."--"And what was
his answer?" said Hawermann, "perhaps that he was in want of it
himself?"--"No, I don't think that was it, but I didn't like his looks
at all, his manner was sly and smooth, and when I told him of my
difficulty his proposals were so cunningly made to entangle me, that I
at once broke off all negociations, and determined to do my utmost to
raise the money in proper time. But I have failed as you know, and
don't know where to turn, or what to do."--"I only know of one remedy,"
said Hawermann, "and that is to go to old Moses in Rahnstaedt."--"To a
Jew?" asked the squire. "No," he exclaimed, "I'll never do that.--I
couldn't bear to fall into a usurer's hands.--No, rather than do that,
I'd bear Mr. Pomuchelskopp's impertinence."--"_Whose_ did you say?"
cried Hawermann, starting as if a wasp had stung him.--"Why the new
purchaser of Guerlitz of whom we have just been talking," said Mr. von
Rambow, looking at his bailiff in astonishment. "He is a Pomeranian,
and comes from a place nearer the river Peen; he is short and stout,
and has a fat face."--"Yes," said Hawermann. "And so it is he who is
going to be our neighbour here. It is he with whom you are going to
have money-transactions.--No, no, Mr. von Rambow, I beg, I entreat you
to have nothing to do with that man.--You can bear me witness that I
have never said anything good or bad of the man who ruined me, but now
that you are in danger, it becomes my duty to speak; that man was the
cause of all my misfortunes," and springing to his feet he went on
excitedly, his face as he spoke losing its usual calm expression, and
an angry sparkle coming into his eyes. "Yes, that is the man who drove
me out of house and home, who heaped one misery after another on me and
my poor wife, so that she at last broke down and died.--Oh, Sir,
whatever you do, beware of that man!"--The warning was too emphatic
to be passed over unheeded.--"But who can I get to help me?" he
enquired.--"Moses," answered Hawermann, firmly and decidedly. The
squire made a gesture of dissent, but Hawermann came a little nearer
him, and went on still more emphatically than before: "Mr. von Rambow,
Moses will help you, we will go to him after dinner, and I assure you
on my own knowledge of the man that you will never repent going to
him."
The squire rose and took Hawermann's arm. He found in him a support
both physical and moral, for when a calm, even-tempered man loses his
ordinary serene composure, he exerts a greater influence over others
than people of a more impulsive nature ever can.
The conversation during dinner was slight and subject to long pauses.
Each was busy with his own thoughts. Hawermann thought of his new and
formidable neighbours, the squire of the money he wanted to raise, and
the young lieutenant seemed as if he had lost himself in a long sum in
addition which he could not manage to add up rightly, so that if my
lady had not ridden her high horse a little, and spoken of the calls
she intended to make on the grand people in the neighbourhood, and
if the three girls had not chattered about the pleasures of a
country-life, and about all the pretty things they had seen during
their drive, it would have been a regular quaker's meeting.
After dinner Mr. von Rambow and his bailiff drove to Rahnstaedt. The
squire felt as he entered the door of Moses' house as if he were going
to pick a guinea out of the mud with his hitherto clean hands. On the
threshold he was greeted with a stuffy smell of tarry wool that had
just left the back of the sheep on which it had grown, and which is a
very different article from the same wool when it is woven into a
carpet for a lady's boudoir. The entrance-hall and business-room were
very untidy, for though Flora was a good woman she never could manage
to keep the skins out of sight, for Moses said shortly that they were
part of the trade, and David was continually adding new items to the
list of things lying about, so that finally the house became a very
paradise for rats, for these delightful little creatures take as kindly
to the fusty smell of a wool-stapler's shop, as doves to oil of
aniseed.
Mr. von Rambow did not feel more comfortable when he was in the
business-room, for Moses was old-fashioned, and when business permitted
always wore his worst coat on the Christian Sabbath, holding it an
article of faith to make himself look as different as possible from
Christians in their holiday-attire. When he came forward hastily to
receive the squire, exclaiming: "Mr. von Rambow!--I am highly
honoured!" and then turning to his son who was spending his
Sunday-leisure from "wool-stapling" in the enjoyment of lying at full
length on the sofa: "Why don't you move, David? Why are you lying
there? Get up and let Mr. von Rambow sit down." And when he led the
squire to the sofa, and signed to him to sit down in the place David
had just quitted, poor Mr. von Rambow would willingly have left the
guineas lying in the dirt--if only he had not been in such desperate
need of them.
Hawermann at once set a chair for his master near the open window, and
then began to explain the business that had brought them to Rahnstaedt.
As soon as Moses found what they had come for he sent David out of the
room, for although he let his son manage the wool-stapling part of his
trade as he liked, he did not consider him capable at five and twenty
years old of taking even a subordinate place in the moneylending
department. The moment the coast was clear--of David--he said again
that it was a great honour to do business with Mr. von Rambow. "What
have I always told you, Mr. Hawermann? Didn't I always say that Mr. von
Rambow was a good man, a very good man.--And, Mr. von Rambow, what have
I always said?--That Mr. Hawermann was an honest man, he worked and
saved, and has paid me everything he owed me to the uttermost
farthing."--But when he understood how large a sum was wanted he rather
drew back, and wished to have nothing to do with it, and if he had not
seen that Hawermann earnestly desired that he should undertake the
business, he would have refused point blank. And who knows whether he
would not have refused to have anything to do with the affair even
then, if he had not heard that the money was wanted to complete the
purchase of Guerlitz, and that failing his help the squire would have to
come to an arrangement with Mr. Pomuchelskopp. When he heard that name
Moses made a face of as much disgust, as if some one had offered him a
bit of unclean meat on a plate, and then exclaimed: "With
Poemueffelskopp!" that was the way he always pronounced the name. "Do you
know what sort of man he is?" and as he spoke, he made a movement as
though he were throwing a piece of unclean meat over his shoulder. "I
advised my son David to have nothing to do with Poemueffelskopp--but
young people!--David bought some wool from him. Very well, I said, you
will see, I said. And what did we discover? He had mixed the lumpy wool
of sheep that had died of disease with what was clean and good, and
also the dirty skins of wethers that had been slaughtered by the
butcher, to say nothing of two large stones that he had put in the
centre. Two large stones!--Good, I said. I paid him in Prussian
paper-money, making up the sum in small parcels containing about
fifteen pounds each, and amongst them I slipped in a few notes that
were either false, or which had passed out of currency, and lastly I
added two old lottery-tickets--these are the two large stones, I
said.--Oh, didn't he make noise enough about it? He came back with
Slus'uhr the attorney--a man of like nature with himself--" with that he
made as though he were throwing another bit of unclean meat over his
shoulder.--"He looks for all the world like one of David's rats, his
ears are put on his head in the same way--he must needs live, so he
lives like the rats on refuse and garbage, and gnaws through the honest
work of other people.--There was noise enough in all conscience now
that the two were together. They said they'd go to law. What's the good
of a law-suit? I asked. The wool and the money are on a par.--And do
you know, gentlemen, I said something more. I said that though the
attorney, Mr. Poemueffelskopp, and I are only _three_ Jews, still we
might be counted as _four_, for the two former were quite equal to
three in their own person.--Oh dear, what a noise they made, they
abused me to every one, but his worship the mayor said to me, Moses, he
said, you do a large business, but have never yet gone to law with any
one, leave them to do their worst. Mr. von Rambow, you shall have the
money this very day at a reasonable percentage, for as you are a good
man and deal kindly with your dependents, and have a good name in the
country-side, you shall have nothing to do with that Poemueffelskopp."
Borrowing money is disagreeable work, and he who writes this book knows
that it is so from his own experience, still there is a great
difference between borrowing from a kind-hearted old friend, and
applying to a man whose business it is to lend money.--The squire had a
good many small debts on his estate, but there were no large mortgages
on it, whenever he had wanted money before he had been able to get it
from his lawyer, or from a tradesman, and this was the first time his
old resources had failed him, and that he had been obliged to go to a
Jewish moneylender. He had an intense dislike to the business he was
about; the fear caused by the unwillingness Moses had at first shown
to lend him the money, and then the sudden relief when he found he
was to have it after all overpowered him so much, that he sank back
in his chair pale and trembling. Hawermann asked for some water for
him.--"Perhaps, Mr. von Rambow," asked Moses, "you'd like a mouthful of
wine better."--"No, water, water," cried Hawermann, and Moses rushed to
the door, and nearly knocked David down when he opened it, for David
had been listening at the key-hole. "David," he exclaimed, "what are
you standing there for? Why don't you go for some water?"
David brought the water, and the squire felt better as soon as he had
drunk it. Moses counted the gold out on the table, and the squire,
after picking them up, looked at his hands, and saw that they appeared
every whit as white and clean as before. And after he was once more
seated in the carriage, it seemed to him as he looked back at the
money-lender's house, as if he had left the heavy load of care he had
brought with him amongst the wool and sheep-skins in the warehouse. And
Moses stood in the door-way and bowed, and bowed, and glanced from side
to side to see whether his neighbours had observed that Mr. von Rambow
was there.--Still he was not so much overwhelmed with the honour done
him, as to be unable to look after his own affairs, he bent down his
head, and drawing Hawermann aside, whispered: "You are an honest man,
bailiff. When I concluded this piece of business I didn't notice how
ill the squire was. You must promise me that the money will be paid off
by the estate.--It is a question of life and death.--What have I to do
with a sick man and a bond?"
Now that the squire's mind was at rest about his money-difficulties his
health improved rapidly, and he began to look at everything in a more
cheerful light, and when a few days later Hawermann again proposed that
Mr. von Rambow should take a lease of the Guerlitz glebe, he consented
at once, and gave Hawermann permission to make all the necessary
arrangements with Mr. Behrens. Little Mrs. Behrens fluttered round her
husband and Hawermann while they talked, and said that "the rent ought
to be higher than before."--"Yes," answered Hawermann, "of course it
ought. The rent must be raised, for the times are better than they
were, but that matter will be easily settled, for it will be an
advantageous arrangement for both sides."--"Regina," said the pastor,
"it has just occurred to me that the flowers have never been watered
this morning."--"Goodness gracious me," cried Mrs. Behrens as she
hastened from the room, "I quite forgot the flowers."--"We'll get on
quicker now," said the pastor. "I confess that I'd rather have an
outsider for a tenant than the lord of the manor, for when the latter
has the glebe-lands there are often little disagreeables and disputes
that ought never to be between the parish-priest and his squire.
Besides that, merely as a matter of personal feeling I'd far rather
have Mr. von Rambow for a tenant than the new lord of the manor; you
see I have known him for many years.--So you really think I ought to
get a higher rent?"--"Most certainly, Sir, and I am commissioned to
offer you half as much again as you used to get. If I _myself_ were
going to take a lease of it from you, I should offer you more,
but ......"--"We understand each other, dear Hawermann," interrupted
Mr. Behrens. "I agree to your terms."--So when Mrs. Behrens returned
with little Louisa to say: "I needn't have gone after all, Louisa had
done it for me," business was all arranged. The child threw her arms
round her father's neck, exclaiming: "Oh father, father, what a good
plan it is!"--Why did she kiss her father, and what did it matter to
her who got the lease of the glebe?--Well, well, if her father had the
land he would have to look after it, and so she hoped to him oftener.
When Hawermann was walking down the path leading to the church he met
Zachariah Braesig coming towards him. Braesig had quite recovered from
the unphilosophical state of mind into which a fit of gout always threw
him, and now that the pain was over could take things as calmly and
philosophically as usual. "Good-day, Charles," he said. "I have been
waiting for you for some time in your room, but as the time hung rather
heavily on my hands I went at last to pay my respects to the
_Counsellor_. He delighted to see me, and received me with the greatest
possible kindness; but how dreadfully changed he is." True, Hawermann
replied, his master had become terribly aged and feeble, and he feared
that he would not long be spared to them.--"Yes," answered Braesig, "but
what is life after all, Charles? What is human life? Look you, Charles,
it is as though it were a thing twirled round and round like an empty
purse from which not a single farthing can fall, however long one may
wait."--"Braesig," said Hawermann, "I don't know what other people may
think of it, but life and work always seem to me to be one and the same
thing."--"Oh, ho! Charles, I have you now! You learnt that from parson
Behrens. He has spoken to me now and then on the subject, and he always
makes out that human life in this world is neither more nor less than a
sort of seed-time, and that Christian faith is the sun and rain that
makes the seed sprout and grow, and that only hereafter, in the other
world, comes the harvest, for while he is on earth, man must labour and
toil to the uttermost.--But, Charles, that is a wrong way of looking at
it, it goes clean against Scripture.--The Bible tells us of the lilies
of the field, how they toil not, neither do they spin, and yet our
Heavenly Father feeds them. And if God feeds them, they are alive, and
yet they do no work. And when I have that confounded gout, and can do
nothing--absolutely nothing, except flap the beastly flies away from my
face--can I be said to work? And yet I am alive, and suffer horrible
torture into the bargain. And, Charles," he continued, pointing to a
field on the right, "just look at those two lilies coming towards
us. I mean the lieutenant and his youngest sister; now have you ever
heard that lieutenants in a cavalry-regiment do any sort of hard work,
or that young ladies of rank and position busy themselves with
spinning? Yet there they come, alive and well, walking over the
rape-stubble."--"Will you wait a few minutes, Zachariah?" said
Hawermann. "They are coming straight towards us, and perhaps wish to
speak to us."--"All right," said Braesig. "But I say, just look at the
young lady wading through the stubble with a long train to her gown,
and thin shoes!--Nay, Charles, life and suffering are one and the same
thing, and the suffering always begins at the small end, with the feet
for instance; and that this is true, witness my confounded gout, and
the young lady's thin shoes.--But what I wanted to say was this, that
your happiest time here is past and gone, for when the _Counsellor_ is
dead, you may look out for squalls.--You will then see strange things
come to pass with my lady, her unmarried daughters, and the
lieutenant.--Charles," he continued, after a few minutes silent
thought, "it would be well for you to be on good terms with the
crown-prince."--"Oh, Braesig, what are you saying?" interrupted
Hawermann. "I shall keep to the straight road."--"Yes, Charles, I do so
too, and so does everyone who is not a Jesuit; but look at the young
lady, she is also going along the straight road, but it leads her
through the stubble!--Charles ....."
The young people had now come too near to allow him to finish his
sentence, so he only added in a sort of aside: "A Jesuit? No! But he's
a regular vocative case!"--
"Thank you, Mr. Hawermann, for waiting for us," said Alick von Rambow,
coming up to them. "My sister and I set out on our walk with two
different ends in view: her object was to find corn-flowers, and mine
was to find horses. She can't find any cornflowers, and I can't see any
horses."--"If you mean the common 'blue-bottle' by corn-flowers, Miss,"
said Braesig. "But," he interrupted himself, "what a pity, that
confounded rape-stubble has torn your pretty dress," and he stooped
down as though he were about to try his hand at lady's maid's
work.--"Oh, it doesn't matter," cried the young lady, starting back,
"it's an old dress. But where shall I find the corn-flowers?"--"I'll
show you. There are a good lot of them down there on the Guerlitz march;
you'll find blue-bottles, red poppies, white gules, and thistles; in
short, a whole plantation of weeds."--"That is a capital plan,
Fidelia," said her brother, "while you go in search of corn-flowers
with Mr. Braesig, I will ask Mr. Hawermann to show me the young horses,
for," turning to Hawermann, "you must know that my father was good
enough to tell me this morning, that I might choose one of the best of
the four-year-olds for my own use."--"I'll show them to you with great
pleasure," answered Hawermann, "there are some really good horses
amongst them."--So the two parties separated, and the last words
Hawermann heard Braesig say as he walked away with Miss Fidelia were,
that he was delighted to make her acquaintance, for he had once had a
dog that was called "Fidel," and that it had been a splendid ratter.
Hawermann and the lieutenant went together to the paddock, and as they
walked they naturally talked about farming. The lieutenant was of a
lively disposition, and Hawermann had known him from his childhood, but
the bailiff found that he had learnt nothing about the subject on which
he was talking, that his views were inpracticable, and his questions
were so wide of the mark and displayed so much ignorance, that he could
not help saying to himself: "He's good-natured, very good-natured, but
he's very ignorant, and--good God!--when his father dies he will have
the estate, and will have to make his living out of it!"
After they had reached the paddock, and had examined each of the young
horses separately, the lieutenant said to Hawermann: "Well, what do you
say? Which ought I to take?"--"The brown," replied the bailiff.--"I
like the black better, don't you see the beautiful arch of his neck,
and what a finely shaped head he has?"--"Mr. von Rambow," said
Hawermann, "you don't ride on the head or neck of a horse, but on its
back and legs. You want a hack, and you'll get three times as much work
out of the brown as the black."--"The black looks as if he were partly
English?"--"You're quite right there, he is descended from Wild-fire;
but the brown is of the old Mecklenburg breed, and it is a pity that
these horses should be allowed to die out, that one should not take
pains to keep up what is good in our own country but should exchange it
for English racers."--"That may be all quite true," said Alick, "but as
all the officers in my regiment have black horses, I shall decide on
taking the black."
As Hawermann could not see the force of this reasoning, he remained
silent, and the conversation on the way back was not so easy as before;
but when they had nearly reached the house--right in front of the door,
and as if he had been preparing for this last step--the lieutenant
stopped the bailiff, and said with a deep sigh, and as if lifting a
heavy burden from his breast: "Hawermann, I have long wished to have a
little private talk with you.--Hawermann, I'm in debt--you must help
me.--I owe a hundred and thirty-five pounds, and I _must_ have the
money."--That was a bad proposal to make to Hawermann; but in really
serious matters the bailiff used the influence of his age, he looked
the young man of three and twenty full in the face, and said: "I can't
help you in this, Mr. von Rambow."--"Hawermann, dear Hawermann, I'm
desperately in want of the money."--"Then you ought to speak to your
father."--"To my father? No, no! he has already paid so much for me,
and now he is ill, it might do him harm."--"Still you should tell him.
Such things as this ought never to be discussed with strangers, they
should always be arranged between father and son."--"Strangers?" asked
Alick, looking at him reproachfully. "Do you really look upon me as
such a complete stranger, Hawermann!"--"No, Mr. von Rambow, no,"
exclaimed Hawermann, seizing his young master's hand, "you are no
stranger to me. And I will do anything for you that I possibly can.
This matter is in itself a mere nothing, and if I could not manage it
alone, my friend Braesig would make up the rest; but, dear Mr. von
Rambow, your father is your natural helper, and it would be wrong to
pass him over."--"I can't tell my father," said Alick, plucking the
leaves off a willow-tree near him.--"You _must_ tell him," cried
Hawermann as emphatically as he could, "he feels that you are
concealing some of your debts from him, and that pains him."--"Has he
spoken to you about it?"--"Yes," replied Hawermann, "but only in
connection with his own great need of money which you already know
about."--"I know," said Alick, "and I also know the source from which
my father received assistance.--Well, I can do what my father did
before me," he added coldly and shortly as he entered the house.--"Mr.
von Rambow," cried Hawermann, following him hastily, "don't do that,
for Heaven's sake, you won't succeed, and you'll only be in a more
unpleasant position than before."--Alick would not listen to him.
A couple of hours later, lieutenant von Rambow was standing amongst the
wool-sacks and sheep-skins in the Jew's house, where David found his
amusement amongst the articles of his trade, and he seemed to be making
a despairing last appeal to Moses, who kept determined hold of his
purse-strings. "Really and truly, my lord Baron, I can't do it. And why
not? Can't I make by it? Can't I make a good deal by it?--Look you, my
lord Baron, there is David--David, what are you doing? What are you
looking at? Come here, David.--Look you, my lord Baron, here he is
standing before you and me, I won't give him the least sign, but will
go quietly into the next room, and then you can ask David." And with
that he walked right shoulder first into the next room.
Poor Alick's affairs must have been in a bad way before he would have
had anything to do with such a person as David, for if he in his grand
new uniform looked fit to draw the king's carriage, David's outer man
was so shabby and ill-conditioned that he was worthy of nothing better
than dragging a scavenger's cart. But in this sort of business
appearance is nothing, the chief thing is to know how to act in any
emergency, and David was quite up to the mark there. He had three
qualities that stood him in very good stead; firstly, he had the
incomparably sly, sharp expression and features of the Jewish usurer,
and as he stood before lieutenant von Rambow, chewing a bit of cinnamon
stalk he had taken from his mother's store-closet, as a remedy against
the close woolly smell of the warehouse, and gazing at him with his
head bent a little sideways, and one hand in his pocket, he looked as
impudent as if the ghosts of all the rats that had died in the house,
during all the years that he had carried on the wool-trade there, had
entered into him: secondly, he knew himself to be a far harder and more
unyielding man of business than his father, for having had so much to
do with wool, skins, &c., which are known to be difficult things to
deal with, had taught him much: and thirdly, he was quite up to the
most approved method of drawing on, or holding off, a customer, and
this he had also learnt in the wool-trade.
Naturally Alick could make nothing of such a highly gifted individual,
and very soon turned to go away with a heavy heart. David was so
pleased with the way in which he had conducted the case in hand, that
he began to compassionate the young man, and felt inclined to give him
a little friendly counsel, so he advised him to apply to attorney
Slus'uhr, "for he has the money, and he will arrange matters for you."
Lieutenant von Rambow had scarcely closed the door when Moses rushed
in, and exclaimed: "David, have you any conscience?--I'll tell you
something, you have none!--How could you send the lad to such a
cut-throat?"--"I have only sent him to his own people," replied David
maliciously. "He's a soldier, so he's a cut-throat too. And even
supposing that the attorney _does_ cut his throat, what's that
to _you_? And if he cuts the attorney's throat, what's that to
_me_?"--"David," said the old man, shaking his head, "I tell you again,
you have no conscience."--"What is conscience?" growled David. "When
you are doing business you send me away, and when you won't do business
you call me."--"David," said his father, "you are too young," and with
that he went into his room again.--"Am I too young?" muttered David
between his teeth. "Am I always to be too young? Well, I know a place
where I am not too young." Then he changed his coat, and set out in the
same direction as he had sent the lieutenant, to the house of attorney
Slus'uhr.
I do not know what he had to do there, but I know this, that young Mr.
von Rambow had to write a good many letters that evening when he got
back to Puempelhagen, and that he sent a cheque in each of them, and
that when they were all finished he gave a deep sigh as if he had got
rid of a heavy burden. He did not know that although he had weathered
the first storm, he had acted like the old woman who heated the yeast
in her baking trough.