About ten o'clock in the morning, a few days later, the sun was peeping
down on the garden of Guerlitz manor-house from behind a cloud. Her
daughter, the earth, had been having a great washing-day, and she
wanted to give her beloved child a little help with the drying of the
clothes. There is nothing more delightful than to see old mother sun
looking down sympathetically, her broad kindly old face showing between
the white sheets of cloud, and to see her seizing her watering-can now
and then to sprinkle the linen. At such times she is always in high
spirits, and, in spite of her old age and experience, is as changeable
in her humour as a young girl who is in love for the first time. One
moment she is sad and tearful, and the next laughing and joyous.
The old lady laughed heartily as she looked down on the garden at
Guerlitz. "Well," she cried, scattering her golden laughter over plants
and bushes, "one sees queer things sometimes in this stupid old world!
A neat white figure used to stand there, which by my help enabled those
poor hungry children of men to know the exact time to eat their dinner,
and now a fat, awkward looking fellow has taken its place, he has
green-checked trousers on, and there is a pipe in his mouth. Nothing is
done so foolishly anywhere else as in the world!" And with that she
laughed merrily over the new squire, Mr. Pomuchelskopp, who was
standing like a sun-dial, dressed in a yellow nankin-coat, and
green-checked trousers, in the same place where the graceful heathen
god Apollo used to be, except that while the god had a lyre in his
hand, he was provided with a short pipe. The sun's face clouded over
now and then when she saw her old friend, who, for so many years, had
noted her doings faithfully, lying neglected among the rankgrass and
nettles.--And then she began to laugh again.
Pomuchelskopp laughed too. There was no smile to be seen on his face,
but when stretching himself up as high as his short stature would
allow, he gazed around him, his heart rejoiced and cried: "It is all
mine! All mine!" He did not see the sun-beams which gilded the earth,
these made no impression on him; but the sun-beam within him, which was
caused by nothing better than pounds, shillings, and pence, lighted up
his heart, though it did not show in his face. Before an expression of
amusement could be seen there something very humorous must take place,
and matter to call it forth was not wanting.
His two youngest children, Tony and Phil, had come out into the garden,
and Phil had made himself a rod of docken and nettle-stalks, with which
he beat the statue of the fallen god, and that made father
Pomuchelskopp laugh most heartily, and Tony ran into the kitchen and
got a bit of charcoal, and was just going to give him a moustache, when
his father stopped him, and said: "Tony, don't do that, you may spoil
it, and perhaps we may sell it, Tony. But you may thrash it as much as
you like."--And so they beat the statue with their stinging rods, and
father Pomuchelskopp laughed till he shook in his green-checked
trousers.
At this moment "madam" appeared, and she was Pomuchelskopp's sterner
half. She was extremely tall, and as angular as king Pharaoh's seven
lean kine, her forehead was always wrinkled into a frown, as if the
cares of the whole world were laid upon her, or as if she were always
suffering a sort of martyrdom, or as if all the crockery broken by all
the maid-servants throughout the world belonged to her, and her mouth
had such a bitter curve that one would have thought that, she was
accustomed to drink vinegar, and eat sorrel. She wore every morning, in
spite of the hot summer-weather, a black merino dress that she had
bought once when she was in mourning, and that must therefore be worn
out, and when she changed it she put on a cotton gown which she had had
dyed olive green with elder-bark; and on such occasions as
Pomuchelskopp wore a blue coat and brass buttons, she put on a cap with
so many frills and furbelows that her weazened face peering out of it,
looked for all the world like a half starved mouse in a bundle of tow;
as for the rest of her dress, she wore petticoat on the top of
petticoat, but still her poor shrunken legs looked like a couple of
knitting-needles that had lost their way in a bag of odds and ends. At
such times it was advisable that her servants should keep out of her
way, for when she went about with velvet or silken streamers, her soul
was weighed down with the constant fear, of unnecessary expense in
housekeeping details.
She was a "mother" who pondered day and night how she might best make a
waistcoat for Phil out of an old dress of Mally's. She loved her
children according to the Scriptures, and so she chastened them, and
Tony might count two slaps on the back for every stain on his coat, and
two on the legs for every stain on his trousers. Yes, she was stern to
her own flesh and blood, but still she was able to rejoice in due
measure, as for instance to-day, when she came into the garden, and saw
how her youngest olive-branches were amusing themselves, a smile then
crossed her face like a pale gleam of sunshine in February when the
earth is still frozen, and which seems to say: "Never fear, spring is
coming at last."
She was the kind of wife of whom it might be said that she never in
thought, word, or deed sinned against the letter of her duty, although
Pomuchelskopp's conduct was rather trying, for in her opinion he was
often guilty of too great levity; for instance, when he thought a joke
a good one, he would laugh at it outright, and that was not seemly
behaviour in the father of a family, and must necessarily end by
impoverishing him, and bringing her and her children to beggary. She
therefore did more than she was bound to do by her marriage-vows, she
discouraged such outward signs of mirth, and gave him of her own
vinegar to drink, and of her own sorrel to eat. She lectured him--that
is to say when they were alone--as if he were her youngest son Phil,
she treated him as if he were still a child; in short, she bullied him
after her own fashion.--She never beat him--God forbid!--She contented
herself with words. She understood how to bring him round to her way of
thinking by the mode of her address: if he were behaving with
undignified thoughtlessness, she called him coldly and hardly by the
last syllable of his name, "Kopp," for she generally addressed him by
the two middle syllables, "Muchel;" but when he was acting so as to
meet with her entire satisfaction, for instance, when he sat crossly in
the corner of the sofa, and slashed angrily at the flies, she called
him by the beginning of his name in a loving tone, "Poeking."[6]
She did not call him "Poeking" to-day. "Kopp," she said, to show her
disapproval of his undignified manner of testifying his amusement at
what the boys were doing, "Kopp, why are you standing there smoking
like a chimney? Let us go and call at the parsonage."--"My chick,"
involuntarily taking the pipe out of his mouth, "we can set off at once
if you like. I shan't be a moment in changing my coat."--"Coat? Why!
you don't suppose that _I_ am going to put on my best black silk?--We
are only going to call on _our_ clergyman."--She laid as great an
emphasis on the word "our," as if she had been speaking of her
shepherd, or as if she thought that the parson was indebted to her for
his daily bread.--"Just as you like, my Henny. I can put on my brown
overcoat instead.--Phil, don't beat the statue any more, mama doesn't
like it."--"Never mind the children, Kopp, you've got enough to do, to
look after yourself. You'll go in your nankin-coat, it is clean and
good."--"My chuck," said Pomuchelskopp, who, when he was of a different
opinion from the wife of his bosom, always began with "Henny," and
ended with "chuck," "always dress in good style, my dearest chuck. Even
if we don't do it for the sake of the clergyman's family, let us do it
for our own sake. And if Mally and Sally go with us, they ought to
dress so as to make an imposing impression on the people at the
parsonage."
This last reason was deemed a sufficient one, and gained Pomuchelskopp
leave to put on his brown coat. He was made very happy by being allowed
to have his own way, a piece of good fortune that did not often happen
to him, so he felt proportionably grateful, and being desirous of
pleasing his Henny in return for her kindness, he wished to make her
partake in his joy. Let no one imagine however that Pomuchelskopp was
so ill-bred as to give audible signs of merriment in his own house, no,
he was always humble and quiet when there. He waved his hand towards
the fields around him, and said; "Look, my chick, these all belongs
to us!"--"Muchel," said madam shortly, "you are exaggerating, that
is Puempelhagen down there."--"You are right, Henny, that is
Puempelhagen.--But," he added, his little eyes twinkling avariciously as
he looked down on Puempelhagen, "who knows?--If I am spared, and if I
sell my Pomeranian property well, and the times remain good, and the
old _Counsellor_ dies, and his son contracts debts ....."--"Yes,
Muchel," interrupted his affectionate wife with the satirical curl of
her lip, which the world had to accept as her only substitute for a
smile, for it was the nearest approach to one that ever was seen on her
face, "yes, that is just like old Strohpagel, when he said: if I were
ten years younger, and were steadier on my legs, and hadn't my wife,
you would all see what sort of fellow I really am!"--"Henny," said
Pomuchelskopp, putting on an injured expression, "how can you say such
a thing? How could I ever wish to get rid of you? I should never have
been able to buy Guerlitz without the eight thousand five hundred pounds
you inherited from your father. And what a splendid place Guerlitz is!
All that land belongs to it," and he waved his hand as he spoke.--"Yes,
Kopp," said his wife shortly, "except the glebe, which you have allowed
to slip through your fingers."--"Dear me, chuck, will you never leave
the subject of the glebe alone! What can I do?--You see I am a
straightforward, honest man, so what chance have I with a couple of sly
rogues like Hawermann and the parson? But we hav'n't done with each
other yet, _Mounseer_ Hawermann! We'll have some thing to say to each
other before long, reverend Sir!"
Three neat little maidens were seated in Mrs. Behrens' tidy parlour in
Guerlitz parsonage on the same morning. They were plying their needles
and tongues busily, for they were trying a race both in sewing and in
talking, and as they sat there they looked as sweet and rosy in
contrast with the white linen, as freshly plucked strawberries on a
white plate. And these three children were Louisa Hawermann, and the
twins, Lina and Mina Nuessler.--"Children," said little Mrs. Behrens, on
one of the many incursions from the kitchen into the parlour, "you
can't think what a pleasure it is to me in my old age when I am laying
the clean linen away in the chest, that I know exactly when I spun and
hemmed each separate piece! How differently one treats it when one
knows from experience how much trouble it has cost. Mina, Mina, that
hem's all crooked. Goodness gracious me, Louisa, I believe you've been
going on sewing without ever looking what you were about, don't you see
that you haven't got a knot on your thread! Now I must go and see that
the potatoes are boiling properly, for my pastor will soon be in," and
then she hastened from the room, only popping her head in at the door
again to say, "Mina and Lina, you are to remain to dinner," and so she
kept flying about between kitchen and parlour in measured time like the
pendulum of a clock and keeping everything in good order in both.
But how was it that Lina and Mina had joined Mrs. Behrens'
sewing-class? This was how it happened--When the two little girls had
grown so old that they could pronounce the letter "r," and no longer
cared about playing with the sand-box, but ran after Mrs. Nuessler all
day long, saying: "What shall we do now, mother?" Mrs. Nuessler told
young Joseph that it was high time for the children to have some
schooling: they must have a governess. Joseph had no objection, and his
brother-in-law Baldrian the schoolmaster, was commissioned to engage
one. When the governess had been six months at Rexow, Mrs. Nuessler said
she was a discontented old woman who did nothing but nagg at the
children all day long, and made her so uncomfortable that she scarcely
felt at home in her own house. So that governess had to take her
departure.--Kurz, the shop-keeper, chose the next, and one day, when no
one in Rexow had any suspicion of what was going to happen, the door
opened, and in marched an enormous woman, as tall as a grenadier, with
strongly marked eye-brows, a yellow complexion, and spectacles on her
nose, who introduced herself as the "new governess." She then began to
speak French to the two little girls, and finding that they were
innocent of all knowledge of that language, she addressed herself to
young Joseph in the same tongue. Such a thing had never happened to
young Joseph before, and it astonished him so much that he let his pipe
go out, and as they were drinking coffee at the time, he said, in order
to say something: "Mother, fill the new teacher's cup."--Well, in a
very short time the new governess ruled the whole house, but at last
Mrs. Nuessler who had borne it bravely as long as she could, said:
"Stop, this will never do. If any one is to rule here, it is I, for I
am the 'nearest,' as Mrs. Behrens would say," and so the grenadier had
to march.--Uncle Braesig now tried what he could do, "so that the little
round-heads might learn something." He engaged what he called a
"capital teacher," and "one who is always merry, and who is not to be
beat in playing the piano-forty."--He was right. One evening in winter
a red-faced, smiling little woman arrived at Rexow, and she had not
been ten minutes in the house before she fell upon the newly bought
second-hand piano, and beat it and thumped it as if she were threshing
out corn. When she had gone to bed, young Joseph opened the piano, but
as soon as he found out that three of the strings were broken, he shut
it again, and said: "What's to be done now?"--There was great fun and
laughter in the house in those days, for the governess played and
frisked about with the little girls, till Mrs. Nuessler came to the
conclusion that her eldest daughter Lina was on the whole a more
sensible person than her teacher. She wanted to know what the children
were taught, and therefore begged Madmoiselle to draw out a plan of
lessons, and let her see it. Next day Lina brought her a large sheet of
paper containing the plan, which was as follows: German, French,
orthography, geography, religion, Scripture history, and the other kind
of history, and Bible natural history, and at the end came music,
music, music, music.--"Ah well," said she to Joseph, "she may teach
music as much as she likes, if only the religion is all right. What do
you think, Joseph?"--"Oh," said Joseph, "it all depends upon
circumstances!"--Nothing more would have been said, if Mrs. Nuessler had
not accidentally found out from Lina that the time that ought to have
been devoted to Scripture history, was spent in playing at ball, and
soon afterwards when she happened to be upstairs at the time of the
religious lesson, she heard peals of laughter from the school-room, and
on going there to see what sort of religion was being taught, she
found--Mademoiselle playing at Tig with the children. Mrs. Nuessler
would have nothing to say to a religious lesson of that kind, and so
Mademoiselle "Jack in the box" had to beat a retreat like her
forerunner the grenadier.
The worst of it was that it was in the middle of the quarter, and Mrs.
Nuessler complained of the children being always in her way, to which
Joseph merely said: "Oh, what can I do?" but at the same time he began
to study the Rostock newspaper very attentively, and one day he put
down the paper, and desired Christian to get the phaeton ready. His
wife was rather uneasy because she had no idea what he was going to do,
but as soon as she saw that his mouth was even more drawn down to the
left than usual, which was his way of giving a friendly smile, she
said to herself: "Let him be, he has got some kindly thought in his
head."--Three days later Joseph returned, bringing with him a shadowy
lady of a certain age, and the news spread like wild-fire: "Only think,
young Joseph has engaged a governess by himself this time!"--Braesig
came on the following Sunday and looked her over, he was pretty well
satisfied with her, "but," he said, "mark my words, young Joseph, she
has got nerves."--Braesig had not only a great knowledge of horses, he
had also a knowledge of men, and he was right. Mademoiselle had nerves,
many nerves. The twins had to go about the house on tip-toe.
Mademoiselle took Mina's ball away from her because she had once thrown
it against her window by mistake, and locked the piano to prevent Lina
playing, "Our cat has nine kittens," the only air which Miss "Jack in
the box" had taught her.--
In course of time Mademoiselle had fits of rigidity in addition to her
nerves, and Mrs. Nuessler had to rush and administer all sorts of
reviving drops to her, and Frida and Caroline had to sit up with her at
night, for one would have been afraid to do it alone. "I should send
her away if I were you," said Uncle Braesig, but Mrs. Nuessler was too
kind-hearted to do that, she sent for the doctor instead.--Dr. Strump
came from Rahnstaedt, and when he had looked at the clenched teeth of
the patient, he said it was a very interesting case, and explained it
by saying that he had lately been studying "The night-side of human
nature."--Young Joseph and his wife thought no evil, except that they
had been obliged to get up in the night several times, but something
else was to come.--One day when the doctor was there Caroline rushed
down-stairs: "Mistress, Mistress, the illness is at its height. The
doctor has been waving his hands before Mamselle's face, and now she's
prophesying, and she's telling the truth too. She told me that I had a
sweetheart."--"Heaven preserve me!" said Braesig who happened to
be there. "The young woman ought to be in an asylum!"--And then
he followed Mrs. Nuessler upstairs.--After a little he came down
again, and asked: "What do you say _now_, young Joseph?"--Joseph sat
silently thinking for some time, at last he said: "It's no use,
Braesig."--"Joseph," said Braesig, striding up and down as he spoke, "I
advised you to send her away before, but now I say, _don't_ send her
away. I asked her what sort of rain we shall have to-morrow, and she
answered in her sun-and-bulist state, that we should have a regular
plump. If there is a plump tomorrow, take your perometer down from the
wall--perometers are of no more use, and yours has been standing at
'set fair' for the last two years--and then you can hang her in its
place, and so make the fortune of the whole neighbourhood."--Young
Joseph made no reply, and when he saw how frightfully it rained the
next day, he still said nothing, but pondered over the marvellous
circumstance for three days in silence. The news, meanwhile, spread
throughout the countryside that young Joseph had engaged a prophetess,
and that she had prophesied the heavy rain which had fallen on the
previous Saturday, and also that Caroline Kraeuger and Mr. Farm-bailiff
Braesig should be married before the year was out.--Naturally Dr. Strump
was not behind-hand in publishing the details of the interesting case
he was attending, and before long Mrs. Nuessler's quiet house became the
meeting-place of all the neighbourhood, every one going there either
from curiosity or to study the case from a scientific point of view;
and as Mrs. Nuessler would have nothing to do with it, and young Joseph
would have nothing to do with it, Zachariah Braesig took the case in
hand when the doctor was not there, and conducted the visitors
up-stairs to Madmoiselle's apartment, and explained the nature of
somnambulism to them. Christian, the coach-man, held watch by
Madmoiselle's bed, because he was so brave that he did not fear the
devil himself, and Caroline and Frida were too frightened to remain in
the room, even in company, and indeed they did not consider it a proper
occupation for them, for they thought a somnambulist must be a very
wicked person.--Amongst the visitors was the young Baron von Mallerjahn
of Graeunenmur, who came every day to enquire scientifically into the
affair, and who at last used to go up to see Madmoiselle without
waiting for Braesig. Mrs. Nuessler was very angry when she found out that
he did so, and told Joseph that he ought to be present at the
interviews, but her husband answered that Christian was there, and so
there was no need of him. At last however Christian came down, and said
that the young Baron had turned him out of the room because he smelt
too strongly of the stable, and that made Mrs. Nuessler cry with anger,
and if Braesig had not appeared at that moment she would herself have
ordered the Baron out of the house, but Braesig of course undertook to
do it for her. He therefore went up-stairs, and said politely, but
firmly: "My lord, will you be so good as to look at the other side of
the door?"--The Baron seemed to understand what was meant, for he
smiled rather constrainedly, and said that he was just then in magnetic
rapport with Mademoiselle. "What do you mean by a 'monetary report?'"
said Braesig, "we want none of your money here, nor your reports either;
that's the reason that Christian was told to sit here."--Now Braesig
was, without knowing it, in magnetic rapport himself, for whenever he
saw Mrs. Nuessler shed tears, it put him in a rage, so he now ended by
saying angrily: "And now, Sir, I must beg of you to go at once."--The
Baron was naturally put out at being addressed in such an unceremonious
manner, and asked haughtily, if Braesig knew that he was extremely
rude.--"If you call that rude," cried Braesig, seizing the Baron by the
arm, "I'll soon show you something else."--The noise they made wakened
Mademoiselle from her sleep, she started up off the sofa, and, seizing
the Baron by the other arm, declared that she would remain there no
longer; no one understood her except him, and she would go with
him.--"That's the best thing to do," said Braesig. "One ought always to
speed the parting guest. Two flies at one blow!" he concluded, showing
them down-stairs.
The Baron's carriage drove up to the door, and the Baron himself looked
nervous and uncomfortable, but Mademoiselle was determined. "Well,
well, what's to be done now?" said young Joseph as he watched the
departure from the window.--"Young Joseph," said Braesig as the carriage
drove out of the yard, "it all depends upon circumstances, and it's
hard to say. And, Mrs. Nuessler, let them be, the Baron will soon find
out now how to manage his monetary report."
For some time past Hawermann had been a great deal from home on his
master's business, and when he returned for a few days he had too much
to do about the farm to have time to attend to anything else. He had,
it is true, gone to see his sister once or twice, and had comforted her
by assuring her that the governess was ill, and would of course soon
get well again, but once when he came home he found that the doings at
Rexow were the talk of the whole neighbourhood. He was told that young
Joseph's sleeping Mademoiselle had run away with the Baron von
Mallerjahn, and that before she left she had infected Braesig with the
gift of prophecy, and Christian with that of sleeping, so that Braesig
now prophesied as he went about, and Christian could sleep standing.
Hawermann went to Mr. Behrens, asked him to tell him the rights of the
story, and to accompany him to his sister's house. "With pleasure,
Hawermann, I'll go with you gladly," said the clergyman, "but, to tell
you the truth, I have not taken any notice of the affair on principle.
I know that many of my brethren in Christ have tried the effect of
exorcism when such cases have fallen under their notice, but in my
opinion, in illnesses of this kind, the doctor is the proper person to
consult, and sometimes," he added with a sly smile, "the police are of
more use than any one else."
When they reached Rexow, they found Mrs. Nuessler, who was generally
able to see the bright side of everything, looking sad and weary. "Oh,
Mr. Behrens! My dear brother Charles!" she said. "That was a dreadful
woman, and I have been in great distress about her, but indeed, all the
governesses that I have tried have been dreadful people. That isn't the
worst of it. I shall get over that in time. What makes me miserable is
that my dear good little girls know nothing, and are learning nothing.
I can't bear to think that the time may come when my children may have
to sit silently amongst other young people of their own age and
standing, because they are too ignorant to join in the conversation,
and that perhaps they won't even be able to write a letter! Ah,
reverend Sir, you who are so learned can't understand how bitterly one
feels one's ignorance when one is in the company of people of one's own
station who have been properly educated, but I can understand it, and
so can you, Charles. Oh, Mr. Behrens, I'd rather send my little girls
away to school, though it would break my heart to part with them, and
Joseph and I would feel lost in the house without them, than that they
should grow up stupid and ignorant. When Louisa comes here she can
answer our questions sensibly, and she can read Joseph's newspapers.
Mina can also read, but when she comes to a foreign word she has to
spell it out. The other day Louisa read to us about 'Bordoe,' and that
I suppose is the right way to call the town, but Mina said 'B-o-r-d
Board, e-a-x oaks,' and what was the sense of calling it 'Boardoaks'
when it is always pronounced 'Bordoe?'"
During this long address of Mrs. Nuessler's the clergyman rose, and
walked thoughtfully up and down the room, at last he stood still and
said: "I have a proposal to make to you, neighbour. Perhaps Louisa is
farther advanced than your children, perhaps not. You need not part
with your little girls, if you will send them to me, and let me teach
them."--Whether Mrs. Nuessler had an undefined hope that her
difficulties would be ended in this way, or whether it was an utter
surprise to her, cannot be known, but this at any rate is certain, that
the relief was like a sudden turning from darkness to light. She looked
at the pastor with her frank blue eyes, and exclaimed: "Oh, Sir!" and
springing from her chair she went on: "Joseph, Joseph, did you hear?
Mr. Behrens says he will teach our little girls!"--Joseph had heard,
and had also risen. He wanted to say something, but not being able to
find the right words he just tried to seize the clergyman's hand, and
when he had got hold of it, he pressed it, and drawing Mr. Behrens to
the sofa, made him sit down by the little supper-table, and then when
Mrs. Nuessler and Hawermann had told the good man how happy he had made
them all, young Joseph said: "Mother, give the pastor a glass of beer."
So Mina and Lina became daily guests at Guerlitz parsonage. They were
still as like each other as two peas, except that Lina as the eldest
was a small half inch taller than Mina, and Mina was a good half inch
rounder than Lina, and, if you looked _very_ particularly, you could
see that Mina's nose was rather more of a snub than Lina's.
And now we return to when the three little girls were having their
sewing-lesson in Mrs. Behrens' parlour, on the day that the
Pomuchelskopps came to pay their first visit at the parsonage, for as
soon as the clergyman had finished his morning-lessons, his wife began
her share of the children's education.
"Goodness gracious me!" cried Mrs. Behrens, running into the parlour.
"Put away your sewing, children. Louisa, carry it all into my bed-room.
Mina, pick up all the threads and scraps that have fallen on the
carpet. Lina, put the chairs in order. The new squire is coming through
the church-yard with his wife and daughters, and will be here in a
minute--and my pastor hasn't come back from the christening at
Warnitz!" As she spoke, she involuntarily caught up her duster, but put
it down again immediately, for there was a knock at the door, and on
her calling out "come in," Pomuchelskopp, his wife, and his two
daughters, Amalia and Rosalia entered.
Pomuchelskopp tried to make a polite bow as he came in, but failed,
owing to his style of figure being of the unbending order, and said:
"We have done ourselves the honour of waiting upon Mr. and Mrs.
Behrens--and--and--hope to have the pleasure of making their
acquaintance, now--now--that we are such near neighbours."--Mrs.
Pomuchelskopp stood behind her lord as stiff and straight as if she had
swallowed the poker, and Mally and Sally in their bright silk dresses
looked, in contrast with the three little girls in their washed out
cotton-frocks, like gay butterflies beside common grubs.
Now although Mrs. Behrens was very confidential with her friends, her
manner to strangers was rather formal, and in her husband's absence it
was even more dignified than it would otherwise have been, so she drew
herself up, and her lilac cap-ribbons rose and fell under her firm
little chin with every word she spoke, as much as to say, "I am a
person to be treated with respect."--"The honour," she said, "is on
our side. I am sorry that my pastor is not at home.--Won't you sit
down?"--And she signed to Mr. and Mrs. Pomuchelskopp to seat themselves
on the sofa under the gallery of portraits, and the picture of our
Saviour with His hands raised to bestow the blessing, which, like the
rain and sunshine, falls alike on the just and the unjust.
While the elder people talked about indifferent subjects upon which
there could be no diversity of opinion, Louisa went up to the two young
ladies, and shook hands with them, and the twins followed her
example.--Now Mally and Sally were eighteen and nineteen years old, but
they were not at all pretty, for Sally's complexion was of an
unwholesome greenish gray colour, and Mally was her father's own child.
They had--alas--quite finished their education, and had been at the
Whitsun and Trinity balls in Rostock, so that their interests were of
course far removed from those of the little girls, and as they were not
particularly good-natured, they rather snubbed the children. And the
little girls either not wishing it to be remarked, or thinking it was
all right and proper, would not allow themselves to be repulsed by cold
answers, and Louisa said to Mally with great eyes of admiration: "Oh,
what a pretty dress you have on!"--All ladies however highly educated
are pleased with remarks of this kind, so Mally thawed a little, and
answered with a smile: "It is only an old gown, my new one cost thirty
shillings more with the trimming and making."--"Papa gave us our new
dresses for the Trinity ball. Oh, how we did dance to be sure!" added
Sally.--Louisa knew the proper services for Trinity Sunday, but she had
never in all her life heard of a Trinity ball, and besides that, she
had no very clear idea of what a ball was, for although Mrs. Behrens
had often spoken of what she had done in the days of her youth, and had
also confessed to having been at a ball, still when Louisa asked what a
ball was, she answered with all the dignity of a clergyman's wife, that
it was "a very silly kind of amusement," and alluded to the subject no
more.--Lina and Mina knew even less about it than she did. Their mother
had of course danced now and then when she was a girl, but only at
dances got up on the spur of the moment; and as for young Joseph, he
had certainly been at a ball once, but then he had stopped at the door
of the dancing-room, for he was so overwhelmed with shyness when he got
there, that he beat a speedy retreat without venturing further; and
uncle Braesig had described it to them in a totally incomprehensible
manner, as a number of white dresses with red and green ribbons,
clarionets and flutes, waltzes and quadrilles, and a great many glasses
of punch. When uncle Braesig told them this, he used to show them, with
his own short legs, the difference between a glissade and a hop, and
that made them laugh heartily, and was great fun, but what it all had
to do with a "ball," a ball such as their last governess had taken away
from Mina, they could not comprehend.
Mina therefore asked with great simplicity: "Do you play with a ball
when you are dancing?"--This question showed what a stupid innocent
little thing Mina was, but as she was the youngest and most
inexperienced of the party, it was unkind of the Miss Pomuchelskopps to
laugh at her as they did. "Well!" said Rosalia, "that is really too
silly!"--"Dear me, how very countrified!" said Mally, drawing herself
up, and putting on the high and mighty manner of a town-lady, and
looking as if she wished it to be supposed that she had been accustomed
to see Rostock cathedral out of her nursery-window from the time of
her babyhood, and as if she and his worship, the mayor, had been old
play-fellows.--Our poor little Mina blushed as red as a peony, for she
felt that she must have said something very foolish indeed, and Louisa
reddened with anger, for she could not bear to hear any one laughed at.
She did not mind it so much for herself, but when one of her friends,
any one whom she loved was treated so, it made her tingle all
over.--"Why are you laughing?" she asked quickly. "What is there to
laugh at in our not knowing what a ball is?"--"Look, look! What a rage
she's in!" laughed Mally.--"Dear child ....." she could not finish her
sentence, for Mr. Pomuchelskopp just then said excitedly: "I think it
is very wrong, Mrs. Behrens. I am the squire of Guerlitz, and if your
husband wanted to let the glebe....."--"My pastor has let it, and Mr.
von Rambow is an old friend of ours, and his estate, which marches as
well with our land as Guerlitz does, is also in this parish, and
then Hawermann, his farm-bailiff ....."--"Is a cunning rascal,"
interrupted Pomuchelskopp.--"Who has cheated us once already," added
his wife.--"What?" cried little Mrs. Behrens. "What?" She then stopped
short, for she remembered that Louisa was present, and she was afraid
of the child hearing and being hurt by what was said, so she contented
herself with making signs to her visitors to change the subject. But it
was too late. Louisa had heard, and was now standing before the surly
looking man and his cold-hearted wife: "_What_ did you call my father?
_What_ has he done?" And the gentle little creature who until that
moment had lived in peace with all men, was filled with burning wrath
against her father's slanderers, and her eyes flashed as she looked at
them.--It is said that the beautiful green earth will one day burst out
in fire and flame, and bury the work of men's hands and the temple of
God in ashes.--It was much the same with the child, a temple of the
living God that she had loved and reverenced was threatened with
destruction, and her sorrow found relief in an agony of tears as her
good foster-mother put her arm round her, and led her from the room.
Muchel looked at his Henny, and Henny at her Muchel; he had got into a
nice scrape now. It was quite a different thing when one of his
labourer's wives came to him weeping tears of blood, and told him a
dismal tale of starvation and misery, he knew what to do to get rid of
the woman, but now he could not think of anything to say or do, and as
he looked about him awkwardly he caught sight of the raised hands in
the Saviour's picture, and then he suddenly remembered one of the
lessons he had learnt in his boyhood, that Christ had once said:
"Suffer the little children to come unto Me, and forbid them not: for
of such is the kingdom of Heaven."--He felt extremely uncomfortable.
And even his brave strong-minded Henny was quite confounded; she had
children of her own, and had often heard them cry when she punished
them, but this was different; her Mally and Sally had often looked at
her with angry eyes, and had stamped their feet at her with rage, but
this was different. She soon recovered herself however, and said:
"Don't look so idiotic, Kopp. What was that she said about her father?
Is Hawermann her father?"--"Yes," wept Mina and Lina, "she is Louisa
Hawermann," and then they left the room to join their tears with those
of their school-fellow, for though they did not know how deeply their
little cousin felt the blow she had just received, still their love and
sympathy were so great that they longed to comfort her.--"I didn't know
that," said Pomuchelskopp, using the same words that he had done eleven
years before when told of the death of Hawermann's wife.--"A spoilt
child!" said his Henny. "Come, Mally and Sally, we will go, I don't
think that Mrs. Behrens intends to come back to us."--And so they
departed like the year 1822, of which, to carry out the illustration,
Henny might be called the 1, because she was always number 1 in her own
estimation; Pomuchelskopp the 8, because of his round portliness, and
the daughters the 2s, for they resembled, to my mind, the figure 2 that
a goose makes when it is swimming in a pond.
Just as they left the house Mr. Behrens came back from Warnitz,
accompanied by uncle Braesig. He knew from the dress of the
Pomuchelskopp family that they had come to pay a visit of ceremony, and
hastened from the carriage that he might speak to them before they
left. "Ah, how do you do! But," he added in astonishment, "where
is my wife?"--"She went away and left us," said Mrs. Pomuchelskopp
shortly.--"There must be some mistake," he said, "pray come in, and I
will rejoin you in a few minutes." He went away to look for his
wife.--Meanwhile Braesig had approached his old acquaintance
Pomuchelskopp. "Good morning, Samuel. How are you?" he said.--"Thank
you, Mr. bailiff Braesig, I am very well," was the answer.--Braesig
raised his eye-brows, looked him full in the face, and whistled, and
when Mrs. Pomuchelskopp curtsied to him before going away, she might
have spared herself the trouble, for he had already turned his back
upon them, and was entering the house. "Come, Kopp," said his wife
crossly, and they went home.
Mr. Behrens found no one in the house; so he went into the garden, and
shouted, and very soon the twins appeared, red-eyed, from behind the
raspberry hedge. They pointed to the hornbeam arbour with anxious
faces, as much as to say that he would find the cause of their sorrow
there. He went to the arbour, and there he found his Regina sitting
with Louisa on her knee, comforting her. As soon as she saw her pastor
she put the child gently on the bench, and, drawing him away to a short
distance, told him all that had happened.
Mr. Behrens listened silently, but when his wife repeated the cruel
words that Mr. Pomuchelskopp had used in speaking of Hawermann, his
face flushed with anger, and his eyes were full of a deep compassion,
he then asked his wife to return to the house, for he would like to
speak to the child alone.--His beautiful human flower had now been hurt
for the first time, she had had her first blow from the pitiless world,
a blow that her gentle heart would never forget as long as it continued
to beat; she had now taken her place in the eternal battle of existence
that will last as long as the human race. It must have come--it must
have come to that at last, no one knew that better than he did, but he
also knew that the great object of those who undertake the education of
a human soul is to preserve it from such rude experiences until it has
grown strong to bear, so that the blow may neither strike so deep,
nor the wound take so long to heal--and this child knew nothing
of the malice and uncharitableness of the world.--He entered the
arbour.--Thou art still happy, Louisa, in spite of all that has come
and gone, for it is well for him who in an hour like this has such a
true-hearted friend by his side.
Mrs. Behrens found Braesig in the parlour. Instead of sitting on the
sofa, or on a chair like a reasonable mortal, he had perched himself on
the edge of the table, and was working off the excitement caused by
Pomuchelskopp's snub, by throwing his legs about like weaver's
shuttles. "He had me there!" he muttered. "The Jesuit!"--When Mrs.
Behrens came in, Braesig got off the table, and exclaimed:[7] "What is
it, when one has called a man by his Christian name for forty years,
and when one on meeting that man addresses him as one has been
accustomed to do, and meets with a frigid 'Mr. Bailiff Braesig' in
return?"--"Ah, Braesig ....."--"That is what Pomuchelskopp has just done
to me."--"Let the man alone! Just fancy what he did here," and then she
told the whole story. Braesig was angry, very angry, he rushed up and
down the room puffing and blowing, and making use of such strong
language that Mrs. Behrens would have bidden him be silent, if she had
not been in as great a rage as himself; at last he threw himself into a
corner of the sofa, and stared moodily at the opposite wall without
uttering another word.
The clergyman soon afterwards joined them, and his wife looked at him
enquiringly. "She is watering the flowers," he said with a reassuring
smile, and then he began to pace the room thoughtfully. At length,
turning to Braesig, he said: "What are you thinking about, my
friend?"--"The punishment of hell--I am thinking of the punishment
of hell, reverend Sir."--"And why?" asked Mr. Behrens.--Instead
of answering, Braesig sprang to his feet, and said: "Is it true,
Sir, as you once told me, that there are mountains that vomit
fire?"--"Certainly," said the pastor.--"And is it a good or bad thing
for man that they do so?"--"The people who live near these mountains
regard it as a good thing, because it saves them from having such
violent earthquakes."--"Ah, well," said Braesig, apparently rather
dissatisfied with the answer he had received. "But," he asked, "do the
flames come out of a mountain such as that in the same way as out of
one of our chimneys when it is on fire?"--"Something like it," replied
the clergyman, who had not the faintest idea what Braesig was aiming
at.--"Then," said Braesig with a stamp of his foot, "I wish that the
devil would seize Samuel Pomuchelskopp, and put him on the top of a
horrible fire-spouting mountain such as you have described, and roast
him there for a little."--"Ugh!" cried little Mrs. Behrens. "Braesig,
you are nothing better than a heathen. How dare you express such a wish
in a Christian parsonage?"--"Mrs. Behrens," said Braesig, throwing
himself once more into the corner of the sofa, "it would be a benefit
to humanity, and it is just the sort of benefit that I should be the
first to grant to Samuel Pomuchelskopp."--"Dear Braesig," remonstrated
the clergyman, "we must not forget that when those people spoke so
offensively they did not intend to hurt our feelings."--"It's all the
same to me," answered Braesig, "whether they intended it or not. He
enraged me intentionally, and what he said here unintentionally was a
thousand times worse than that. Reverend Sir, it is quite necessary to
get angry sometimes, and indeed a good farmer ought to be angry two or
three times a day, it is part of his work, but of course I don't mean a
regular passion, just enough vehemence to show the labourers that one
is in earnest. I will give you an instance. I told the carters
yesterday when I was top-dressing a field with marl, that I wished them
to drive their carts in regular order. Then I took my station by the
marl-pit, and saw that everything was done properly. Well, what do you
think happened? That scoundrel, Christian Kohlhaas--he's as stupid as
an ox--came up with his cart still full of marl! Why, you great ass, I
said, what are you doing here with your full cart? And the silly fellow
looked me full in the face, and said: he hadn't time to put the marl on
the field before the other carts left, and so, as he had been desired
to keep the line unbroken, he had just come away with his load.--Wasn't
that enough to make me angry? I was rather angry, but, as I said
before, one's rages are as different as their causes. An official
outburst, such as I have described, does one good, especially after
dinner, but this!--Pomuchelskopp and a farm-labourer are two very
different people. This is horrible, most horrible, and you'll see,
Mrs. Behrens, that I shall have another attack of that confounded
gout."--"Braesig," entreated the little lady, "will you do me a great
favour? Don't tell Hawermann anything about what has happened
to-day."--"What do you take me for, Mrs. Behrens?--But now I will go
and comfort the child Louisa, and I will tell her that as true as
the sun shines, Samuel Pomuchelskopp is an infamous wretch of a
Jesuit."--"No, no," interrupted Mr. Behrens hastily, "don't do that.
The child will get over it, and I hope that it has done her no
harm."--"Well then, good-bye," said Braesig, picking up his cap.--"Dear
me, Braesig, ar'n't you going to remain to dinner?"--"Thank you very
much, Mrs. Behrens. There is a difference. I said that anger was good
_after_ dinner, not _before_, it does me harm then. I shall just go to
work at the marl-pit at once; but take care, Christian, I advise you
not to try that dodge again with the full cart!--Good-bye." And so he
went away.