Braesig set out on his journey to the water-cure establishment[11] at
Easter, and at the same time Mr. von Rambow and the three daughters
arrived at Puempelhagen.--"I fear that there's no chance of his ever
getting better," said Hawermann to himself when he saw the squire, and
Frank was of the same opinion, and as they sat together on the evening
of the family's arrival, they talked sadly of what was surely coming,
and the next day when Frank had, as was natural, gone to live with his
uncle and cousins at the manor-house, Hawermann felt the old farm-house
dull and empty without him, for he had grown to love his pupil.
The neighbours all came to call on the squire during the first week
after his coming home. Pomuchelskopp amongst the number. He was dressed
in his blue coat with the brass buttons, and drove up to the door in
his grand new carriage which looked, even more imposing than before,
because of the coat-of-arms on the pannels. He had paid half a
sovereign to a man in Vienna for the arms, which were a cod's head on
an azure field, but the stupid labourers who knew nothing about
cod-fish, and who perhaps saw a certain resemblance between the coat of
arms and their master, always spoke of it as a "fool's head on a blue
ground." Pomuchelskopp had given up all thought of being on visiting
terms with Braesig's master the count, and there were no other members
of the aristocracy in the neighbourhood, so he rejoiced in Mr. von
Rambow's coming to Puempelhagen; but he met with a disappointment. He
told the old butler, Daniel Sadenwater, in a tone of heart-felt anxiety
of his distress where he heard of Mr. von Rambow's illness, and how he
could not resist coming to enquire after him personally, adding that he
had known the squire well in Rostock. Daniel listened with stolid
gravity, and then went to tell his master who it was that had called,
he returned in a few minutes, as stolidly grave as before, and said
that the squire regretted that he did not feel well enough to admit
visitors. Pomuchelskopp was very much put out by this, and spent the
rest of the afternoon sulking in his favourite sofa corner, and his
wife, who was always loving and tender to him at such times, called him
"Poeking," which must have gone a long way towards making up for his
disappointment.
Mr. von Rambow required no other society than he had at home. His two
elder daughters had no other thought from morning to-night than how
best to nurse and take care of him, and the youngest, who was the pet
and darling of the whole family, and who was perhaps a little spoilt,
and rather too young and girlish for her age, did her utmost to cheer
and amuse him. Frank had constituted himself his uncle's secretary, and
besides that took care to smooth down all the small worries that
necessarily arise in a household so conducted as that at Puempelhagen,
especially when there is illness in the family; but Hawermann above all
was of service to the squire, who could not do without him, and who
consulted him about many things which did not properly fall under his
jurisdiction. So it happened that Hawermann had no time to go down to
the parsonage, and if Louisa wanted to see him she had either to join
him in the fields, or to come up to the farm-house when he was in at
dinner. Miss Fidelia von Rambow sometimes met her at such times, and as
was natural took a fancy to her, for young maids and old maids like
each other's society, and women who have not yet left early youth very
far behind them, are refreshed and attracted by the youthfulness of
girls who are standing on the brink of womanhood, and thus it was that
the child and the young lady soon became fast friends. I cannot answer
the question whether it is good for a young girl to be on intimate
terms with a woman much older than herself with the customary "yes,"
for it depends very much on the character of the elder lady whether
such a friendship does good or harm, but in this case Louisa was not
hurt by it. Miss Fidelia was good and true, and was unusually free from
the small vanities of good society, and although her mother used to be
distressed at it, as tending to unfit her for taking her proper place
in society, her father rather encouraged her in her inartificial ways.
Unfortunately, however, it was his fault that she was somewhat gushing,
and that she would never grow any older than she was, for she had
always had to laugh and coax away his cares and troubles, and so had,
unconsciously, retained ways and manners only suited to a very young
girl. The business of the day engaged her attention too much to allow
of Louisa taking part in her vagaries or copying her ways, and her
companionship had a salutary effect, for Louisa was of a thoughtful
disposition, and had sufficient good sense only to learn those pretty
gracious little ways which were in keeping with her own character.
There was give and take on both sides.
If Louisa did not know the ways of good society, Miss Fidelia knew as
little about the ways of the world in which she was now living, and
Louisa was often of great use to her in that respect. A disagreeable
thing happened to the young lady about this time. Her father had sent
for a beautiful new chess from Schwerin for a birthday-present for her;
Alberta gave her a summer-hat, and Bertha, a shawl. When the things
arrived the two elder sisters at once began to dress their darling in
her new clothes, and then standing round her, looked at her from head
to foot, and admired her in her finery, and Bertha exclaimed: "What a
little _fee_ she is!"--Now Caroline Kegel, the housemaid, happening to
be in the room at the time, and having nothing particular to do, went
downstairs to the kitchen, and said: "Girls, only fancy. Miss Bertha
says that our little Missy looks like a 'little quey'!"[12]--Of course
this was too good a joke to be allowed to die out, and before long Miss
Fidelia was known by no other name than the "little quey." This went on
for some time, but at last it reached the young lady's ears, and then
there was great displeasure shown, and after due enquiry Caroline Kegel
was dismissed from the house in an agony of tears.--Louisa coming to
call met Caroline walking down the steps roaring and crying, and on
going into the house found Miss Fidelia crying in her room. One word
led to another, and as soon as Louisa understood what was the matter,
she felt very sorry for both of them, and laying her hand on the young
lady's shoulder, said: "The servants meant no harm."--"Yes," cried
Fidelia, "they did, they did. They are rude coarse creatures."--"No,
no, don't say that," Louisa entreated. "Our servants are not rude, they
have as tender hearts as the higher classes. As my father says, they
only require to be known to be valued, and it is difficult to do that,
for their language separates them from their masters."--"That's got
nothing to do with it," cried Fidelia, "'little quey' is a rude
coarse expression."--"It was a misunderstanding," said Louisa, "the
country-people had never heard the word '_fee_' before, and as they
have a word which sounds something like it, 'quey,' they thought that
was what your sister meant, and naturally it struck them as being very
odd. They never intended to hurt your feelings.--You are loved by all
your servants."--This last piece of information, which Louisa did not
mean as flattery, but merely as a statement of fact, went a long way to
destroy the impression that the nick-name "little quey" had made on the
young lady, and when she went on warmly and impressively to describe
what Mr. Behrens, who knew the people in their joys and sorrows, had
told of their loyalty and depth of feeling, Fidelia was quite appeased,
and regained her natural good-humour. She said that she was determined
to try to know and understand the people about her, so that she might
not misjudge them for the future, and then she took Caroline Kegel into
favour again.
Fidelia questioned Frank on the subject, and he praised the peasantry
of Puempelhagen highly. The squire also bore witness to the good
character of his people, and went on to say that the forefathers of his
vassals had lived under his ancestors from time immemorial. The first
Mr. von Rambow of whom anything was known had two serving-men, one of
whom was called "Aesel" and the other "Egel"--so the story goes at
least. In course of time the descendants of these two men grew and
multiplied, and many mistakes were made amongst the "Aesels" and
"Egels." One Egel often got a bushel of rye that was intended for
another Egel, and one Aesel a good beating which another Aesel should by
rights have had. These mistakes increased in number during the rule of
one of his ancestors who--he confessed it with shame--was troubled with
a short memory, and came to such a pass that the Mrs. von Rambow of
that day, who was much cleverer than her husband, could stand it no
longer.--A good plan occurred to her, and as her will was law in the
house she had power to carry it out. One Sunday morning she called
together all the householders in the village, and asked each of them
his Christian name and surname. These she wrote down--for she knew how
to write, and then taking the first letter of the Christian name, she
added it to the surname, and so rechristened the whole village: for
instance: "Korl Egel," became "Kegel;" "Pagel Egel," "Pegel;" "Florian
Egel," "Flegel;" and "Vulrad Aesel," "Vaesel;" "Peiter Aesel," "Paesel,"
and "David Aesel," "Daesel," &c. &c. &c. "And," the squire went on, "it
is a very remarkable fact that according to tradition the forefather of
the line of 'Egel' had flaxen hair, while the first of the 'Aesels' had
black hair, and this is still a characteristic of their descendants.
Besides that, they have kept up their family talents as well as their
family looks: old documents tell us that the original Egel was very
skilful in making trowels, spoons, rakes and sabots, while the first
Aesel had a wonderfully fine voice for singing, and so it is to this
very day, and that is why my ancestors and I have always been
particular in choosing an Aesel as night-watchman, and an Egel as
wheel-wright. And so Fidelia," he said in conclusion, "you will find
that the night-watchman is David Daesel, and the wheel-wright, Fritz
Flegel."
Miss Fidelia was delighted with this story, and having a great deal of
time on her hands, the whim seized her to visit all the labourers'
cottages, and when there she hindered the women at their work with her
idle chatter, and distributed her cast off finery amongst the children.
Indeed, if Louisa had not interposed, she would, on one occasion, have
presented Paesel's Molly, a child of eleven, with an old veil and a hat
trimmed with ostrich-feathers, and another time, she wanted to give
Daesel's Chrissy, whose work it was to take the geese down to the pond,
a beautiful pair of pale blue satin-shoes.
The village fathers shook their heads gravely over this state of
matters, but the mothers were better pleased with it, "for," they said,
"if she's a little weak-minded, still she's good and kind," and instead
of calling her "little quey" as they had done at first, they had now no
other name for her but "nice homely little quey."
Parson Behrens shook his head also when he heard of this kind of
beneficence. He said that the Puempelhagen peasantry were the best in
his parish because they had always been under the rule of the same
family, and had always been treated justly and kindly, while the
Guerlitz villagers had been spoilt by a constant change of masters. He
was well aware that nothing is so hurtful to the character as receiving
lavish and undeserved benefits, and therefore determined to speak to
the young lady. He did so on the first opportunity, and explained to
her that the Puempelhagen vassals were so well off that unless any of
them were thrown out of work by age or ill-health, or had lost their
cattle by an epidemic, they were quite able to support themselves, and
added that indiscriminate alms-giving only taught people to rely upon
outside help instead of on their own exertions; he showed her that the
common people, as well as those in a better worldly position, should be
allowed to go their own way independently, and that no outsider
ought--even in kindness--to meddle in their private affairs.
I am happy to say that Miss Fidelia took the hint, and for the future
limited her charity to those who could not help themselves, that is, to
the sick and aged, and these looked upon her, not as a "little quey,"
but as a sweet little fee. Louisa helped her in this good work, and
Frank, who sometimes accompanied them, saw to his surprise that the
merry little maiden could at times look very grave and thoughtful, and
that her great eyes rested on sick old women with the same
comprehending and sympathetic compassion as they had done on him last
Christmas-eve. He was glad to see that it was so, but he did not know
why.
Spring was gone, and summer had come, when one Sunday morning Hawermann
received a letter from Braesig dated from Warnitz, in which his friend
requested him to remain at home that day, for he had returned and
intended to call on him that afternoon. When Braesig arrived, he sprang
from his saddle with so much force that one might have thought he
wanted to go through the road with both legs. "Oho!" cried Hawermann,
"how brisk you are! You're all right now, ar'n't you?"--"As right as a
trivet, Charles. I've renewed my youth."--"Well, how have you been
getting on, old boy?" asked Hawermann, when they were seated on the
sofa and their pipes were lighted.--"Listen, Charles. Cold, damp,
watery, clammy--that's about what it comes to. It's just turning a
human being into a frog, and before a man's nature is so changed, he
has such a hard time of it, that he begins to wish that he had come
into the world a frog: still, it isn't a bad thing! You begin the day
with the common packing, as they call it. They wrap you up in cold,
damp sheets, and then in woollen blankets, in which they fasten you up
so tight that you can't move any part of your body except your toes. In
this condition they take you to a bath-room, and a man goes before you
ringing a bell to warn the ladies to keep out of your way. Then they
place you, just as God made you, in a bath, and dash three pails of
water over your bald head--if you happen to have one, and after that
they allow you to go away. Well, do you think that that's the end of
it? Nay, Charles, there's more to follow: but it's a good thing all the
same. Now you've got to go for a walk in a place where you've nothing
earthly to do. I've been accustomed all my life to walk a great deal,
but then it was doing something, ploughing or harrowing, spreading
manure or cutting corn, and there I'd no occupation whatever. While
walking you are expected to drink ever so many tumblers of water, ever
so many. Some of the people were exactly like sieves, they were always
at it, and they used to gasp out 'What splendid water it is!' Don't
believe them, Charles, it is nothing but talk. Water applied externally
is bad enough in all conscience, but internally it's still more
horrible. Then comes the sitz-bath. Do you know what a bath at four
degrees below zero is like? It's very much what you would feel if you
were in hell, and the devil had tied you down to a glowing iron chair,
under which he kept up a roaring fire; still it's a good thing! Then
you've to walk again till dinner-time. And now comes dinner. Ah,
Charles, you have no idea what a human being goes through at a
water-cure place! You've got to drink no end of water. Charles, I've
seen ladies, small and thin as real angels, drink each of them three
caraffes as large as laundry-pails at a sitting--and then the potatoes!
Good gracious, as many potatoes were eaten in a day as would have
served to plant an acre of ground! These water-doctors are much to be
pitied, their patients must eat them out of house and home. In the
afternoon the water-drinking goes on as merrily as before, and you may
now talk to the ladies if you like; but in the morning you may not
approach them, for they are not then dressed for society. Before dinner
some of them are to be seen running about with wet stockings, as if
they had been walking through a field of clover, others have wet
bandages tied round their heads, and all of them let their hair hang
down over their shoulders, and wear a Fenus' girdle round their waists,
which last, however, is not visible. But in the afternoon, as I said,
you may talk to them as much as you like, but will most likely get
short answers unless you speak to them about their health, and ask them
how often they have been packed, and what effect it had on them, for
that is the sort of conversation that is most approved of at a
water-cure establishment. After amusing yourself in this way for a
little you must have a touche (douche), that is a great rush of
ice-cold water--and that's a good thing too. Above all, Charles, you
must know that what every one most dislikes, and whatever is most
intensely disagreeable is found to be wholesome and good for the
constitution."--"Then you ought to be quite cured of your gout," said
Hawermann, "for of all things in the world cold water was what you
always disliked the most."--"It's easy to see from that speech that
you've never been at the water-cure, Charles. Listen--this is how the
doctor explained the whole thing to me. That confounded gout is the
chief of all diseases--in other words, it is the source of them all,
and it proceeds from the gouty humour which is in the bones, and which
simply tears one to pieces with the pain, and this gouty substance
comes from the poisonous matter one has swallowed as food--for example
kuemmel or tobacco--or as medicine at the apothecary's. Now you must
understand that any one who has gout must, if he wishes to be cured, be
packed in damp sheets, till the water has drawn all the tobacco he has
ever smoked, and all the kuemmel he has ever drunk out of his
constitution. First the poisonous matter goes, then the gouty
matter, and last of all the gout itself."--"And has it been so with
you?"--"No."--"Why didn't you remain longer then? I should have stayed
on, and have got rid of it once for all if I had been you."--"You don't
know what you are talking about, Charles. No one could stand it, and no
one has ever done it all at once.... But now let me go on with my
description of our daily life.--After the touche you are expected to
walk again, and by the time that is finished it has begun to grow dusk.
You may remain out later if you like, and many people do so, both
gentlemen and ladies, or you may go into the house and amuse yourself
by reading. I always spent the evening in studying the water-books
written by an author named Franck, who is, I understand, at the head of
his profession. These books explain the plan on which the water-doctors
proceed, and give reasons for all they do; but it's very difficult to
understand. I could never get further than the two first pages, and
these were quite enough for me, for when I'd read them I felt as
light-headed and giddy as if I had been standing on my head for half an
hour. You imagine, no doubt, Charles, that the water in your well is
water? He does not think so! Listen, fresh air is divided into three
parts: oxygen, nitrogen, and black carbon; and water is divided into
two parts: carbon and hydrogen. Now the whole water-cure the'ry is
founded on water and air. And listen, Charles, just think of the wisdom
of nature: when a human being goes out into the fresh air he inhales
both black carbon and nitrogen through his windpipe, and as his
constitution can't stand the combination of these two dreadful things,
the art of curing by water, steps in, and drives them out of his
throat. And the way that it does so is this: the oxygen grapples with
the carbon, and the hydrogen drives the nitrogen out of your body. Do
you understand me, Charles?"--"No," said Hawermann laughing heartily,
"you can hardly expect me to do that."--"Never laugh at things you
don't understand, Charles. Listen--I have smelt the nitrogen myself,
but as for the black carbon, what becomes of it? That is a difficult
question, and I didn't get on far enough with the water-science to be
able to answer it. Perhaps you think that parson Behrens could explain
the matter to me, but no, when I asked him yesterday he said that he
knew nothing about it. And now, Charles, you'll see that I've still got
the black carbon in me, and that I shall have that beastly gout
again."--"But, Zachariah, why didn't you remain a little longer and get
thoroughly cured?"--"Because," and Braesig cast down his eyes, and
looked uncomfortable, "I couldn't. Something happened to me. Charles,"
he continued, raising his eyes to his friend's face, "you've known me
from my childhood, tell me, did you ever see me disrespectful to a
woman?"--"No, Braesig, I can bear witness that I never did."--"Well,
then, just think what happened. A week ago last Friday the gout was
very troublesome in my great toe--you know it always begins by
attacking the small end of the human wedge--and the water-doctor said:
'Mr. Bailiff,' he said, 'you must have an extra packing. Dr. Strump's
colchicum is the cause of this, and we must get rid of it.' Well, it
was done; he packed me himself, and so tight that I had hardly room to
breathe, telling me for my comfort that water was more necessary for me
than air, and then he wanted to shut the window. 'No,' I said, 'I
understand the the'ry well enough to know that I must have fresh air,
so please leave the window open.' He did as I asked, and went away.[13]
I lay quite still in my compress thinking no evil, when suddenly I
heard a great humming and buzzing in my ears, and when I could look up,
I saw a swarm of bees streaming in at my window, preceded by their
queen. I knew her well, Charles, for as you know I am a bee-keeper. One
spring the school-master at Zittelwitz and I got fifty-seven in a
field. I now saw that the queen was going to settle on the blanket
which the doctor had drawn over my head. What was to be done? I
couldn't move. I blew at her, and blew and blew till my breath was all
gone. It was horrible! The queen settled right on the bald part of my
head--for I had taken off my wig as usual to save it--and now the whole
swarm flew at my face. That was enough for me. Quickly I rolled out of
bed, freed myself from the blanket, wriggled out of the wet sheets, and
reached the door, for the devil was at my heels. I got out at the door,
and striking out at my assailants blindly and madly, shrieked for help.
God be praised and thanked for the existence of the water-doctor--his
name is Ehrfurcht--he came to my rescue, and, taking me to another
room, fetched me my clothes, and so after a few hours rest I was able
to go down to the dining-room--_salong_ as they call it--but I still
had half a bushel of bee-stings in my body. I began to speak to the
gentlemen, and they did nothing but laugh. Why did they laugh, Charles?
You don't know, nor do I. I turned to one of the ladies, and spoke to
her in a friendly way about the weather; she blushed. What was there in
the weather to make her red? I can't tell, nor can you, Charles. I
spoke to the lady who sings, and asked her very politely to let us hear
the beautiful song which she sings every evening. What did she do,
Charles? She turned her back upon me! I now busied myself with my own
thoughts, but the water-doctor came up to me, and said courteously:
'Don't be angry with me, Mr. Bailiff, but you've made yourself very
remarkable this afternoon.'--'How?' I asked.--'Miss von Hinkefuss was
crossing the passage when you ran out of your room, and she has told
every one else in strict confidence.'--'And so,' I said, 'you give me
no sympathy, the gentlemen laugh at me, and the ladies turn their
pretty backs upon me. No, I didn't come here for that! If Miss von
Hinkefuss had met _me_, if half a bushel of bee-stings had been planted
in _her_ body, I should have asked her every morning with the utmost
propriety how she was. But let her alone! There is no market where
people can buy kind-heartedness! Come away, doctor, and pull the stings
out of my body.'--He said he couldn't do it.--'What!' I asked, 'can't
you pull bee-stings out of a man's skin?'--'No,' he said, 'that is to
say, I _can_ do it, but I dare not, for that is an operation such as
surgeons perform, and I have no diploma for surgery from the
Mecklenburg government.'--'What?' I asked, 'you are allowed to draw
gout out of my bones, but it is illegal for you to draw a bee-sting out
of my skin? You dare not meddle with the outer skin which you can see,
and yet you presume to attack my internal maladies which you can't see?
_Thank_ you!'--Well, Charles, from that moment I lost all faith in the
water-doctor, and without faith they can do nothing as they themselves
tell you when it comes to the point. So I went away quietly and got old
Metz, the surgeon at Rahnstaedt, to draw out the stings. That was the
end of the water-cure; still it's a good thing; one gets new ideas
in a place like that, and even if one's gout is not cured, one
gains some notion of what a human being can suffer. And now, Charles,
this is a water-book I have brought you, you can study it in the
winter-evenings."--Hawermann thanked him, and the conversation was
changed to farming, and then to the two apprentices.--"Well," asked
Braesig, "how's your pupil, Mr. von Rambow, getting on?"--"Very well,
indeed, Braesig, he's getting to understand the work, I'm only sorry I
can't have him more with me. He does what he has to do without loss of
time, and more than that, I know from Daniel Sadenwater that he spends
many a night by my old master's sick-bed, even though he must often be
very tired. He's like the man mentioned in the Bible whose hand always
finds something to do, and whose heart is full of love."--"Well,
Charles, your greyhound?"--"Oh, he isn't so bad, he has a lot of
maggots in his head, but there's no harm in him. He does what he is
told, though he's sometimes a little forgetful--but so were we at his
age."--"The best thing about your lads is that they are strong. I was
at Christian Klockmann's, and he has a son of fourteen who isn't at all
well. He complains of feeling tired all day long, and is always half
asleep. He won't eat at proper times, and when out in the fields always
wants something to eat."--"Oh, no," said Hawermann, "my boys are not
like that."--"And so Mr. Frank watches by the old gentleman at night,"
said Braesig, "that's pretty hard work for him. Then the _Counsellor_
must be really ill. Remember me to him, Charles. And now good-by, I
must be going, for my lord, the Count, wants to see me about particular
business." And Braesig rode away.
The squire had grown very weak in the last few days, he had had another
slight stroke, but fortunately it had not affected his speech, and that
evening Frank asked Hawermann to go up to the manor-house, for his
uncle wanted to speak to him.
The bailiff found Fidelia in the sick-room trying to amuse her father
by telling him this or that little incident in her lively girlish
way.--Alas, poor thing, she little knew that her father would soon be
beyond the reach of her voice. The squire desired her to leave him
alone with Hawermann, and as soon as she was gone, he looked at the
bailiff sorrowfully, and said: "Hawermann, dear Hawermann, when our
greatest joys cease to affect us, it shows that the end is at
hand."--Hawermann looked at him earnestly and could not hide from
himself that the worst would soon come, for he had often seen death
before, so he bent his eyes sadly on the ground, and asked: "Wasn't the
doctor here to-day?"--"Ah, Hawermann, the _doctor_. What good can he
do? I'd rather have Mr. Behrens with me now.--But first of all I want
to speak to you on business of importance. Sit down there beside
me."--When the bailiff was seated the Squire went on quickly and
brokenly as if he felt that his time was as short as his breath. "My
will is in Schwerin. I have thought of everything, but--when my illness
came on so suddenly--and my wife's death too--I am afraid that my
affairs are not in such good order as they ought to be."--After a few
minutes rest he went on. "My son will have the estate, and my two
married daughters have received their share, but the three unmarried
ones--poor children!--I have been able to do very little for them.
Alick must help them--and alas, he will have enough to do to provide
for himself. He writes that he wishes to remain in the army for a few
years longer--it would be quite right for him to do so, if he would
only live economically--he could then save some of his farming
profits--to pay his debts.--But the Jew, Hawermann, the Jew! Will he
wait do you think? Did you speak?"--"No, Sir; but Moses will wait; I am
quite sure that he will wait. And even if he does not, a great deal of
money can be raised on the estate, far more than would have been
possible a few years ago."--"Yes, yes. Land has increased in value very
much. But still--Alick knows nothing about farming--I have made Frank
send him numbers of agricultural books--he ought to study them--they
would be of great service to him, would they not, Hawermann?"--"Ah,"
said Hawermann to himself, "my old master would never have trusted to
mere book knowledge when he was well, he was far too practical and wise
to have done such a thing; but there is no use troubling him now if the
thought comforts him." So the bailiff only said that he thought so
too.--"And, dear old friend, you will remain with him," entreated the
Squire, "give me your hand, and promise that you will remain with
him."--"Yes," said Hawermann, his eyes full of tears, "I will not leave
Puempelhagen as long as I can be of use to you or yours."--"I knew it,"
said his master, sinking back upon his pillow exhausted; "but--Fidelia
must write--I must see him again--see him with you."--His strength was
going fast, and his breathing had become heavy and gasping.
Hawermann rose softly and rang the bell, and when Daniel Sadenwater
came, he drew him into the ante-room: "Sadenwater, our master is much
worse, I don't think it can last long now, you had better call
the young ladies and their cousin; but don't say anything too
certainly."--A sad look came over the old servant's calm face, stirring
it as the evening breeze passing over the quiet waters of a lake. He
looked in at the half open door of the sick-room sorrowfully, and
murmured as though he wished to excuse himself to himself: "Oh God! And
I have served him for thirty years ...." And then he turned and went
away.
Frank and the young ladies came in.--The poor girls had no idea how
quickly the stone was rolling down hill now, they had always felt so
certain that their father would get better, that the doctor would cure
him, or if it were beyond his power, that God would do so. They had
hitherto taken it in turn to watch by their father, and why were they
all sent for at once, and here were Frank, Hawermann and Daniel
too?--"Oh God! what is ..... what is .....?" asked Fidelia turning
anxiously to the old bailiff.--Hawermann took her hand and pressed it:
"Your father," he could not have said "the Squire" at such a moment,
"is much worse; he is very ill, and wishes to see your brother .... Mr.
von Rambow; if you will write him a line and tell him, the coachman can
post the letter on his way to fetch the doctor. Your brother may be
here in three days time."--"It can hardly last three hours," said
Sadenwater who joined Hawermann in the ante-room.
The three daughters sat or stood round their father's bed weeping
silently, for they saw that they would soon lose him who had been their
comfort and support all their lives, and their heart beats quicker and
quicker as they tried to think of something that would keep him a
little longer amongst them, while his heart beat more faintly and
slowly every minute.
Frank sat in the ante-room and listened to every sound, and now and
then joined his cousins in the sick-room for a few minutes. He had
never before seen a human life ebbing away, and his thoughts turned to
his own father, whom he had always pictured to himself as resembling
his uncle, and he felt as if he were losing his father for the second
time. He sorrowed for his cousin Alick who was absent, and who could
not possibly arrive in time.--Hawermann stood by the open window and
looked out into the night. It was just such a sweet calm night as that
one long ago when his heart was full of grief. His wife had passed away
then--and now his friend was going. Who would be the next?--Would it be
his turn, or ...? Only God could answer that question, for all things
are in His hands.--And Daniel Sadenwater sat by the stove with a basket
on his knee containing the silver forks and spoons he had burnished
every evening for thirty years. On a chair beside him were a piece of
chamois-leather and a blue checked pocket-handkerchief, and he
alternately rubbed up the silver with the one, and dried his eyes with
the other; but when he came to the fork which had his master's name
upon it, and which he had cleaned every evening for thirty years there
was such a mist before his eyes that he could not see whether it was
bright or dull, so he put the basket down by his side, and sat staring
at the fork while the tears ran down his cheeks and his heart was full
of the unspoken question: "Who will use it now?"
During all this time of restless sorrow, the pendulum of the old clock
on the wall kept up its measured beat as though time were sitting by
the bed rocking her tired child gently and surely to sleep--his last
sleep. At length it came, and the Squire's eyes were for ever closed,
the dark curtain separating here from hereafter had fallen softly, and
on this side of it the three daughters wept aloud for him who was gone
from amongst them, and wrung their hands as they mourned the sorrow
that had come. Fidelia threw herself on her father's body with a
passionate burst of crying that ended in a fit of hysterics, and Frank,
full of compassion, took her in his arms and carried her out of the
room. The two elder sisters followed, their hearts filled with a new
sorrow, fear for their darling. Hawermann on being left alone with
Daniel Sadenwater, quietly closed his master's eyes, and then went away
with a heavy heart, while Daniel, still holding the fork in his hand,
seated himself at the foot of the bed, and turned his calm face on his
master's which was even calmer than his own.