So it was that the little girls' mode of life was settled as far as it
is possible for human beings to settle the future of other people.
But fate often interferes with the best laid schemes which worthy
white-haired elders have made, and introduces the most unexpectedly
incongruous elements. The worst of making such plans is that they never
succeed whether they are wise or foolish, because the good old
white-haired people have forgotten to call back to their remembrance
the thoughts and feelings which influenced them before their hair began
to turn grey. The old clergyman never seriously thought for a moment
that any young man would come and take his foster-daughter away from
him, and Mrs. Behrens, who, after the manner of women, thought much and
often of the probability of such an event happening at some time or
other, comforted herself with the thought that Louisa knew no one she
could marry. She did not count Frank because of his position in
society; and as for Triddelfitz, she regarded him as mere boy, for he
was continually getting into scrapes and being scolded by her. She was
now to be shown that a beautiful young girl, even though she may live
in a parsonage, attracts young men to flutter round her as much as a
flower does a butterfly. She was to see that the caterpillar which but
a short time ago had roused her wrath in a different fashion, had
turned into a gorgeous yellow butterfly which delighted to hover round
the sweet flower she had so long tended. She would have thought the
whole affair a good joke if the butterfly had not been her sister's
son, and the flower Louisa Hawermann.
A few days after the confirmation Fred came to Guerlitz, his heart full
of hatred to all women. The basin of water he had had thrown over his
head, and being turned out of the paradise of good things to which he
had been so long accustomed, had had a chilling effect on him; and as
his novels had taught him that any young man who had been deceived in
the character of his lady-love as he, Fred, had been, had a right to
hate all women, he made use of his right and hated them. He had not
been to Guerlitz for a long time because he wanted to punish his aunt
for her constant lectures by depriving her of the pleasure of seeing
him. When Fred had been sitting in the parlour for some time nursing
his hatred of women, and only deigning to talk to the clergyman, little
Mrs. Behrens went to join Louisa in the kitchen, and told her with
great glee of his quiet manner: "Fred is very much improved," she said.
"Thank God, he is growing wiser as he gets older."--Louisa laughed, but
made no answer. Though she had not had much opportunity of studying the
ways and manners of young men, still she knew Fred Triddelfitz too well
to trust to appearances. Any one who understood the boy knew that if he
tried to play some part that was unnatural to him, such as pretending
to be a woman-hater, the real Fred Triddelfitz would suddenly reappear
in his true colours and startle every one, but more especially his dear
aunt. He had not been long in the same room with Louisa before he threw
overboard his hatred of women, and all remembrance of Mary Moeller, the
wash-hand-basin, and the larder, and took in a large cargo of romantic
ideas as ballast instead; this cargo he called "falling in love with
Louisa." And as he had got rid of the trammels of the old love he was
able to set sail gaily and make for the open sea. At first he tacked
about so much that his aunt was puzzled, but as soon as he reached the
high seas "of feeling," unfurled his top-gallant-sails, and had the
rudder well in hand, she discovered what he was about, and was very
much frightened. She looked upon him as a daring sea-rover, a pirate, a
corsair who was trying to run down the dainty little brig in which she
had shipped all her motherly love and hopes.
She tried a feint or two to draw off his attention, but the pirate kept
on his course unchecked. She showed her parson the red danger signal
she had hoisted in her distress, but he seemed to look upon the whole
affair as a good joke, perhaps because he was convinced that the brig
was in no danger. He sat back comfortably in his sofa corner, sometimes
laughing and sometimes shaking his head.--Little Mrs. Behrens lost all
patience with her nephew and called him in her own mind: "A silly boy,
a young rascal, and a little wretch." But when the pirate began to fire
one broadside after another of honied phrases and poetical sentiments
at the tiny craft, she gallantly steamed out to sea to defend it and
opened her attack on the rover by throwing her grappling irons, taking
him in tow and carrying him off with her in triumph: "Come, my boy,
come. I want to speak to you, Fred. You may as well take your hat with
you." When she had him safe in the still-room she man[oe]uvred him into
a corner where he was unable to move because of the barricade of jars,
tubs, &c., and then seizing a loaf of bread cut a tremendously thick
slice, saying: "You must be hungry, Freddy. You have an empty stomach,
sonny, and an empty stomach makes people say and do things that they
had better not.--There now I've spread it with butter for you, here's
the cheese, won't you have a bit--set to work, my boy, and eat a good
luncheon."--Fred stood silently before her not knowing what to do; he
had wished to win a heart, and instead of that he had been given a
slice of bread and butter! He was about to speak, but his aunt would
not allow him: "I know what you are going to say, my boy, so you
needn't speak, my child. But here--just to please me--here is a bottle
of beer, pray take it out to Hawermann who is sowing peas in the field
below the garden. Tell him that it's some of the beer he likes so much,
it comes from the mayor of Stavenhagen's brewery." While speaking she
took him through the kitchen, and let him out at the back door. As he
was going, she called after him through a chink in the doorway: "You
won't be able to come and see us for a long time as you've begun to sow
the corn and will of course have a great deal to do--no, no, my boy, it
can't be helped--but when you come back, in autumn perhaps, Louisa will
be seventeen, and you must give up talking such childish nonsense to
her as you've been doing to-day, she'll be too old for such folly then.
Good-bye now, sonny, eat your bread and butter." Then she shut the door
leaving Fred outside with a great slice of bread in one hand, and a
bottle of beer in the other.
He felt that his aunt had treated him very badly, and was so angry at
first that he felt inclined to throw the bread and butter in at the
kitchen window and the bottle of beer after it, at the same time vowing
that he would never again set foot in the parsonage as long as he
lived. But second thoughts are always best, so he turned and walked
down the garden path glancing now at the bread and butter and now at
the bottle of beer, and saying to himself: "Hang it all, I'm not a bit
hungry. The old lady didn't hit the right nail on the head there. But
the fact is she only wanted to get rid of me.--Wait a bit, auntie, you
won't get the better of me so easily! I know when and where Louisa goes
to walk.--She must be mine! Whatever happens, she must be mine!" Then
he threw himself under the hedge at the end of the garden and proceeded
to lay out his plan of operations in this new love affair. How angry he
would have been if he had known that Louisa saw him from her garret
window!--He did not know that however, and as he was afraid that his
bread and butter would fall on the gravel and be spoilt, he thought it
better on the whole to eat it while it was good, and when he had
finished it, he said: "I don't care a farthing for my aunt and Mary
Moeller; Louisa is an angel! She must be mine! It's quite clear that my
relations won't approve of our love.--_Bong!_ No girl like Louisa is
ever to be won without a struggle. I'll ...... yes, what ought I to
do?"--Before he did anything else he thought it as well to drink the
bottle of beer, and when he had finished it every drop, he rose and
crossed the ploughed field with renewed courage, stamping his firm
determination into the soft soil as he went on: "She _shall_ be mine!"
And when the seed had sprung up the villagers, said: "Look, do you see
where the devil has been sowing thistles and nettles amongst old
bailiff Hawermann's corn!"
So Fred went heart and soul into his new love affair. There was one
good thing in it, and that was that he was now far more amenable to the
bailiff than before, because he looked on him in the light of his
future father-in-law. He sat by his side in the evening and told him
how much his father would advance to set him up in business, and asked
his advice as to whether, he should buy or rent a farm, or consulted
him about buying a large tract of land in Livonia or Hungary. The old
man gently talked him out of any of his ideas which were simply absurd,
but he silently rejoiced in the change that had taken place in his
pupil: "The young rascal used to be able to talk of nothing but riding,
dancing and hunting, and now he speaks of sensible things however
foolishly." One evening when he and Fred were alone, Frank having gone
to Guerlitz, he was still more astonished by Fred's confiding to him
that if he remained in Mecklenburg he would either buy or rent a place
with a good house in the middle of a park--park was the very word he
used, not garden--for, he said, he owed it to his future wife that
everything should be done in good style, and added, that he would love
and care for her nearest relations like a father, as he said this he
looked at the bailiff with such a touchingly affectionate gaze that the
latter felt quite uncomfortable. "Triddelfitz," remonstrated Hawermann,
"you are surely not so foolish as to think yourself in love at your
age?"--Fred answered that it might be so, or it might not be so,
but he could at least say with certainty, that he intended his old
father-in-law to have a whole wing in his house for his sole use, and
that as he had always been accustomed to plenty of fresh air and
exercise, he should keep a couple of horses for him to ride or drive.
Having said this, he rose and began to walk up and down the room with
long strides, waving his hands as he went, so that Hawermann, who was
sitting in the sofa corner, had to move his head about from side to
side in his efforts to keep his eye on his pupil's movements. When he
was saying good-night that evening, Fred pressed the old gentleman's
hand as warmly and emphatically as if it were a matter of life and
death, and a moment later when Hawermann suspected no evil, he was
startled to feel a warm hand stroking his white hair, then a head bent
over him and a hearty kiss was pressed on his brow. Before the old man
had had time to recover from his consternation, Fred had left the room.
Fred was a very good-hearted young fellow and wished the whole world to
be as happy as he was himself. His intentions were good but his actions
were foolish. He had never gone back to see his aunt at Guerlitz. It
made him cross to think of the wretched day when he had been forbidden
to show his feelings to Louisa, and yet he daily lived over again all
that had passed on that occasion. Bitter as the thought was, it was not
long before gall was added to the draught he had to drink--And by whom
was this added?--By Frank!--During the whole of that spring Frank went
to Guerlitz whenever he had time, and in summer when the three Miss von
Rambows came to Puempelhagen, Louisa used to go and see them very often,
and when she was there Frank was never far away, while he--our poor
Fred, was not with them, and had to content himself with envying them
from a distance.
I did not mean to say, and I am sure that no one who reads this book
would ever imagine that Fred was mean and wicked enough to be spying
and prying into what did not concern him, but he would have been very
stupid if he had not suspected what Frank was about. And this was quite
right and proper, a young man who is really in love ought to feel the
pangs of jealousy, for jealousy is a necessary ingredient in the tender
passion, and I always look upon any man the course of whose love is
utterly unruffled by anxiety or by the presence of a rival as very like
my neighbour Mr. Hamann, who is in the habit of riding with only one
spur. Frank was the rival in this case, and Fred regarded him as such,
and before long had put him in the same category as his aunt and Mary
Moeller, he never addressed him and kept all his conversation for his
future father-in-law.
No human being can stand more than a certain amount of pain, after that
it becomes unbearable and a remedy must be found; now the only remedy a
lover finds effectual is an interview with his sweetheart. Matters had
come to such a pass with Fred that he could no longer exist without
seeing Louisa, so he began to lie in wait for her in all sorts of holes
and corners. Every hollow-tree was a good hiding-place from which he
could watch for her coming, every ditch was of use in concealing his
advance, every hill was a look-out from which he could sweep the
country with his gaze, and every thicket served him for an ambush. He
was so much in earnest that he could not fail to succeed in his
attempts to see her, and he often gave Louisa a great fright by
pouncing out upon her, when she least expected him, and when she was
perhaps thinking of ..... we will not say Frank. Sometimes he was to be
seen rearing his long slight figure out of a bush like a snake in the
act of springing, sometimes his head would appear above the green ears
of rye like a seal putting its head above water, and sometimes as she
passed under a tree he would drop down at her side from the branches
when he had been crouched like a lynx waiting for its prey. At first
she did not mind it much, for she looked upon it as a new form of his
silly practical joking, and so she only laughed and talked to him about
some indifferent subject; but she soon discovered that a very
remarkable change had taken place in him. He spoke gravely and solemnly
and uttered the merest nothings as if they had been the weightiest
affairs of state. He passed his hand meditatively across his forehead
as if immersed in profound thought, and when she spoke of the weather,
he laid his hand upon his heart as if he were suffering from a sudden
pain in the side. When she asked him to come to Guerlitz he shook his
head sadly, and said: Honour forbade him to do so. When she asked him
about her father, his words poured forth like a swiftly flowing stream:
The bailiff was an angel; there never was, and never would be such a
man again on the face of the earth; _his_ father was good and kind, but
_hers_ was the prince of fathers. When she asked after Miss Fidelia, he
said: He never troubled himself about women, and was utterly
indifferent to _almost_ all of them; but once when, as ill luck would
have it, she asked him about Frank, his eyes flashed and he shouted:
"Ha!" once or twice with a sort of snort, laughed scornfully, caught
hold of her hand, slipped a bit of paper into it, and plunged head
foremost into the rye-field, where he was soon lost to sight.--When she
opened the paper she found that it contained the following effusion:
TO HER.
"When with tender silvery light
Luna peeps the clouds between,
And 'spite of dark disastrous night
The radiant sun is also seen,
When the wavelets murmuring flow
When oak and ivy clinging grow,
Then, O then, in that witching hour
Let us meet _in my_ lady's bow'r.
"Where'er thy joyous step doth go
Love waits upon thee ever,
The spring-flow'rs in my hat do show
I'll cease to love thee never.
When thou'rt gone from out my sight
Vanished is my sole delight.
_Alas!_ Thou ne'er canst understand
What I've suffered at thy hand.
"My _vengeance_ dire! will fall on him,
The foe who has hurt me sore,
Hurt _me_! who writes this poem here;
_Revenge!!_ I'll seek for ever more."
Frederic Triddelfitz.
_Puempelhagen, July_, 3d, 1842.
The first time that Louisa read this effusion she could make nothing of
it, when she had read it twice she did not understand it a bit better,
and after the third reading she was as far from comprehending it as she
had been at first; that is to say, she could not make out who it was on
whom the unhappy poet wished to be revenged. She was not so stupid as
not to know that the "Her" was intended for herself.
She would have liked to have been able to think that the whole affair
was only a silly joke, but when she remembered Fred's odd manner she
was obliged to confess that it was anything but a joke, and so she
determined to keep as much as possible out of his way. She was such a
tender-hearted little creature that she was full of compassion for
Fred's sufferings. Now pity is a bridge that often leads to the
beautiful meadows stretched on the other side of it full of rose-bushes
and jasmine-hedges, which are as attractive to a maiden of seventeen
as cherries to a bird, and who knows whether Louisa might not have
been induced to wander in those pleasant groves, had she not been
restrained by the thought of Fred riding amongst the roses on the old
sorrel-horse, holding a great slice of bread and butter in one hand and
a bottle of beer in the other. In spite of her compassion for him she
could not help laughing, and so remained safely on this side of the
bridge; she liked best to watch Fred from a distance, for the sorrel
might have lain down in the pond again, and Fred might have smeared her
with the bread and butter. The stupidest lads under the sun may often
win the love of girls of seventeen, and even men with only an apology
for a heart are sometimes successful, but alas for the young fellow who
has ever condescended to wear motley, he can never hope to win his
lady's affection, for nothing is so destructive to young love as a
hearty fit of laughter.
Louisa could not restrain her laughter when she thought of the
ludicrous scene that had just taken place, but she suddenly stopped in
the midst of her merriment, for she felt as if a soft hand had just
taken hers, and as if a pair of dark eyes were looking at her
affectionately. Perhaps this thought may have come into her head
because she caught sight of Frank coming towards her from the distance.
The next moment it flashed into her mind that it was Frank on whom Fred
wished to be revenged, and so when they met a deep blush overspread her
face, and feeling that that was the case made her so angry with herself
that she blushed even deeper than before. Frank spoke to her in his
usual courteous manner about indifferent things, but she was strangely
shy, and answered him at cross-purposes, for her mind was full of Fred
and his vows of vengeance.
"Heaven knows what's the matter," thought Frank as he was returning
home after having walked a short way with her, "she isn't at all like
herself to-day. Is it my fault? Has she had anything to vex or annoy
her? What was that piece of paper she was tearing up?"--Meanwhile he
had reached the place where he had met her. Some of the bits of paper
were still lying on the ground, and he saw on one of them, without
picking it up: "_Revenge!_ I'll seek for evermore Frederic
Triddelfitz." This made him curious for he knew Fred's handwriting, so
he looked about and found two more bits of paper, but when he put
them together he could make nothing more out of them but: "clinging
grows ... that witching hour .... meet in my lady's bow'r ..... Spring
flowers .... I'll cease to ... from out my sight .... my sole delight
... _Alas!_ thou ne'er ... my _vengeance_ dire! .... The foe ...
_Revenge!!_ I'll seek for evermore Frederic Triddelfitz." The wind had
blown away all the rest.
There was not much to be made out of it, but after a time Frank came to
the conclusion that Fred Triddelfitz was in love with Louisa, dogged
her footsteps, and wanted to be revenged on her for some reason only
known to himself. It was a ridiculous affair altogether, but still when
he remembered that Fred Triddelfitz was as full of tricks as a donkey's
hide of grey hair, and that he might easily do something that would be
of great annoyance to Louisa, Frank determined to keep watch, and not
to let Fred out of his sight when he went in the direction of Guerlitz.
Fred had broken the ice, he had spoken, he had done his part, and it
was now Louisa's turn to speak if anything was to come of it. He
waited, and watched, and got no answer. "It's a horrid shame," he said
to himself. "But she isn't up to this sort of thing yet, I must show
her what she ought to do." Then he sat down and wrote a letter in a
feigned hand.
Address: "To Her that you know of.
Inscription: "Sweet Dream of my soul!
"This letter can tell you nothing, it only contains what is absolutely
necessary for you to learn, and you will find it in the _third_
rose-bush in the _second_ row. I'll tell you the rest by word of mouth,
and will only add: Whenever you see a _cross_ drawn in _white chalk_ on
the garden-door, you will find the disclosure of my sentiments under
the flower-pot beside the third rose-bush in the second row. The
_waving_ of a _pocket-handkerchief_ on the _Guerlitz_ side of the house
will be a token of your presence, and of your desiring an interview;
_my_ signal, on the other hand, will be _whistling_ three times on the
crook of my stick. (Our shepherd taught me how to do it, and love makes
everything easy to learn). _Randyvoo_: The large ditch to the _right_
of the bridge.
"Ever thine!!
"From Him whom you know of."
"P.S. Pardon me for having written this in my shirt-sleeves, it is such
a frightfully hot day.----"
This letter fell into the wrong hands, for it was Mrs. Behrens who
found it when she went out to water her flowers, whilst Louisa, who was
now a notable little housekeeper, was busy indoors making gooseberry
jam. The clergyman's wife had no scruples about opening and reading the
letter, and after she had done so she was quite convinced that it was
intended for Louisa, and had been written by her nephew Fred.
She could not tell Louisa of her discovery, for that would simply have
been playing into Fred's hands, she had therefore to content herself
with talking of letters in general, and trying to find out in a
round-about kind of way whether Louisa had received any epistles such
as she had in her pocket, but as the girl did not understand what she
meant, she determined not to tell her pastor what had happened. For,
she thought, why should she make him angry by telling him of the
foolish boy's love troubles, and besides that, it would have been very
painful for her to have to give evidence against her own flesh and
blood--and unfortunately Fred was her sister's son. But she wished with
all her heart that she could have have had a few minutes quiet talk
with the culprit himself, and that was impossible, for she never saw
him by any chance.
She was very silent and thoughtful for a few days, and took the entire
charge of watering the flowers into her own hands. It was just as well
that she did so, for soon afterwards she found a letter drenched with
rain under the third rose-bush in the second row. This letter was still
more to the point than the last:
Address: "To _Her_, the _only_ woman I adore.
Inscription: "Soul of my existence!!
"We are surrounded by pitfalls; I am aware that our foe watches my
every step.--Cowardly _spy_, I _scorn_ you!--Have no fear, Beloved, I
will conquer all difficulties.--One bold deed will bring our love
_recognition_. At two o'clock to-morrow afternoon, when the _Dragon_ is
asleep that guards my _treasure_, I shall expect to see your signal
with the pocket-handkerchief. As for myself, I shall then be hidden
behind the manure heap on the bank beside the large ditch, and shall
whistle three times on the crook of my stick to entice you to come to
me. And--even though the powers of hell should fight against me--I have
sworn to be ever
Thine."
Mrs. Behrens was furious when she read this letter. "The ....!
The ....! Oh you young rascal! 'When the dragon is asleep!' The wretch
means me by that! But wait a bit! _I_'ll entice _you_ to come to _me_,
and though the powers of hell won't touch you, if once I get hold of
you, I'll give you such a box on the ear as you never had before!"
About two o'clock next day, Mrs. Behrens rose from her sofa and went
into the garden. The parlour-door creaked and the garden-door banged as
she went out, and the parson hearing the noise, looked out at the
window to see what it was that took his wife out at that unusual
hour, for as a general rule she did not move from her sofa till
three had struck. He saw her go behind a bush and wave her
pocket-handkerchief.--"She's making signs to Hawermann, of course,"
said he, and then he went and lay down again. But the fact of the
matter is that she only wanted to show her sister's son how much she
longed to get within reach of his ears. But he did not come, not yet
were his three whistles to be heard.--She returned to her room very
crossly, and when her husband asked her at coffee time to whom she had
been making signals in the garden, she was so overwhelmed with
confusion that in spite of being a clergyman's wife--I am sorry to have
to confess it--she told a lie, and said that she had found it so
frightfully close she had been fanning herself a little.
On the third day after that she found another letter:
Address: "To _Her_ who is intended for me by _Fate_.
Inscription: "_Sun_ of my _dark_ existence!!
"Have you ever suffered the _pains of hell_? I have been enduring them
since two o'clock in the afternoon of the day before yesterday when I
was hidden behind the manure-heap. The weather was lovely, our _foe_
was busy in the clover-field, and your handkerchief was waving in the
perfumed air like one of those tumbler pigeons I used to have long ago.
I was just about to utter the three _whistles_ we had agreed upon, when
that stupid old _ass_ Braesig came up to me, and talked to me for a
_whole hour by the clock_ about the farm. As soon as he was gone I
hastened to the ditch, but, _oh agony!_ I was terribly disappointed.
The time must have seemed very long to you, for you were gone.--But
now, _listen_. As soon as I have finished my curds and cream this
evening I shall start for the place of _Randyvoo_ where I shall be
hidden _punctually at half-past eight_. This is Saturday, so the parson
will be writing his sermon, and the _Dragon_ will be busy, so it is a
favourable _opportunity_ for us to meet, and the _alder-bushes_ will
screen us from every eye, (Schiller!) Wait awhile--thy rest comes
presently (Goethe) in the _arms_ of thy _adorer_, who would _sell_ all
that is dear to him, if he could _buy_ what is dear to thee with the
proceeds.
"Again to meet! again to meet!
Till then I fain would sleep;
My longings and my thoughts to steep
In Lethe's waters dark and deep.
My loved one I again shall see,
There's rapture in the thought!
In the hope to-morrow of thee,
My darling, I fear nought.
("The _beginning_ is by myself, the _middle_ part by Schiller, and the
_end_ by a certain person called Anonymous who writes a great deal of
poetry, but I have altered his lines to suit the present case.)
"_In an agony of longing to see you_,
Ever Thine."
"_No!_" cried little Mrs. Behrens when she had read the letter. "This
is really too much of a good thing! Ah, my dear sister, I'm sorry for
you! Well, it's high time for _other_ people to interfere, and I think
that being his aunt, I am the proper person to do so. And I will do
it," she exclaimed aloud, stamping her foot emphatically, "and I should
like to see who'd dare to prevent me!"
"I promise not to interfere with you, Mrs. Behrens," said Braesig,
coming from behind the bee-hives.
"Have you been listening, Braesig?" asked Mrs. Behrens rather
sharply.--"'Listening!' I never listen! I only keep my ears open, and
then I hear what's going on; and I keep my eyes open, and see what
passes before me. For instance, I see that you are very cross."--"Yes,
but it's enough to drive an angel wild."--"Ah, Mrs. Behrens, the angels
are wild enough already in all conscience, but we don't need to speak
of them just now, for I believe that the devil himself is going about
Puempelhagen."--"Goodness gracious me! Has Fred ....?"--"No," answered
Braesig, "I don't know what it is, but certainly there's something
up."--"How?"--"Mrs. Behrens, Hawermann is in a bad humour, and that is
enough to show you that something unpleasant is going on. When I
went to Puempelhagen last week I found him busy with the hay and
rape-harvest, and said: 'Good-morning,' I said.--'Good-morning,' said
he.--'Charles,' I began, and was going to have said something when he
interrupted me by asking: 'Have you seen Triddelfitz anywhere?'--'Yes,'
I answered.--'Where?' he asked.--'Sitting in the large ditch,' I
said.--'Did you see young Mr. von Rambow?' he asked.--'He's sitting in
the next ditch close behind Fred,' I replied.--'What are they doing?'
he asked.---'Playing,' I said.--'You don't give me much comfort,' he
said, '_playing_, when there's so much to be done!'--'Yes, Charles,'
I said, 'and I played with them.'--'What were you playing at?' he
asked.--'We had a game at "I spy," Charles. You must understand that
your grey-hound was peeping over the edge of the ditch towards Guerlitz,
and your young nobleman was watching the grey-hound, so I hid myself in
the marl-pit, and watched them both. When ever one of them turned the
others ducked, so there we sat peeping and ducking till at last I found
it a very tiresome amusement, and, leaving my hiding-place, went
to join Mr. von Rambow.' 'Good-day,' I said.--'Good-day,' he
replied.--'Pardon me,' I said, 'but which of your farming-operations is
it that is occupying your attention just now?'--'I,' he stammered,
'w--wanted to see how the peas were getting on!'--'H'm!' I said. 'Ah!'
I said. 'I understand.' Then I bade him 'good-bye,' and went to have a
look at the grey-hound. Don't be angry, Mrs. Behrens, but that's what I
always call your nephew."--"Not at all, not at all!" cried the little
lady, though her own name for him was different.--Then Braesig
continued: "'Good-day,' I said, 'may I ask what you are doing
here?'--'Oh, nothing in particular,' he said, looking rather foolish,
'I'm only looking at the peas.'--'Now, Charles,' I said, 'if you can
get the peas staked by setting those two lads to look at them, why all
that I can say is that you're a deuced lucky fellow.'--'The devil take
it!' he said, 'they're both up to some folly. Mr. von Rambow is quite
changed this summer, he isn't like the same person. He goes about in a
dream, forgets all that I tell him, and so I can't rely on him as I
used to do. And as for that other stupid dolt, he's worse than
ever.'--Now, Mrs. Behrens, pray don't be angry with Hawermann for
calling your nephew a 'stupid dolt.'"--"Certainly not," replied Mrs.
Behrens, "for that's just what he is."--"Well, you see that all
happened a week ago, but this morning I went out early with my
fishing-rod to try whether I couldn't catch a few trout, when just as I
was coming in this direction I caught sight of your nephew, the
greyhound. He slipped cautiously into the garden, and after remaining
there for a few minutes, came out again. Meanwhile I perceived that the
young nobleman was watching him from amongst the thorn-bushes by the
side of the ditch; but what was my astonishment when I saw that my good
old friend Charles Hawermann was following them on the hill-side. I
brought up the rear, and so we all went on in single file quite round
the village, and I couldn't help laughing when I thought that each of
us only knew of the presence of the game he was stalking, and was
totally unaware that he himself was being stalked in his turn. We're
all to be at it again to-morrow I believe, for Hawermann, who has
followed them twice already, is determined to get to the bottom of the
mystery; so if either you or the parson has a fancy to join us in the
hunt, you can follow me."--"Thanks very much," said Mrs. Behrens,
"but I've got my part to play already. Braesig, can you keep a
secret?"--"Like a safe when the padlock is on," he answered.--"No, no.
Do be serious. Can you be silent?"--"I beg your pardon," he said
gravely, and clapped his hand on his mouth in token of shame at his
ill-timed jesting, though had anyone else done it, he would have given
him a black eye for his pains.--"Why well then, listen," said Mrs.
Behrens, who now proceeded to relate all that she knew of the
affair.--"Wheugh!" whistled Braesig, "what a fool that nephew of yours
is."--Mrs. Behrens then read him the letters she had found. "Hang it,"
cried Braesig, "where did the young rascal get that grand way of
expressing himself. Stupid as he is in other matters, he can write much
better than one would expect."--When she came to the bit about the
dragon Braesig laughed heartily, and said: "That's you, Mrs. Behrens,
that's you!"--"I know," she answered sharply, "but the ass in the third
letter is intended for you, so neither of us need laugh at the other.
But now, Braesig, you see that it's quite necessary that I should get
hold of the little wretch, and box his ears well for him."--"You're
quite right, and it's easily managed. Listen. You and I must hide at
the bottom of the garden at eight o'clock this evening; at half past
eight, Louisa must take her place in the ditch, and you'll see that
he'll come like a bear to wild honey; and then we'll spring out upon
him, and take him prisoner before he knows where he is."--"That won't
do at all, Braesig. If I were going to act in that sort of way I
shouldn't require your help. It would be a great misfortune if Louisa
were ever to know anything about this, and I'd rather that neither
Hawermann nor even my pastor should hear of it."--"H'm, h'm!" said
Braesig. "Then .... then .... Stop! I have it now. Mrs. Behrens, you
must make yourself as thin as possible, put on Louisa's clothes, and go
to the _randyvoo_ in her stead. Then, as soon as he is seated by your
side, and is on the point of kissing you, you must seize him by the
scruff of the neck, and hold on till I come."--"Nay, Braesig, that would
never do!"--"Don't you think so, Mrs. Behrens? You understand that if
he doesn't see his sweet-heart in the ditch, you'll never manage to
inveigle him there; and if we don't nab him unexpectedly, we'll
never succeed in catching him, for he's a long-legged, thin-flanked
grey-hound, and if it came to a race, we'd be nowhere with our short
legs and round bodies."--It was quite true; but no! she go to a
_rendezvous_? And Braesig was very stupid, how could she ever get into
Louisa's gown?--But Braesig would not be convinced; he maintained that
it was the only way in which she could get the interview she wanted
with her nephew, and assured her that all she had to do was to put on
Louisa's shawl and Leghorn hat, and then go and sit on the edge of the
ditch. "You must remember to sit down," he continued, "for if you
remain standing he will see at once that you're a foot shorter, and at
least a foot broader than Louisa."--At last--at last Mrs. Behrens
allowed herself to be persuaded, and when she went out at the back-door
about eight o'clock that evening, wearing Louisa's shawl and hat, the
parson who was standing at his study-window thinking over his sermon,
said to himself wonderingly: "What on earth is Regina doing with
Louisa's hat and shawl? And there's Braesig coming out of the arbour. He
must want to speak to me about something--but it's a very odd thing
altogether!"
Mrs. Behrens went down the garden path with Braesig feeling ready for
anything that might befall. She opened the garden-gate and went out
alone, leaving Braesig squatted under the hedge like a great toad, but
no sooner was she by herself than her courage oozed away, and she said:
"Come to the ditch with me, Braesig, you're too far away there, and must
be close at hand to help me when I've caught him."--"All right!" said
Braesig, and he accompanied her to the ditch.
Canal-like ditches such as this are no longer to be found in all the
country-side, for the thorough system of drainage to which the land has
been subjected has done away with their use; but every farmer will
remember them in the old time. They were from fifteen to twenty feet
wide at the top, but tapered away till quite narrow at the bottom, and
were fringed with thorns and other bushwood. They were generally dry
except in spring and autumn, when there was a foot or a foot and half
of water in them, or in summer for a day or two after a thunder-storm.
That was the case now.--"Braesig hide yourself behind that thorn so that
you may come to the rescue at once."--"Very well," said Braesig.--"But,
Mrs. Behrens," he continued after a pause, "you must think of a signal
to call me to your help."--"Yes," she said. "Of course! But what shall
it be? Wait! when I say; '_The Philistines be upon thee_' spring upon
him."--"I understand, Mrs. Behrens!"
"Goodness gracious me!" thought the clergyman's wife. "I feel as if I
were quite a Delilah. Going to a _rendezvous_ at half past eight in the
evening! At my age too! Ah me, in my old age I'm going to do what I
should have been ashamed of when I was a girl."--Then aloud. "Braesig
don't puff so loud anyone could hear you a mile off." Resuming her
soliloquy: "And all for the sake of a boy, a mischievous wretch of a
boy. Good gracious! If my pastor knew what I was about!"--Aloud. "What
are you laughing at, Braesig? I forbid you to laugh, it's very silly of
you."--"I didn't laugh, Mrs. Behrens."--"Yes, you _did_, I heard you
distinctly."--"I only yawned, Mrs. Behrens, it's such frightfully slow
work lying here."--"You oughtn't to yawn at such a time. I'm trembling
all over.--Oh, you little wretch, what misery you have caused me! I
can't tell anyone what you've made me suffer, and must just bear it in
silence. It was God who sent Braesig to my help."--Suddenly Braesig
whispered in great excitement, his voice sounding like the distant cry
of a corn-crake: "Mrs. Behrens, draw yourself out till you're as long
as Lewerenz's child;[15] make yourself as thin as you possibly can, and
put on a pretty air of confusion, for I see him coming over the crest
of the hill. His figure stands out clearly against the sky."--Little
Mrs. Behrens felt as if her heart had stopped beating, and her anger
waxed hotter against the boy who had brought her into such a false
position. She was so much ashamed of herself for being where she was,
that she would most assuredly have run away if Braesig had not laughed
again, but as soon as she heard that laugh, she determined to stay and
show him that he was engaged in a much more serious undertaking than he
seemed to imagine.--
It was quite true that Braesig had laughed this time, for he saw a
second and then a third black figure following the first down the hill.
"Ha, ha, ha!" he chuckled in his hiding-place in the thorn-bush,
"there's Charles Hawermann too! I declare the whole overseeing force of
Puempelhagen is coming down here to see how the peas are growing in
the dusk of evening. It's as good as a play!"--Mrs. Behrens did not see
the others, she only saw her sister's son who was coming rapidly
towards her. He hastened over the bridge, ran along the bank, sprang to
her side, and threw his arms round her neck, exclaiming: "Sweet
angel!"--"Oh you wicked little wretch!" cried his aunt trying to seize
him in the way Braesig had desired her, but instead of that she only
caught hold of the collar of his coat. Then she called out as loudly as
she could: "The Philistines be upon thee!" and immediately Braesig the
Philistine started to his feet.--Confound it! His foot had gone to
sleep!--But never mind! He hopped down the bank as quickly as he
could, taking into consideration that one leg felt as if it had a
hundred-and-eighty pound weight attached to the end of it, but just as
he was close upon his prey he tripped over a low thorn-bush and tumbled
right into the foot and a half of water.--And there he sat as immovably
as if he had gone back to the hydropathic establishment, and were in
the enjoyment of a sitz-bath! Fred stood as if he had been turned to
stone, and felt as though he were suffering from a douche-bath, for his
dear aunt was clutching him tightly and scolding him to her heart's
content: "The dragon has caught you now my boy! Yes, the dragon has
caught you!"--"And here comes the ass," shouted Braesig picking himself
out of the water and running towards him. But Fred had now recovered
from his astonishment. He shook himself free from his aunt, and darting
up the bank would have escaped had he not at the same moment
encountered a new enemy--Frank. In another second Hawermann had joined
them, and Mrs. Behrens had scarcely recovered from the shock of seeing
him, when her pastor came up, and said: "What's the matter, Regina?
What does all this mean?"--The poor little lady's consternation was
indescribable, but Braesig, from whose clothes the water was running in
streams, was too angry to hold his tongue, and exclaimed: "You
confounded rascal! You greyhound!" giving Fred a hearty dig in the ribs
as he spoke. "It's all your fault that I shall have another attack of
gout. But now, I'll tell you what, everyone shall know what a d--d
Jesuit you are. Hawermann, he ....."--"For God's sake," cried Mrs.
Behrens, "don't attend to a single word that Braesig says. Hawermann,
Mr. von Rambow, the whole thing is ended and done with. It's all over
now, and what has still to be done or said can quite well be managed by
my pastor alone; it's a family matter and concerns no one but
ourselves. Isn't that the case, my dear Fred? It's merely a family
matter I assure you, and no one has anything to do with it but we
two. But now, come away, my boy, we'll tell my pastor all about it.
Good-night, Mr. von Rambow. Good-night, Hawermann, Fred will soon
follow you. Come away, Braesig, you must go to bed at once."
And so she managed to disperse the assembly. The two who were left in
ignorance of what had happened, went home separately, shaking their
heads over the affair. Hawermann was indignant with his two young
people, and put out because he was to have no explanation of their
conduct. Frank was mistrustful of everyone; he had recognised Louisa's
hat and shawl in spite of the darkness, and thought that the mystery
must have something to do with her, though how, he was unable to
conjecture.
Fred was much cast down in spirit. The clergyman and his wife went on
in front of him, and the latter told her husband the whole story from
beginning to end, scolding her hopeful nephew roundly the whole time.
The procession moved on towards the parsonage, and as the evil-doer
guessed that a bad half-hour awaited him there, he had serious thoughts
of making his escape while it was possible, but Braesig came as close up
to him as if he had known what he was thinking of, and that only made
him rage and chafe the more inwardly. When Braesig asked Mrs. Behrens
who it was that had come up in the nick of time, and she had answered
that it was Frank, Triddelfitz stood still and shaking his fist in the
direction of Puempelhagen, said fiercely: "I am betrayed, and _she_ will
be sold, sold to that man because of his rank and position!"--"Boy!"
cried Mrs. Behrens, "will you hold your tongue!"--"Hush, Regina," said
her husband, who had now a pretty good idea of what had taken place,
"now please go in and see that Braesig's room is prepared, and get him
sent to bed as quickly as you can. I will remain here and speak to
Fred."
This was done. The parson appealed to Fred's common sense, but his
sense of injury far exceeded that other, and his spirit seethed and
boiled like wine in the process of fermentation. He put aside all the
clergyman's gentle arguments, and declared passionately that his own
aunt had determined to destroy the whole happiness of his life, and
that she cared more for the rich aristocrat than for her sister's son.
Within the house matters were going on in the same unsatisfactory
manner; uncle Braesig refused to go to bed in spite of all Mrs. Behrens'
entreaties. "I can't," he said, "that is to say, I can, but I mustn't
do it; for I must go to Rexow. I had a letter from Mrs. Nuessler to say
that she wanted my help." The same yeast which had caused Fred to
seethe and boil over was working in him, but more quietly, because it
had been a part of his being for a longer time. At last, however, he
was persuaded to go to bed as a favour to Mrs. Behrens, and from fear
of bringing on an attack of gout by remaining in his wet things, but
his thoughts were as full of anxious affection for Mrs. Nuessler, as
Fred's were of love for Louisa when on leaving the parsonage he
exclaimed passionately: "Give her up, does he say! Give her up!--The
devil take that young sprig of the nobility!"