On the Sunday morning after Mina's marriage, young Mrs. von Rambow went
through all her housekeeping duties, saw that everything was rightly
done in house and dairy, and entered various items on the debtor and
the creditor sides of her account book. Having done this, she sat
still, trying to master the feeling of undefined anxiety about the
state of Alick's affairs that had been worrying her all morning. But
she had no notion how very far on the road to ruin her husband's bad
management had brought them, for even her fears did not nearly reach
the point of reality. She only guessed that Alick was in great want of
money from his irritability of temper, and from the restlessness which
possessed him, and prevented him from sitting still for long at a time.
She had no idea that this embarrassment might be the last, that the
knife was already at his throat, and that an accident, or the malice of
an enemy might in one moment give him the coup de grace. He had told
her nothing; he had only ordered his carriage, and had gone away three
days ago. Where had he gone? And to whom? These were questions she had
long ceased to ask, for why should she knock at a door behind which she
only found dissimulation and lies. She closed her account book with a
sigh, and said to herself: "What good does it do? No woman's hand is
able to avert ruin from a house." Looking out at the window she saw
Fred Triddelfitz sauntering sleepily across the yard, and letting her
hands fall into her lap, she murmured: "The responsibility of
everything rests on that man's shoulders. It's a blessing that he's
honest, and that he was taught by Hawermann.--Oh Hawermann, Hawermann!"
she cried aloud, her heart full of sad regretful thoughts. Who has not,
at some time in his life, spent an hour such as this, when his thoughts
seem to take shape and stand round him like the ghosts of by-gone days,
each pointing with a spectral finger to what has become the weak place
in his heart? They neither quail nor relent, but stand before him as
immovably as a rock pointing at the aching place and shouting in his
ears: "You brought all this misery upon yourself by your conduct at
such and such a time." But what she had done, she had done from love.
That did not make the ghosts draw back--what does a ghost know of love?
While she sat there a prey to sad thoughts, Daniel Sadenwater came in,
and said that Mr. Pomuchelskopp had called. "Tell him that your master
isn't at home," said Frida. Daniel replied that he had already told him
so, but that Mr. Pomuchelskopp had expressly begged to see Mrs. von
Rambow. "Very well, I'll go and see him in a few minutes," said Frida.
She would not have said that if she had not wanted to escape for the
moment from the torment her thoughts caused her, for Pomuchelskopp was
hateful to her, but still he was a human being, and not a grizzly
phantom.
She would never have sent that message at all if she had known what she
would have to endure in that interview. Pomuchelskopp had for some time
past, and on that morning also, taken council with David and Slus'uhr,
and they had all three at last come to the conclusion, that his best
plan would be to buy the estate from Alick as soon as possible, "for,"
as Pomuchelskopp himself said, "if the estate comes to the hammer I
shall most likely have to pay more for it, or it may slip out of my
hands altogether. These aristocrats stick to one another through thick
and thin, and many of them are very rich men; they'll perhaps pay his
debts beforehand, or if it comes to the hammer they'll buy it back for
him."--"Catch them!" said Slus'uhr. "Ah but," cried Muchel, "the best
plan would be to get hold of the place at once. He's ready for
plucking, I know he is. He'll never get over this scrape, for he only
thinks of tiding over the unpleasantness of the moment. If I were to
offer him enough money to free himself from his most pressing
liabilities and leave a small sum over, he would snatch at it eagerly
although he knows that it would only increase the burden of his debts
in the long run."--"You forget one thing," said the attorney, "his wife
is there too."--"Ah, but she knows nothing about it," answered Muchel.
"And that's just as well for you. If she had known you'd never have got
him so much in your power. Once--when the mystery of the stolen money
was talked about--she looked at me in such a way that I shall never
forget it as long as I live."--"Well," said David, "what of that? She's
a woman--not a woman like Mrs. Pomuchelskopp, who's a horribly clever
woman--she's a noble lady, she knows a great many things, but she knows
nothing, absolutely nothing of this. If he's ready for plucking, she
must be made the same." David succeeded in convincing the others that
if Mrs. von Rambow were told everything, the suddenness of the blow
would paralyze her and make her consent to an immediate sale of the
estate, and it was settled that Pomuchelskopp should begin the attack
that very morning, and that his visit should be followed by that of the
two other plotters. They all knew that Alick was away from home.
When Mrs. von Rambow joined Pomuchelskopp in the drawing room, the
squire of Guerlitz looked as sad and compassionate as if he had been a
parson and had come to condole with her after the death of her mother.
He stretched out both hands to her as though he wanted to press her
hand sympathetically between his. But as she only bowed, he contented
himself with clasping his hands and gazing at her as paternally as a
crocodile that is on the point of bursting into tears. He said that he
had come to speak to her husband as an old friend and true-hearted
neighbour. The matter was pressing, very pressing, and as the squire
was not at home, he had asked to see her. It made him miserable to
think that he had not been asked to help them before they determined on
selling Puempelhagen by auction. Frida started back, exclaiming: "Sell
Puempelhagen?" And now Pomuchelskopp's expression could be compared to
nothing but that of a wretched mother who had accidentally overlain her
child in her sleep: "God help me!" he cried. "What have I done! I
thought you must have known ...."--"I know nothing," said Frida firmly,
though she had turned deadly pale, and as she spoke, she gazed at the
old sinner, as though she wanted to look him through and through:
"I know nothing, but I wish to know all. Why is Puempelhagen to be
sold?"--"Madam," replied Muchel, speaking as though with a great
effort, "the numerous debts ...."--"To whom does my husband owe
money?"--"To a good many people, I believe."--"And you are one of the
many, are you not?" At these words it seemed as if Pomuchelskopp raised
the sluice which for years and years had dammed up all his human
sympathies, that he might the more fully pour them out over
Puempelhagen. Yes, he said, he was one of the creditors; but the money
he had lent, he had lent from friendly motives, and he could do without
it for the present. He had only come that morning to give Mr. von
Rambow the benefit of his advice as to how he could best turn and twist
the matter so as to get out of his difficulties. From what he had
heard, he believed it was Moses who insisted on the sale of the estate,
and he thought that if the Jew's mouth could be shut for a short time,
Puempelhagen might yet be saved. When taking leave, he said with
fervour, and at the same time winking hard as though to hide the tears
that would come into his eyes, that if he had had any notion that Mrs.
von Rambow was ignorant of what was going on, he would rather have torn
out his tongue than have spoken to her about it.
If the matter had not touched her so nearly, she would have seen
Pomuchelskopp's hypocrisy much more clearly, but as it was she had an
instinctive distrust of the man. Her head was confused with the
suddenness of the shock, and she felt as though the house which had so
long sheltered her were shaking with an earthquake, and threatened to
fall at any moment and bury her, her child and any happiness she had
looked forward to in the future, under its ruins. She must go out, out
into the fresh air. She went to the garden, and there she walked up and
down in the sun, till at last she seated herself in the cool arbour and
thought over what she had heard. She felt as if the trees which
overshadowed her, were hers no more, and as if the very flowers which
she had planted with her own hands had also passed away from her care.
She was sitting on the selfsame bench on which her father-in-law had
sat, when he confided his pressing difficulties to Hawermann. Hawermann
had helped him then--where was Hawermann now? The same trees were now
shading her, which she had first seen when Alick showed her his home so
proudly. Where was that pride now? What of the home? To whom did these
trees belong? She thought that she had only been sitting there for a
few minutes, but she had been there for two hours. She heard footsteps
on the path leading to Guerlitz Church, and was rising to go; but before
she had time to move, Slus'uhr and David were standing before her.
Slus'uhr was rather taken aback when he saw himself so unexpectedly in
Mrs. von Rambow's presence. He thought of how he was about to hurt and
pain her. David chuckled like a monkey when an apple has suddenly
fallen into its hands. Slus'uhr went up to Mrs. von Rambow
respectfully, bowed low, and asked whether he could see the squire.
Frida answered, that he was from home. "But we must see him," said
David. Slus'uhr looked over his shoulder at David, as much as to say,
how I wish you'd hold your stupid tongue; but still he repeated: "Yes,
Madam, we must see him."--"Come back on Wednesday then; Mr. von Rambow
returns on Tuesday," and she began to walk away. The attorney stepped
forward as if to prevent her going, and said: "It isn't so much our
business as Mr. von Rambow's that brings us here to-day. Perhaps a
messenger might be sent after him. It's a matter of great importance.
We've heard of a purchaser for Puempelhagen. A very safe man too, but he
insists on having an answer in three days, as to whether Mr. von Rambow
intends to sell by private bargain, or whether he is going to wait and
let it come to the hammer at the time the mortgage is due. This
gentleman is the son of Moses, the Jew whose mortgage must be paid at
midsummer, and who earnestly advises the sale of the estate through me,
his man of business." It is needless to say that this was a lie. The
beautiful young woman stood still looking the two rogues full in the
face. As soon as she had conquered her first terror, her whole soul
rose in arms against her unmerited misfortunes. "Madam," said David,
who had felt uncomfortably awkward when he first met her eye, and who
had therefore been reduced to pull his gold watch-chain for
inspiration, "consider: My father has a mortgage on the estate
amounting to one thousand and fifty pound sterling--or counting the
interest to twelve hundred pounds--, then there's Mr. Pomuffelskopp's
twelve hundred, then the bills owing to various tradesmen in Rahnstaedt,
which come to four hundred and fifty pounds--we have brought the
accounts with us--besides these debts there are bills amounting to
fifteen hundred pounds--or more, for all that I know--given to Israel
in Schwerin. If you were to sell now to a safe man, to sell everything,
including furniture, bedding and household linen, you might have a
surplus of fifteen hundred, or sixteen hundred and fifty, or even
eighteen hundred pounds after paying all the liabilities. And then, you
know, you might rent a house in Rahnstaedt, have nothing to do, and live
like a countess."
Frida made no answer, bowed coldly to the confederates, and went into
the house. Nothing makes a brave strong heart arm itself with cold
dignity so much as discovering the pitiful meanness of its opponents.
The foot that was at first raised to crush the adder, is then drawn
back, and pride, honour, and a good conscience unite in thrusting all
that had roused its indignation and misery out of the heart; when that
is done there is no more inward strife; peace has come instead; but it
is the peace of the grave.
"There she goes looking as haughty as a princess!" said David.--"What a
fool you are!" said Slus'uhr. "I'll never do business with such an
idiot again."--"What's the matter now?" asked David. "Didn't we do the
same when we went to dun that yeoman at Kanin, and didn't he give in
soon?"--"Yes, but he was a peasant! Are you a baby that you don't know
the difference between a noble and a peasant? We wanted to tire her out
and make her ready to fall into our hands at once, and instead of that,
we've only made her more obstinately prejudiced against us than before.
If we had treated him like that, he'd have said 'yes' to everything,
but," he added more to himself than to David, "there are people--and
truly--there are women even, who are only made the more firm and
decided by misfortune."
When they arrived at Guerlitz and told their accomplice how Mrs. von
Rambow had received them, Pomuchelskopp got into a great state of mind:
"Bless me! How _could_ you!" he said to David. "Whoever heard of anyone
coming plump out with a thing like that? You ought to have told her the
truth in such a round about way that she'd have been made wretched and
anxious, instead of telling her everything plainly at once. Hang it!
I'd got the affair into such good train, and now you'll see that she'll
make him as obstinate as herself, and so the estate won't be sold till
the term when Moses' money is due."--"And then of course you'll buy
it," said Slus'uhr.--"No, no, it'll cost too much then, and yet it lies
into my place so nicely!"--The worthy gentleman having made his moan,
now proceeded to hold council with the two others, and they gave him
very good advice as to how he should act so as to make sure of winning
the game.
There was another meeting of council on the Guerlitz estate, and
this time it was in the house of Ruehrdanz, the weaver. That morning a
number of labourers and labourers' wives assembled in Ruehrdanz's
kitchen where they talked neither passionately nor foolhardily, but
thoughtfully and with deliberation, but at the same time with dangerous
determination.--"What do you say, brother?" asked one.--"Nay, what can
be said, but that he must go, he's a monster in human form. Well,
Ruehrdanz, and you?"--"You're right, I quite agree with you. But, lads,
you'll see that they'll bring him back to us. If we could only get
papers from the government forbidding his return ...."--"Bother you and
your stupid papers," cried a tall masculine looking woman who was
sitting near the stove. "When you come home from Rahnstaedt in the
evening with your heads full of brandy, you think you'll get everything
your own way, but very soon your courage melts away like the starch out
of a bit of linen when you put it in the wash tub. What, I've got to
send my little girls through the country side begging for food! I can
tell you this, I've had no bread in the house for the last three days
that hasn't been given the children out of charity."--"Things have
grown a little better lately," remarked old father Brinkmann.--"Yes,"
answered Willgans, "but from fear, not from good will. Let's go up to
the house each armed with a stout cudgel, and teach him the will of God
in this matter, then let's lead him quietly over to the other side of
the Guerlitz boundary, go a good bit along the road with him, and then
tell him to be off."--"What?" cried Mrs. Kapphingst, "do you intend to
let off that demon of a woman, his wife, who nearly beat my daughter to
death because of the chicken that the hawk carried off?"--"And the two
eldest daughters," said a young woman, "who plagued us out of our lives
when we worked at the manor house; those girls looked like angels of
mercy when they were in the parlour talking to their guests, but
outside amongst us they were perfect devils, and yet you'd allow them
to remain here?"--"The whole set must go," said Willgans.--"No,
friends, no," remonstrated old father Brinkmann, "don't hurt the
innocent little children."--"Yes," said Ruehrdanz's old wife, who was
sitting apart from the rest peeling potatoes, "you're quite right,
Brinkmann, and Gustavus must stay too, I saw him taking a quarter of
potatoes to old Mrs. Schult. In measuring out the potato and flax land,
he always gave a little extra, and then Willgans, he gave your eldest
boy one of his old jackets. He can't do all that he would, his father
looks after him too sharply for that. No, don't lift your hands against
Gustavus or the little ones."--"That's just what I say, mother,"
answered Ruehrdanz. "And now, friends," he continued, "I've got
something to say to you. Do everything decently and in order. The
others ar'n't here just now, let us meet again this evening and talk it
over. Mr. Pomuchelskopp won't be at home; John Joseph has had orders to
get ready the glass coach to take them to a ball in the town, so we can
meet quite easily and talk it over."--"Yes," cried the tall masculine
looking woman who was sitting near the stove, "talk, talk! You all
muddle your heads with brandy while we are starving. If you don't free
us from those people, we'll take the matter into our own hands, and do
as other women in the country have done already, a thorn bush and a bed
of nettles ar'n't far off."--She then left the cottage, and the rest of
the conspirators separated immediately afterwards. "Bernard," said Mrs.
Ruehrdanz, "this may turn out an ugly business"--"That's just what I
say, mother; but if we only do everything decently and in order the
Grand Duke can't say anything against it. The only pity is that we have
no papers to show for our actions, still, if he shows his papers,
they'll see from them how the matter stands."
Ruehrdanz was right--I don't mean about the Grand Duke, for I don't
understand such matters--but he was right in saying that Pomuchelskopp
had ordered the glass coach to go to a ball, for towards evening the
squire of Guerlitz might be seen seated in his carriage, dressed in his
blue coat and brass buttons. By his side was his brave old wife in her
yellow-brown silk gown, which reminded one both in colour and its
pointed trimming of one of her own short-bread cakes, except that she
was as dry and withered as a leather strap, and when she walked even on
a level road, her joints rattled as much as if she had hidden a small
bag of hazelnuts under her skirt. Exactly opposite were her two eldest
daughters who were splendidly, very splendidly dressed, but who were
also in a very bad humour because their father had insisted on their
going to this ball, which was to be attended by tradesmen and their
families; they had therefore determined to revenge themselves on their
father by not amusing themselves, and by treating everyone as an
inferior. Meanwhile they vented their wrath upon him by knocking the
heavy hoops in their crinolines against his shins, and that was very
cruel of them, for the wheelwright had made them new hoops that very
morning of strong hazel wands.--Gustavus was seated on the box beside
John Joseph the coachman.
I really cannot dance with my fair readers at another ball, I am too
old for that sort of thing, and besides that Rudolph's marriage only
took place three days before the fraternity ball, and I did my best on
that occasion. It will be sufficient this time to peep into the ball
room now and then and see how everything is going on. And now imagine
me seated on the bench in front of Grammelin's house on that lovely
summer evening, watching the people arrive, and going after a time into
the house to have a glass of punch and thus show myself to be a friend
and a brother.
There were a great many people at Grammelin's that evening. All the
dignitaries in the town were there with their hats and caps and all
their belongings; several landowners with Pomuchelskopp at their head;
several noblemen with their sons--their wives were unfortunately
prevented from coming at the last moment by bad toothache or headache,
and their daughters were from home--a number of tenant farmers and
small landed gentlemen came, but of our friends there were very few to
be seen. There was a party at Joseph Nuessler's to accompany the bride
and bridegroom to church, and Mrs. Behrens, Hawermann and Louisa had
remained at Rexow, while rector Baldrian and Kurz with their wives and
Braesig had returned to Rahnstaedt after dinner in order to go to the
ball. Kurz, however, had to give up all thought of going to it in the
end, for he had grown so cross with Joseph's relations that his beloved
wife found it necessary to send him to bed, which was not only a
blessing for himself, but also for Mr. Suessmann, who could now lead the
dances without fear of interruption. Mr. Suessmann had had a new pair
of trousers made for the occasion, and had deluged his hair with
pomade.--Little Anna went with her parents and Fred Triddelfitz, who
had got himself up like a country gentleman of the first rank.--The
little school-boy, who was in fear and trembling lest Braesig's niece
should not come, seated himself at a rickety old piano and played and
sang mournfully: "My happiness is dying, &c. &c.", and then to comfort
himself: "I joy to see you little flies."--Mr. and Mrs. Baldrian
arrived; then came Braesig with Schulz, the carpenter; and Slus'uhr and
David arrived together. David had put on two more gold rings than
usual; he held the rings in pawn and thought there was no harm in
giving them an airing, and he amused himself with chewing cinnamon
which was always his favourite spice and perfume.--Everyone had now
arrived and dancing might begin, so David Berger struck up the
Marseillaise--or Mamsellyaise as dyer "For my part" called it--and Mr.
Suessmann sang these words aloud to the music: "Allons, enfants de la
partie!"
All went well at first; but there was very little brotherly feeling
shown taking it as a whole. Still, it must be confessed that the young
gentlemen of the town and the young gentlemen from the country joined
in fraternizing with the pretty little daughters of the tradespeople,
but that was nothing new, while the sisters of these same young
gentlemen refused absolutely to dance with the tradesmen's sons.
The first disagreement between the two parties arose from the
conduct of Mally Pomuchelskopp. The journeyman shoemaker and wit of the
Reform-club, who was the son of a respectable tradesman in Rahnstaedt,
asked Mally to dance with him, and she refused, alleging that she was
already engaged. She then sat waiting till Fred Triddelfitz, Mr.
Suessmann, or some other equally eligible partner should come and ask
her to dance the next waltz with him. But as no one came she had to
remain sitting.--The shoemaker saw this and began to laugh and joke
about it, at last saying loud out, that if the young ladies would not
dance with them, their daughters and sisters must not dance with the
young gentlemen, adding that they had not come to the ball only to look
on at the dancing. And now the storm broke on the heads of the innocent
little burgher girls, who had been enjoying themselves so much. Their
brothers and lovers came to them, and said: "You're not to dance with
that apothecary fellow again, Sophie!" and, "You'd better look out,
Dolly, or I'll tell mother!" and, "If you dance with that barrister
again, Stina, I'll never speak to you any more!" This sort of thing was
repeated throughout the room, and so of course it reached the ears of
father Pomuchelskopp, who was not long in discovering the reason of the
new tactics. He became very uneasy, and going to Mally explained to her
what she had done. He said that the shoemaker was a person of great
consequence, and was looked upon as worth any ten ordinary men in the
Reform-club because of his sharp tongue, so she must soothe him down
again. And in spite of all her repugnance, father Pomuchelskopp made
her take his arm and walk down the room to where the shoemaker was
standing. He then said that there must have been some great
misunderstanding, for his daughter would only be too happy to dance
with such a well known member of the Reform-club. And a few minutes
later Mally and the shoemaker were whirling round the room together.
Father Pomuchelskopp had now--so to speak--sacrificed his first-born on
the altar of fraternity, but without much effect, the two parties did
not amalgamate well. Uncle Braesig did his best to bring people
together, he rushed about in his brown coat, here, there and
everywhere, for he was determined that brotherly kindness should
prevail. He introduced Mr. von so and so to Mrs. Thiel, the
cabinet-maker's wife; he forced himself to walk up and down the
dancing-room arm in arm with his greatest enemy in the Reform-club,
Wimmersdorf, the tailor, and in the presence of the whole company he
gave the red-faced wife of John "For my part" a brotherly kiss on the
cheek; but it was all of no use; what influence has one man on a
number. "Mr. Schulz," he said at last, quite worn out with his labours,
"if the supper doesn't bring them nearer each other, I don't know what
to do, for the dancing seems to separate them more and more."
But the supper also failed to arouse a feeling of fraternity in the
company. The gentlemen and ladies sat at one end of the table, and the
tradespeople at the other. Champagne was drunk at the higher end of the
table, and at the other end there was a horrible concoction which
Grammelin had the impudence to call good red wine, and to sell at a
shilling a bottle.--It is true that the shoemaker sat next Mally and
her father, and that Pomuchelskopp took care to keep his glass
continually full; it is true that the dyer, John "For my part" and his
wife placed themselves between two country gentlemen, and that when
they wanted to pay for what they had ordered, John put his hand in his
pocket and drew out a handful of dyer's tickets instead of the paper
money with which he thought he had filled it.--Braesig seated himself
between two pretty little girls, tradesmen's daughters, and treated
them with paternal kindness, feeling all the time that Mrs. Nuessler
would be angry with him for at least a week, for having gone to the
ball instead of remaining with her at Rexow, and that parson Godfrey
would lecture him about worldliness. It was of no use his having come,
he felt that bitterly. Grammelin's sour red wine looked badly beside
the champagne, and the higher and lower classes were even more separate
at supper than in the ball-room.--"Mr. Schulz," said Braesig to his old
friend, who was sitting opposite him, "now's the time to play our last
trump, do you speak to Mr. Suessmann, and I'll tell Mr. Berger."--So Mr.
Schulz asked Mr. Suessmann whether he had the song-books ready.--"Yes,"
was the answer.--"Very well, deal them out, now's the time."--While Mr.
Suessmann distributed the books, Braesig went to David Berger, and asked:
"Do you know that song of Schiller's, Mr. Berger: 'Sister with the
linen kirtle. Brother with the order grand'?"--"Most certainly,"
replied David.--"Strike up then, the sooner the better."--And suddenly:
"Happiness, that spark divine", resounded through the room, but with
every line the voices grew fewer and fewer, so that at last my dear old
uncle Braesig was the only one who still held up his book and sang, the
tears rolling down his cheeks the while; but when he reached the line
in which liars were denounced, he could go on no longer.--"Liars?"--Ah
they were all liars, false to their convictions.--Everyone rose from
table feeling rather uncomfortable, and Braesig crept away into a corner
to hide his vexation. The young people began to dance again, and David
and Slus'uhr retired to an anteroom where they drank champagne and
laughed at uncle Braesig.
After a time Schulz the carpenter came to Braesig, and said: "Do you
know, sir, that Attorney Slus'uhr and David are sitting with some other
men in 'number 3' making game of you, and dragging in all sorts of
political allusions. The attorney said just now that if the French
found it difficult to get a king to rule over them, now that they've
got rid of Louis Philippe, they couldn't do better than choose you, for
you had nothing to do, and so had plenty of time to devote to the
business of governing them."--"Did he really say that?" asked uncle
Braesig rising indignantly. "Yes he did," replied Schulz. "And he is in
'number 3,' here at Grammelin's?"--"Yes."--"Come away with me, Mr.
Schulz."
Braesig was hurt and angry that the fraternity ball from which he had
hoped so much for humanity had come to nothing. He felt like the
patriarch Abraham when he was about to offer his darling son as a
sacrifice. He was going to have slipped away home quietly, when he
beheld a scapegoat on which he might pour forth his wrath, the very one
he would have chosen next to his old enemy Pomuchelskopp. "Come away
with me, Mr. Schulz," he said walking energetically across the room to
the cloak room where he had left his hat and black thorn walking-stick.
He left the hat where it was, and picking up the stick, went to "number
3."
Several men were sitting over their wine in "number 3," laughing at
some new witticism of their friend Mr. Slus'uhr. All at once there was
dead silence in the room, for another man had joined them whose face
scared away their merriment. Braesig looked with strange significance
now at his black-thorn stick, and now at the attorney, and the men
guessing what was likely to happen, drew their chairs back from the
table rather hastily. "Which rascal was it who wanted to make me king
of France?" cried Braesig, knocking some of the plaster off the wall,
from the vehement way in which he flourished his stick: "I _won't_ be
king of France!"--whack!--and the stick came down on the attorney's
shoulders, who shrieked out: "Oh!"--"I _won't_ be king of France!" and
again the stick did its duty. Braesig and his stick repeated the
assurance again and again that he would not be king of France, until
candles, lamps and bottles lost their lives in this battle about the
French throne, and David crept under the table to avoid the storm of
blows. The attorney shouted for help; but no one stood by him, and only
when the onslaught was over did David venture to put his head out from
under the table and ask meekly: "Pardon me, Mr. Braesig, but pray tell
me is this part of the ceremony of brotherhood?"--"Out! out!" cried Mr.
Schulz, dragging David from under the table. "Gentlemen!" exclaimed
Slus'uhr, "I call you all to bear witness as to how I have just been
treated."--"I didn't notice anything," said one. "And I wasn't
looking," said another. "I was looking out of the window," said the
third, although it was pitch dark. "Mr. Schulz," said Braesig, "you're
my witness, and you'll remember how thoroughly I've thrashed Mr.
Attorney Slus'uhr." He then left the room, got his hat and went home.
The blows Slus'uhr got in "number 3," were distinctly heard in the
dancing room, and did not tend to make matters better. The two noblemen
and their sons had left long before, and the few town dignitaries who
still remained now slipped away as quietly as possible; little Anna
listened unmoved to Fred Triddelfitz's entreaties that she would dance
once more with him, and hastened to wrap herself up in her shawl and go
with her parents. Pomuchelskopp also prepared to go as fast as he
could, for he had an undefined but strong impression that, otherwise,
something unpleasant might happen to him, he therefore entreated his
wife and daughters to come away, saying it was high time to go home.
His family party was difficult to collect. Gustavus was dancing quite
happily with Wimmersdorf's youngest daughter. Sally was listening
attentively to what Mr. Suessmann was telling her, he said that he had
only taken the low place he held in Kurz's shop for fun and added that
as he could not remain where he was any longer, he was considering
whether it would be better for him to accept one of the situations
offered him in Hamburg, Luebeck and Stettin, or to set up for himself in
Rostock where he had a rich old uncle, who advised him in every letter
he wrote to set up in business for himself and marry, so that he, the
old uncle, might wind up his affairs and go and live with him. Mally
was sitting in a corner of the sofa crying over her ill-luck in having
had to dance with a shoemaker. Henny looked like a stake that had been
driven into its place, for in spite of all that had happened that
evening, she had never moved once since she had seated herself on
entering the room; the uncomfortable little episode with the journeyman
shoemaker even, had failed to affect her serenity, and now when Muchel
came and told her they must go, she answered affectionately: "Very
well. Poeking; but won't you invite your friend the shoemaker to come
with us. You might also bring one of your titled acquaintances if you
like, and then, if you add Ruehrdanz the weaver, Willgans and some of
your other brethren of the Reform club the party will be complete."
So our poor friend Pomuchelskopp had to drive home with this conjugal
shaft rankling in his large brotherly heart.