A year before I left Mecklenburg to go and live in Thuringia, I went to
see the old homesteads where I had spent so many happy days when I was
young; I went to Rahnstaedt, and without stopping there, set out for
Guerlitz on a lovely Sunday afternoon in the month of June. I intended
to visit Hawermann, Braesig, and Mrs. Behrens, whom I had known from my
boyhood, and whom I had often visited afterwards in Rahnstaedt. Godfrey,
I had also known in his most methodistical days, and--strangely
enough--we were very good friends, although he knew that I had quite a
different faith from what he had, perhaps he liked me because I was a
very quiet young fellow.
When I got to Guerlitz I went straight to the house that had been built
for the widows of the parish clergymen. I took hold of the handle, but
the door was locked. "Hm!" said I to myself, "it's Sunday afternoon,
and very hot weather; I daresay that they're having a nap." I went to
the window, and getting on tip-toe was about to look in, when a voice
behind me, said: "You won't see anything there, Sir, for no one lives
there now."--"Doesn't Mrs. Behrens live here?"--"She is dead."--"And
Hawermann?" I asked. "He has gone to live with his daughter, Mrs. von
Rambow, at Puempelhagen."--"Is the parson at home?"--"Yes, he's at
home," said old George, the parson's man, for it was he, "yes he's at
home, and so is Mrs. Baldrian, they are at coffee just now."
I went into the parsonage and knocked at the parlour door. "Come in!"
cried a fat voice. I entered, and--well I've seen many a strange thing
in my life, many a thing that has quite taken my breath away with
surprise, but I never was so much astonished, so much taken aback
before--there sat Godfrey with his hair cut short like a reasonable
mortal, and that part of his body one had formerly thought like the
hollow of Mrs. Nuessler's baking trough was now well rounded, and
evidently on the increase; his cheeks which were pale and hollow when I
first knew him were now sleek and rosy, and his full red lips seemed to
say: "We always find our dinner a pleasant thing, and the teeth behind
us have done their duty well." The man looked as if he liked good
eating, but still one could see that he was one who did his duty to the
uttermost. There was nothing untidy about him, everything was as neat
and trim as possible, and in short, one saw in Godfrey a specimen of
hard work followed by quiet rest and good meals. Well, well. There's
very little to be said about Mrs. Lina's personal appearance. She had
evidently taken Mrs. Behrens as an example of what a clergyman's wife
should be. "Hm!" said I to myself, "there must be something fattening
in the air here."
When we had all expressed our pleasure in meeting again, we sat down,
and I began to ask questions. It was from Braesig that I got to know of
the story I have been telling, but Hawermann also told me a little, for
he was always very kind and affectionate to me, and other things I
learnt from different people whom I questioned; I wrote it all down at
the time when it was fresh in my memory, and as this happened in my
youth or strom, I have called the book: "Ut mine Stromtid."
Godfrey gave me a great deal of information, and his wife Lina every
now and then helped him with some little incident he had forgotten;
when I rose to go on to Puempelhagen--for I had also known Frank in the
days of my youth--Godfrey said: "Yes, go; you'll find everyone
assembled there to-day, and we shall soon follow you with our three
girls, the eldest of all, a boy, is at school."
I walked along the path leading from Puempelhagen to Guerlitz church,
thinking of all that I had heard. It was the old old story that has
been told ever since the earth was created: Joy and sorrow, birth and
death.
The first of our friends who died was Bolster, and he did not die a
natural death--I do not mean that he killed himself--no indeed! One day
Ruehrdanz, the weaver, came to Rexow with a loaded gun; he put a string
round Bolster's neck, and led him away to the garden. The new "crown
prince" followed them unnoticed, and as was afterwards said, behaved
very badly, by running about yelping. A shot was fired, and then
Ruehrdanz came back to the house and told his employers that Bolster had
had a Christian death, for he had shot him in the shoulder instead of
through the head, thinking it would be less of a shock to him. When
Mrs. Nuessler had given him a glass of schnaps, the weaver took up the
glass slowly and drank the contents sadly; then he said, that he and
the other Guerlitz labourers had been before the Rahnstaedt court of
justice that morning, and that they were all condemned to a year's
imprisonment, besides which he was to have six months extra, for he was
looked upon as the head or ring-leader of the rebellion. He left the
room, but came back again to say: "Ah, Mrs. Nuessler, don't forget my
old woman. All the mischief comes from our having had no papers."
The next to die was Joseph himself. Ever since he had given up his
farm, he had led a much busier life than before. He spent the whole day
walking about the fields, generally going to the places where no work
was going on, and there he would stand for a long time shaking his head
and saying nothing. One Sunday, between Christmas and new year's day,
when the snow was lying a foot deep over the fields, he went out to
walk round the farm, and while doing so fell into one of the deep
ditches. He came home quite numb with cold. Mrs. Nuessler administered
bucketsful of camomile tea, which he drank obediently, but next morning
he said: "What can't be, can't be, mother. What must be, must be. It
all depends upon circumstances, and no one can do anything in this
case," and soon after that he slept away quietly. He had worked himself
to death, and Mrs. Nuessler thought the following words the most
suitable that could be found for his epitaph: "He died at his post."
Then Moses died. The old man had lived a just and upright life, and he
died as he had lived. He died true to his faith, and when he was dead,
he was honoured as one of the tribe of Judah, for he was one of that
tribe. David went to the funeral with a torn coat and with ashes on his
head, and many Christians followed the old Jew to the grave, and saw
him laid in the tomb he had made ready for himself. I firmly believe
that he is now in Abraham's bosom, even though Christians also go
there. Three people visited his grave the day after he was buried, and
these were Hawermann and the two Mrs. von Rambow--Frida was paying a
visit at Puempelhagen--Hawermann dried the tears from his eyes as he
looked down at the resting place of the old Jew, and the two ladies
each put a garland of fresh flowers on it. When they were walking
thoughtfully through the town meadows to Rahnstaedt, Hawermann said: "He
was a Jew in religion, a Christian in practice."
And now it was Henny's turn--our brave old Henny! Pomuchelskopp had
gone to live in Rostock, taking with him his whole family in the blue
glass coach with the coat of arms on the panel, and a string of wagons
full of furniture. When trade grew better again he gained a nickname
for himself. He was called 'much too cheap,' for he never lost an
opportunity of telling every one who would listen to him, how sad had
been his fate in selling Guerlitz, as he had done, and he always ended
his story by heaving a tempestuous sigh and saying: "Much too cheap;
very much too cheap!" His brave old Henny looked after the house
strictly, and kept up discipline; but the devil seemed to possess all
the Rostock maid servants, they would not submit to the treatment, that
the Guerlitz maids had had to bear. No servant would remain for more
than a week, except the cook, a Paesel, and even she turned restive, and
worthless creature that she was, rebelled after being in the house
three months. Henny was exasperated with such conduct, and seizing the
tongs, knocked her on the head with them. The cook made no answer, for
she fell down senseless on the hearth. A doctor came and talked a great
deal about suffusion, &c., but the end of it was that the poor woman
had to be taken to the hospital. The doctor was an honest man, so he
made the case known to the authorities, and Henny had to undergo trial
for her misdeeds. She could not have been touched if she had used a
stick of the same length and thickness as the tongs she had handled so
courageously! But tongs are not mentioned in Mecklenburg law books, so
Henny was condemned, besides paying costs, and damages to the injured
servant, to six weeks imprisonment. Muchel protested, appealed,
supplicated, but it availed him nothing; Henny had to suffer
imprisonment because of the great courage she had shown. Pomuchelskopp
told everyone he could get to listen to him how unjustly his wife had
been treated; he reviled the judges, and unfortunately for him, these
great personages heard what he had said and gave him four weeks in jail
for his evil speaking. He tried to buy himself off, but in vain; even
senator Bank said: no, they would see how the coward liked his
quarters. So the husband and wife occupied different parts of the same
prison during the Christmas and New Year's holidays of 1852--1853; when
they had been there for a fortnight, the jailer went to his wife, and
said: "What a difference there is between these two people, Sophie; he
walks restlessly up and down his room cursing God, and the whole world,
while she sits stiff and straight in the same place and attitude as
when she first came here." Meanwhile Mally and Sally gave a large
tea-party to their gentlemen and lady friends in honour of their
parents' misfortunes, and Mr. Suessmann who had taken another place as
shopman somewhere in Mill Street, of course out of compassion for his
employer, was one of the guests.
As soon as our two old friends were once more free, Pomuchelskopp went
to the parlour and bewailed his fate to his two daughters, and Henny
made her way straight to the kitchen where she found a charwoman in
command, for while she had been out of the house, a great indignation
meeting had been held in Slepegrell's dancing room, when all the
Rostock maid servants entered into a solemn covenant with each other,
that none of them should take the Pomuchelskopp's place. That was the
reason of the charwoman being there. "What do you get a day?" asked
Henny. "One and four pence," was the answer. Henny snatched up the
tongs, but presently bethought herself of what had happened on the last
occasion. The effort of restraining herself was too great; she was
taken ill upon the spot; in three days she was dead, and in other three
days she was buried. Neither Pomuchelskopp nor his two daughters know
where she lies, and whenever they are asked their invariable answer is:
"Over there,--she is buried over there." Gustavus, who is now a farm
bailiff, and who often goes to town on business, is the only one who
knows the place. He sometimes takes one of the little ones with him,
and showing him the grave, he says: "Look, Chris; that's where our
mother lies."
I have been obliged to relate a great many sad events, and am not
nearly done yet; but why should I not tell some of the pleasant things
I also heard at the parsonage. For many a long year there was much
happiness in the house that had been built for the widows of the
clergymen of Guerlitz. Mrs. Behrens would sit at the window in the
evenings looking at her husband's grave, and ah, how often she longed
to go to him; then, when Dorothy brought in the lamp, she turned away
from the window, and seeing the old furniture, the old pictures, and
even the duster lying in its old place, she would recall to her memory
how she and her pastor used to sit under those pictures and look at the
homely objects she saw around her, and she was glad to live. Hawermann
worked and laboured diligently; no longer for strangers, but for his
children and his children's children, for Louisa had several pretty
little girls. Once he had a pleasant surprise. Fred Triddelfitz came to
see him--of course he was dressed in a blue surtout--accompanied by the
little member of the women's council, and told him that he had a good
estate in Pomerania, and that he was engaged to little Anna. He talked
a great deal to Hawermann that evening about his arrangements, and when
he was gone, Braesig said: "You were right again, Charles--but who
would have thought it? Your grey hound has become a sensible man, but
don't you crow over that as your doing, it was Anna not you who
reformed him," As for Braesig himself, he employed himself in going
about the country and picking up news. Now he was at Rexow, now at
Puempelhagen, and now at Rahnstaedt, but his favourite place of resort
was Hohen-Selchow. He went there nearly every three months, and when he
came home he said: "All's going on well, Charles, he has quite given up
farming, and spends his day in the barn inventing. His inventions are
no good of course; but Bremer says that he couldn't wish for a better
master, and Mrs. von Rambow's as happy and contented as a blessed angel
in Paris. But Charles, Mr. von Rambow's by no means stupid. He has
invented something that I mean to adopt. This is it. Take an old hat,
cut a good sized hole in the front of it and put a small lantern
inside, and then you may ride as safely by night as by day." Braesig was
as good as his word, and really made use of Alick's discovery, the
effect of which was to terrify all the people he happened to meet. But
once when he was at Hohen-Selchow he had an attack of gout that would
have been of little consequence, but which seized both legs and then
mounted into his stomach, because of a chill he got on his journey
home. And that caused his death.
Mrs. Behrens, Mrs. Nuessler, and his old friend Charles Hawermann came
round his bed, and Mrs. Behrens asked: "Dear Braesig, shall I not send
for the young parson."--"No, don't, Mrs. Behrens. You've called me an
old heathen all my life long; perhaps I was wrong in acting as I have,
but oh, how I always hated methodistical twaddle..... It's better to
leave me alone, and I like it better so. Charles, remember that my
sister's child, Lotta, is to have L300, and the rest of my money is to
go to the Rahnstaedt school; for, Charles, Mrs. Behrens has enough to
live on, and so have you, but my heart aches for the poor little
school-children. Mrs. Nuessler has to live, my god-child Mina has to
live, you have to live, Charles, and you all have to live, while I have
to die." Soon after that he became delirious, and his mind went back to
the time of his boyhood; he thought he was herding his father's sheep,
and that an old ram was giving him great trouble, so he called Mrs.
Nuessler to help him, and she seated herself on his bed and supported
him in her arms. He then began to talk of his three sweethearts, and
Mrs. Nuessler, saying over and over again that it was she alone he had
really loved, and Mrs. Nuessler, kissed the words away from his mouth:
"I know that, Braesig; my dear old Zachariah, I know that," she said.
His delirium grew worse, and he spoke of his having been appointed
assessor--of the law of evidence--of young Mr. von Rambow and Lake
Lauban, and of his having thrown the pistol into the water, and of
having lost four pence on a wager. And then a wonderful light came over
his face as he told his dear old love, Mrs. Nuessler, stories about the
twins, especially Mina, and of Charles Hawermann and Louisa, but all
confusedly and mixed up together. He held Mrs. Nuessler's hand tight all
the while. Suddenly he raised himself and said: "Mrs. Nuessler, please
put your hand on my head; I have always loved you. Charles Hawermann,
will you rub my legs, they're so cold." Hawermann did as he was asked,
and Braesig said very slowly with one of his old smiles: "In style I was
always better than you." That was all.
Our dear little Mrs. Behrens was not long in following him.--There are
very few people who are happy here on earth, and who are yet quite
happy to die. She was one of the few, she was perfectly satisfied with
her lot here below, but whenever she thought of the world above, a
picture of old times came into her mind, and the happy sound of old
days rang in her ears, for she always imagined Heaven to be like a
pretty little village church, where the angels sang and her pastor
preached. She is now with him once more, and let us think of her as
putting on his gown and bands for him and singing with him in the
heavenly quire; not "songs for the dying," as of yore, but "songs of
the Resurrection."
As I was thinking over all of these events, I turned the corner of the
path at the arbour where so many of the Puempelhagen family had sat in
their hour of sorrow, and I saw three little girls of from four to
eleven years old playing on the grass. A lady with a kind, gentle, and
happy face was seated in the arbour sewing, she let her work fall into
her lap, and smiling at the little girls threatened them with her
finger, saying: "There can be too much of a good thing." Beside her was
a strong active looking man reading a newspaper. He put the paper down
and shook his head as much as to say that he could not attend to it
just then. A little further off sat an old man with a small maiden of
twelve years old leaning against his knee, he interrupted her childish
chatter to say to the lady: "Let them make as much noise as they like,
Louie, they'll be only too apt to grow steady and wise before their
time."--When I got quite round the corner the old man exclaimed: "Bless
me! Isn't that?"--And Frank and Louisa came forward to welcome me, and
Frank said: "That's right, Fritz, I am glad that you've come to see
us."--I said: "My Louisa," for my wife's name is Louisa, "wishes to be
very kindly remembered to you, Mrs. von Rambow."--And then there was a
great deal of talk amongst us for a little while, but our pleasure did
not last long, for suddenly there was noise and rushing in the garden
as if the wild huntsman and his pack had broken loose, and I saw
running towards us four boys with brown eyes and brown cheeks, grey
trousers and grey jackets. A tiny little lad of six rushed up to Frank,
threw his arms round his knees, and shouted over his shoulder: "I'm
first!"--"Yes," said another, who might perhaps be twelve years old, "I
should think so, for you ran through the meadow; but I say what a mess
you're in! Won't mother scold you!"--The little fellow looked down at
his trousers, and certainly if his mother was satisfied, he might be so
too.--"Won't your parents be here soon?"--"Yes," said the eldest,
"They're just behind us. Our grandmother's coming too, and Mrs. von
Rambow, who arrived at our house yesterday evening."--"What, Frida!"
cried Louisa. "I'm so glad!"--A few minutes later, Rudolph and Mina
came in sight, and they might be said to resemble the noontide of a
beautiful day, when the sunlight is brightening the landscape far and
wide, when the shadows are short, and when men pull off their coats
that they may work better and more easily. Rudolph is now a man of
weight amongst his colleagues, for he has not only given up the old
system of farming, which in many respects was a mistaken one, but makes
money by the change for himself and teaches others to follow his
example, thus benefitting the whole land. Behind them came Mrs. Nuessler
and Frida. Mrs. von Rambow looked round her half sadly when she reached
the arbour, and after the first words of welcome, Louisa said to her
eldest daughter: "Frida, bring your aunt a chair," for she remembered
that Mrs. von Rambow had once said that she disliked sitting on
the bench where she had been so miserable.--Mrs. Nuessler went to
Hawermann and asked: "How are you, brother Charles?"--"Very well, thank
you," shouted Hawermann, for his sister had grown very deaf. "And
you?"--"Very well except for my deafness. You say that must have been
caused by a chill. But, how did I get a chill without knowing it? I'll
tell you, Charles, it comes from Joseph's having talked so much during
the last years of his life, that he must have strained my ears. He
couldn't help it you know, it was his nature to talk."--Parson Godfrey
now arrived with Lina and three children. The children all played
together while their parents talked. Towards evening tables were spread
in the open air, one for the parents alone, and one for the children.
Louisa's eldest daughter managed everything at the children's table,
and grandfather Hawermann looked after the other, and they both acted
on a different plan from that of our old acquaintance Henny. How kind
and gentle they all were that day at Puempelhagen.--While we were all
enjoying ourselves at supper we saw some one coming up the garden path.
It was Fred Triddelfitz accompanied by his little wife. Everybody
jumped up to welcome them, and for a few minutes there was a regular
fire of questions and answers. Suddenly that monster Fred Triddelfitz
caught sight of me, and asked: "How did you get here, Fritz?"--"And how
did you get here?" I asked in my turn.--"Why, Fritz, I hav'n't seen you
for seven cold winters," he said.--"Nor I you, Fred," I replied.--And
so we went on Fritzing and Fredding each other till everyone was
laughing at us.--"Fritz," he asked, "do you still write books?"--"Yes,
Fred, I've got a whole heap of my books now."--"Well then, Fritz,
do me a favour; I entreat of you _not_ to bring me into one of your
books."--"Ah," I said, "I can't gratify you there, Fred, for I've
got you in one already."--"What am I doing in it?" he asked
quickly.--"You're at the '_randyvoo_' in the great ditch, you
know."--"What's that?" asked Louisa, who was sitting opposite
me.--Frank laughed heartily and said: "I'll tell you afterwards."--"No,
no," cried Fred.--"What's the meaning of all this?" asked Anna,
looking first at me, Fritz Reuter, and then at her husband, Fred
Triddelfitz.--I was silent, and he said: "I'll tell you another time."
Old grandfather Hawermann laughed aloud. When we were alone together
after supper, Fred laid his hand on my arm, and asked: "Who told you
about the rendez-vous?"--"Braesig," I answered.--"So I thought," he
said, "well, Braesig was the chief actor in the whole story."--"You're
right there," I replied.
Perhaps I may be asked: Where are Puempelhagen, Guerlitz and Rexow? You
will look for them in the map in vain, and yet they are in Germany;
indeed I hope that they may be found in more than one district of our
fatherland. Puempelhagen is wherever a nobleman lives who thinks no
higher of himself than of his fellowmen, who looks upon the lowest of
his labourers as his brethren, and who works with and for them. Guerlitz
is wherever a clergyman is to be found who preaches what he believes to
be the truth, but who is not self-sufficient enough to expect that his
people should hold the faith exactly as he holds it; who makes no
difference between rich and poor, and who is not contented with
preaching alone, but who works amongst his people, helping and
counselling them whenever it is needful. Rexow is wherever a
middle-class man labours to increase the knowledge and usefulness of
others, as well as his own, and who thinks more of the good of those
amongst whom he lives than of heaping up riches. Wherever these three
places are bound to each other by the love of sweet tender-hearted
women and merry children, the three villages may be found close
together.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 1: _Translator's note_. Muschueken (from monsieur) is the
Mecklenburg name for rusks.]
[Footnote 2: _Translator's note_. One of the Chauffeurs who infested
the Rhineland.]
[Footnote 3: _Translator's note_. A corruption of "injuriarum."]
[Footnote 4: _Translator's note_. Wer niemals einen Rausch gehabt, das
ist kein braver Mann, &c. &c.]
[Footnote 5: _Translator's note_. Bowl is made of wine, water, herbs
and fruit highly iced.]
THE END.
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