An Old Story of My Farming Days Volume Ii Part 4

But the boy was really very happy. His first act every morning was to go to the stable which his treasure shared with Mr. von Rainbow's two riding horses, and Hawermann's old hack. He fed his mare himself; he even stole the oats from under the noses of the other horses and gave them to her, indeed--little as he liked work in general--he rubbed her down with his own hands, for which Christian Dasel, who had charge of the riding horses, did not thank him.--On Sunday afternoon when there was nothing else to be done, he went into the stable, shut the door, and seating himself on the corn-bin stroked her gently, and looked on well pleased while his beloved mare eat her oats and chopped straw.

When she could eat no more, he rose, pa.s.sed his hand caressingly down her back and called her his "good old woman."--He never failed to visit her three times a day, and no one could blame him for it, for his future wealth depended upon the success of his speculation.

But there is no joy without a flaw.--In the first place he did not like his sorrel mare to be in the next stall to Hawermann's old horse, she was too good to be in such company; and secondly, he had a never ending battle with Christian Dasel about the food and cleaning of his favourite. "Mr. Triddelfitz," Christian said on one occasion when they were disputing about it. "I'll tell you something. I give each of the horses under my charge an equal quant.i.ty of food, and I rub them all down with equal care, but I've noticed that you always take away the oats intended for the bailiff's old horse and give them to your own.

Don't take it ill of me, Mr. Triddelfitz, if I say that the one animal is every bit as good as the other, and that both must live. But what's the meaning of this," he asked, going, up to the rack. "Why, it's some of the calves' hay! How did it come here? I should get into no end of a sc.r.a.pe if the bailiff should happen to see it."--"I know nothing about it," said Fred, and it was quite true that he did not.--"I don't care,"

said Christian, "but I only give you fair warning that I'll break the legs of anyone I find bringing it. I won't have any such goings on here."

Christian Dasel set himself to watch for the person who smuggled the calves' hay into the stables, and before long he made a discovery. Who was it who broke the stable laws for the sake of Fred's sorrel-mare; who was it who was hard-hearted enough to deprive the innocent little calves of their provender for the sake of Fred's sorrel-mare; who was it who was so lost to every good feeling as to put Fred's sorrel-mare in danger of having her legs broken by Christian for having the hay at all? Who was it, I say? I shall have to tell who it was, for no one would guess. It was Mary Moller who brought Fred's "old woman" a handful of the sweet hay every time she left the young calves and went past the stable where the riding-horses were kept. Perhaps some one may exclaim: Stop, you're getting on too fast, how did there happen to be young calves so late in summer? To which I reply: My dear friend, surely I have a right to skip a few months if I like, and the fact is that I'm telling you what happened in the winter of 1844, about New-year's-time. And if I am asked: But how did Mary Moller come to do such a thing? I will answer, that that is as stupid a question as the one about the young calves. Havn't I as good a right to tell you about nice people who can forgive and forget, as about malicious wretches who go on nagging to all eternity? Mary Moller was a woman who was generous enough to be able to forgive and forget, and as she could no longer show her love for Fred in the old way, she contented herself with showing it to his horse by giving it the calves' hay. It was a touching incident, and Fred was much moved when he discovered, from finding his old sweetheart and Christian Dasel quarrelling at the stable-door, that it was she who had shown him this kindness in secret. He therefore made friends with her again and they once more entered into the old sausage and ham alliance.

Winter had come as I said before, and nothing of particular interest had happened in the neighbourhood, except that Pomuchelskopp had attended the parliament which met late in autumn, and had caused great excitement in his quiet family circle by his determination to do so.

Henny rushed about the house, knocking everything about that there was no fear of breaking by such rough usage, and banging the doors; she did not even hesitate to say that her husband was mad. Mally and Sally took their father's part against her in secret, for they had heard that Mr.

von Rambow, who was to command the guard round the parliament-house, drew a large part of his income from the grand ball given after the meeting of parliament was over, and to which he could give a ticket of admittance for the sum of eight and four pence. They had been to a Whitsun market ball at Rostock, and also to an agricultural meeting, but a parliament ball! That must be far more delightful than anything they had as yet experienced. They roused their father to summon up all his courage, and act in opposition to the will of his beloved wife. "My chick," he said, "I can't help it I promised Mr. von Rambow that I would go. He started yesterday and expects me to follow him."--"Oh, indeed!" said Henny. "Then I suppose that his grand lady wife expects me too?"--"She isn't going, my chuck. If I neglect this opportunity of showing myself, and of proving that I am a man in whom the n.o.bility may trust, how can I expect them to raise me to their rank? I am going away in a black coat to-day, and I shall perhaps come back in a red one."--"You're sure to have it all your own way," answered his wife sarcastically as she left the room.--"I've as good a chance as any of the other n.o.blemen," he muttered after her as she retreated.--"Good gracious, father," cried Sally running away, "I know ...." A few minutes afterwards she came back with a scarlet petticoat which she threw over her father's shoulders like a herald's mantle, and then she made him look at himself in the gla.s.s. Mr. Pomuchelskopp was turning, twisting and examining the effect of his decoration when his wife came back, and seeing what he was about exclaimed: "If you _will_ make a fool of yourself, do it in the parliament house and not in my drawing-room."

Pomuchelskopp took this for a consent to his going to the parliament, and so he went. His discomforts began from the moment of his arrival at Malchin, for after he had taken a room at Voitel's Inn, he discovered that the n.o.bility all patronised the Bull, and that no one went to Voitel's except the mayors of towns and middle-cla.s.s landowners with whom he did not care to a.s.sociate. He hung about the coffee-room for some time and got in everybody's way, for he did not know what to do with himself. At last he summoned courage to ask whether anyone had seen Mr. von Rambow of Pumpelhagen, as all his hopes rested on Alick.

n.o.body had seen him, but at last some one remembered that Mr. von Rambow had driven out to Brulow grange that afternoon with Mr. von Brulow to see a thoroughbred horse. It was a great disappointment to Mr. Pomuchelskopp for Alick was his mainstay, and was to introduce him to his n.o.ble friends, and now he had gone away to inspect a horse. He at last turned in his despair to a stout dignified looking man with a smiling face, but unfortunately for him he did not see the mischievous sparkle in the stranger's eyes which showed how thoroughly he enjoyed a joke, for if he had seen it he would have refrained from appealing to him: "Pardon me," he said, "I am Squire Pomuchelskopp of Gurlitz and have come here to attend parliament for the first time. You look so good-natured that I venture to ask you what I ought to do now."--"Ah,"

said the gentleman, taking a pinch of snuff and looking at him enquiringly. "You want to know what you have to do? You hav'n't anything particular to do; of course you've paid all the necessary visits of ceremony?"--"No," answered Pomuchelskopp.--"Then you must go and call on the government commissioner, the Chief of the constabulary, and High Sheriff at once. Good-evening, Langfeldt, where are you going?" he exclaimed, breaking off in his sentence and addressing a man who was leaving the inn with a lantern in his hand.--"To make those tiresome calls," and half turning round he added: "Shall I find you here when I come back, Bruckner? I shan't be long."--"Well, make as much haste as you can," said the good-natured looking man, and addressing Pomuchelskopp again he went on: "Then you hav'n't paid those visits yet?"--"No," was the answer.--"I strongly advise you to get them over as soon as you can. The gentleman you saw with the lantern is going to make the same calls as you, so that all you have to do is follow him. Yes, that's a capital plan! But you must make haste."--Pomuchelskopp s.n.a.t.c.hed his hat from the peg, hastened out of doors, and ran down the streets of Malchin in pursuit of the lantern as fast as his round-about figure and shortness of breath would allow him.--The good-natured looking man took a pinch of snuff smilingly, seated himself at one of the tables and said to himself with a chuckle of enjoyment: "I'd give a good deal to see Langfeldt now!"

And it would have been well worth the trouble! Langfeldt, who was mayor of Gustrow, having arrived at the house of the government commissioner from Shwerin, entered the hall, and, giving his lantern into the charge of a footman, was shown into an audience-chamber. Scarcely was this done when some one came puffing and blowing up the steps, and Pomuchelskopp made his appearance. He made a low bow to the footman and said: "Can you tell me, Sir, where I can ad the gentleman who has just come to call?"--The man opened a door and Pomuchelskopp entered the room, and made a series of deferential bows to Langfeldt, whom he mistook for the government commissioner; mistake for which he might the more readily be pardoned, that the worshipful mayor of the border town of Gustrow was in the habit of holding his head so high, that it looked as if it would go through the ceiling, and that was quite what might be expected of a Mecklenburg government commissioner. He however met Pomuchelskopp right by showing him the real man, and then, as his own business was finished, he went way taking his lantern with him.

Pomuchelskopp, in deadly fear of losing sight of him, made a bow to the commissioner and hurried after Langfeldt and his lantern. The same thing took place at the house of the Chief of the constabulary forces.

The mayor had just begun to make a polite speech when Pomuchelskopp panted into the room after him.--"What brings that fellow here, I wonder," he asked himself, and at once taking leave hoped to make good his escape; but Pomuchelskopp was wary and the lantern was his only guide, so off he steered again in its wake.--They met once more at the house of the High Sheriff of the Wendish district and Langfeldt lost his temper at the intrusion. As he knew the High Sheriff well, indeed they were members of the same select committee, he was determined to come to the bottom of the affair, and enquired sternly: "Sir, may I ask why you are pursuing me?"--"I--I," stammered Pomuchelskopp, "I have as good a right as you to make calls."--"Then make them by yourself,"

cried the mayor.--The High Sheriff tried to smooth over matters, and Pomuchelskopp began to put on a look of clownish stupidity, but no sooner did the mayor get out of doors than he again started in pursuit.--Langfeldt became still more angry and turning round in the street, said: "Sir, why are you running after me?"--And Pomuchelskopp had now lost the shyness which the High Sheriff's presence had made him feel, and knew that it was only a mayor he had to deal with, so he answered loftily: "Sir, I am every bit as much the Grand Duke's pheasant as you are!"--He meant to have said "va.s.sal," but used the word pheasant by mistake.[3]--However angry a man may be he is certain to be amused by a ludicrous blunder such as Pomuchelskopp had made, and as the mayor happened to be a good tempered fellow in the main, he burst out laughing, and said: "All right then. Come away. I see what sort of man you are."--"And," cried Pomuchelskopp furiously, for he bitterly resented being laughed at, "let me tell you, I've got every bit as good a right to go to these places as you have!" Having said that he set off once more in pursuit of the lantern. But he might have spared himself the trouble, for Langfeldt had finished paying his visits, and was now on his way back to his inn. Arrived there, he took his key off the nail and went to get some money to pay his stakes at ombre. On looking round he found that Pomuchelskopp had followed him into the room.--The mayor put his lantern on the table, and as the affair amused him, he said laughingly: "Pray tell me what you want?"--"I tell you that I've every bit as much right to pay visits as you have," said Pomuchelskopp, who was boiling over with rage at finding himself made a laughing-stock.--"But whom do you want to see here?"--"What's that to you?" said Pomuchelskopp, "the gentleman I have come to visit will soon be in," and he seated himself on a chair with a flop.--"This is as good as a play!" said the mayor, and going to the door he called out: "Sophia, bring candles." When the servant brought the candles he asked: "Did you ever see a pheasant, Sophia?--Look there," pointing to Pomuchelskopp, "that's a pheasant, one of the Grand Duke's pheasants!"--Sophia ran away in fits of laughter. A few minutes afterwards the landlord came in to have a look at the pheasant, and he was soon followed by his children, who showed their amus.e.m.e.nt so openly that Pomuchelskopp was not long in finding out whom he was visiting. He went away in a rage and the mayor followed him lantern in hand.

The good-natured looking gentleman said to his friend smilingly as he entered the coffee-room at Voitel's: "Well, Langfeldt, have you finished your calls?" "To be sure!" exclaimed the mayor, "I understand it all now, I wonder that I didn't guess at once that you had sent that idiot after me."--Then he told the whole story, and as even members of parliament like a little fun, Pomuchelskopp was known ever after by the nick-name of the "pheasant," and Alick, whose footsteps he was continually d.o.g.g.i.ng, was called the "game-keeper," while Mally and Sally who came to the ball in splendid attire were talked of as the "chickens." On one occasion when Pomuchelskopp had to record his vote in favour of a motion, he wrote "yeaws" instead of "yes," so a wit, who saw what he had done, proposed that he should be called the "parliamentary-donkey," but n.o.body was inclined to adopt the new name, and the old one of "pheasant" carried the day.

Pomuchelskopp cannot be said to have had much enjoyment during the time he attended the sitting of parliament, for even the n.o.bles to whom he paid court, and with whom he voted, would have nothing to do with him for fear of making themselves ridiculous, and when he was at home again his wife made him even more uncomfortable by her compa.s.sionate "Poking." He was ill at ease, and yet neither Mally nor Sally came to his rescue, for they had had no dancing on the evening of the parliamentary ball, but had been left sitting as motionless as if they had been hatching eggs. The womenkind all united in stabbing the poor quiet man and law-giver with their sharp words as he sat cowering in his sofa-corner, till the sight of his misery would have softened a heart of stone.--"Well, Poking, were you much thought of at the parliament?"--And: "Will they soon make you a n.o.bleman, father?"--And: "What do people do, Poking, when they are up at the parliament-house?"--"How can I tell?" he said. "They're always fighting."--"What was settled about the nunneries, father?"--"I can't tell. You'll know soon enough from the Rostock newspaper."--Then he rose and went to the barn, where he got rid of some of his ill-temper by abusing the farm-servants.

CHAPTER IX.

The new year 1844 had come and winter was gone. Spring was waiting at the door till the Lord of the house gave him permission to enter, and re-clothe the earth with her garment of leaves, gra.s.s and flowers. When the ice and snow melted all hearts at Pumpelhagen grew lighter as though awakened to new life by the sunshine. Even old Hawermann was happier as he worked away in the fields, and while he sowed the corn-seed in the dark soil, G.o.d sowed the seed of hope in his sad heart. As Mr. and Mrs. von Rambow had gone to visit some of their relations he was able to get on quicker with the work of the farm, and also to see more of his daughter than during the winter. He had seen and spoken to her that morning at church, and he was now spending the Sunday afternoon quietly in his sitting-room thinking over the past. No one interrupted him for a long time, as Fred was in the stable with his mare, and that was a great comfort to the old man, for he could now find his pupil at a moment's notice if he wanted him, which was not always the case before.

Brasig came in: "How-d'ye-do, Charles," he said.--"What?" cried Hawermann, starting up, "I thought you were laid up with gout, and was just meditating paying you a visit, but the difficulty was that Mr.

von Rambow is from home, and Triddelfitz isn't to be trusted just now."--"Why, what's the matter with him?"--"Oh, his old mare is going to foal very soon."--"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed Brasig. "The thoroughbred foal that he's going to sell to the squire."--"Yes. But tell me, hav'n't you had another attack of gout?"--"Well, Charles, it's very difficult to tell whether one has had the real thing or not. But it comes to much the same thing in the long run, for one's suff'ring is quite as severe in the one case as in the other. The only great difference is in the _cause_. You see _real_ gout is brought on by good eating and drinking, and what I had wasn't quite the right kind, for it was caused by wearing wretched thin-soled patent leather boots."--"What on earth makes you wear such things then?"--"I had them when I was in the Count's service, and I can't throw them away. But what I wanted to say was this: have you seen the parson today?"--"Yes."--"Well, how is he?"--"He looks ill, and is very weak; when he got into the pulpit the perspiration stood in great beads on his forehead from the exertion, and he had to rest quietly on the sofa for some time after he went home."--"Hm! Hm!" sighed Brasig, shaking his head. "I'm sorry to hear that, Charles, but we must remember that he's an old man now."--"Yes, that's true," said Hawermann thoughtfully.--"How's your little girl?"

asked Brasig.--"She's very well, thank you, Zachariah. She was here last week, but I had no time to speak to her, as I had to go and see to the sowing of the corn. Mrs. von Rambow saw her though, and called her into the house where she kept her till the evening."--"Charles," said Brasig, and getting up from his chair he walked up und down the room, biting the mouth-piece of his pipe so hard in his excitement that the k.n.o.b broke short off, "believe me, your squire's wife is a capital product of humanity."--Hawermann also rose and paced the room. Every time the old friends pa.s.sed each other in their walk they gave their pipes a vehement puff, and Brasig said: "Well, Charles, am I not right?" and Hawermann answered: "Quite right, Zachariah."--Who knows how long they would have gone on repeating this question and answer, if a carriage had not driven up to the door, and Kurz and the rector made their appearance.

"How-d'ye-do! How-d'ye-do!" cried Kurz as he entered the parlour. "Oh, I see, you're here too, Mr. Brasig. How are you, old friend? I've come to speak to you about the clover-seed, Hawermann."--"Good-day!" said Baldrian to Brasig, drawling out the word "day" till one would have thought he wanted that day to last to all eternity, "how are you my worthy friend?"--"Pretty bobbish," replied Brasig.--"Hawermann,"

interrupted Kurz, "isn't it splendid seed?"--"Well, Kurz," said Hawermann, "I've seen worse seed and I've seen better. I put a little of it on a hot shovel, and as you know, if it's good seed it ought to jump off the shovel with a skip like a flea, but a good many of the grains never moved at all."--"You don't look quite so blooming, my dear Sir," continued the rector, "as on that memorable occasion when we met round the punch-bowl to celebrate the betrothals at Rexow."--"There's a good reason for that," said Hawermann, laying his hand affectionately on Brasig's shoulder, "my dear old friend has been suffering from gout."--"I see," laughed the rector, trying to be witty,

"'Vinum, der Vater, Und c[oe]na, die Mutter, Und Venus, die Hebamm, Die machen podagram.'"[4]

"The seed is splendid," cried Kurz again, "you won't see finer between Grimmen and Greifswald."--"Take care, Kurz!" said Hawermann, "don't crow too loud, remember the proverb!"--"Listen!" Brasig exclaimed, at the same moment addressing the rector. "Don't talk French to me! I can't understand you. But what do you mean by talking of Fenus? What have I and my gout to do with Fenus?"--"My honoured friend," said the rector with a deep bow, "permit me to inform you that Venus was the name given in ancient times to the G.o.ddess of love."--"I don't care about that," answered Brasig, "she may have been anything you like, but now-a-days every stupid shepherd's dog is called Venus."--"No, Hawermann," exclaimed Kurz eagerly, "I a.s.sure you that when clover has the real purply red colour it ....."--"Yes, Kurz," was the answer, "but yours wasn't like that."--"My good friend," said the rector to Brasig, "Venus was a G.o.ddess, as I told you before, and how a shepherd's dog ...."--"But," interrupted Brasig, "you make a mistake in saying she was a G.o.ddess, for a Fenus was a kind of bird. Now, Charles, us'n't we to hear of a bird called the Fenus when we were children?"--"Ah, I see what you mean now," said the rector, who had received a new light on the subject. "You're thinking of the Arabian bird, the Ph[oe]nix, which builds its nest of costly spices ..."--"Humbug!" interposed Kurz. "How is it possible for any bird to build a nest with cloves, pepper, c.u.mmin and nutmegs."--"My dear brother-in-law, are you not aware that it is an old saga?"--"Then," said Brasig, "the saga tells what isn't true, and besides that, you don't p.r.o.nounce the word rightly. It isn't Ph[oe]nix but Ponix, and they arn't birds at all, but small horses that come from Sweden and Ireland, and not from Arabia, as you say. The Countess always used to drive two of these ponixes in her carriage."--The rector was going to put his friend right, but Kurz stopped him: "No, brother-in-law," he said, "just let it alone. We're all willing to admit that you're much better up in learned subjects than Brasig."--"Let him say what he will," said Brasig, standing before the rector, and looking quite ready to fight out the point.--"No, no,"

cried Kurz, "we didn't come here to quarrel about Venuses or clover-seed, but to have a good game at Boston."--"That's much better,"

said Hawermann, beginning to prepare the table.--"Stop, Charles," said Brasig, "that isn't proper work for you to do; the apprentice ought to do it for you."--He then put his head out at the window and shouted "Triddelfitz" across the court. Fred came running to see why he was wanted. "We're going to play at Boston, Triddelfitz, so please put the table in order for us, and get a dish of some kind for the pool, then you can fill our pipes and make a handful of matches."--As soon as Fred had done this they sat down to play, but could not begin at once, as they had first to determine what the stakes were to be. Kurz wanted to do things grandly when he was about it, and proposed penny points, but he was always of a reckless disposition, and the others agreed with Brasig that the stake was too high, as they were not playing for the pleasured of winning other people's money. At last Hawermann got them to fix on a smaller sum, and to begin.--"Diamond begins," said the rector.--"Kurz deals," said Brasig. They might have begun now, but the rector laid his hand upon the cards, and said as he looked round upon the circle: "What a strange thing it is! We are all sensible men, and yet we are playing at a game, which, if old tales are true, was invented for the amus.e.m.e.nt of a mad king. King Charles of France ....."--"No, no, good people," said Kurz, pulling the cards from under the rector's hand, "if we're going to play let us play, and if we're going to talk let us talk."--"Fire away!" said Brasig, and Kurz began to deal, but in his haste, he misdealt. "Try again!" This time it was all right, and they could begin.--"I pa.s.s," said Hawermann.

It was now the rector's turn, and they had all to wait till he had arranged his cards, for he had a superst.i.tious fancy for picking up his cards singly, thinking it would bring him better luck, and as he was very conscientious in all his actions he was careful to arrange them in regular order, placing the sevens and fives in such a way that he could see the centre mark on each card, and so distinguish between them and the sixes and fours.--Kurz meanwhile laid his cards on the table, folded his hands and sighed.--"I pa.s.s," said the rector.--"I knew that," said Kurz, who was quite aware that it would be very odd play if his brother-in-law were to declare anything, but still he was always frightened, lest Baldrian should return the lead when he himself had declared anything, and when in consequence he had nothing more, or else should not lead up to him when he ought.--"Pa.s.s," said Brasig whose turn it now was.--"Boston grandissimo," said Kurz.--"Who can follow?"--"Pa.s.s," said Hawermann.--"Dear brother-in-law," said the rector, "I--I--one trick, two tricks--this'll be the third. I follow."--"Oh," said Kurz, "but remember, we're not going to pay together, we're each to pay for ourselves."--"Then, Charles," said Brasig, "if that's the way _of_ it we'll have to give them a double beating."--"No talking," said Kurz.--"Certainly not," answered Hawermann, laying the ten of hearts on the table; "'Archduke Michael fell on the land.'"--"C[oe]ur, Mr. Brasig," said the rector throwing down the knave of hearts.--"'Hug me (Herze mich), and kiss me, but don't crumple my collar,'" said Brasig playing the queen.--"The lady must have a husband," said Kurz putting down the king and taking the trick. He then played a small club; "clubs."--"Quick, snap it up," cried Brasig to Hawermann.--"Hush!" said Kurz, "no talking allowed."--"Of course not," said Hawermann playing a small club.--"Well done our side," said the rector playing the nine.--"I've conquered with a club and a lady," said Brasig taking the trick with the queen.--"What the mischief!" cried Kurz. "He has no more clubs. I wonder what he has!"--"Keep a bright look out, Charles, we're going to begin," cried Brasig; "Sir," he went on turning to Kurz, "this is Whist. The ace of spades leads the way," and he threw down the ace. The king followed: "Long live the king!" and then the queen: "Give place to the ladies!"--"Hang it!" cried Kurz laying his cards on the table and staring at the rector; "what _can_ he have? He has no spades either!"--"Dear brother-in-law," said the rector, "I'll do my part afterwards."--"And then it'll be too late," said Kurz taking up his cards again with as deep a sigh as if the rector had been ill-treating him and he was determined to bear it with the resignation of a Christian--"Charles," asked Brasig, "how many tricks have we altogether?"--"Four," answered Hawermann.--"Hush," said Kurz. "That's not the game. No talking allowed."--"I wasn't giving any hints," said Brasig. "I was only asking a question. Now, Charles, do your best. I can make _one_ more trick, and so if you make another we'll do."--"_I_ shall make one," said Kurz positively.--"And so shall I," said the rector.--After a couple of rounds, Kurz laid his hand over his tricks and said: "I've got mine now."--Diamonds were led. Baldrian recklessly played his queen, and Brasig threw down the king, exclaiming: "Where are you going to, my pretty maid?" so the poor old rector was out-done, and he muttered confusedly: "I don't understand how that happened."--"Because you don't know the rules of Whist," cried Kurz.--"Charles," said Brasig, "if you had only been paying proper attention to the game you might have got another of their good cards."--"Might I? Well, you made a mistake too, you ought to have returned my lead that time I led hearts."--"Now, Charles, how could I when I had none. I had nothing but the king."--"Well, brother-in-law,"

exclaimed Kurz, "you threw away the game. Why did you play the nine of trumps when you had the king. If you hadn't done that the game would have been ours."--"Faugh!" said Brasig with great contempt, "you boy, you savage! How can you say that, when you remember what a strong hand I had in spades, to say nothing of my other cards. What do you mean by it?"--"Sir, do you think that when I agreed to play at Boston I should be afraid of your stupid grumbling?" said the rector.--"Don't let's talk about it any more," said Hawermann beginning a new deal. "It's always unpleasant to play a game over again."

They began to play once more with the firm determination to get the better of their adversaries.--The rector won as was right and proper, for, as is well known, the one who loses the first game is sure to win the second.--Kurz looked gloomy for a time, but afterwards brightened up: "Ten grandissimo," he said. Everybody was astonished, and so was he. He looked at his cards again, and repeated: "Ten grandissimo," laid the cards on the table and began to walk up and down the room: "That's the way they play in Venice and in other great towns," he said in conclusion.

Fred Triddelfitz entered the parlour at the moment when Kurz was triumphant and the others hardly knew what to do next. He looked pale and frightened: "Mr. Hawermann," he said, "do please come with me."--"What's the matter?" asked Hawermann starting up, but Kurz forced him back into his chair, saying: "You mustn't go till you've finished the game. The same thing happened to me once before, at the time of the great fire, I had just laid a grandissimo on the table when everyone ran away."--"Confound it," cried Hawermann freeing himself from Kurz, "can't you tell me what it is. Is there a fire?"--"No," stammered Fred, "it's--it's--it's only something that has happened to me."--"What has happened to you?" asked Brasig sharply across the table.--"My mare has got a foal," said Fred.--"Is that all?" said Brasig, "she has often had one before and I don't see what's to frighten you in that. Such an event is always a subject of rejoicing."--"I know," said Fred, "but--but--it looks so very odd. You must come, Mr. Hawermann."--"Is the foal dead?" asked Hawermann.--"No," answered Fred. "It's quite well, it only looks so odd ..... Christian Dasel says it's a young camel."--"Bless me!" cried Hawermann. "We'll put off the game till another time. Will you all come with me?"--And in spite of Kurz's expostulations they all followed Fred to the stable.--"I never saw a foal like it," said Fred while they were on their way there, "its ears are so long," and he showed them his arm from his elbow upwards.

When they came to the stable they found Christian Dasel in the stall, where the sorrel-mare was making much of her foal, which was trying to skip about merrily though rather staggeringly. He turned to Brasig and said with a shake of his head: "Please, Sir, what in all the world is it?"--Brasig looked at Hawermann and said emphatically: "Yes, I know what it is, Charles, this thorough-bred foal is neither more nor less than a mule."--"You're right," said Hawermann.--"A mule?" cried Fred, rushing into the stall and, notwithstanding the mother's displeasure, succeeding in getting hold of the foal's head and examining its face, eyes and ears with anxious scrutiny. As soon as he was convinced of the dreadful truth, he exclaimed angrily: "I'd like to strangle the creature, as I can't get at Augustus Prebberow."--"For shame, Triddelfitz!" said Hawermann gravely. "Don't you see how pleased its mother is with it although it isn't a thoroughbred?"--"Yes," said Brasig, "and she's 'the nearest' to it, as Mrs. Behrens would say. You may strangle Augustus Prebberow though for all I care; he's a thrice distilled contraband rascal!"--"Nay," said Fred, whose wrath had given place to sadness, "how is it possible? He was my best friend, and yet he cheated me into buying a deaf mare and a mule. I'll prosecute him."--"I tell you that friendship and honesty are nowhere in horse-dealing," said Brasig, taking Fred by the arm and leading him out of the stable, "but I'm _very_ sorry for your disappointment. You've paid dearly for your experience in horse-dealing, but that's what everyone has to do. You mustn't go to law about it, for a law-suit is an endless thing; it'll still be going on long after the mule is dead.

Look here," he said, making Fred walk up and down the yard with him, "I'll tell you a story as a warning. Old Rutebusch of Swensen sold his own brother-in-law, who was bailiff here before Hawermann, a regular porcupine of a riding-horse. Well, or as you always say, 'Bong,' three days afterwards the bailiff wished to try his new inquisition. He climbed into the saddle, and it was really climbing, I can tell you, for the horse, which had very short legs, had poked up its back till it looked more like a rainbow than anything else. No sooner was he mounted than the beast ran away with him, and never stopped till it had got deep into the village pond, right up to the neck in fact, and there was no inducing it to move either one way or the other. That was a blessing though in one sense, both for the horse and the bailiff, as they would otherwise most likely have been drowned. The bailiff shouted for help.

The water was too deep to allow him to wade ash.o.r.e, and he couldn't swim, so at last old Flegel the carpenter had to save him in a boat.

Then there was a law-suit, for the bailiff said the horse was incurably mad, or as we farmers call it 'witless,' and Rutebusch must take it back, as madness when proved was sufficient cause to dissolve any bargain. Rutebusch refused, and the brothers-in-law became on such bad terms that they couldn't see each other three miles off without getting into a rage. The law-suit went on. All the Swensen people were called upon to swear that the horse was in full possession of its senses, and the Pumpelhagen people had to swear to the contrary. The law-suit went on for five years, and during that time the horse was left quietly in the stable eating his oats comfortably, for the bailiff had never ridden him since the first day, as he looked upon him as a dangerous wretch that had sold his soul to the devil, and he didn't dare to kill the beast because he was what is called the _corpus delictus_ of the whole affair. The most learned vetinairy surgeons, six in number, were brought to look at the horse, but no good came of that, for they didn't agree. Three of them said he was all there, and the other three p.r.o.nounced him mad. The lawsuit went on, and a number of other law-suits branched out of it, for the learned horse-doctors accused each other of being malicious and rude, and ended by going to law. Then a famous professor of vetinairy surgery in Berlin was applied to, and he wrote to desire them to cut off the horse's head and send it to him, as he must examine the brain before he could p.r.o.nounce judgment. It's very difficult to say of any reasonable human being whether he is witless or wise, and how much more difficult is it to speak decidedly of an unreasoning animal. The bailiff determined to do as the professor wished, but old Rutebusch and his legal advisers wouldn't consent, so the law-suit went on as before. At last Rutebusch died, and six months later his brother-in-law died also. They hadn't made up their quarrel at the time of their death and each of them went into eternity clinging to his own opinion; the one that the horse was in his right senses and the other that he was mad. The law-suit was then suspendicated and three weeks afterwards the old horse died of fat and idleness. The head was nicely pickled and was sent to the learned professor at Berlin, who wrote clearly and decidedly that the horse had never been mad in all its life; that in point of fact it had been every bit as sane as he was himself, and that he only wished for the sake of the rival litigants that their brains had been in as perfect a condition as that of the horse. And he was right, for the rascally boy who had saddled the bailiff's horse, confessed to me afterwards when he was in my service, that he had tied a burning sponge under the poor beast's tail out of revenge, because the bailiff had thrashed him the day before. Now I ask you as a reasonable mortal, didn't the horse show his wisdom by running into the pond and so putting out the fire? The great law-suit was at an end, but the little ones between the farriers are still going on. And now I'll tell you something; Hawermann is a great friend of old Prebberow, the father of your roguish friend, and he will try to make an arrangement for you and see that you have fair play. You may go now, but don't be unkind to the innocent little foal or its mother, for they are not to blame for your having been cheated, indeed the mother was as much cheated as you were." Brasig then went to join his friends and they all resumed their places at the card-table.

"All right!" said Kurz, "well it was ten grandissimo, and my turn to play."--"Charles," said Brasig, "you must have a talk with old Prebberow some time or other, and try to make better terms for that confounded grey-hound of yours."--"I'll see to it, Zachariah, and it'll all come right. I'm heartily sorry for the poor boy having his pleasure spoilt like this--a mule of all things in the world!"--"I perceive,"

said the rector, laying down the cards which he had just finished arranging, "that you all talk of that little new born foal as a mule, and mule is the term used in natural history ....."--"Don't drive us mad with your natural history!" cried Kurz who had been sitting on thorns in fear of a long harangue. "Are we playing at natural history or at cards? Look, there's the ace of diamonds lying on the table."--They went on with their game and Kurz won. He was never tired of talking of his ten grandissimo during the next few weeks.

They played in the most friendly manner, till the rector who had arranged his money in a half circle, found out that he had won ten shillings, and then seeing that fortune was beginning to go against him, determined to stop playing; he therefore rose, and complaining of his feet having grown very cold, put his winnings in his pocket.--"If you suffer from cold feet," said Brasig, "I'll tell you an excellent cure; take a pinch of snuff every morning before you have eaten anything and that'll prevent your ever having cold feet."--"Nonsense!"

cried Kurz, who had been winning, "what's to make his feet cold?"--"Why," said the rector, defending himself, "can't I have cold feet as well as you? Don't you always complain of having cold feet at the club when you've been winning?" And so Baldrian succeeded in keeping his right to cold feet and to what he had won. After a little further talk the two town's people drove away taking Brasig with them as far as their roads went in the same direction.

Just as Hawermann was going to bed he heard loud talking and scolding outside his door, and immediately afterwards Fred Triddelfitz and Christian Dasel came into the room.--"Good evening, Sir," said Christian, "and I don't care a bit."--"What's the matter?" asked Hawermann.--"Well, Sir," said Fred, "you know--how--how disappointed I was about the--the mule, and now Christian won't let the poor thing remain in the stable."--"Why not," asked Hawermann.--"You see, Sir,"

answered Christian, "I don't mind anything else, but I can't consent to that. My work lies amongst horses and foals, and I never set up to undertake camels and mules. And why? If I did Mr. Triddelfitz would be for bringing apes and bears into my stable next."--"But if I tell you that the mule is to stay there, and that you're to treat it as you would any other foal?"--"Nay then, of course I must do it if you tell me that, and it's all right now. Well, goodnight, Sir, I hope you'll not take it ill of me saying what I did," and so saying he went away.--"Mr. Hawermann," asked Fred, "what do you think that Mr. von Rambow will say when he hears what has happened, and Mrs. von Rambow too?"--"Don't distress yourself, they won't trouble themselves about it"--"Ah," sighed Fred as he left the room, "I'm awfully sorry that this has happened."

When the squire came home he was told the whole story of the sorrel-mare by Christian, and as he was a good-natured fellow at heart, and really liked Fred, whom he felt to be somewhat like himself in disposition, he spoke kindly and comfortingly to the lad, saying: "Never mind! Our little traffic in thorough-bred foals has come to nothing as the mare had made a mesalliance. We'll soon put her and her foal out into the field, and you'll see that things will turn out better than you expect"--Every one took an interest in the little mule, which soon became a general favourite. When the village children were pa.s.sing through the field on Sunday afternoons they went to the enclosure where the foals were kept and looking at the mule used to say: "Look, Josy, that's it."--"Yes, that's the one. Just look how he's waggling his ears."--"I say, he's kicking like a donkey."--And when the young women who worked on the farm trooped past the enclosure, they also stood still, saying: "Look, Stina, that's Mr. Triddelfitz's mule."--"Come, Sophie, let's go a little nearer."--"No, I'd rather not.

What an ugly beast it is to be sure."--"You've no right to say so. You don't dislike him so much, for he always gives you the easiest bits of work."--The sorrel-mare, the mule and Fred became well known in all the country side, and wherever the latter showed himself, he was asked how the mule was getting on, much to his chagrin. The little mule was happy and careless of all the remarks made about him, he ran and jumped about the paddock with the other well-born, high-bred foals, and when one of them tried to bully him he was quite able to take his own part.

CHAPTER X.

Everything went on well at Pumpelhagen that year. The harvest was plenteous, and the price of corn was high. Alick von Rambow saw a way opening before him of getting out of his difficulties; he did up his accounts over and over again, and saw clearly that if he sold the rape for so much, the sheep for so much, and the cattle for so much, that all this, with what he got for the wheat would be amply sufficient to pay off the last farthing of his debts. The devil himself must take part against him, if he failed to do so. He thought that the reason of his good fortune this year was that he himself was at Pumpelhagen, and was therefore able to look after things with his own eyes. The eye of the master is to a farm what the sun is to the world, everything ripens under it, and the tender blades of gra.s.s grow green under his footstep.

So thinking, it was not long before Alick quite forgot that these blessings were the gift of G.o.d, and began to look upon them as the result of his own efforts, and even the high price of corn seemed to him to be a piece of well merited good fortune.

He rode his high horse without fear, and even when the farming and household expenses of the moment ran away with all the bank-notes with which David and Slus'uhr had provided him, and his small change began to run short, he congratulated himself on his excellent farming which gave him such unlimited credit in the neighbourhood, that Pomuchelskopp had offered to lend him various small sums from time to time. He had accepted loans from Pomuchelskopp without fear, in order to get rid of David for the time being, so that he paid David and Slus'uhr with Pomuchelskopp's money, and they paid it back to Pomuchelskopp, and he again lent it to Alick, thus the money was kept continually going round and round in a circle. It would altogether have been a very pleasant little arrangement, if Pomuchelskopp had not been obliged to take the trouble of removing the marks from the bills for fear of Alick's finding out that it was always his own money that he got back. It could not be helped however if Pomuchelskopp still wished to keep his plans for gaining the Pumpelhagen acres a profound secret from his victim, and indeed he enjoyed the sense of power which came of his rapid intimacy with Alick far too much to grudge the trouble he had to take.

Alick was also perfectly satisfied with the course events were taking, for he was always well supplied with money to ward off the attacks of the usurers, and at what seemed to him a very small price, for he never thought of adding up at the end of the year how much the total came to, and he was firmly convinced that his affairs were better attended to now that he lived at Pumpelhagen than they had ever been before. It was the old story over again. When a young squire who knows nothing whatever of farming wants to make improvements, he always begins with the live-stock. And why is this the case? Well, I imagine it is because young gentlemen think this subject the easiest to understand. All that they have to do is to buy a new bull, and a ram or two of some new fashioned breed, and then, as the laws of cattle-breeding are still sufficiently indefinite to allow of much theorising, even the stupidest of them has no difficulty in speaking learnedly on the subject. They have only to pa.s.s over as of no account, all that the old men around them have learnt from the experience of years, and they do not find it hard to do; after that these youthful farmers are as worthy of being listened to, in their own opinion at least, as those whose hair has grown grey at the work.

There was a dairy of Breitenburg cows at Pumpelhagen, which the old squire had bought by Hawermann's advice and with Hawermann's a.s.sistance. This dairy must now be improved, so Alick went to Sommersdorf in Pommerania where there was a great cattle-show, and bought a splendid Ayrshire bull by Pomuchelskopp's advice. He bought this bull because he was handsome, because he came from Scotland, and because he was something new. There was a flock of Negretti sheep which produced a great quant.i.ty of wool, and were of a high market-value, but as Pomuchelskopp _said_ he had got four and sixpence a stone more for his wool, the young squire was induced to buy a couple of Electoral rams from his worthy neighbour, for which he was obliged to pay ready money. It never occurred to Alick to set the sum he made by the large quant.i.ty of wool given by his sheep, against that gained by Pomuchelskopp for the smaller quant.i.ty of finer wool; had he done so he might have found the result to be in his own favour, but unfortunately for him he had enough to do adding up other sums on a different subject.

Hawermann defended himself from the new arrangements as well as he could, but his efforts were vain. His master looked upon him as an old man who clung to the traditions of his youth too vehemently to be able to advance with the age, and when the old man's reasons against the introduction of some new method were unanswerable, he always said impatiently: "Hang it! Let's try how it does at all events," and it never entered his head to remember that experiments run away with more money than anything else. The bailiff could do nothing, and only thanked G.o.d that the squire had not yet really thought of breeding thorough-bred horses, though he spoke of doing it every now and then.

Mrs. von Rambow could do nothing, for she was not aware of the way in which her husband put off the evil day of paying his debts, and in ordinary matters she was obliged to be contented with the result of what she saw, and that was that Alick was apparently satisfied with the course of events, and was looking forward to a golden future.

The Pomuchelskopps at Gurlitz manor were also happy; I do not mean that they enjoyed great domestic happiness, they were too modest to expect such a thing? but they were satisfied with their financial condition, and looked forward to still greater wealth coming to them in a short time, for the boundary between Pumpelhagen and Gurlitz was growing more shadowy every day. Pomuchelskopp's only difficulty after any new business-transaction with Alick was to keep his Henny quiet, for in her ardour for possession she was anxious to cross the boundary, and seize upon Pumpelhagen without further delay.

There was great contentment in Joseph Nussler's house, and much looking forward to a golden future of the ideal sort, such as poets mean when they try to describe the "golden glory of the dawn," not that they think the brilliance of gold an exact representation of that wonderful light in the eastern sky, but because they know nothing more beautiful, they so seldom get a glimpse of it. G.o.dfrey gradually got rid of his long hair, and began to look upon the world with other eyes than before. He no longer used the mental blue spectacles they had provided him with at Erlangen or elsewhere, and much to Brasig's delight he even went so far as to play at Boston, though it must be confessed that he did it very badly; on another occasion he had got on horse-back, and had managed to fall off without hurting himself, and he had appeared at Joseph Nussler's Harvest Home. He did not dance, that is to say before all the rest, but he enjoyed a quiet turn with Lina in the next room, and at the end of the evening he sang "Vivallera!" clearly but wretchedly ill. And Rudolph? It is sufficient to repeat what Hilgendorf said to Brasig about him: "He'll do, Brasig. He's just such another youngster as I was myself; there's no tiring him; he's as strong as a horse. He has only to glance at a thing, and he knows how to do it at once, and it was just the same with me. And as for books? He never opens one! And that's like me again."--Mrs. Nussler rejoiced in her children's happiness; and young Joseph and young Bolster sat quietly by the hour together, gazing straight before them, and saying nothing, they were thinking of the time when they would each have a new heir to their dignities, young Joseph in Rudolph, and young Bolster in young Bolster the seventh. Theirs could not be called a looking forward to a golden dawn, but to contented natures like Joseph and Bolster the evening-sky has likewise its golden light.

Every house in the parish had its share of happiness, each of them after its kind, but one house formed an exception to this rule, although it used to have its full share. In winter round the fire-side, and in summer under the great lime-tree, or in the arbour in the garden there always used to be a calm peaceful happiness, in which the child Louisa as she played about the old house and grounds, and little Mrs.

Behrens, who ruled all things duster in hand, had had part, and also the good old clergyman, who had now done with all earthly things for ever. Peace had taken leave of the house, and had gone forth calmly to the place from whence she came, and during that time of illness, care and sorrow had taken up their abode there, deepening with the growing weakness of the good old man. He did not lie long in bed, and had no particular illness, so that Dr. Strump of Rahnstadt could not find amongst all the three thousand, seven hundred and seventy seven diseases of which he knew, one that suited the present case. Peace seemed to have laid her hand on the old man's head in blessing, and to have said to him: "I am going to leave thee, but only for a short time, I shall afterwards return to thy Regina. Thou needest me no more, because thou hast had me in thy heart during all the long years thou hast fought the good fight of faith. Now sleep softly, thou must needs be tired."

And he was tired, very tired. His wife had laid him on the sofa under the pictures, that he might look out at the window as much as he liked, Louisa had covered him comfortably with rugs and shawls, and then they had both left the room softly that he might rest undisturbed. Out of doors the first flakes of snow were falling slowly, slowly from the sky; it was as quiet and still outside as within his heart, and he felt as if the blessing of Christ were resting upon him. No one saw it, but his Regina was the first to find it out--he rose, and, pushing the large arm-chair up to the cupboard, opened the door, and sitting down, began to examine the treasures that he had kept as relics of the past.

Some of them had belonged to his father, and some to his mother, they were all reminiscences of what he had loved.