An Old Story of My Farming Days Volume Ii Part 9

When Hawermann came in, he turned to the window, and asked while he looked out into the yard: "Is the mare quite well again?"--"No," said Hawermann, "she is still ill, and I think you should send for the vet."--"I will see that he comes. But," he added, still staring out of the window, "she would have been quite well if the stables had been properly looked after, and if she had not been fed on that bad, mouldy hay."--"Mr. von Rambow, you know that the hay got a good deal of rain this summer, but still it's by no means mouldy. And you took the entire charge of the thoroughbreds into your own hands, for when I made a slight change in the stable a few weeks ago, you forbade my order being obeyed, and undertook to manage the horses yourself."--"Of course! Of course!" cried Alick beginning to walk up and down the room, "we know all that. It's the old story over again." Suddenly he came to a stand-still before Hawermann, and looking at him a little uncertainly, went on: "You're going away to-day, ar'n't you?"--"Yes," said Hawermann, "after our last agreement ...."--"I needn't," interrupted the young squire, "let you go before Easter unless I choose, and I insist upon your staying here until the second of January."--"You're right, but ....."--"That isn't so much longer for you to stay,"

interrupted Alick, "and we must go over our accounts. Go and get your book now."--Hawermann went.

Alick was determined to save his money a little longer if he could.

When Hawermann came back with his book, he might say that he had not time to look at it at that moment, and if the bailiff begged him to do it, he might get on his high horse, and say that the second of January would be time enough. But matters were to go more easily for him than he had thought. Hawermann did not return. He waited, and waited, but still Hawermann did not return. At last he sent Daniel Sadenwater to seek him, and then he came back with the butler. The old bailiff was pale and excited, and as he entered the room, he exclaimed: "I don't understand it. How can it have happened?"--"What's the matter?" asked Alick.--"Mr. von Rambow, I was busy finishing my book yesterday afternoon, and when I had done I put it in my desk, and now it is gone."--"A nice story forsooth," cried Alick scornfully, and the seed Pomuchelskopp had sowed in his soul began to grow, "yes, it's a nice story. When no one wanted the book it was always ready, and now that it is asked for, it has disappeared."--"I entreat of you," urged Hawermann, "don't judge so quickly. It will be found; it must be found," and he hurried away.

After a time he came back, "It isn't there," he said mournfully, "it has been stolen from me."--"That's a good joke!" working himself into a rage. "My three hundred pounds were not stolen, at least you said they were not, and now you say your book is stolen, because it suits you to say so."--"Oh G.o.d!" cried the old man, "give me time!" He clasped his hands together: "Oh G.o.d, my book is gone."--"Yes," cried Alick, "and the labourer Regel is also gone, and everyone knows how he escaped. My three hundred pounds are also gone, and everyone knows where they are to be found. Have you noted them in the book?" he asked advancing close to Hawermann, and looking him full in the face.--The old man stared at him, and then looking all round as if to make sure where he was, let his clasped hands fall to his side. He shivered from head to foot as does a giant river when about to break its icy fetters, and the blood rushed through his limbs and tingled in his face, like the waters of the great river, when they have freed themselves from their bonds, and rush swiftly on their course carrying all before them. Beware of such times, children of men! "Scoundrel!" he shouted, springing upon Alick, who had: retreated a few steps when he saw the expression of the other's face. "Scoundrel!" he cried, "my honest name..." Alick got into a corner and seized the weapon that was always kept there. "Scoundrel!"

cried the old man, "your gun and my honest name!" And now began a violent struggle for possession of the gun, which the bailiff caught by the stock and tried to wrench out of his opponent's hand. Bang! The gun went off.--"Oh Lord!" cried Alick, falling back upon the sofa. The old man stood beside him with the gun in his hand.--The door opened, and Mrs. von Rambow rushed up to her husband: "What is it? What's the matter?" she exclaimed, and all the love she had ever felt for him came back with a rush. "Oh, what is this? Blood!"--"Never mind," said Alick, trying to raise himself, "it's only my arm."--The old man stood motionless with the gun in his hand. His fury was calmed, but he felt that he had done an evil deed that he could never wash out however long he might live.--Daniel and the housemaid both ran into the room, and with their help Alick's coat was taken off and he was laid upon the sofa. His arm was much lacerated by the shot, and the blood dripped upon the floor.--"Go for a doctor," said Mrs. von Rambow, while she tried to stop the flow of blood by binding handkerchiefs round her husband's arm. She had not enough to be of any use, so she rose to fetch more. She had to pa.s.s Hawermann on her way to the door. He was standing pale and motionless by his master's side. "Murderer!" she said as she went out, and again when she came in she repeated: "Murderer!"

The old man made no reply, but Alick raised himself, and said: "No, Frida, no. He is not that," for even an unrighteous man speaks the truth when he feels that he has escaped death by a hair's breadth, "but," he added, still harping on the old theme, "he is a cheat and a thief. Get out of my sight as quick as you can," he said addressing the bailiff.--The old man's face flushed, he opened his mouth as if to speak, and then seeing how Mrs. von Rambow shrank from him, he staggered out of the study.

He went to his own room: "A cheat and a thief," the words rang in his ears. He went to the window and looked out into the yard. He saw everything that went on there, but he saw it as in a dream. "A cheat and a thief," that was the only thing he could understand, that alone was real. He saw Christian Degel driving out of the yard; he knew that the man had gone to fetch the doctor; he threw the window wide open and was about to desire him to drive as hard as he could; but--"a cheat and a thief" was what he involuntarily called out instead of the order he had intended to give; he shut the window again. But the book! The book must be found--the book! He pulled everything out of the boxes he had already packed; he strewed all his possessions about the floor; he fell upon his knees--not to pray, for he was "a cheat and a thief"; he poked about under his desk with his stick, under his chest of drawers, and under his bed; the book must be somewhere, the book! All in vain! "A cheat and a thief." He once more took his stand in the window, and looked out; he still had his walking stick in his hand, was he going out, or what did he want with the stick? Yes, he would go out, he would go away from here, far away! He s.n.a.t.c.hed up his hat, and went out.

Where should he go? It was all the same to him, all the same, but habit led him to Gurlitz. As he went along the familiar road, old thoughts came back to him: "My child! My child!" he cried, "my honest name!" He felt his breast pocket--yes, he had put his pocket-book there, he had his daughter's happiness safe. What was the use of it now? He had destroyed the power that letter contained of making her happy, his honesty was doubted, and that shot had made matters even worse than they were before. A few bitter tears were wrung from him in his agony of spirit, and the tears brought him comfort; he knew that he had only meant to wrest the gun from Alick, not to hurt him; his conscience acquitted him of that crime, and he breathed more freely--but his honest name was gone and with it the happiness of his only child. Oh, how distinctly he remembered his joy yesterday when he had read and thought over that letter in his own room, when he had indulged in day-dreams of his daughter's future happiness, and now, all was changed and lost. The brand attached to his name would sink into his daughter's heart and bring her sorrow and shame. But what had his child to do with it? Alas! The curses and brands that rest on the father descend to the children even to the fourth generation, and the same hedge of thorns which separated him from all honest men came between his daughter and happiness. But he was innocent. Who would believe him if he were to say so? He, whose white robe of innocence has been, however unjustly, smirched, may go on his way through the world, no one will wash him clean; even if G.o.d were to proclaim his innocence by signs and wonders--the world would not believe. "Oh," he cried, "I know the world!" Then his eyes fell on Gurlitz manor, Pomuchelskopp's home, and out of a corner of his heart, a corner he thought he had closed and barred for evermore, rose the dread figure of Hate, the tears he had shed for his child dried on his cheek, and his voice which had before uttered the words involuntarily, now repeated them, "a cheat and a thief," and angry thoughts rose thick and fast in his mind: "he is the cause of it all, and we must be quits some day!"

He went through Gurlitz, but saw nothing on the right hand or the left.

All he had loved there were gone from the place, he had only to do with his hate, and had only one object to set before him in life.--Brasig was standing by the parsonage barn, and seeing his friend went forward to meet him: "Good morning, Charles. Where are you going? But what's the matter?"--"Nothing, Brasig! But leave me, leave me alone. Come to Rahnstadt to-morrow, come to-morrow," so saying he walked on and left him. When he came to the hill on the other side of Gurlitz, from the top of which Alick had first shown his young wife his beautiful estate of Pumpelhagen, and where she had shown such unaffected pleasure in what she saw, he stood still. It was the last point from which he could see the place where he had been so happy, and where he had as it were wept tears of blood when his honour and his name had been so cruelly tarnished. His whole soul rebelled against his fate: "The miserable liar!" he said. "And she--she called me a 'murderer' once, then she said it again: 'murderer,' and turned from me in horror.--Your day of sorrow is coming upon you all. I could have saved you, and I would have saved you. I watched over your interests and served you as faithfully as a dog, and you have thrust me from you like a dog; but ...." and he turned to resume his walk to Rahnstadt, hatred still possessing his soul.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 1: _Translator's note_. The housekeeper in a large farm in N.

Germany is a person of great consequence, and is always called Mamselle.]

[Footnote 2: _Translator's note_. In Germany the wife has to provide, as well as her own trouseau, all the house and table-linen, and all the furniture even tables and chairs.]

[Footnote 3: _Translator's note_. "Fasan"--"Vasall."]

[Footnote 4: "Vinum, the father, And c[oe]na, the mother, And Venus, the nurse, Make gout much worse."]

END OF VOL. II.