Seed-time and Harvest Part 16

And the three daughters stood around their father's bed, weeping and lamenting, and would fain hold fast the prop that had upheld them so long, and each was thinking anxiously for something to alleviate and help, and the three hearts beat more and more anxiously and quickly, and the one heart ever more slowly and feebly.

Franz sat in the ante-room, listening to every sound, and now and then going into the sick-room. He had never before seen the departure of human life, and he thought of his own father, whom he had always imagined like his uncle, and it seemed as if his own father were dying a second time. He thought also of his cousin, who was not here, and whose place he filled, and thought that he should love him the more, all his life.

Habermann stood at the open window, and looked out into the night. It was just such a warm, damp, cloudy night as that in which his heart had come so near to breaking. Then it was his wife, now his friend; who would come next? Would it be himself, or---- No, no, G.o.d forbid! that could not be.

And Daniel Sadenwater sat by the stove, and did what he had done every evening for thirty years; he had a basket of silver forks and spoons on his lap, and on the chair near him lay a polishing cloth, and a silk pocket-handkerchief; and he rubbed alternately the spoons and forks with the handkerchief, and as he looked at his master's name on the fork which he had polished every evening for thirty years, his eyes were so dim that he couldn't see whether it were bright or not, and he set the basket down, and looked at the fork till his eyes ran over with tears.

Amid all this trouble and sorrow, the pendulum of the old clock moved steadily back and forth, back and forth, as if old Time sat by a cradle and rocked his child safely and surely to sleep.

And he slept. Two eyes closed themselves forever, the dark curtain between Here and Beyond dropped softly down, and this side stood the poor maidens, lamenting and vainly stretching their arms after that which was gone, and wringing their hands over that which was left behind. Fidelia threw herself down by her father's body, and sobbed and cried until she was taken with spasms. Franz, full of sympathy, lifted her in his arms, and carried her out of the room, and her two sisters followed, in new anxiety for their darling, and Habermann was left alone with Daniel Sadenwater. He pressed down the eyelids of the dead, and after a little turned away with a heavy heart; but Daniel sat on the foot of the bed, looking with his quiet face into the still more quiet face of his master, and he held the fork still in his hand.

CHAPTER IX.

Axel arrived three days after, having travelled by extra post, too late to hear the last words of his father, but not too late to render the last honors to his remains. The postillion blew l.u.s.tily on his horn, as he drove into the court-yard, and at the door of the mansion-house appeared three pale mourners in black raiment. The young master knew what had happened. Everything came upon him at once,--thoughts for which he was, or was not accountable,--G.o.d's providence, his own weakness and frivolity, his sisters' desolate condition and his own inability to help them, more than all, his father's thoughtfulness and kindness, which were never wanting in good or evil times. He was quite beside himself. His nature was one to be easily excited even by less serious causes than the present. He wept and mourned and lamented, and kept asking how this and that had happened, and, when he heard from Franz that the last words of his father had been spoken to Habermann, he took the old Inspector aside and questioned him, and the latter made a clean breast of it, and told him that his father's last earthly care had been about his future, and how he and his sisters might get along by a prudent management of the estate.

Ah, yes, that should be done! Axel swore it to himself, under the blue heavens, as he walked alone through the garden; he would turn the shillings into dollars, he would retire from the world and from his comrades. He could do it easily; but he would not resign from the army immediately, and take up the study of farming, as Habermann advised; he was too old for that, and it did not suit his position as an officer, and there was really no necessity. When he came by and by to live on the estate, he should learn about it, naturally; meantime he would live sparingly, pay up his debts, and study agricultural books, as his father desired. So a man deceives himself, even in the holiest and most earnest hours.

The next day was the funeral. No invitations had been sent out; but the Kammerrath had been too much beloved in the region not to have many followers at his burial. Brasig's Herr Count came, and it seemed as if he thought he was receiving an honor instead of conferring one. Brasig himself was there, and stood in the room by the coffin, and while others bowed their heads and dropped their eyes, he stretched his wide open, and raised his eyebrows, and as Habermann pa.s.sed by, he grasped his coat-sleeve, and, shaking his head, asked impressively, "Karl, what is human life?" but he said nothing more, and Jochen Nussler, standing by his side, said softly to himself, "Yes, what shall we do about it?"

And the laborers stood around, all the Pegels and Degels, and Pasels and Dasels, and as Pastor Behrens came from the other room, leading the youngest daughter by the hand, and, standing by the coffin, spoke a few words which would have gone to the heart even of a stranger, then many tears fell from all eyes. Tears of thankfulness were they, and tears of anxiety; the one for what they had enjoyed under the old master, the other for their unknown future under the new master.

When his remarks were ended, the procession started for the Gurlitz church-yard. The coffin was placed in a carriage, and Daniel Sadenwater sat by it, with his quiet old face as stiff and motionless as if he were set up for a monument at his master's grave. Then came the carriage with the four children, then the Herr Count, then Pastor Behrens and Franz, who wished to take Habermann with them, but he declined, he would go with the laborers; then Jochen Nussler and others, and finally Habermann, on foot, with Brasig and the laborers.

Close by Gurlitz, Brasig touched Habermann, and whispered, "Karl, I have it, now."

"What have you, Zachary?"

"The pension from my gracious Herr Count. The last time I was with you, I went round to see him, and he gave it to me, paragraph for paragraph: two hundred and fifty thalers in gold, a living, rent free, in the mill-house at Haunerwiem,--there is a little garden there too, for vegetables,--and a bit of land for potatoes."

"Well, Zachary, I am glad you have such a comfortable provision for your old age."

"Eh, yes. Karl, that does very well, and with my interest from the capital which I have laid up, I shall want for nothing. But what are they stopping for, ahead?"

"Ah, they are going to take the coffin from the carriage," said Habermann, and he turned to the laborers, "Kegel, Pasel! you must come now and carry the coffin." And he went forward with those who should do this office, and Brasig followed.

Meanwhile, the people were getting out of the carriages, and, as Axel and his sisters stepped down, they were met by the little Frau Pastorin and Louise in mourning raiment, and the Frau Pastorin pressed the hands of the two older sisters, with the greatest friendliness and compa.s.sion, although she had hitherto held herself rather aloof from them, on account of the difference in rank. But death and sympathy bring all to a level, the lofty bow themselves under the hand of G.o.d, knowing that they are as nothing before him, and the lowly are lifted up, because they feel that the pity which stirs in them is divine. Even David Dasel might have taken the gracious Frauleins by the hand to-day, and they would have recognized his honest heart in his wet eyes.

Louise held her friend Fidelia in her arms, and knew not what to say or what to do. "There!" she cried, with a deep sob, pressing into her hand a bunch of red and white roses, as if she gave with it the love and sympathy of which her heart was full.

All eyes were turned upon the child of fourteen years,--was she still a child? When the barberry bush turns green after a warm rain, are they buds still which it bears, or are they leaves? And for the human soul, when its time has come, every deep emotion is like a warm rain, that changes the buds to leaves.

"Who is that?" asked Axel of Franz, who looked steadfastly at the child. "Who is that young maiden, Franz?" asked he again, taking his cousin by the arm.

"That young maiden?" said Franz, "do you mean that child? That is Inspector Habermann's daughter."

Habermann had seen his child also, and the thought recurred which had come to him in the night, when the Kammerrath was dying. "No," said he again, "the good Lord will not suffer it." Strange! she was not ill; and yet who could tell? His poor wife had just such beautiful rosy cheeks.

"What comes now?" said Brasig, rousing him from these gloomy thoughts.

"Truly! Just look, Karl, Zamel Pomuchelskopp! With a black suit on!"

It was so indeed. Pomuchelskopp came forward and bowed to the young ladies, the most melancholy bow which it was possible for a man of his build to achieve, and then, turning to the Herr Lieutenant: "He would excuse--neighborly friendship--deepest sympathy on this melancholy occasion--highest respect for the departed--hope for a future good understanding between Pumpelhagen and Gurlitz"--in short, whatever he could think of at the moment, and, as the lieutenant thanked him for his friendly interest, he felt as light as if he had discharged himself of all the sympathy that was in him. He looked around over the company and, seeing that there were no proprietors present besides the Count, he managed in the walk through the church-yard to follow closely behind him, and tread in his very footsteps, a proceeding to which the gracious Herr Count was utterly indifferent, but which gave Pomuchelskopp the liveliest satisfaction.

The body was buried. The mourners stopped for a few moments at the parsonage, and partook of a little refreshment. The little Frau Pastorin was quite beside herself, torn into two halves, one part of her would gladly have remained on the sofa by the three daughters, endeavouring to comfort them, the other would be fluttering about the room, offering her guests bread-and-b.u.t.ter and wine, and, when Louise a.s.sumed the latter office, and the Pastor the former, the poor Pastorin sat down, quite unhappy, in her arm-chair, as if old Surgeon Metz of Rahnstadt had been putting together her two halves, and she had found the process a painful one.

Louise filled her office well, for it was not long before the followers took leave, one after another; Jochen Nussler was the last, and, when he had bowed awkwardly to the lieutenant, he went up to the Frau Pastorin, and took her hand and pressed it as affectionately as if she had just buried her father, and said very sadly, "Yes, it is all as true as leather."

The Pastor also had discharged well the office of comforter, but it is easier to fill an empty stomach with bread-and-b.u.t.ter and wine, than to fill an empty heart with hope and joy. He began however, in the right way, touching lightly upon the thought of the love and protection which they had lost, and turning to what should come next, plans for the future, what would be most reasonable to do, and where they should live, so that when the three ladies went back with their brother to the desolate house, their future lay before them like a piece of cloth, which they must cut out with the shears, and turn this way or that as suited the pattern best, and fashion from it such raiment as they could.

Other people were looking at the future, also, and calculating on what _might_ happen and what _must_ happen. Out of the Kammerrath's grave grew not only daisies, but, from the blight upon the fortunes of Pumpelhagen, burdock and nettles and henbane shot up also, and the golden daisies bloomed in strange company. Whoever would harvest here must not be afraid of a little poison, or mind being p.r.i.c.ked by the briars and nettles. He who has to do with nettles must grasp them firmly, and the man who stood in the Gurlitz garden, looking over toward Pumpelhagen, had a firm grip, but he could wait till the right time,--the daisies must go to seed first.

"The stone was out of the way," he said to himself, with satisfaction, "and it was the corner-stone. What was left now? The Herr Lieutenant?

He would fatten him first, feed him with mortgages and bills of exchange, and processes and procurations, until he should be fat enough, and then knock him on the head. Or, could he do better? Malchen was a pretty girl, or Salchen either,--Herr von Zwippelwitz said the other day, when he borrowed the money for that chestnut colt, that Salchen had a pair of eyes like--now, what was it? like fire-wheels, or like cannon-b.a.l.l.s? Well, Salchen would know.

"But no, on the whole, no! He understood the other way best, he would not meddle with this. To be sure, it might do, in case of necessity; but safe was safe, better keep the cork in the bottle.

"Then there was Habermann! Infamous, sneaking scoundrel! That very morning he wouldn't speak to him. Did he think it was for Pomuchelskopp to speak first? To a servant? What was he but a servant? No, let me first have the lieutenant well in my clutches, and then I will see to him.

"Brasig, too, shall he keep putting stones in my way? The fool doesn't know that I have got him out of Warnitz; that upon my suggestion Slusuhr has put a flea in the Herr Count's ear, about the bad management at Warnitz. Now he must stay at Haunerwiem. And then the Herr Pastor! Oh, the Herr Pastor! I shall go round to his house to-morrow, and we shall be so friendly--oh, I know his friendliness!

there lies the pastor's field before my eyes! To pretend friendship under such circ.u.mstances! Well, only wait a little, I will be even with him yet, for I have it. I have money." And with that, he slapped his fat hand upon his trowsers' pocket, till the golden seals on his watch chain danced merrily; but he quieted down suddenly, as he felt a hard hand on his shoulder, and his Hauning said, "Muchel, you are wanted in doors."

"Who is there, my Kuking?" asked Pomuchelskopp gently, damped as usual by his wife's presence.

"Slusuhr the notary, and old Moses' David."

"Good, good!" said Pomuchelskopp, throwing his arm around her, so that the pair resembled a basket embracing a hop-pole,--"but just look over at Pumpelhagen and that beautiful field. Is it not a sin and a shame it should be in such hands? But that those two should come to-day, don't it seem like a special providence, Klucking?"

"You are always dreaming, Kopp! You had better come in and talk to the people. Such plans as you have in your head take too long to carry out to suit me."

"Gently, gently, my Klucking, slow and sure!" said Pomuchelskopp, as he followed his wife into the house.

Slusuhr and David were standing, meanwhile, in Pomuchelskopp's parlor.

David had been suffering torments, for, as ill luck would have it, he had made himself fine with his great seal ring, and his gold watch-chain, and, as he entered the room, and stood with his back to the window, Philipping had spied the ring on his finger, and Nanting the watch-chain knotted across his vest, and they darted on him like a couple of ravens, tugging at the ring, and pulling at the chain, and Nanting trod on poor David's corns, and Philipping, who had got up on his knees in a chair, kept hitting him in the shins, and David's corns and shin-bones were tender points, especially the latter, since they bore the entire weight of his body, and nature had omitted to a.s.sist them with appropriate calves.

Slusuhr stood at the other window, before Salchen, who sat there embroidering a landscape painting on a sofa cushion for her father.

It represented a long barn and a plum-tree thickly set with blue plums, and before the barn hens were scratching, and a wonderful bright-colored c.o.c.k, while ducks and geese, beautiful as swans, were swimming in a little pond, and in the foreground lay a fat young porker.

Old Moses was right about the notary; he did look like a rat. His ears stuck out like a rat's ears, he was small and lean, like the rats in Rahnstadt,--exception being made of those who were so fortunate as to have a share in David's "produce business,"--he had grayish-yellow complexion and eyes, and also grayish-yellow hair and moustaches; but Malchen and Salchen Pomuchelskopp said he was "extremely interesting."

_Interested_, Brasig said; he knew well enough how to talk, only it must be about himself and his own meannesses. Bat was it not quite natural for the notary, to prefer talking about his own cunning craftiness, rather than the stupidity of other people? Was the notary to blame if his wisdom was too great to be concealed under a bushel? It had increased to such an extent, indeed, that he was able to accommodate it only by turning out his entire stock of honesty. We are not competent judges of such people; rat-nature is rat-nature, David himself said,--if you spoke of rats, they were too many for him.

To-day, he was telling Salchen, with great enjoyment, about an uncommonly stupid man, for whom he had promised a rich wife, and how on every journey to see the lady, he had plucked from the poor c.o.c.k now a wing-feather, and now a tail-feather, until the last journey found him thoroughly stripped. "Extremely interesting," said Salchen, just as Pomuchelskopp entered the room.

"Ah! Delighted to see you, Herr Notary! Good day, Herr David!"

Salchen would have gone on laughing, but Father Pomuchelskopp motioned with his hand toward the door, so she gathered up her plums, chickens, geese and pigs, and saying, "Come, Nanting and Philipping, father has business to attend to," she went out with them.