Seed-time and Harvest Part 51

There are all sorts of men in the world, and every one has his peculiar talents, and most people have a good deal of one kind of talent, and other kinds in much smaller proportions; in Gottlieb's case, however, nature seemed to have made a little mistake, she sent him into the world, at least to all appearance, without the slightest trace of agricultural talent. Brasig had done his utmost to educate Gottlieb a little in these matters, but all in vain; what isn't _in_ a man cannot be brought out of him. Gottlieb could not tell the difference between oats and barley, he did not know which was ox and which was bull, and Brasig finally gave him up in despair, sighing, "Good heavens, how will the poor fellow ever get through the world!"

Pomuchelskopp, the practical old fellow, detected this failing of Gottlieb's, and was much pleased. "He knows nothing whatever of farming," said he to himself, "that is my man. But I mustn't let him know it!"

"Herr Candidate," said he aloud, "I am pleased with you, you are a very sensible man, and a man of morality--you will not comply with my request--good! neither will I promise to grant yours. But if Herr Nussler will give me a written statement that he will not rent the Pastor's acre, we need talk no further about the business; for, as I said, I am pleased with you."

So then Jochen signed his name, and the two old dunces rode off, very well satisfied with the transaction. They had got nothing, nothing at all, but a partial promise from the Herr Proprietor, and for that Jochen had been obliged to give his signature; but they were quite contented. Jochen was strongly of the opinion, and remained so till his death, that he had obtained the parish for his son-in-law by his signature.

Jochen and Gottlieb would have been glad to stop a little while at the parsonage; but Krischan the coachman opposed it violently, saying it would never do, it was pitch dark already; so the old Phantom labored along, in the night and the mist, through the deep country roads. To night and mist and a phantom, sleep is appropriate, and whoever finds this four-leaved clover, has the prospect of all sorts of good fortune.

Sleep was not long absent. Jochen slept before they were fairly put of Gurlitz, and if it had been daylight, one could have seen, from the way Krischan dragged his whip, that he was beginning to doze, and though Gottlieb did not sleep he was farther off, in his thoughts, than the others; for he was dreaming of his Lining, and his parish, and his election sermon, and his entrance sermon. And when they came to the place where Krischan had made his intelligent remark, as they were going, and as the influences of sleep and darkness combined with its dangers, and Gottlieb had come in his dream to the last election vote, which gave the decision in his favor, the confounded old Phantom began to totter, the fore-wheel was up, high and dry, on the sh.o.r.e, and the hind-wheel, over which Gottlieb sat, fell into a deep hole; so, two steps further, and splash! the whole company lay in the ditch.

I see, from my window, a great many farmers of the Grand Duke's lands getting down from their carriages, at my Frau Neighbor's, the landlady Frau Lurenz, at the "Prince's Arms," but I never in my life saw any one get down so quickly as Jochen; he shot out, in a great curve, over Gottlieb, who was lying beneath him, directly, in the soft mud, and Krischan, old, honest, faithful soul, who could not think of deserting his master in such a crisis, also shot head-foremost from his seat, and lay at his master's side.

"Purr--Oh! Herr, just lie still!" cried the honest old fellow, "the horses will stand!"

"You blockhead!" cried Jochen.

"Praise G.o.d!" exclaimed Krischan, getting on his feet, "I am all right.

But Herr, just lie perfectly still, I will hold the horses."

"You blockhead!" said Jochen again, scrambling up, while Gottlieb splashed and waded about in the deep mire, "how could you turn us over here?"

"Yes, it is all as true as leather," said Krischan, who, in his long years of service, had caught his master's expressions, "what could a body do, on such a road, in such pitch darkness?"

Since Jochen's words were taken out of his mouth in this way, he didn't know what to say for himself, so he asked, "Gottlieb, are your bones whole?"

"Yes, uncle," said the candidate, "and yours too?"

"Yes," said Jochen, "except my nose, but that seems clean gone out of my face."

The carriage had been righted by this time, and, as they got in again, Krischan turned half round and said:

"Herr, didn't I tell you, this afternoon, this was the place to tip over?"

"Blockhead!" cried Jochen, rubbing his nose, "you were asleep."

"Asleep, Herr, asleep? In such pitch darkness, it is all the same whether one sleeps or wakes; but I said so before. I know the road by heart, and I said so."

And when he afterwards related the story to the other servants, he always said that he had prophesied it, but the Herr would not listen to him; holding up Jochen in the light of a venturesome fellow, who would risk his neck for nothing, against all opposition.

They arrived at the house, and Gottlieb first got down from the carriage. Lining had been sitting all this time on thorns and nettles of impatience, and had listened, through the darkness, for every sound which could bring her certainty of happiness or misfortune. Now she heard something--that must be--no, it was only the wind in the poplars; but now! yes, that is a carriage, it came nearer, it drove up,--she sprang up, she ran to the door, but must stop to press her hand against her throbbing heart,--how it beat, with hope and fear I would Gottlieb bring happiness or misfortune? She opened the door.

"Don't touch me!" cried Gottlieb, but it was too late, Lining, although the oldest, was still very thoughtless, she threw her arms around Gottlieb, and pressed him to her warm heart; but such a chill struck through her, that she felt as if she had taken a frog in her arms, she let him go, exclaiming,--

"Good heavens! what has happened?"

"Overturned," said Gottlieb, "we were, by G.o.d's gracious help, overturned; that is to say, Krischan took care of the overturning, but G.o.d's gracious help preserved us from serious injury."

"How you look!" cried Brasig, who came out with a light, just as Jochen entered the door.

"Yes, Brasig," said Jochen, "it is all as, true as leather; we were tipped over."

"Eh, where?" said Brasig, "how could a reasonable man, of your years, get tipped over, on his own roads? You were asleep, Jochen!"

"Good gracious, Jochen!" cried Frau Nussler, "how you look!" and she turned him round, before the light, as if he were a piece of roast veal, on the spit, which she had just finely basted with gravy.

"Gracious, Jochen! and your nose----"

"And how does the clerical gentleman look?" inquired Brasig, holding the light to Gottlieb, in front and rear. "Well!" he said, leaving him, "and now Lining! Why, Lining, you were not tipped over! Frau Nussler, just look at her! She has half the road from here to Gurlitz upon her clothes!"

Lining blushed deeply, and Mining wiped off the mud from her, and Frau Nussler did the same for Jochen.

"Gracious, Jochen, how you have muddied yourself! Now, just look at it, the nice new cloak!" Jochen had purchased it for his wedding, some twenty years before. "Well, it can't be helped; I must rip it all out, and to-morrow the whole thing must be washed in the brook."

Orders were issued accordingly, and, after a little while, the two travellers were seated, in dry clothes, at the table, in the living-room. Now, for the first time, Frau Nussler saw her Jochen's nose, in a clear light.

"Jochen," said she, "how your nose looks!"

"Yes, they said so," replied Jochen.

"Jochen," said Brasig, "I must be an infamous liar, if I ever said that your nose was particularly handsome; but--may you keep the nose on your face!--what a nose you have on your face!"

"For shame, Brasig, how can you wish he should keep such a nose as that? Preserve us! it grows bigger and bigger! What can be done for it?"

"Frau Nussler," said Brasig, "he must go to the water-cure."

"What?" said Frau Nussler, "my Jochen go to the water-cure, because he has b.u.mped his nose?"

"You don't understand me," said Brasig, "he need not go, wholly and entirely, body and bones, to the water-cure; he shall only send his nose there; we must make him cold bandages. Or, Jochen, could you bleed a little from the nose? It would refresh you very much."

But Jochen could not do that, so they prepared the cold bandages, and Jochen sat there, very stately and contented, with his nose wrapped up in wet linen, and, under his nose, his pipe of tobacco.

"But," said Brasig, "no mortal knows yet how you succeeded with Zamel Pomuchelskopp."

"Yes," said Lining, "how was it, Gottlieb?" So Gottlieb described their interview with the Herr Proprietor, and when he had finished, Jochen said,--

"Yes, it is all settled, I have signed my name."

"Jochen, what have you signed your name for?" asked Brasig, angrily.

"About the Pastor's acre, that I will not rent it."

"Then you have done something very foolish. Oh, the Jesuit! _He_ wants the Pastor's acre. Nightingale, I hear thee singing, from the little brook wilt drink. That was his great end and aim! But--but"--he sprang up, and stalked about the room, "I will spoil your game. Hear to the end, says Kotelmann. Zamel Pomuchelskopp, we will talk about this! What does the celebrated poet say, about David and Goliath? I consider myself David, and him Goliath. 'He took the sling into his hand, and smote him on the brow, headlong he fell.' And how finely the same celebrated poet says, in his grand concluding words, 'So ever does the boaster fall, and when he thinks he firmly stands, then lies he in the ditch.' And so it shall be with you, Zamel! And, Frau Nussler, now I have got myself angry, and can eat no supper, so I will say 'Good night,' for I have all sorts of things to think about."

He took his candle and departed, and after supper they all went early to bed, and Lining lay a long time, wakeful through care and anxiety, and listened to the wind in the trees, and the steps in the room beneath, which went back and forth, back and forth, in the same measure; for there Uncle Brasig lodged, and--as he said next morning--was planning campaign that night.

CHAPTER XXVII.