Seed-time and Harvest Part 78

There was a knock at the door; it was the letter-carrier, bringing Habermann a letter: "From Paris," he said, and went away.

"Lord preserve us, Karl! You have very distinguished acquaintances! Who the devil can it be? From Paris!"

"It is from Franz," said Habermann, and his hand trembled, as he hastily broke the seal. Franz had often written to him, and every time he had been in doubt whether to mention the correspondence to his child or not,--until now, he had said nothing to her about it. He read; the letter was full of friendship, and the old attachment; every word expressed the recollection of old times; but not a single one referred to his love. At the close, he said that he should remain in Paris until St. John's day, and then return home. This last Habermann told Brasig, as he put the letter in his pocket.

Brasig was walking back and forth meanwhile, thinking, and, if Habermann had not been occupied with his letter, he must have heard what he was saying to himself.

"Remarkable! quite remarkable! It seems to me like the finger of G.o.d!

The Herr Burgomeister can have no objection to that, Paris has nothing to do with the indiciums, this is a purely private affair. Karl," he said at last, standing before Habermann, and looking at him, as he had seen the burgomeister look at the weaver that morning, "Karl, tell me the real truth; does your young Herr von Rambow know,--your old pupil, I mean,--that I know, that you and the Frau Pastorin know, that something has happened between him and Louise, that n.o.body is to know?"

"Eh, Brasig, I don't know----"

"Good, Karl, I see I have not expressed my meaning clearly enough, I mean, is he of the opinion that you and the Frau Pastorin think that I think well of his love for Louise, and that you have told me? That is my opinion, and now tell me yours."

"Eh, Brasig, he knows that you know about it, and he knows that you think well of it; but what of that?"

"Good, Karl; lose no words! But I must go now, I have invited David Berger and his trumpeters and the whole glee club to Grammelin's this evening, to a bowl of punch, and I must go and look after it. So, adieu, Karl!" and he went, but came back again: "Karl, tell the Frau Pastorin, I shall not be home to supper. If I should say anything to her about the punch, she would preach me a little sermon; and you, Karl, don't be alarmed if I come home late to-night. I have the key."

But he came back once more to say: "Karl, what can be done, shall be done."

"I believe it," said Habermann, who thought he referred to the punch, "you will do your business thoroughly." Brasig nodded, as if to say he might rely upon him with confidence, and went.

Habermann sat there, and read his letter a second time, and who would have thought that from this ma.n.u.script so many fair hopes would blossom? The warm friendship, which spoke in the letter, soothed him like the spring weather, and the trusting tone echoed sweetly in his ears, as the song of birds. Should his hopes be again deceived? Time would show!

Ah, time and hope! They stand over against each other, like the cuckoo and the seven stars; a man who, after long darkness, ventures to hope again, and sees the first faint gleams of happiness in the dark sky, must yet wait patiently the time when the sun stands full in the heavens.

CHAPTER XL.

The next morning, when Zachary Brasig arose, he took hold of his head with both hands, saying:

"Karl, you may congratulate yourself that I haven't a worse headache than I really have: for who could play a.s.sessor to-day? If I had followed Grammelin's cursed punch receipt I should have a whole nest of sparrows in my head this morning. But I made it after my own fashion."

"Well, were you very jolly?" asked Habermann.

"Oh, yes! the younger part of the company were quite lively; as for me, I kept myself very quiet. I sat by the town-musician, David Berger, and, by the way, Karl! what an amount that fellow can stand! I thought to myself, that belongs to his business; but one gla.s.s after another, incessantly! and at last he became what they call sentimental, he embraced me, and, with tears in his eyes, told me how little he could earn in these political times, till Herr Sussmann, who is Kurz's shopman, and I really pitied him. And Herr Sussmann proposed to the company that we should get up a fraternity ball, for David Berger's benefit; that is, a political one, where all ranks, n.o.bility, and ritter-proprietors, and pachters and burghers and their wives and children, should come together, and shake hands, and dance with, and, for aught I know, kiss each other. And this indicium was resolved upon, and it is to be a week from Sunday. And Herr Sussmann drew up a subscription paper, and I subscribed for you and me and the Frau Pastorin and Louise."

"Brasig, I beg of you, what would the Frau Pastorin and Louise do at a ball, or I, either?"

"But you must, for it is a n.o.ble cause."

"And you couldn't go either, Zachary, for a week from Friday is Mining's wedding day, and the next Sunday the going to church, and what would my sister say if you were absent, and at your stupid Reform-ball?"

"That alters the matter, we must have it put off, and so adieu, Karl, I will go at once to Herr Sussmann, and see about it, and then I must go to the Rathhaus, you know, to sit for four groschen an hour."

He went directly to Kurz's shop, but Herr Sussmann was not there, Kurz himself was running about, opening the drawers and looking in, and then shutting them again.

"Good morning, Kurz, where is your young Herr?"

"I have no young Herr; I am Herr[12] myself."

"Kurz, take care of your words, we live in democratic times, since----"

"Ah, what? Here? Take care! I despise the whole democracy, when my shopman goes out drinking punch over night, and cannot get up in the morning; and old people should be ashamed----"

"Hold, Kurz, you are beginning again with your flatteries, like last Sunday, but I cannot allow it at present, on account of my situation at the court. And adieu, Kurz! But I am sorry for you, for you have caught the inflorentia, you should go to bed, there is something in your bones, and if you will feel under your gaiters, you will find you are beginning to get the rheumatism. But adieu, Kurz!"

He went off, but Kurz raved about his shop, and stormed at the whole world, until his wife, as soon as the shopman was out of bed, got him into bed, and put him under arrest for the time.

After this little interview, Brasig went to the Rathhaus, and earned there without any further trouble, and in all quiet, five times four groschen, for the sitting lasted five hours. When he came home they had finished dinner, and as the table was spread again, expressly for him, the Frau Pastorin made some pointed remarks about irregularity in one's habits of life, and coming home at two o'clock in the morning, and sitting down to dinner at two o'clock in the afternoon; and Uncle Brasig sat there, and grinned, looking very well contented with himself, as if he would say, "Ah, if you knew what hard work I have been doing, and in what place I went through with it, you would stroke me and pet me, you would kiss me, and do more than you have ever done for me;" and when he rose from the table, he said, solemnly, "Frau Pastorin, it will all come to light, as the Herr Burgomeister says,"

and he nodded to Habermann, "Bonus! as the Herr President Rein says,"

and going up to Louise, he put his arms round her and kissed her, and said, "Louise, get me the finest sheet of writing paper that you can find, for I want to pack up a little--well, I will say indicium,--so that it may not be injured, for it is to go a long way."

And as he went out with the sheet in his hand, he turned round again to remark:

"Karl, as I said before, what can be done shall be done."

And he came back once more to say: "Frau Pastorin, I shall come home to supper to-night."

He went to the post-office. The postmaster was at home, he was always at home; for a hundred and fifty thalers salary, he had imprisoned himself for life, not in a room, no, in a bird-cage, which he called his "comptoir," and when he had no postal business, he sat there and played the flute, and sung, like the finest canary-bird. He was engaged in this agreeable business, when Brasig entered:

"Good-day, Herr Postmaster. You are a man of honor, therefore I wish to ask your a.s.sistance in a delicate matter. Of course, it isn't necessary for you to know the thing itself, that must remain a secret, and what I tell you must also remain a secret. I am going to write to Paris."

"To Paris? What the devil are you writing to Paris for?"

"To Paris," said Brasig, drawing himself up.

"What in the world!" said the postmaster, "one of you inspectors gets a letter from Paris, and the other will send one. Well, we will see how much it costs." He turned his books over, and said at last, "I can't find it here, I will reckon it up; it cannot be done under sixteen groschen."

"No matter, I have earned twenty groschen this morning, at the court."

"Whom is the letter for?"

"The young Herr Franz von Rambow."

"Do you know his address, where he lives?"

"Why, in Paris."

"But Paris is a great city. You must know the street, and the number of the house."

"G.o.d bless me!" said Brasig, "all that! I don't know it."

"Ask Habermann."

"That is just the thing, he mustn't know of it."