An Old Story of My Farming Days Vol. 1 (of 3). / (Ut Mine Stromtid)

by Fritz Reuter

CHAPTER XII.

So it was that the little girls' mode of life was settled as far as it is possible for human beings to settle the future of other people. But fate often interferes with the best laid schemes which worthy white-haired elders have made, and introduces the most unexpectedly incongruous elements. The worst of making such plans is that they never succeed whether they are wise or foolish, because the good old white-haired people have forgotten to call back to their remembrance the thoughts and feelings which influenced them before their hair began to turn grey. The old clergyman never seriously thought for a moment that any young man would come and take his foster-daughter away from him, and Mrs. Behrens, who, after the manner of women, thought much and often of the probability of such an event happening at some time or other, comforted herself with the thought that Louisa knew no one she could marry. She did not count Frank because of his position in society; and as for Triddelfitz, she regarded him as mere boy, for he was continually getting into scrapes and being scolded by her. She was now to be shown that a beautiful young girl, even though she may live in a parsonage, attracts young men to flutter round her as much as a flower does a butterfly. She was to see that the caterpillar which but a short time ago had roused her wrath in a different fashion, had turned into a gorgeous yellow butterfly which delighted to hover round the sweet flower she had so long tended. She would have thought the whole affair a good joke if the butterfly had not been her sister's son, and the flower Louisa Hawermann.

A few days after the confirmation Fred came to Gürlitz, his heart full of hatred to all women. The basin of water he had had thrown over his head, and being turned out of the paradise of good things to which he had been so long accustomed, had had a chilling effect on him; and as his novels had taught him that any young man who had been deceived in the character of his lady-love as he, Fred, had been, had a right to hate all women, he made use of his right and hated them. He had not been to Gürlitz for a long time because he wanted to punish his aunt for her constant lectures by depriving her of the pleasure of seeing him. When Fred had been sitting in the parlour for some time nursing his hatred of women, and only deigning to talk to the clergyman, little Mrs. Behrens went to join Louisa in the kitchen, and told her with great glee of his quiet manner: "Fred is very much improved," she said. "Thank God, he is growing wiser as he gets older."--Louisa laughed, but made no answer. Though she had not had much opportunity of studying the ways and manners of young men, still she knew Fred Triddelfitz too well to trust to appearances. Any one who understood the boy knew that if he tried to play some part that was unnatural to him, such as pretending to be a woman-hater, the real Fred Triddelfitz would suddenly reappear in his true colours and startle every one, but more especially his dear aunt. He had not been long in the same room with Louisa before he threw overboard his hatred of women, and all remembrance of Mary Möller, the wash-hand-basin, and the larder, and took in a large cargo of romantic ideas as ballast instead; this cargo he called "falling in love with Louisa." And as he had got rid of the trammels of the old love he was able to set sail gaily and make for the open sea. At first he tacked about so much that his aunt was puzzled, but as soon as he reached the high seas "of feeling," unfurled his top-gallant-sails, and had the rudder well in hand, she discovered what he was about, and was very much frightened. She looked upon him as a daring sea-rover, a pirate, a corsair who was trying to run down the dainty little brig in which she had shipped all her motherly love and hopes.

She tried a feint or two to draw off his attention, but the pirate kept on his course unchecked. She showed her parson the red danger signal she had hoisted in her distress, but he seemed to look upon the whole affair as a good joke, perhaps because he was convinced that the brig was in no danger. He sat back comfortably in his sofa corner, sometimes laughing and sometimes shaking his head.--Little Mrs. Behrens lost all patience with her nephew and called him in her own mind: "A silly boy, a young rascal, and a little wretch." But when the pirate began to fire one broadside after another of honied phrases and poetical sentiments at the tiny craft, she gallantly steamed out to sea to defend it and opened her attack on the rover by throwing her grappling irons, taking him in tow and carrying him off with her in triumph: "Come, my boy, come. I want to speak to you, Fred. You may as well take your hat with you." When she had him safe in the still-room she manœuvred him into a corner where he was unable to move because of the barricade of jars, tubs, &c., and then seizing a loaf of bread cut a tremendously thick slice, saying: "You must be hungry, Freddy. You have an empty stomach, sonny, and an empty stomach makes people say and do things that they had better not.--There now I've spread it with butter for you, here's the cheese, won't you have a bit--set to work, my boy, and eat a good luncheon."--Fred stood silently before her not knowing what to do; he had wished to win a heart, and instead of that he had been given a slice of bread and butter! He was about to speak, but his aunt would not allow him: "I know what you are going to say, my boy, so you needn't speak, my child. But here--just to please me--here is a bottle of beer, pray take it out to Hawermann who is sowing peas in the field below the garden. Tell him that it's some of the beer he likes so much, it comes from the mayor of Stavenhagen's brewery." While speaking she took him through the kitchen, and let him out at the back door. As he was going, she called after him through a chink in the doorway: "You won't be able to come and see us for a long time as you've begun to sow the corn and will of course have a great deal to do--no, no, my boy, it can't be helped--but when you come back, in autumn perhaps, Louisa will be seventeen, and you must give up talking such childish nonsense to her as you've been doing to-day, she'll be too old for such folly then. Good-bye now, sonny, eat your bread and butter." Then she shut the door leaving Fred outside with a great slice of bread in one hand, and a bottle of beer in the other.

He felt that his aunt had treated him very badly, and was so angry at first that he felt inclined to throw the bread and butter in at the kitchen window and the bottle of beer after it, at the same time vowing that he would never again set foot in the parsonage as long as he lived. But second thoughts are always best, so he turned and walked down the garden path glancing now at the bread and butter and now at the bottle of beer, and saying to himself: "Hang it all, I'm not a bit hungry. The old lady didn't hit the right nail on the head there. But the fact is she only wanted to get rid of me.--Wait a bit, auntie, you won't get the better of me so easily! I know when and where Louisa goes to walk.--She must be mine! Whatever happens, she must be mine!" Then he threw himself under the hedge at the end of the garden and proceeded to lay out his plan of operations in this new love affair. How angry he would have been if he had known that Louisa saw him from her garret window!--He did not know that however, and as he was afraid that his bread and butter would fall on the gravel and be spoilt, he thought it better on the whole to eat it while it was good, and when he had finished it, he said: "I don't care a farthing for my aunt and Mary Möller; Louisa is an angel! She must be mine! It's quite clear that my relations won't approve of our love.--Bong! No girl like Louisa is ever to be won without a struggle. I'll ...... yes, what ought I to do?"--Before he did anything else he thought it as well to drink the bottle of beer, and when he had finished it every drop, he rose and crossed the ploughed field with renewed courage, stamping his firm determination into the soft soil as he went on: "She shall be mine!" And when the seed had sprung up the villagers, said: "Look, do you see where the devil has been sowing thistles and nettles amongst old bailiff Hawermann's corn!"

So Fred went heart and soul into his new love affair. There was one good thing in it, and that was that he was now far more amenable to the bailiff than before, because he looked on him in the light of his future father-in-law. He sat by his side in the evening and told him how much his father would advance to set him up in business, and asked his advice as to whether, he should buy or rent a farm, or consulted him about buying a large tract of land in Livonia or Hungary. The old man gently talked him out of any of his ideas which were simply absurd, but he silently rejoiced in the change that had taken place in his pupil: "The young rascal used to be able to talk of nothing but riding, dancing and hunting, and now he speaks of sensible things however foolishly." One evening when he and Fred were alone, Frank having gone to Gürlitz, he was still more astonished by Fred's confiding to him that if he remained in Mecklenburg he would either buy or rent a place with a good house in the middle of a park--park was the very word he used, not garden--for, he said, he owed it to his future wife that everything should be done in good style, and added, that he would love and care for her nearest relations like a father, as he said this he looked at the bailiff with such a touchingly affectionate gaze that the latter felt quite uncomfortable. "Triddelfitz," remonstrated Hawermann, "you are surely not so foolish as to think yourself in love at your age?"--Fred answered that it might be so, or it might not be so, but he could at least say with certainty, that he intended his old father-in-law to have a whole wing in his house for his sole use, and that as he had always been accustomed to plenty of fresh air and exercise, he should keep a couple of horses for him to ride or drive. Having said this, he rose and began to walk up and down the room with long strides, waving his hands as he went, so that Hawermann, who was sitting in the sofa corner, had to move his head about from side to side in his efforts to keep his eye on his pupil's movements. When he was saying good-night that evening, Fred pressed the old gentleman's hand as warmly and emphatically as if it were a matter of life and death, and a moment later when Hawermann suspected no evil, he was startled to feel a warm hand stroking his white hair, then a head bent over him and a hearty kiss was pressed on his brow. Before the old man had had time to recover from his consternation, Fred had left the room.

Fred was a very good-hearted young fellow and wished the whole world to be as happy as he was himself. His intentions were good but his actions were foolish. He had never gone back to see his aunt at Gürlitz. It made him cross to think of the wretched day when he had been forbidden to show his feelings to Louisa, and yet he daily lived over again all that had passed on that occasion. Bitter as the thought was, it was not long before gall was added to the draught he had to drink--And by whom was this added?--By Frank!--During the whole of that spring Frank went to Gürlitz whenever he had time, and in summer when the three Miss von Rambows came to Pümpelhagen, Louisa used to go and see them very often, and when she was there Frank was never far away, while he--our poor Fred, was not with them, and had to content himself with envying them from a distance.

I did not mean to say, and I am sure that no one who reads this book would ever imagine that Fred was mean and wicked enough to be spying and prying into what did not concern him, but he would have been very stupid if he had not suspected what Frank was about. And this was quite right and proper, a young man who is really in love ought to feel the pangs of jealousy, for jealousy is a necessary ingredient in the tender passion, and I always look upon any man the course of whose love is utterly unruffled by anxiety or by the presence of a rival as very like my neighbour Mr. Hamann, who is in the habit of riding with only one spur. Frank was the rival in this case, and Fred regarded him as such, and before long had put him in the same category as his aunt and Mary Möller, he never addressed him and kept all his conversation for his future father-in-law.

No human being can stand more than a certain amount of pain, after that it becomes unbearable and a remedy must be found; now the only remedy a lover finds effectual is an interview with his sweetheart. Matters had come to such a pass with Fred that he could no longer exist without seeing Louisa, so he began to lie in wait for her in all sorts of holes and corners. Every hollow-tree was a good hiding-place from which he could watch for her coming, every ditch was of use in concealing his advance, every hill was a look-out from which he could sweep the country with his gaze, and every thicket served him for an ambush. He was so much in earnest that he could not fail to succeed in his attempts to see her, and he often gave Louisa a great fright by pouncing out upon her, when she least expected him, and when she was perhaps thinking of ..... we will not say Frank. Sometimes he was to be seen rearing his long slight figure out of a bush like a snake in the act of springing, sometimes his head would appear above the green ears of rye like a seal putting its head above water, and sometimes as she passed under a tree he would drop down at her side from the branches when he had been crouched like a lynx waiting for its prey. At first she did not mind it much, for she looked upon it as a new form of his silly practical joking, and so she only laughed and talked to him about some indifferent subject; but she soon discovered that a very remarkable change had taken place in him. He spoke gravely and solemnly and uttered the merest nothings as if they had been the weightiest affairs of state. He passed his hand meditatively across his forehead as if immersed in profound thought, and when she spoke of the weather, he laid his hand upon his heart as if he were suffering from a sudden pain in the side. When she asked him to come to Gürlitz he shook his head sadly, and said: Honour forbade him to do so. When she asked him about her father, his words poured forth like a swiftly flowing stream: The bailiff was an angel; there never was, and never would be such a man again on the face of the earth; his father was good and kind, but hers was the prince of fathers. When she asked after Miss Fidelia, he said: He never troubled himself about women, and was utterly indifferent to almost all of them; but once when, as ill luck would have it, she asked him about Frank, his eyes flashed and he shouted: "Ha!" once or twice with a sort of snort, laughed scornfully, caught hold of her hand, slipped a bit of paper into it, and plunged head foremost into the rye-field, where he was soon lost to sight.--When she opened the paper she found that it contained the following effusion:

TO HER.

"When with tender silvery light
Luna peeps the clouds between,
And 'spite of dark disastrous night
The radiant sun is also seen,
When the wavelets murmuring flow
When oak and ivy clinging grow,
Then, O then, in that witching hour
Let us meet in my lady's bow'r.

"Where'er thy joyous step doth go
Love waits upon thee ever,
The spring-flow'rs in my hat do show
I'll cease to love thee never.
When thou'rt gone from out my sight
Vanished is my sole delight.
Alas! Thou ne'er canst understand
What I've suffered at thy hand.

"My vengeance dire! will fall on him,
The foe who has hurt me sore,
Hurt me! who writes this poem here;
Revenge!! I'll seek for ever more."

Frederic Triddelfitz.

Pümpelhagen, July, 3d, 1842.

The first time that Louisa read this effusion she could make nothing of it, when she had read it twice she did not understand it a bit better, and after the third reading she was as far from comprehending it as she had been at first; that is to say, she could not make out who it was on whom the unhappy poet wished to be revenged. She was not so stupid as not to know that the "Her" was intended for herself.

She would have liked to have been able to think that the whole affair was only a silly joke, but when she remembered Fred's odd manner she was obliged to confess that it was anything but a joke, and so she determined to keep as much as possible out of his way. She was such a tender-hearted little creature that she was full of compassion for Fred's sufferings. Now pity is a bridge that often leads to the beautiful meadows stretched on the other side of it full of rose-bushes and jasmine-hedges, which are as attractive to a maiden of seventeen as cherries to a bird, and who knows whether Louisa might not have been induced to wander in those pleasant groves, had she not been restrained by the thought of Fred riding amongst the roses on the old sorrel-horse, holding a great slice of bread and butter in one hand and a bottle of beer in the other. In spite of her compassion for him she could not help laughing, and so remained safely on this side of the bridge; she liked best to watch Fred from a distance, for the sorrel might have lain down in the pond again, and Fred might have smeared her with the bread and butter. The stupidest lads under the sun may often win the love of girls of seventeen, and even men with only an apology for a heart are sometimes successful, but alas for the young fellow who has ever condescended to wear motley, he can never hope to win his lady's affection, for nothing is so destructive to young love as a hearty fit of laughter.

Louisa could not restrain her laughter when she thought of the ludicrous scene that had just taken place, but she suddenly stopped in the midst of her merriment, for she felt as if a soft hand had just taken hers, and as if a pair of dark eyes were looking at her affectionately. Perhaps this thought may have come into her head because she caught sight of Frank coming towards her from the distance. The next moment it flashed into her mind that it was Frank on whom Fred wished to be revenged, and so when they met a deep blush overspread her face, and feeling that that was the case made her so angry with herself that she blushed even deeper than before. Frank spoke to her in his usual courteous manner about indifferent things, but she was strangely shy, and answered him at cross-purposes, for her mind was full of Fred and his vows of vengeance.

"Heaven knows what's the matter," thought Frank as he was returning home after having walked a short way with her, "she isn't at all like herself to-day. Is it my fault? Has she had anything to vex or annoy her? What was that piece of paper she was tearing up?"--Meanwhile he had reached the place where he had met her. Some of the bits of paper were still lying on the ground, and he saw on one of them, without picking it up: "Revenge! I'll seek for evermore Frederic Triddelfitz." This made him curious for he knew Fred's handwriting, so he looked about and found two more bits of paper, but when he put them together he could make nothing more out of them but: "clinging grows ... that witching hour .... meet in my lady's bow'r ..... Spring flowers .... I'll cease to ... from out my sight .... my sole delight ... Alas! thou ne'er ... my vengeance dire! .... The foe ... Revenge!! I'll seek for evermore Frederic Triddelfitz." The wind had blown away all the rest.

There was not much to be made out of it, but after a time Frank came to the conclusion that Fred Triddelfitz was in love with Louisa, dogged her footsteps, and wanted to be revenged on her for some reason only known to himself. It was a ridiculous affair altogether, but still when he remembered that Fred Triddelfitz was as full of tricks as a donkey's hide of grey hair, and that he might easily do something that would be of great annoyance to Louisa, Frank determined to keep watch, and not to let Fred out of his sight when he went in the direction of Gürlitz.

Fred had broken the ice, he had spoken, he had done his part, and it was now Louisa's turn to speak if anything was to come of it. He waited, and watched, and got no answer. "It's a horrid shame," he said to himself. "But she isn't up to this sort of thing yet, I must show her what she ought to do." Then he sat down and wrote a letter in a feigned hand.

Address: "To Her that you know of.
Inscription: "Sweet Dream of my soul!

"This letter can tell you nothing, it only contains what is absolutely necessary for you to learn, and you will find it in the third rose-bush in the second row. I'll tell you the rest by word of mouth, and will only add: Whenever you see a cross drawn in white chalk on the garden-door, you will find the disclosure of my sentiments under the flower-pot beside the third rose-bush in the second row. The waving of a pocket-handkerchief on the Gürlitz side of the house will be a token of your presence, and of your desiring an interview; my signal, on the other hand, will be whistling three times on the crook of my stick. (Our shepherd taught me how to do it, and love makes everything easy to learn). Randyvoo: The large ditch to the right of the bridge.

"Ever thine!!

"From Him whom you know of."

"P.S. Pardon me for having written this in my shirt-sleeves, it is such a frightfully hot day.----"

This letter fell into the wrong hands, for it was Mrs. Behrens who found it when she went out to water her flowers, whilst Louisa, who was now a notable little housekeeper, was busy indoors making gooseberry jam. The clergyman's wife had no scruples about opening and reading the letter, and after she had done so she was quite convinced that it was intended for Louisa, and had been written by her nephew Fred.

She could not tell Louisa of her discovery, for that would simply have been playing into Fred's hands, she had therefore to content herself with talking of letters in general, and trying to find out in a round-about kind of way whether Louisa had received any epistles such as she had in her pocket, but as the girl did not understand what she meant, she determined not to tell her pastor what had happened. For, she thought, why should she make him angry by telling him of the foolish boy's love troubles, and besides that, it would have been very painful for her to have to give evidence against her own flesh and blood--and unfortunately Fred was her sister's son. But she wished with all her heart that she could have have had a few minutes quiet talk with the culprit himself, and that was impossible, for she never saw him by any chance.

She was very silent and thoughtful for a few days, and took the entire charge of watering the flowers into her own hands. It was just as well that she did so, for soon afterwards she found a letter drenched with rain under the third rose-bush in the second row. This letter was still more to the point than the last:

Address: "To Her, the only woman I adore.
Inscription: "Soul of my existence!!

"We are surrounded by pitfalls; I am aware that our foe watches my every step.--Cowardly spy, I scorn you!--Have no fear, Beloved, I will conquer all difficulties.--One bold deed will bring our love recognition. At two o'clock to-morrow afternoon, when the Dragon is asleep that guards my treasure, I shall expect to see your signal with the pocket-handkerchief. As for myself, I shall then be hidden behind the manure heap on the bank beside the large ditch, and shall whistle three times on the crook of my stick to entice you to come to me. And--even though the powers of hell should fight against me--I have sworn to be ever

Thine."

Mrs. Behrens was furious when she read this letter. "The ....! The ....! Oh you young rascal! 'When the dragon is asleep!' The wretch means me by that! But wait a bit! I'll entice you to come to me, and though the powers of hell won't touch you, if once I get hold of you, I'll give you such a box on the ear as you never had before!"

About two o'clock next day, Mrs. Behrens rose from her sofa and went into the garden. The parlour-door creaked and the garden-door banged as she went out, and the parson hearing the noise, looked out at the window to see what it was that took his wife out at that unusual hour, for as a general rule she did not move from her sofa till three had struck. He saw her go behind a bush and wave her pocket-handkerchief.--"She's making signs to Hawermann, of course," said he, and then he went and lay down again. But the fact of the matter is that she only wanted to show her sister's son how much she longed to get within reach of his ears. But he did not come, not yet were his three whistles to be heard.--She returned to her room very crossly, and when her husband asked her at coffee time to whom she had been making signals in the garden, she was so overwhelmed with confusion that in spite of being a clergyman's wife--I am sorry to have to confess it--she told a lie, and said that she had found it so frightfully close she had been fanning herself a little.

On the third day after that she found another letter:

Address: "To Her who is intended for me by Fate.
Inscription: "Sun of my dark existence!!

"Have you ever suffered the pains of hell? I have been enduring them since two o'clock in the afternoon of the day before yesterday when I was hidden behind the manure-heap. The weather was lovely, our foe was busy in the clover-field, and your handkerchief was waving in the perfumed air like one of those tumbler pigeons I used to have long ago. I was just about to utter the three whistles we had agreed upon, when that stupid old ass Bräsig came up to me, and talked to me for a whole hour by the clock about the farm. As soon as he was gone I hastened to the ditch, but, oh agony! I was terribly disappointed. The time must have seemed very long to you, for you were gone.--But now, listen. As soon as I have finished my curds and cream this evening I shall start for the place of Randyvoo where I shall be hidden punctually at half-past eight. This is Saturday, so the parson will be writing his sermon, and the Dragon will be busy, so it is a favourable opportunity for us to meet, and the alder-bushes will screen us from every eye, (Schiller!) Wait awhile--thy rest comes presently (Göthe) in the arms of thy adorer, who would sell all that is dear to him, if he could buy what is dear to thee with the proceeds.

"Again to meet! again to meet!
Till then I fain would sleep;
My longings and my thoughts to steep
In Lethe's waters dark and deep.
My loved one I again shall see,
There's rapture in the thought!
In the hope to-morrow of thee,
My darling, I fear nought.

("The beginning is by myself, the middle part by Schiller, and the end by a certain person called Anonymous who writes a great deal of poetry, but I have altered his lines to suit the present case.)

"In an agony of longing to see you,

Ever Thine."

"No!" cried little Mrs. Behrens when she had read the letter. "This is really too much of a good thing! Ah, my dear sister, I'm sorry for you! Well, it's high time for other people to interfere, and I think that being his aunt, I am the proper person to do so. And I will do it," she exclaimed aloud, stamping her foot emphatically, "and I should like to see who'd dare to prevent me!"

"I promise not to interfere with you, Mrs. Behrens," said Bräsig, coming from behind the bee-hives.

"Have you been listening, Bräsig?" asked Mrs. Behrens rather sharply.--"'Listening!' I never listen! I only keep my ears open, and then I hear what's going on; and I keep my eyes open, and see what passes before me. For instance, I see that you are very cross."--"Yes, but it's enough to drive an angel wild."--"Ah, Mrs. Behrens, the angels are wild enough already in all conscience, but we don't need to speak of them just now, for I believe that the devil himself is going about Pümpelhagen."--"Goodness gracious me! Has Fred ....?"--"No," answered Bräsig, "I don't know what it is, but certainly there's something up."--"How?"--"Mrs. Behrens, Hawermann is in a bad humour, and that is enough to show you that something unpleasant is going on. When I went to Pümpelhagen last week I found him busy with the hay and rape-harvest, and said: 'Good-morning,' I said.--'Good-morning,' said he.--'Charles,' I began, and was going to have said something when he interrupted me by asking: 'Have you seen Triddelfitz anywhere?'--'Yes,' I answered.--'Where?' he asked.--'Sitting in the large ditch,' I said.--'Did you see young Mr. von Rambow?' he asked.--'He's sitting in the next ditch close behind Fred,' I replied.--'What are they doing?' he asked.---'Playing,' I said.--'You don't give me much comfort,' he said, 'playing, when there's so much to be done!'--'Yes, Charles,' I said, 'and I played with them.'--'What were you playing at?' he asked.--'We had a game at "I spy," Charles. You must understand that your grey-hound was peeping over the edge of the ditch towards Gürlitz, and your young nobleman was watching the grey-hound, so I hid myself in the marl-pit, and watched them both. When ever one of them turned the others ducked, so there we sat peeping and ducking till at last I found it a very tiresome amusement, and, leaving my hiding-place, went to join Mr. von Rambow.' 'Good-day,' I said.--'Good-day,' he replied.--'Pardon me,' I said, 'but which of your farming-operations is it that is occupying your attention just now?'--'I,' he stammered, 'w--wanted to see how the peas were getting on!'--'H'm!' I said. 'Ah!' I said. 'I understand.' Then I bade him 'good-bye,' and went to have a look at the grey-hound. Don't be angry, Mrs. Behrens, but that's what I always call your nephew."--"Not at all, not at all!" cried the little lady, though her own name for him was different.--Then Bräsig continued: "'Good-day,' I said, 'may I ask what you are doing here?'--'Oh, nothing in particular,' he said, looking rather foolish, 'I'm only looking at the peas.'--'Now, Charles,' I said, 'if you can get the peas staked by setting those two lads to look at them, why all that I can say is that you're a deuced lucky fellow.'--'The devil take it!' he said, 'they're both up to some folly. Mr. von Rambow is quite changed this summer, he isn't like the same person. He goes about in a dream, forgets all that I tell him, and so I can't rely on him as I used to do. And as for that other stupid dolt, he's worse than ever.'--Now, Mrs. Behrens, pray don't be angry with Hawermann for calling your nephew a 'stupid dolt.'"--"Certainly not," replied Mrs. Behrens, "for that's just what he is."--"Well, you see that all happened a week ago, but this morning I went out early with my fishing-rod to try whether I couldn't catch a few trout, when just as I was coming in this direction I caught sight of your nephew, the greyhound. He slipped cautiously into the garden, and after remaining there for a few minutes, came out again. Meanwhile I perceived that the young nobleman was watching him from amongst the thorn-bushes by the side of the ditch; but what was my astonishment when I saw that my good old friend Charles Hawermann was following them on the hill-side. I brought up the rear, and so we all went on in single file quite round the village, and I couldn't help laughing when I thought that each of us only knew of the presence of the game he was stalking, and was totally unaware that he himself was being stalked in his turn. We're all to be at it again to-morrow I believe, for Hawermann, who has followed them twice already, is determined to get to the bottom of the mystery; so if either you or the parson has a fancy to join us in the hunt, you can follow me."--"Thanks very much," said Mrs. Behrens, "but I've got my part to play already. Bräsig, can you keep a secret?"--"Like a safe when the padlock is on," he answered.--"No, no. Do be serious. Can you be silent?"--"I beg your pardon," he said gravely, and clapped his hand on his mouth in token of shame at his ill-timed jesting, though had anyone else done it, he would have given him a black eye for his pains.--"Why well then, listen," said Mrs. Behrens, who now proceeded to relate all that she knew of the affair.--"Wheugh!" whistled Bräsig, "what a fool that nephew of yours is."--Mrs. Behrens then read him the letters she had found. "Hang it," cried Bräsig, "where did the young rascal get that grand way of expressing himself. Stupid as he is in other matters, he can write much better than one would expect."--When she came to the bit about the dragon Bräsig laughed heartily, and said: "That's you, Mrs. Behrens, that's you!"--"I know," she answered sharply, "but the ass in the third letter is intended for you, so neither of us need laugh at the other. But now, Bräsig, you see that it's quite necessary that I should get hold of the little wretch, and box his ears well for him."--"You're quite right, and it's easily managed. Listen. You and I must hide at the bottom of the garden at eight o'clock this evening; at half past eight, Louisa must take her place in the ditch, and you'll see that he'll come like a bear to wild honey; and then we'll spring out upon him, and take him prisoner before he knows where he is."--"That won't do at all, Bräsig. If I were going to act in that sort of way I shouldn't require your help. It would be a great misfortune if Louisa were ever to know anything about this, and I'd rather that neither Hawermann nor even my pastor should hear of it."--"H'm, h'm!" said Bräsig. "Then .... then .... Stop! I have it now. Mrs. Behrens, you must make yourself as thin as possible, put on Louisa's clothes, and go to the randyvoo in her stead. Then, as soon as he is seated by your side, and is on the point of kissing you, you must seize him by the scruff of the neck, and hold on till I come."--"Nay, Bräsig, that would never do!"--"Don't you think so, Mrs. Behrens? You understand that if he doesn't see his sweet-heart in the ditch, you'll never manage to inveigle him there; and if we don't nab him unexpectedly, we'll never succeed in catching him, for he's a long-legged, thin-flanked grey-hound, and if it came to a race, we'd be nowhere with our short legs and round bodies."--It was quite true; but no! she go to a rendezvous? And Bräsig was very stupid, how could she ever get into Louisa's gown?--But Bräsig would not be convinced; he maintained that it was the only way in which she could get the interview she wanted with her nephew, and assured her that all she had to do was to put on Louisa's shawl and Leghorn hat, and then go and sit on the edge of the ditch. "You must remember to sit down," he continued, "for if you remain standing he will see at once that you're a foot shorter, and at least a foot broader than Louisa."--At last--at last Mrs. Behrens allowed herself to be persuaded, and when she went out at the back-door about eight o'clock that evening, wearing Louisa's shawl and hat, the parson who was standing at his study-window thinking over his sermon, said to himself wonderingly: "What on earth is Regina doing with Louisa's hat and shawl? And there's Bräsig coming out of the arbour. He must want to speak to me about something--but it's a very odd thing altogether!"

Mrs. Behrens went down the garden path with Bräsig feeling ready for anything that might befall. She opened the garden-gate and went out alone, leaving Bräsig squatted under the hedge like a great toad, but no sooner was she by herself than her courage oozed away, and she said: "Come to the ditch with me, Bräsig, you're too far away there, and must be close at hand to help me when I've caught him."--"All right!" said Bräsig, and he accompanied her to the ditch.

Canal-like ditches such as this are no longer to be found in all the country-side, for the thorough system of drainage to which the land has been subjected has done away with their use; but every farmer will remember them in the old time. They were from fifteen to twenty feet wide at the top, but tapered away till quite narrow at the bottom, and were fringed with thorns and other bushwood. They were generally dry except in spring and autumn, when there was a foot or a foot and half of water in them, or in summer for a day or two after a thunder-storm. That was the case now.--"Bräsig hide yourself behind that thorn so that you may come to the rescue at once."--"Very well," said Bräsig.--"But, Mrs. Behrens," he continued after a pause, "you must think of a signal to call me to your help."--"Yes," she said. "Of course! But what shall it be? Wait! when I say; 'The Philistines be upon thee' spring upon him."--"I understand, Mrs. Behrens!"

"Goodness gracious me!" thought the clergyman's wife. "I feel as if I were quite a Delilah. Going to a rendezvous at half past eight in the evening! At my age too! Ah me, in my old age I'm going to do what I should have been ashamed of when I was a girl."--Then aloud. "Bräsig don't puff so loud anyone could hear you a mile off." Resuming her soliloquy: "And all for the sake of a boy, a mischievous wretch of a boy. Good gracious! If my pastor knew what I was about!"--Aloud. "What are you laughing at, Bräsig? I forbid you to laugh, it's very silly of you."--"I didn't laugh, Mrs. Behrens."--"Yes, you did, I heard you distinctly."--"I only yawned, Mrs. Behrens, it's such frightfully slow work lying here."--"You oughtn't to yawn at such a time. I'm trembling all over.--Oh, you little wretch, what misery you have caused me! I can't tell anyone what you've made me suffer, and must just bear it in silence. It was God who sent Bräsig to my help."--Suddenly Bräsig whispered in great excitement, his voice sounding like the distant cry of a corn-crake: "Mrs. Behrens, draw yourself out till you're as long as Lewerenz's child;[^[15]] make yourself as thin as you possibly can, and put on a pretty air of confusion, for I see him coming over the crest of the hill. His figure stands out clearly against the sky."--Little Mrs. Behrens felt as if her heart had stopped beating, and her anger waxed hotter against the boy who had brought her into such a false position. She was so much ashamed of herself for being where she was, that she would most assuredly have run away if Bräsig had not laughed again, but as soon as she heard that laugh, she determined to stay and show him that he was engaged in a much more serious undertaking than he seemed to imagine.--

It was quite true that Bräsig had laughed this time, for he saw a second and then a third black figure following the first down the hill. "Ha, ha, ha!" he chuckled in his hiding-place in the thorn-bush, "there's Charles Hawermann too! I declare the whole overseeing force of Pümpelhagen is coming down here to see how the peas are growing in the dusk of evening. It's as good as a play!"--Mrs. Behrens did not see the others, she only saw her sister's son who was coming rapidly towards her. He hastened over the bridge, ran along the bank, sprang to her side, and threw his arms round her neck, exclaiming: "Sweet angel!"--"Oh you wicked little wretch!" cried his aunt trying to seize him in the way Bräsig had desired her, but instead of that she only caught hold of the collar of his coat. Then she called out as loudly as she could: "The Philistines be upon thee!" and immediately Bräsig the Philistine started to his feet.--Confound it! His foot had gone to sleep!--But never mind! He hopped down the bank as quickly as he could, taking into consideration that one leg felt as if it had a hundred-and-eighty pound weight attached to the end of it, but just as he was close upon his prey he tripped over a low thorn-bush and tumbled right into the foot and a half of water.--And there he sat as immovably as if he had gone back to the hydropathic establishment, and were in the enjoyment of a sitz-bath! Fred stood as if he had been turned to stone, and felt as though he were suffering from a douche-bath, for his dear aunt was clutching him tightly and scolding him to her heart's content: "The dragon has caught you now my boy! Yes, the dragon has caught you!"--"And here comes the ass," shouted Bräsig picking himself out of the water and running towards him. But Fred had now recovered from his astonishment. He shook himself free from his aunt, and darting up the bank would have escaped had he not at the same moment encountered a new enemy--Frank. In another second Hawermann had joined them, and Mrs. Behrens had scarcely recovered from the shock of seeing him, when her pastor came up, and said: "What's the matter, Regina? What does all this mean?"--The poor little lady's consternation was indescribable, but Bräsig, from whose clothes the water was running in streams, was too angry to hold his tongue, and exclaimed: "You confounded rascal! You greyhound!" giving Fred a hearty dig in the ribs as he spoke. "It's all your fault that I shall have another attack of gout. But now, I'll tell you what, everyone shall know what a d--d Jesuit you are. Hawermann, he ....."--"For God's sake," cried Mrs. Behrens, "don't attend to a single word that Bräsig says. Hawermann, Mr. von Rambow, the whole thing is ended and done with. It's all over now, and what has still to be done or said can quite well be managed by my pastor alone; it's a family matter and concerns no one but ourselves. Isn't that the case, my dear Fred? It's merely a family matter I assure you, and no one has anything to do with it but we two. But now, come away, my boy, we'll tell my pastor all about it. Good-night, Mr. von Rambow. Good-night, Hawermann, Fred will soon follow you. Come away, Bräsig, you must go to bed at once."

And so she managed to disperse the assembly. The two who were left in ignorance of what had happened, went home separately, shaking their heads over the affair. Hawermann was indignant with his two young people, and put out because he was to have no explanation of their conduct. Frank was mistrustful of everyone; he had recognised Louisa's hat and shawl in spite of the darkness, and thought that the mystery must have something to do with her, though how, he was unable to conjecture.

Fred was much cast down in spirit. The clergyman and his wife went on in front of him, and the latter told her husband the whole story from beginning to end, scolding her hopeful nephew roundly the whole time. The procession moved on towards the parsonage, and as the evil-doer guessed that a bad half-hour awaited him there, he had serious thoughts of making his escape while it was possible, but Bräsig came as close up to him as if he had known what he was thinking of, and that only made him rage and chafe the more inwardly. When Bräsig asked Mrs. Behrens who it was that had come up in the nick of time, and she had answered that it was Frank, Triddelfitz stood still and shaking his fist in the direction of Pümpelhagen, said fiercely: "I am betrayed, and she will be sold, sold to that man because of his rank and position!"--"Boy!" cried Mrs. Behrens, "will you hold your tongue!"--"Hush, Regina," said her husband, who had now a pretty good idea of what had taken place, "now please go in and see that Bräsig's room is prepared, and get him sent to bed as quickly as you can. I will remain here and speak to Fred."

This was done. The parson appealed to Fred's common sense, but his sense of injury far exceeded that other, and his spirit seethed and boiled like wine in the process of fermentation. He put aside all the clergyman's gentle arguments, and declared passionately that his own aunt had determined to destroy the whole happiness of his life, and that she cared more for the rich aristocrat than for her sister's son.

Within the house matters were going on in the same unsatisfactory manner; uncle Bräsig refused to go to bed in spite of all Mrs. Behrens' entreaties. "I can't," he said, "that is to say, I can, but I mustn't do it; for I must go to Rexow. I had a letter from Mrs. Nüssler to say that she wanted my help." The same yeast which had caused Fred to seethe and boil over was working in him, but more quietly, because it had been a part of his being for a longer time. At last, however, he was persuaded to go to bed as a favour to Mrs. Behrens, and from fear of bringing on an attack of gout by remaining in his wet things, but his thoughts were as full of anxious affection for Mrs. Nüssler, as Fred's were of love for Louisa when on leaving the parsonage he exclaimed passionately: "Give her up, does he say! Give her up!--The devil take that young sprig of the nobility!"