CHAPTER XV.
So the seed-time passed away, and summer came in its turn. Mrs. von Rambow no longer went about the farm as much as before, and the old bailiff had to do without the comfort of her kindly smile and friendly words of greeting, which used to give him encouragement to persevere. She had other and pleasanter occupations now, which fully engrossed her attention. She was so much taken up with hopes, wishes, and plans for the little child she rocked in her arms, that she rather neglected outside duties. Alick had also changed a good deal since the birth of the baby. He took a vaguely gloomy view of his responsibility as the father of a family, and instead of going about his estate as formerly, and seeing how matters were going on, in the same manner as a field-marshal looks after what is under his charge, he now inspected each farming-detail as carefully as a corporal does those regimental matters which lie in his department. He put his finger into every pie, not excepting the feeding-troughs in the cattle-sheds. He might always have done that if he had liked, and it is delightful to see a squire interesting himself in such things, but he had better not have meddled with the existing regulations, for he did not understand how to improve them. He would give foolishly ignorant orders, alter all the arrangements the bailiff had made, and then when he had got everything at sixes and sevens, he would go home and say grumblingly: "That old man is of no use whatever. He's far too old. I can't stand it much longer."--Christian Segel said one day to Derrick Snäsel: "What's to be done now, I wonder; the squire tells me to do one thing, and the bailiff tells me to do another."--"Well, lad," said Derrick, "if the squire says ...."--"But it's such a stupid thing to do."--"You needn't be in too great a hurry, and if the squire desires you to do it, it can't be helped."
Harvest had begun, and the grain was falling under the mower's scythes. The rye was all cut, and the sheaves had been standing in the fields for three days.--"Mr. Hawermann," cried Alick out at the window, and as soon as the bailiff had come up he went on: "I want you to lead in the rye to-morrow."--"It's too soon, Sir. The weather has been so damp and heavy both yesterday and to-day, that the corn hasn't dried properly; besides that it's still quite soft, and some of the ears are rather green yet."--"It'll do all right. Where shall you begin to lead in?"--"If we are to do it, we should begin below the village, and have two sets of carts going, one to take the rye to the great barn, and the other to the barn where we usually store the barley."--"What? Below the village? Two sets of carts? Why?"--"Because the nearer the village we begin the more we shall be able to save in the day, and it looks rather like rain. The reason I proposed having two sets of carts was to prevent the people and the waggons getting into each other's way."--"H'm!" said Alick, "I shall take what you have said into consideration," and then he shut the window. After due consideration he made up his mind that he would get in the rye alone, with Fred Triddelfitz's help. Hawermann should have nothing whatever to do with it, and in order to show him that he was of no use, the rye should be taken from the field to the barn with one set of carts. Alick did not quite understand what one set or two sets of carts meant, but that was of no consequence, as of course it was only one of the old bailiff's antiquated notions with which he would have nothing to do.
At five o'clock next morning he was up and about. Finding the bailiff in the yard, he went up to him, and said with a friendly smile: "I've been thinking it over, Mr. Hawermann, and--don't be angry with me--would so much like to manage this all by myself with young Triddelfitz to help me"--The old man stood before him in speechless amazement. At last he said slowly and sadly: "And I am only to look on then, Sir. You'd rather have the assistance of a foolish young apprentice than have mine." Then grasping his walking-stick more firmly, he gazed at Mr. von Rambow with sparkling eyes that looked quite youthful in the old face. He continued: "You were a little boy, Sir, when I entered your good father's service, and devoted myself to him. He thanked me on his death-bed, thanked me. But you--you have made my life hard to me, and now you want to insult me."--He walked away, and Alick followed him, saying: "Indeed, Mr. Hawermann, I never meant to do that, I assure you. I only wished to try ....."--But he had meant it so; he knew very well that he had meant it so; he wanted to rid himself of the old man, for he knew too much of his affairs, and often made him feel ashamed.
The bailiff went to his room, shut his door, and sat down to think, but it was long before he could make up his mind to any course of action. Meanwhile there was much shouting and talking going on in the yard. "Triddelfitz."--"Mr. von Rambow."--"Where are you going, Joseph?"--"I don't know, I've had no orders."--"What are you going to do with that harrow, Fred Päsel?"--"How can I tell, I'm going to harrow the ploughed land."--"What a fool you are," cried Fred Triddelfitz, "we're going to lead in the rye."--"I'm sure I don't care, what isn't to be, isn't to be," pulling the harrow out of the cart, "I shall do whatever the bailiff tells me."--"Flegel," shouted the squire.--"Fred Flegel," repeated Triddelfitz.--"What do you want," shouted a gruff voice from the hay-loft.--"Where are the boards to heighten the waggons?" asked Fred Triddelfitz.--"There, just as they were," was the answer, "no one told me, they'd be required to-day."--"What's to be done now?" asked the labourer Näsel.--"God alone knows," answered Pegel, "we've received no orders."--"Flegel," cried Fred, "we're going to lead in the rye, and the waggon-wheels must be greased."--"You may do it for all I care," shouted Flegel from the loft. "Here's the tub if you want it"--"Where's Hawermann, Mr. von Rambow, mayn't I call him?"--"No," answered Alick lowly as he turned away.--"Well then," said Fred, who was growing rather anxious, "we won't get any of the rye in this morning."--"That doesn't matter. We can begin this afternoon."--"But what are the labourers to do till then?" "Confound the labourers," said Alick petulantly and turning to go, "it's always the labourers. They can make themselves useful here in the yard until they are wanted. Stop a moment," he added looking back, "they can help to grease the waggon-wheels."
Meantime the old bailiff was sitting at his desk, thinking how best he could write something that it nearly broke his heart to have to write. He was about to sever the tie that bound him to the place where the late squire had been so good to him. He heard some of the foolish talk that was going on in the yard, and started to the window to put things right, but no sooner had he got there than he drew back again, remembering that he had nothing more to do with it. He crumpled up the letter he had begun, and tried to write another, which gave him as little satisfaction as the first. He put all his writing things together and shut his desk. What was he to do now? What was there for him to do? Nothing! He was supposed to be beyond work. He threw himself into the corner of the sofa, and thought and thought.
Everything was ready for leading in the rye by the afternoon, thanks to the exertions of the old carpenter, and of two or three of the steadiest of the old labourers. So the work began. Alick got on horseback, and took command of the whole affair, and Fred, not to be outdone by his master, must needs ride also. As his deaf mare was lame he mounted a spirited old thoroughbred, and acted as adjutant. They set off. Six pairs of horses were taken out, and a pair of these was harnessed into each of the six harvest-waggons, which were then driven out of the yard in a row. Order was of more importance than anything else. On one side were the forkers, and the men who standing in the waggons arranged the sheaves on them, then others went to the barns to be ready to receive the loaded waggons, and the field-workers got into the waggons, and set off for the corn-field preceded by Alick and Fred on horseback. Such an arrangement was never known before at Pümpelhagen as on that lovely afternoon; but order must be maintained. The old carpenter, Frederic Flegel, stood at the barn-door and watched the harvesters set out: "Wonders will never cease," he muttered, scratching his head, "however it's no business of mine," and as he went back to his work, he said: "What has become of our old bailiff?"
Hawermann was still sitting quietly in his room thinking. His first anger had passed away, and he was able to write calmly, so he rose and wrote a few lines giving up his situation at Christmas, and asking for leave of absence during harvest, for he knew that he could be of no use there. Having done this he took his hat and stick, and went out; he felt that he must have fresh air; he was stifling in the house. He seated himself on a stone wall under the shade of an elder-bush, and gazed down the Warnitz road to see if the waggons were coming; but there were no waggons to be seen; the only moving object he could descry was Bräsig, who was coming towards them along the Warnitz road.--"As sure as your nose is in the middle of your face, I can't understand you, Charles! Why are you leading in the rye so soon? It's as green as grass! And what do you mean by letting six waggons follow one another in a row? And why are the loaded waggons stopping on the road?"--"I don't know, Bräsig. You must ask the squire and Triddelfitz."--"What?"--"I've nothing more to say, Bräsig"--"How? Why? What do you mean?" asked Bräsig, raising his eyebrows as high as he could in his astonishment.--"I've nothing more to say," repeated the old man with quiet sadness, "I am put on one side; the squire thinks me too old to be of any use."--"Charles," said Bräsig, laying his hand on his friend's shoulder, "what's the matter? Tell me."--And so Hawermann told him all that had happened. When Bräsig knew the whole story he turned round, and clenched his teeth savagely, looking as if he wished the beautiful world, at which he was glaring so angrily, were a hazel-nut that he might grind it between his teeth. Then he growled passionately as he looked down the Warnitz road: "The Jesuits! The beastly Jesuits!" and turning again to Hawermann, he said: "Triddelfitz is another serpent you have warmed in your bosom, Charles."--"How do you make that out, Bräsig? He must do as he is told."--"Here he comes at a gallop, and all the six waggons after him! Will they ever keep up, I wonder--just look how top-heavy they are! It's a comedy, an agricultural comedy! Mark my words! There'll be an upset at the old bridge!" cried uncle Bräsig, dancing as vehemently on his poor gouty legs, as if he wished to make them pay the penalty of all the mischief that had been done that day. I am sorry to have to confess it, but it is nevertheless true that Bräsig was full of delight at the thought that the returning harvesters were almost certain to meet with an accident, which he thought would only serve them right after what had happened that morning. "There it is, as flat as a flounder!" he exclaimed joyfully when the first overloaded waggon reached the turn of the bridge, and then upset.--"Wo!" was shouted from the bridge. "Confound it! won't you stop! Wo, can't you!" Fred looked round about him, what was to be done? He did not know what to do. Suddenly he caught sight of Hawermann and Bräsig, seated on the wall, galloped up to them, and said: "Oh, Mr. Hawermann ....."--"Sir, you've made your bed, and must lie upon it!" interrupted Bräsig.--"Oh, Mr. Hawermann, what are we to do? The first waggon is lying right across the bridge, and the others can't move."--"Ride quickly ...."--"Hold your tongue, Charles, you've been set aside like a lamb for the sacrifice, and have nothing to do with it," exclaimed Bräsig.--"No, never mind, the men are wiser than you, they're putting everything right down there."--"It isn't my fault, Sir," said Fred, "Mr. von Rainbow gave all the orders himself. The waggons are to go in a row, and are to move on quickly though they are overloaded."--"Then obey orders, and ride till your tongue hangs out of your mouth like a dog's," said Bräsig.--"He's on horseback over there on the heather-hill, and is overlooking and ordering everything himself."--"Then, I suppose, he has a telespope in one hand and a field-marshal's baton in the other like old Blücher in the hop-market at Rostock," said Bräsig scornfully.--"Ride on to the farm," interrupted Hawermann, "and see that each waggon sets off again for the field the moment it is emptied."--"I dar'n't do that," answered Fred, "the squire has given express orders that the waggons are all to go back to the field in a row as they came. He says that order must be maintained."--"Then you can tell him that I never saw a finer specimen of a donkey in all my life ....."--"Bräsig, take care what you say," cried Hawermann warningly.--"Than--than your little mule, Mr. Triddelfitz," added uncle Bräsig with great presence of mind.
Fred rode away to the farm.--"Charles," said Bräsig, "let us go too. We shall see everything capitally from your window."--"It's all the same to me," said Hawermann with a deep sigh, "where I am; whether here or there." So they went. The waggons all drove into the yard, the first right up to the barn, and the others in a row behind it. The forkers muttered that they were being worked to death; the labourers grumbled about the wet rye, and asked who was to thrash it out in winter; the men in charge of the horses laughed and played each other stupid tricks to while away the time they had to wait doing nothing, and Fred rode about the yard with a quiet conscience, for he was doing his duty, and carrying out his master's orders. As soon as the rye was all put in the barn, he placed himself at the head of the empty waggons and the procession moved off. The forkers and stackers closed the barn door softly to shade them from the sun, lay down and went to sleep, for they had plenty of time to enjoy a nap.--"What a delightfully quiet harvest time, Charles," said Bräsig, "the yard is as silent as death, and not a leaf is stirring! It's a great pleasure to me to see anything of the kind, for I assure you I had never thought such a thing possible."--"It isn't at all pleasant to me," replied Hawermann, "I see misfortune coming. Two or three mistakes of this kind will deprive the squire of the people's respect. As soon as they begin to see that it's really ignorance and not a new mode of farming that has brought about the changes, they'll begin to take their own way. I am very sorry for the unfortunate young squire, and still more so for his poor wife."--"There's Mrs. von Rambow coming out of the house, and there's the nursery-maid with the baby asleep in a perambulator. But, Charles--come to the window quick--what's all this?"--It was certainly worth the trouble of hastening to the window, there was now a stir and movement in the yard, which a moment before had been so still and quiet, Fred Triddelfitz thundered up to the farm on the old thoroughbred Bill, Alick followed about twenty yards behind, and shouted: "Triddelfitz."--"Coming," cried Fred, galloping out at the other gate with Alick still in pursuit.--"What the devil does all this mean?" asked Bräsig. He had hardly time to ask the question when Fred and Alick came back and recrossed the yard shouting: "Triddelfitz."--"Coming."--"Have you gone mad, Sir?" asked Bräsig as Fred galopped past the farm-house, but he received no answer. Fred was sitting crumpled up like a sack in his saddle, and when he heard Bräsig's question could not help giggling from fright and misery. As he passed Mr. von Rambow he tried to touch his cap, but knocked it off instead, and Frida cried out anxiously: "Alick, Alick, what's the matter?" but got no answer, for Alick was too busy. Suddenly Bill jumped over the fence in front of the sheep's pen, and Fred was thrown head over heels into a heap of straw. Alick now drew in his horse and called again: "Triddelfitz."--"Coming, Mr. von Rambow," answered Fred from out of the straw.--"What devil drove you to ride so hard?" asked Alick.--"None," said Fred, getting up, and finding to his great joy that he had met with no injury, "I was riding one, that's all, and I think that Bill ran away with me."--"You're right enough there," said Christian, who had come out of the stable to see what was the matter. "You gee, Sir," turning to Mr. von Rambow, "the count used to ride Bill in steeple-chases, and when once the beast gets his head, he goes on till he finds a fence or hurdle to jump, and after he has had a good run he stands as quiet as a lamb. Just look at him now."--"Alick," asked Mrs. von Rambow, who now came up, "what is it?"--"Nothing, my dear; I had given Triddelfitz an order, and no sooner had he ridden off than a better plan occurred to me, so I followed him to make the desired change, but his horse ran away with him, and I went in pursuit."--"Thank God it was no worse," she said. "But, Alick, won't you come in and have some tea?"--"Yes," he said, "I've been working very hard to-day and am rather tired. Triddelfitz, just go on as we have been doing."--"All right, Sir," answered Fred, and then Alick went back to the house with his wife.
"Alick," she asked, when they were seated at tea, "I don't understand. The harvest waggons used always to come into the yard one by one as they were filled, at my father's place, but I see that you're making them come in a string of six."--"I know the old-fashioned way perfectly, Frida dear, but I think that it's a bad way, and one in which it's impossible to keep order; while if you have a train of six waggons you can easily maintain order."--"Did Hawermann arrange it in that way?"--"Hawermann? No. He has nothing whatever to do with it. I have at last found it necessary to emancipate myself from the bailiffs leading-strings, and have told him that I intend to bring in the harvest without his assistance."--"Alick, what have you done! He'll never stand that."--"He must though. He must learn that I am master here."--"He has always treated you as such. Dear Alick, what you have done to day cannot fail to do us a great deal of harm," and she leant back in her chair in deep and painful thought.--Alick felt uncomfortable and a little cross.--The door opened and Daniel Sadenwater brought in a letter: "With Mr. Hawermann's compliments."--"There it is," said Frida.--Alick read the letter: "The bailiff gives up his place at Christmas. He may go now for all I care. I don't require a bailiff. Besides that, I could get a hundred instead of him if I liked. I'm only sorry that it was he who gave up his place, not I who told him to go," and starting to his feet, he began to walk up and down the room. Frida sat still, and said nothing. Alick felt that her silence was meant as a reproach. He knew that he was in a difficult position, but that he must not confess it even to himself, and must lay the blame of what had happened on the shoulders of another, so he went on: "But it's your fault, it all comes of your taking that pretentious old scoundrel's part"--Frida made no answer; she rose and left the room.
That evening she sat by her little daughter's cradle and rocked her to sleep. Alas, who can rock his thoughts to sleep as she did her child! A baby comes straight from God, and still has the peace of heaven in its heart; but human thoughts come from earth, and are full of care and trouble and utter weariness; to such as are burdened with these, sleep is unattainable. Alick was right, he could easily get another bailiff, a hundred if he wanted them. But Frida was also right: they were losing a true friend.