CHAPTER II.
New year's day 1846 had come with all its pleasures. The Rahnstädt people congratulated themselves on the cold weather outside, and on their warm rooms. There was a great deal of sledging in the morning, and many salt herrings were eaten because of Sylvester, Eve. Amongst the young people there was much talking of this and that thing they had noticed at the ball on the previous evening, and the fathers and mothers talked, not of what had happened at the ball, but of what was going on in the world. The story of the quarrel between Hawermann and Mr. von Rambow was one of the chief subjects of conversation at all the dinner tables in the town. As every house has its own style of cookery, every house spices its gossip to suit its own palate, and Slus'uhr and David added the one pepper and the other garlic to make the Pümpelhagen dish of scandal more appetising. So it came to pass that in Rahnstädt and its neighbourhood the story was now so highly seasoned that it satisfied all who partook of it, more especially as each individual had thrown into it some of his favourite spice. It was said that Hawermann had been cheating the young squire and his late father for years, and had amassed such a large fortune that he had impoverished Mr. von Rambow; that he had got possession of half of the money stolen by the labourer Regel, for which reason he had assisted the thief to escape, and had at the same time provided the man with an estate pass to help him on his way. No one had quite made up his mind as to what part Joseph Nüssler had taken in the business. At last Mr. Frederic Triddelfitz, son of the apothecary, a very clever young man, had discovered the roguery on one occasion when he was privately looking through the farm book. He had told the housekeeper, Mary Möller, what he had found out, and they had both agreed that Triddelfitz must take possession of the book until Hawermann was gone. The young man had therefore taken the book to Demmin with him, intending to hand it over to Mr. von Rambow on the first opportunity. Hawermann had missed the book next day, and had taken it into his head that Mr. von Rambow had seized it, so he had gone to him and told him he was a thief and that he must give him back his book. The squire had refused to admit that he had it, and so he had rushed at him with a gun. The squire had then tried to get the gun away from him, but it had gone off and Mr. von Rambow was now lying wounded to death. Hawermann was hidden away somewhere in the town. The story current in the town was much the same as this, and everyone wondered why the mayor did not put such a dangerous man in irons instead of letting him go at large.
Fortunately there were two wise men in the town who would not believe the story, and one of these was Moses, who when his son told him his version of what had happened, only said: "What a fool you are, David!" and then went back to his work. The other was the mayor himself, who only shook his head when the story was told him and then went on with his work.--Rector Baldrian did not go back to his work, for it was holiday time. He said that there must be something in the story as the whole town was full of it; but of this he was so certain that he would take the Holy Sacrament on it, that his son Godfrey's father-in-law, Joseph Nüssler, was not in the plot.--Kurz said: It might be true, though he would never have thought it of old Hawermann, but no one could see into the heart of another. At the same time, he must confess that the affair seemed to be improbable, for he could not imagine Fred Triddelfitz acting with so much precaution, and he therefore thought the story must be much exaggerated.--The apothecary of course believed it, because it redounded to his son's honour, and so he went about spreading the news in the town.
Strangely enough while the whole of Rahnstädt united in praising Fred, he looked upon himself as a great criminal, and humbling himself before Hawermann entreated his forgiveness with piteous earnestness, assuring him that he had wronged him unintentionally. Hawermann stroked the lad's red hair gently, and said: "Never mind, Triddelfitz! Remember this. Many a good action has evil consequences in this life, and many a bad action good consequences; but we have nothing to do with the consequences of our actions, they are in other hands than ours, and the consequences of our deeds do not make them good or evil. If you hadn't done wrong in trying to deceive me about the corn account your conscience wouldn't prick you, and you wouldn't have had to come to me to-day. But I forgive you heartily, and here's your receipt for the money. Try to be good, won't you? And now good-bye." He gave Fred the receipt for the money Mr. von Rambow had sent him for his wages, and for what he had expended for Alick.
Fred went to the inn where he had left his horse. A crowd had collected, and several people came up to him, and said: "Well, how is it? You behaved very well!"--"Is Mr. von Rambow dangerously wounded? And is he still alive?"--"Bless my soul! can't you be quiet and let Mr. Triddelfitz tell us about it."--"Tell me ....."--"Have you got Hawermann's place?"--Fred was not at all in the mood for talking, and besides that, he had no wish to publish the tale of his own folly. He forced his way through the crowd with a few "pishes" and "pshaws", and mounting his horse rode away, so all the Rahnstädters said with one voice that he was a very modest young man, who did not wish to sing his own praises.
The Rahnstädters had surrounded Fred, and had tried to get at his news, as if they had been a swarm of flies and he a bottle of syrup, but they had made nothing by the move. Still New-year's-day was not to pass without news. Scarcely was Fred, outwardly proud and haughty and inwardly sad and humble, gone away, when a carriage drove up to the inn--the gentleman was driving himself and the servant was on the back seat--the Rahnstädters flattened their noses on the window panes and wondered who it was. "I'm sure I know his face," said one.--"Yes, and I've seen him before too," said another.--"Isn't it ....?" began a third.--"My patience!" said Bank, the shoemaker. "You mean that it isn't him."--"I know who it is," said Wimmersdorf, the tailor, "I've made many a coat for him. It's the Mr. von Rambow who lives at Hohen-Selchow on the other side of Schwerin, and he's a cousin of the squire of Pümpelhagen."--"The tailor's right, it's just him."--"It's just him."--"It's just him."--"Of course he has come because of the quarrel."--"Most likely, for the squire of Pümpelhagen's too ill to attend to business. You'll see that matters will soon be put to rights now."--When Frank went into the coffee-room to take off his furs, the worthy town's folk present turned their backs to the window, the stove, and the wall, and looked with all their eyes into the middle of the room where he was standing. They resembled hungry spiders enclosing Frank like a helpless fly in the web of their curiosity.
Frank went out, and after saying a few words to the hall-porter set off in the direction of the marketplace.
"John," asked one of the Rahnstädters, putting his head out of the window, "what did he say to you?"--"Oh," said John, "he only asked whether I thought that the mayor would be at home."--"Did you hear? He has asked for the mayor. Something's going to be done in real earnest now."--"John," enquired another, "was that all that he said?"--"He asked whether the clergyman's wife, who has come to live here, didn't live in the house next to Kurz the shopkeeper."--"Aha! Did you notice? The bailiff is probably hidden in Mrs. Behrens' house. Good-bye now."--"Why, Wimmersdorf, where are you going?"--"I'm going to Kurz the shopkeeper's."--"Wait a moment. I'll go with you."--"Of course," said another, "Kurz's house is the best place to see from."--"Yes, let's all go there."--And before long Kurz's shop was fuller of customers than it had been for a very long time. Everyone had a glass of something, several people even indulged in two glasses, and Kurz said to himself: "Thank heaven, the new year is beginning well."
After a short time Frank came back from the market place and passing by Kurz's shop, made his way straight to Mrs. Behrens' door.--"Faith, he hasn't brought a policeman with him," said one.--"Höppner isn't at home to-day. He has gone to Prebberow's to fetch his pig."--"Oh, to be sure!"--"I wonder how the old bailiff feels, now that he knows he's in a regular scrape," remarked Wimmersdorf.--"My feet are growing cold, lads, so I'm going home," said Bank the shoemaker.--"Won't you wait and see the end of it?" asked Thiel, the cabinet-maker.--"D'ye know," said Bank, "it has just occurred to me that the whole story's a lie from beginning to end."--"What?" cried Thiel, the cabinet-maker, "and yet it was you who told me all about it this morning."--"Yes, that's true, but morning talk and evening talk are different. I've had time for consideration since then."--"That's to say you've got cold feet," said Wimmersdorf the tailor.--Everyone laughed.--"That's a pack o' rubbish," said the shoemaker, "and the whole story's a pack o' rubbish. The old bailiff has had his boots made by me for many a long year, and he always paid his bill to the day, and you're not going to make me believe that he has taken to stealing and shooting in his old age."--"It's all very well to say that, but the whole town is full of it."--"The whole town! Here's Mr. Kurz, ask him if the bailiff didn't always pay him honestly for everything he got. Ask him what he says to that."--"What I say to that? I say nothing," said Kurz, "but still I don't believe the story, and I have my reasons for not believing it."--"D'ye hear that?"--"Yes, it's very possible."--"And I always said it seemed improbable."--"Well," answered Wimmersdorf, "he never employed me, and so I don't see why I shouldn't believe it."--"Quite right, tailor, don't let yourself be laughed out of your opinion."--"Come, lads, let's laugh the tailor out of the idea."--"I'll tell you something," said Bank thumping the counter with his fist, "come here all of you--Mr. Kurz give us another glass all round--let's drink to the health of the honest old bailiff."--After that they separated, and all went home with entire faith in Hawermann's innocence. Excepting Wimmersdorf, the tailor, they one and all restored his good name. And why? Because Bank, the shoemaker, had cold feet.
The good and evil opinion of men often depends on causes as slight as that. These men had just declared that they did not believe the tales circulated about Hawermann, but what chance has the good opinion of a few poor operatives of conquering that secret invisible power, which in small towns governs the fate of men, and awards them friendship or hostility according to their supposed actions. I mean the secret bed of justice held by the women when they gather round a tea-pot with their knitting in the dusk of evening. At these meetings every sinner has judgment pronounced on him untempered with mercy. He is pricked with knitting needles, pinched with the sugar-tongs, burnt with the flame under the urn, and every bit of biscuit or Muschüken[[1]] eaten by the members of the council is looked upon as an effigy of the culprit. What effect had Jack Bank's good opinion or cold feet on the Rahnstädt council of women? or even the knowledge that Hawermann had paid all his bills? These judges set to work more seriously than the men, they took, what lawyers call, the circumstantial evidence into consideration, and came to the conclusion that things looked badly for Hawermann, Louisa, Mrs. Behrens, and even for Bräsig. Mally and Sally Pomuchelskopp had--as diplomatists say--prepared the ground, by dropping a word here, and another there. Slus'uhr had collected all of these costly pearls of speech, and had arranged them in what learned men call, one point of view, and then David had added a few more items, so that the council had a very good idea of Frank's love for Louisa, of Hawermann's and Mrs. Behrens' matchmaking powers, and of Bräsig's shocking conduct in carrying letters between the lovers.
Just as all the first questions were answered, the town clerk's wife, and Mrs. Krummhorn, the merchant's wife, came in, and were greeted with a scolding from their hostess for having arrived so late. The two ladies excused themselves in a few unmeaning phrases, and then seated themselves with an important rustle. When they took out their knitting, they set to work vehemently and waggled their heads in what would have been a supremely ridiculous manner, if it had not shown that they knew something that was worth telling. The ladies then only did their duty when they began to feel their way carefully and by degrees to the mystery, but the town-clerk's wife and Mrs. Krummhorn were prepared for the veiled attack, and pursed up their lips as tight as oyster shells, and although the council were determined to get at the news, they could not persuade the oysters to open their shells by force or diplomacy. The ladies all sighed, and dipped some muschüken in their tea, and the two oysters soon found to their terror that their news had a good chance of becoming stale and losing its freshness, they therefore unclosed their shells, and the town-clerk's wife asked the mayor's wife whether a young gentleman had not called on the mayor that afternoon.--Yes, said the mayor's wife, Mr. von Rambow's cousin had been with her husband, they had just been talking about it.--"What did he want?" asked the town-clerk's wife.--"He came to ask why the search for the stolen money had been given up, and he also asked what had taken place at Pümpelhagen--you know--about the shooting--and what was done about it."--"And what else?" asked the town-clerk's wife, without raising her eyes from her knitting.--"My husband told me that that was all," answered the mayor's wife.--"And you believe that," asked the town-clerk's wife. Now it is an insult to any court of justice, and a much greater insult to the women's council, to ask the members of either of these bodies to believe a simple natural action. The mayor's wife felt the sneer that was hidden in the question, and said sharply: "If you know better, my dear, perhaps you'll put us right."--The one oyster looked at the other, and then they both burst out laughing. Now when a comfortable looking oyster--the town-clerk's wife was stout and comely and Mrs. Krummhorn was not far behind her--indulges in a hearty laugh, it always makes a great impression on the auditors. The members of the council let their knitting fall upon their laps and gazed at the oysters.--"Good gracious!" exclaimed the hostess, "what do you know?"--"Mrs. Krummhorn may tell you," answered the town-clerk's wife, "she saw as well as I did."--Now Mrs. Krummhorn was a most excellent woman, and could tell a story well and truly, but her tongue had the same fault as old Schäfer's legs, it would not go straight, and she might have said to her neighbours: "put me straight," and "turn me round," as he did to his. She began: "Yes, he went right across the market-place ....."--"Who?" interrupted a stupid little girl, who did not quite understand,--"Hush!" cried they all.--"Well, as I was saying, he went right across the market-place, and I recognised him at once, for he had bought a new suit of clothes from my husband some time before, it was a black surtout and blue trousers--bother! what was I saying--I meant a blue surtout and black trousers; I see him now as distinctly as I did then, he always used to wear yellow leather breeches and top-boots--or was it Fred Triddelfitz who did so? I really can't quite remember. What was I going to say?"--"He went right across the market-place," cried three voices at once.--"To be sure! He went right across the market-place and turned into the street where the town-clerk lives, I was calling on the town-clerk's wife at the time, for she wanted to show me the new curtains she had bought from the Jew Hirsch--oh, I remember now, it was from the Jew Bär, who was declared bankrupt the other day, that she got them. It's a very odd thing, but my husband tells me that all our Jews become bankrupt now and then, after which they are richer than ever, so that a Christian merchant has no chance against those rascally Jews. But where was I?"--"He turned into the street where the town-clerk lives."--"Oh of course! The town-clerk's wife and I were standing at the window and so we could see right into Mrs. Behrens' parlour, and my friend was just telling me that her husband had told her that if Mrs. Behrens would only go to law--no, not Mrs. Behrens--the church, or the consistory or something, Mr. Pomuchelskopp would be obliged to build a new parsonage at Gürlitz, and my friend ....." But the town-clerk's wife was dying to tell the story herself, and in asking Mrs. Krummhorn to do it, she had laid a nice little rod in pickle for her own back, she could stand it no longer and said: "He went straight into Mrs. Behrens' house, and without waiting in the hall, ran right upstairs into the parlour. The old lady started up from the sofa when she saw him, and made violent signs to him to keep away from her. She looked as miserable as if some great evil had come upon her, as perhaps it may. Then she set a chair for him and signed to him to sit down, but he wouldn't do it, and when Mrs. Behrens left the room, he began to walk up and down just like--like ....."--"Why," interrupted Mrs. Krummhorn, "you said such a pretty verse about it this afternoon."--"Ah well, 'The lion is the king of the desert when he goeth through his domain.' He walked up and down like a king of the desert, and when the old bailiff came into the room with his daughter, he went up to him and reproached him bitterly."--"But," interrupted the same stupid little member of the council as before, "you don't mean to say that you heard all that was said?"--"No, my love," replied the town-clerk's wife, laughing at the member's stupidity, "we didn't hear what was said, but Mrs. Krummhorn and I saw all that happened, we saw it with our own eyes. The old bailiff stood before the young man like a miserable sinner with his eyes fixed on the ground, and without defending himself, while his daughter threw her arms round his neck as if to protect him."--"Yes," interrupted Mrs. Krummhorn, "it reminded me of the scene when Stahl, the old cooper was arrested for stealing the hoops. Mary Stahl sprang between her father and Höppner, the policeman, saying that she wouldn't let him be taken up because of his white hair, and yet he had stolen the hoops, and I know that he had, because he put three new hoops round my milk pail, and my husband said it was all the same to us whether they were stolen or not, and it didn't matter for the milk either, for he said the hoops having been stolen wouldn't make the milk turn sour, but all the same I noticed ....."--"Yes indeed, Mrs. Krummhorn," said the town-clerk's wife, stopping her friend, "you noticed how very pale the girl looked, and how she trembled when the young man turned to her and broke off his engagement."--"No," replied Mrs. Krummhorn, "I saw that she was deadly pale, but I didn't see her trembling."--"Then I did," said the town-clerk's wife, "she trembled like this," and so saying the lady began to shake in her chair as if it were a summer's day and the flies were always settling on her face; "and he stood before her like this," here she rose, "'The bond is broken,' as my son, the student, sings, and then he looked at her this way," and she stared so angrily at the little member, that the poor girl got quite red, "then Mrs. Behrens forced her way between them, and tried to make matters up, and patted him and talked so much that she must have made some impression on him, for he shook hands with them both when he went away; but still when his back was turned to them you could see in his face how glad he was to be done with the whole thing. Now wasn't it so, Mrs. Krummhorn?"--"I didn't notice that," answered the merchant's wife, "I was too much taken up watching the girl. She stood there with her arms folded across her chest looking, oh so pale. I've seen a good many pale girls, and my brother's daughter amongst the number, it comes from poverty of blood, and the doctor always says: 'Iron, iron;' but she has enough iron as her father is a blacksmith. He might have been something else if he had liked, for our late father ....."--"Poor girl!" cried the stupid little member, "and she's so pretty. The poor old man too! I can't believe that he with his venerable white hair has done anything to be ashamed of."--"My love," said the town-clerk's wife, with a look that might have been literally translated into, "you donkey," "my love, beware of showing compassion in the wrong place, and beware of making acquaintance with people who are accused of crime."--"Of course he did it," passed from mouth to mouth, from stocking to stocking, and from cup to cup.--The little member was quashed, but suddenly two old and experienced advocates rose to take her part. People who on former occasions had brought accused parties before that same tribunal, and who had seemed to agree with most of the speeches of the town-clerk's wife; but that lady had now gone too far, she had forgotten the relationship of Mrs. Kurz and Mrs. Baldrian to Hawermann, and it was time that she should be put down.--"How do you know, dear, that Hawermann is a criminal?"--"Don't you know, dear, that Hawermann is my brother's brother-in-law?"--"My dear, you should really keep your sharp tongue in better order."--"You know, my dear, that it has often got you into scrapes before now."
A war of "dear," and "my dear" now began across the table. The teaspoons clattered in the saucers, cap ribbons waved up and down under the ladies' chins, and the knitting was rolled up into hard balls and put away in the work-bags. The mayor's wife joined the party of the two advocates of Hawermann's cause, for she had not forgotten the sharp words of the town-clerk's wife. The hostess went from one to the other and besought them, by God, and all His saints not to disgrace her by quarrelling at her tea-table, and the little member began to weep bitterly, for she thought herself the cause of the dispute. But it was over and done with, half of the guests rose and went away, and the other half remained; so Rahnstädt was divided into two parties.
Meanwhile the people who had been the subject of the dispute were sitting quietly in their parlour thinking no evil, and never dreaming of the pains and trouble their fellow townsfolk were taking, in settling their affairs for them. They did not imagine that the sharp eyes looking out of the red face of the town-clerk's wife could harm them, and little Mrs. Behrens said more than once, that the town-clerk's wife, who lived over the way, must be a person of very decided, strong character, and one who would be well able to rule her household. And Louisa had no idea that the pretty young girl who so often passed the house and glanced up at her window was full of loving pity for her, or that she was the stupid little member of the women's council who had taken her part at the tea-party. No, they had all too much to do to have time to think of such things. Louisa had to teach her sad heart to suffer and be still, that her father might never guess how hard it had been for her to give up Frank, Hawermann had been even more silent and thoughtful since then, and had no eyes for anything but his child. When he saw her looking paler and more dreamy than usual he used to go out into the little back garden and walk up and down in search of peace. What became of his hatred when he saw his daughter's love? What became of his anger against the world, where he found so much kindness and affection in the little world with which he himself had most to do? Hatred and anger had passed away from his heart, and their place was filled by sadness and a deep compassion for his only child. Little Mrs. Behrens thought no longer of her duster, she had something else to do now, and she applied herself heart and soul to the work of comforting her companions, but as far as Hawermann was concerned, her labour was in vain.
The old man's strength was leaving him. His courage and love of life were gone, and the unwonted inactivity of his existence at Rahnstädt helped to depress him. His condition would have given his friends cause for uneasiness had it not been that his daughter's sweet voice was always able to banish the evil spirit of melancholy from him, in like manner as the songs of David chased away the evil spirit from King Saul. He refused to act differently from what he had done until he was proved innocent of the charge of theft which had been brought against him, and although Frank had tried to prove to him that the principal charge had been that of falsifying the accounts, and that that had fallen to the ground as soon as the farm-book had been restored, he said that as long as the other accusation remained, he was a marked man and he could not consent to Frank marrying his daughter. In vain Frank implored him to remember what a weak, thoughtless man his cousin Alick was, and that he was different and did not believe the charge. Hawermann remained firm.
That was a great mistake on his part. Many people would say, why didn't he, being strong in the knowledge of his own innocence, stand up and throw the lie back in the teeth of the world? And I say to anyone who asks me that question, you are right. He ought to have done so, and he would have done so--if he had been the old Hawermann of former days. But he was that no more. He was broken-spirited through being pained, offended and constantly thwarted; then came the public accusation, the horrors of his parting interview with the squire, and lastly Mrs. von Rambow, for whom he would have given his life, had deserted him. The climax came at a moment when his heart had opened to a dream of happiness. In winter frost does no harm, for spring is coming to make all right again; but it is very different when the frost comes and shrivels the green leaves and flowers; when snow falls on the tender shoots of hope and kills them, it is sad, very sad; and it is sad when the little singing-birds which have put faith in the spring are frozen to death in their nests, and the wood is silent as the grave. The old man had allowed the spring of hope to blossom in his heart, and now it was gone and dark gloomy forms had taken its place. He had received a blow from which he could not recover. Take from the miser the treasure that he has scraped together during the last sixty years, and you kill him; and yet that is only a 'treasure that the rust doth eat;' what is it in comparison with a man's good name.
Mrs. Behrens' only comfort was in Frank's last words; he had said, he could wait, he would come again.