Seed-time and Harvest: A Novel

by Fritz Reuter

CHAPTER VI.

Habermann heard nothing of this occurrence. His child said nothing to him about it, only treated him with increased tenderness and reverence, if that were possible, as if with her greater love to make up to him the wrong which had been done him. Frau Nüssler, who had heard the whole story from her little girls, could not find it in her heart to say a word to her brother which could grieve him, or make him suspicious of others. The Pastor and his wife had the same reason for silence, and also the wish that the whole matter should be forgotten by Louise.

Jochen Nüssler said nothing of consequence, and Bräsig also held his peace, that is toward Habermann. It happened, however, through his feeling of injury at this self-restraint, and the attack of gout,--which came as he said it would the next day,--that he excited the whole neighborhood against Pomuchelskopp; and as the latter made no special efforts towards friendship and sociability, it was not long before his intercourse with his neighbors was like my wife's kitchen floor at Pentecost, so naked and bare was he left in this respect.

Pomuchelskopp looked upon social intercourse as a garden merely, in which he could plant his pride-beans; whether the garden gave him shade, or produced flowers, was of little importance to him provided that he had room for himself and what belonged to him to spread and grow. He had come into Mecklenburg, in the first place, because he could buy Gurlitz at a good bargain; but, secondly because he had a vague idea of his future prospects as a landlord.

"Häuhning," said he to his wife, "here in Pomerania, every body rules us, and the landrath says, 'It shall be so and so,' but in Mecklenburg we shall be law-givers ourselves, I among others. And I have heard it is customary there for rich burghers, who live like the nobility, to become ennobled in time. Think, Küking, how it would seem to be called 'my gracious lady von Pomuchelskopp!' but one must not throw himself away!"

And he took pains not to throw himself away, giving up, for that purpose, one of his chief pleasures, the boasting and bragging of his money, in order not to associate too familiarly with the farmers and inspectors of the neighborhood. For that purpose, he had greeted old Bräsig with "Sie," and had honored only Bräsig's Herr Count with a formal visit. He went in his blue dress-coat, with bright buttons, and the new coach with four brown horses, and was as welcome there as a hog in a Jew's house. When he came home, he sat out of humor in the sofa-corner, and struck at the flies; and as his wife who always became affectionate when he was cross, said, "Pöking, what is the matter?" he grumbled, "What should be the matter? Nothing is the matter, only these confounded nobility, who are friendly to look at, and when you come nearer it is good for nothing. Oh, yes, he asked me to sit down, and then he inquired very politely how he could serve me. I don't want anything of him, I am better off than he; but I could think of nothing to say, at the moment, and then there was such a silence that I must needs go."

But for all that, Pomuchelskopp would not throw himself away,--by no means! He trailed after the nobility like the tail after a sheep, and although he would never advance a penny of wages to his own people, and the poor tradesmen in the city had to wait till the year's end for their hard-earned pay, he had money for any spendthrift young gentleman. And, while every poor devil of a fellow who went through his fields was fined without pity, for trespassing, Bräsig's gracious Herr Count had permission, even in harvest time, to go over them with the whole hunt; and while he cheated the Pastor shamefully in his Easter-lamb, the Herr Count's hunter could shoot the roe-buck before his very door, and he made no complaint. No! Zamel Pomuchelskopp did not throw himself away!

Habermann kept out of his way. He was not a man for strife and contention, and was too well satisfied with his situation, to be looking here and there after other things. He was like a man, who, after being out in a storm, sits warm and dry in the chimney-corner; and his only trouble was his anxiety about his good master. He had some time before received a letter from him, in a strange hand, and with a black seal, which said that he had had a stroke of paralysis, and had not yet recovered the use of his right hand; but the greatest affliction which had befallen him was the loss of his wife, who had died suddenly, in full health. And it said also that his nephew Franz would arrive at Pumpelhagen, at Michaelmas, in order to learn farming. "It is his own wish to handle the spade and learn everything for himself. I also think it best." These words were written in the Kammerrath's own hand. A couple of weeks later he received another letter, in which the Kammerrath informed him that he had resigned his post in Schwerin and intended, after the next Easter, to reside at Pumpelhagen, with his three unmarried daughters; through the winter, he must remain in Schwerin, on account of his health. Habermann should however retain complete management of everything.

This would be a change, which would have some effect upon his situation; and, though he had no occasion to dread the eye of the master, and would gladly exert himself to do anything for his comfort, yet he could not help saying to himself that the quiet peace and simplicity of his life were over, and how long would it be before greater changes must come?

Michaelmas came, and with it came Franz von Rambow. He was not what is called a handsome young man; but he was healthy and strong, and upon nearer view one was struck by the earnestness of his manner, and the good-nature in his eyes. A shadow of sadness sometimes fell upon his face, which may have been owing to the fact that he lost his parents in early youth, and had since stood as an orphan, alone in the world. As one might infer from his appearance, he was no fool; he had good natural talents, which had been developed at the school in which he had fitted for the university, and he had also learned a more important lesson, how to labor. He was a young tree, raised in a nursery in a hard soil, and the wood had grown slowly, but firmly; he had shot out no rank shoots into the air, his branches were low, but wide-spread, and when he should be transplanted he would need no prop. "Let him be," the gardener would say, "he is tough and strong, he can stand alone."

At present, he was twenty years old, and the three years' child whom Habermann recollected had become a steady young man, with future prospects such as few young men in the country were possessed of. He owned two fine estates, which had become freed from debt by prudent management during his minority. It was before his recollection, to be sure, that Habermann had served as inspector with his father; but he had been told how friendly the inspector had always been toward him, and when a good, simple-hearted man knows that another has carried him in his arms, as a child, confidence easily glides into his heart, and he seems to see the little pillow in the cradle, and the tired head lies softly down, and the dreams of childhood return once more.

Habermann returned this confidence, heartily and gladly. He cautiously and quietly led the young man along, in the new and unaccustomed path; he instructed him in matters of the farm-yard and of the field; he told him the reasons why such a thing should be done, and why it should be done just so, and not in a different manner. At the same time, he endeavored to spare him; but as he noticed that his scholar had no wish to be spared, and desired faithfully to fill his post, he let him have his way, saying to himself, like the gardener, "Let him alone, he needs no prop."

But to these contented companions another was to be added, who would bring life into the house, and that was Fritz Triddelsitz.

The little Frau Pastorin had a brother-in-law, the apothecary Triddelsitz, at Rahnstadt, and when he heard that Habermann had taken a pupil to be instructed in farming, he took it into his head that his Fritz, who was a foppish stripling of seventeen, should learn how to manage an estate under Habermann's tuition. "Merely the higher branches," said Fritz; "I know all about common things already, for I have been twice in the dogdays at the miller's in Bolz, and helped about the harvesting."

The little Frau Pastorin was not quite pleased with the proposal, for she knew her greyhound of a nephew, and did not wish that Habermann should be troubled with him; but her brother-in-law persevered, and the matter was brought forward. Habermann would have gone through fire and water for the Pastor and his wife; but he could not decide such a question on his own responsibility. He wrote to his master about it: young Triddelsitz wanted to come in as a third, he had many crotchets in his head, but was good-hearted; his chief recommendation was that he was the Frau Pastorin's nephew, to whom Habermann was under great obligation, as the Herr Kammerrath was aware. For the rest, his father would pay, for two years, a hundred dollars for board. Would it be agreeable to the Herr Kammerrath, that Fritz Triddelsitz should come to Pumpelhagen, to learn farming?

The Herr Kammerrath answered by return post; there was no question of board, the hundred dollars were for tuition, and with that he had nothing to do, that was Habermann's business; if he thought best, let him take the young man, and welcome.

This was a great joy to Habermann; nothing more was said of board or tuition money, for he could now discharge a small portion of the great debt which he owed to the Pastor and his wife.

So Fritz Triddelsitz came, and in such a way! He was his dear mother's only son,--to be sure she had a couple of daughters,--and she fitted him out for his new place, so that he could represent an apprentice, a travelling agent, an inspector, or a farmer and landlord, according to the occasion, or as the whim took him to play at farming, in this manner or that. He had dress-boots and working boots, laced boots and top-boots; he had morning shoes, and dancing shoes, and fancy slippers; he had button-gaiters, and riding-gaiters, and other gaiters; he had dress-coats, and linen frocks, and cloth coats and pilot-coats; overcoats and under-jackets, and rain-coats, and a variety of long and short trousers, too numerous to mention.

This outfit for a gentleman farmer arrived at Pumpelhagen one fine day, in several large boxes, with a fine, soft bed, and a great clumsy secretary; and the carrier volunteered the news that the young gentleman would soon be there, he was on the way, and was merely detained by a struggle with his father's old chestnut horse, who would come no further than the Gurlitz parsonage, because that had been the limit of his journeys hitherto. How the contest terminated he did not see, because he came away; but the young gentleman was coming. And he came, and as I said before, in what a guise! Like an inspector over two large estates belonging to a count, and who has the privilege of riding to the hounds with his gracious Herr Count, in a green hunting-jacket, and white leather breeches, top-boots with yellow tops, and spurs, and over the whole a water-proof coat, not because it was likely to rain, but it was new, and he wanted to hear what people would say about it. And he came upon his father's old chestnut, and, from the appearance of both, it was evident that their present relations were the result of a contest. The horse had come to a stand in the middle of the great puddle before the Pastor's house, with a fixed determination to go no further, and Fritz had exercised him for a good ten minutes with whip and spur, to the great dismay of the little Frau Pastorin, before he could persuade him to advance; so when he dismounted at Pumpelhagen, his rain-coat looked as if he had been pelted with mud.

The old chestnut stood before the house, and he pricked up his ears, and said to himself, "Is he a fool, or am I? I am seventeen years old, and he is seventeen years old. He has had his way this time, next time I will have mine. If he treats me so with whip and spur and kicks, next time I will lie down in the puddle."

When Fritz Triddelsitz came into the room where Habermann, and young Herr von Rambow, and Marie Möller, the housekeeper, were sitting at dinner, the old inspector was struck dumb with astonishment, for he had never seen him before. In his green hunting-jacket, Fritz looked like one of those long asparagus stalks which spring up in the garden, and he was so thin and slender that he looked as if one could cut him in two with his riding-whip. He had high cheek bones and a freckled face, and something so assured, and yet awkward in his whole demeanor, that Habermann said to himself, "God bless me! am I to teach him? He feels above me already."

His reflections were interrupted by a burst of laughter from Franz von Rambow, in which Marie Möller secretly joined, holding her napkin before her mouth.

Fritz had begun, "Good-day, Herr Inspector, how do you do?" when he was interrupted by the laughter; he saw his old schoolmate at Parchen, shaking with fun; he looked at him rather doubtfully? but it was not long before he joined in the laugh himself, and then steady old Habermann could refrain no longer, he laughed till his eyes ran over. "Man!" said Franz, "how you have rigged yourself up!"

"Always noble!" said Fritz, and Marie Möller disappeared again behind her napkin.

"Come, Triddelsitz," said Habermann, "sit down to dinner,"

Fritz accepted the invitation--the fellow was in luck, for he had come at the best season for good living, in the roast-goose season, and as it happened, a fine, brown bird stood before him, and this beginning of his study of farming might well be agreeable. He was not at all sparing of the roast goose, and Habermann reflected silently that if he sat on horseback as well as at table, paid as much attention to farm-boys as to roast goose, knew as much about horses' fodder as of his own, and cleared up business as completely as he did his plate, something might be made of him in time.

"Well, Triddelsitz," said Habermann, when dinner was over, "now you can go to your room, and change your clothes, and put this smart riding-suit away where the moths will not get at it, for you won't need it again this two years. We don't ride much here, we go on foot, and if there is any riding to do, I do it myself, by the way."

Before long, Fritz re-appeared, with a pair of greased boots, short breeches, and a grass-green pilot-coat.

"That will do," said Habermann; "now come, and I will give you some instructions to begin with."

They went over the farm, and next morning Fritz Triddelsitz stood with seven of the farm laborers in the Rahnstadt road, and let the water out of the puddles,--an agreeable business, especially in November, with a drizzling rain all day long. "The devil!" said Fritz Triddelsitz, "farming isn't what I took it for!"

A couple of weeks after his arrival, Bräsig came riding into the yard, one Sunday noon. Fritz had by this time become so far subdued by Habermann, his monotonous work, and the everlasting rainy weather, that he began to comprehend his situation as an apprentice, and his natural good-heartedness made him ready for little services. So he started out of doors, to assist Bräsig down from his horse, but Bräsig screamed, "Don't come near me! Don't touch me! Don't come within ten feet of me! Tell Karl Habermann to come out."

Habermann came: "Bless you, Bräsig, why don't you get down?"

"Karl--no, don't touch me I just get me a soft chair, so that I can get down by degrees, and then bring a blanket or a sheepskin or something soft to spread under it, for I have got this confounded gout."

They did as he asked, spreading mats under the chair, and Bräsig crawled down from the horse, and hobbled into the house.

"Why didn't you send me word you were ill, Bräsig?" said Habermann. "I would gladly have gone to you."

"You can do nothing for me, Karl; but I couldn't stay in that confounded hole any longer. But what I was going to say is--I have given it up."

"Given what up?"

"Getting married. I shall take the pension from my gracious Herr Count."

"Well, Bräsig, I would do that, in your place."

"Eh, Karl, it is all very well to talk; but it is a hard thing for a man of my years to give up all his cherished hopes, and go to a water-cure; for Dr. Strump is determined to send me there. I don't suppose Dr. Strump knows anything about it, but he has had the accursed gout himself, and when he sits by me and talks so wisely about it, and talks about Colchicum and Polchicum, it is a comfort to think that such a learned man has the gout too."

"So you are going to a water-cure?"

"Yes, Karl; but not before spring. I have made my plans; this winter I shall grumble along here, then in the spring I will go to the water-cure, and by midsummer I will take the pension, and go to live in the old mill-house at Haunerwiem. I thought at first I would go to Rahnstadt, but there I should have no house rent-free, and no village, and they would take me for a fat sheep and fleece me and skin me; it would be contemptible, and also too expensive."

"You are right, Bräsig; stay in the country, it is better for you; and stay in our neighborhood, for we should miss you sadly, if we did not see your honest old face, every few days."

"Oh, you have society enough; you have these young people, and, I was going to say, old Bröker at Kniep, and Schimmel of Radboom would be glad to send you their boys also. If I were you I would put on an addition to the old farm-house, to have plenty of room, and establish a regular agricultural school."

"That does very well for a joke, Bräsig. I have enough to do with these."

"Yes? How do they get along."

"Well, Bräsig, you know them both, and I have often thought I should like to ask your opinion."

"I can't tell, Karl, till I have seen how they go. Young farmers are like colts, one can't judge merely by looking at them, one must see them put through their paces. See, there goes your young nobleman; call him a little nearer, and let me examine him."

Habermann laughed, but complied with Bräsig's request, and called the young man.

"Hm," said Bräsig, "a firm gait, not too rapid, holds himself together well, and has his limbs under control. He'll do, Karl. Now the other one!"

"Herr von Rambow," said Habermann as the young man came up, "where is Triddelsitz?"

"In his room," was the answer.

"Hm," said Bräsig, "resting himself a little."

"I don't know."

"Tell him to come down," said Habermann, "and come back yourself. Coffee will be ready presently."

"Karl," said Bräsig, when they were alone, "you will see, the apothecary's son has been taking a nap."

"No harm if he has, Bräsig; he is young, and has been at work all the morning, giving out corn for fodder."

"But he oughtn't, Karl; it isn't good for young folks to sleep after dinner. See, there he comes! Now send him somewhere, past the window, so that I can see how he goes."

"Triddelsitz," called Habermann from the window, "go to the stables, and tell Jochen Boldt to be ready to take Herr Inspector Bräsig home, by and by. He may take the two fore-horses----"

"Bon!" said Fritz Triddelsitz, and skipped vivaciously along the causeway.

"God preserve us!" cried Bräsig, "what an action! Just look how awkward he is! See the weakness of his ankles, and the thinness of his flanks! It will take you a good while to fat him up. He is a greyhound, Karl, a regular greyhound, and, mark my words, you will make nothing of him."

"Eh, Bräsig, he is so young, he will outgrow these peculiarities."

"Outgrow them? Sleeps in the afternoon? Says 'Bong' to you? And now look here--for all the world he is coming back again, and hasn't been near the stables."

Fritz was coming back again, to be sure; he came to the window and said, "Herr Inspector, didn't you say Jochen Boldt should go?"

"Yes," said Bräsig snappishly, "Jochen Boldt shall go, and shall not forget what he is told. You see now, Karl, am I right?"

"Bräsig," said Habermann, a little annoyed by Fritz's stupidity, "let him go! we are not all alike; and, though it may cost a good deal of trouble, we will bring him through."

Vexation was an infrequent guest with Habermann; and, whenever it came, he showed it the door. Thought, anxiety, sorrow of heart, he admitted, when they overpowered him; but this obtrusive beggar, which borrows something from each of the others, and lies all day at a man's ears, with all sorts of complaints and torments, he thrust out of doors, headforemost. So it was not long before the conversation became lively and pleasant again, and continued so until Bräsig departed.