Seed-time and Harvest: A Novel

by Fritz Reuter

CHAPTER XIII.

The next morning--it was Sunday morning--Bräsig awoke, and lay stretching himself in the soft bed--"A pleasure," he said to himself, which I have never allowed myself before, but which is very agreeable. However, it is mainly from the novelty of the thing; one would soon get tired of it; "and he was on the point of getting up, when Frau Pastorin's maid-servant whisked in at the door, seized his clothes with one grasp, and ran off with them, leaving in their place a black coat and black trousers, and a black vest, lying on the chair.

"Ho, ho!" laughed he, looking at the black suit. "It is Sunday, and this is the parsonage; can it be possible they think I am going to preach to-day?" He lifted one garment after another, and said, at last, "Now I understand! It is only because of the ditch yesterday; because my own clothes are so wet and dirty, I must make myself comfortable in the Herr Pastor's. Well, here goes!"

But it didn't go quite so easily, and as for being comfortable that was out of the question. The clothes were long enough, to be sure, but as for breadth, he found close quarters in the Herr Pastor's trousers, it was utterly impossible to button the lower buttons of the vest, and when he put on the coat, it cramped him dreadfully between the shoulder-blades, and his arms stood out from his body, as if he were ready on this Sunday morning, to press the whole world to his honest heart.

So he went down stairs to the Frau Pastor in, his legs turned outward, as was his usual manner of walking since he had been pensioned; but his arms also were turned outward now, and the Frau Pastorin had to laugh heartily; but retreated behind the breakfast table, as Bräsig came towards her, with open arms, as if she were to be the first subject of the world-embrace.

"Don't come near me, Bräsig!" cried she '"If I had dreamed that you would cut such a ridiculous figure in my good, old Pastor's clothes, you should have stayed in bed till noon, for it will be as late as that before yours are washed and dried."

"Ho, ho!" laughed Bräsig, "was that the reason? And I was flattering myself that you sent me the Pastor's clothes that I might be more pleasing in your eyes at our rendezvous this morning."

"Just listen to me, Bräsig!" said the Frau Pastorin, with a face red as fire. "I will have no such joking as that! And if you go round in the neighborhood--you have nothing else to do now, but carry stories from one to another--and tell about last evening, and that confounded rendezvous, I'll have nothing more to say to you."

"Frau Pastorin, what do you take me for?" cried Bräsig, advancing upon her again, with outspread arms, so that she took refuge a second time behind the table. "You need not be afraid of me, I am no Jesuit."

"No, Bräsig, you are an old heathen, but you are no Jesuit. But you must tell something. Oh, dear! Habermann must know, my Pastor says so himself. But when he asks you about it, you can leave me out of the story. Only think, if the Pomuchelskopps should get hold of it, I should be the most miserable woman in the world. Oh, heaven help us! And I did it only in the kindness of my heart, for that innocent child, Bräsig. I have sacrificed myself for her."

"That you have, Frau Pastorin," said Bräsig, earnestly, "and therefore don't worry yourself about it the least in the world; for, you see, if Karl Habermann asks me what we were doing there, then I can say--then--then I will say you had appointed a rendezvous with myself."

"With you? For shame, Bräsig!"

"Now, Frau Pastorin, am I not as good as that greyhound? And surely our years are more suited to each other!" And with that Bräsig looked up as innocently, as if he had thought of the best excuse in the world. The Frau Pastorin looked keenly in his honest face, and folded her hands thoughtfully on her lap, and said, "Bräsig, I will trust you. But, Bräsig, dear Bräsig, manage it as quietly as you can. And now come, sit down, and drink a cup of coffee." And she grasped one of his stiff arms, and turned him round to the table, as a miller turns about a windmill to the wind.

"Good!" said Bräsig, taking the cup, which he held out with his stiff arm as if he were a sleight-of-hand performer, and the cup a hundred-pound weight, and he was holding it before an appreciative public in the open air; he tried to seat himself also; but as he bent his knees something cracked, and he sprang up,--whether it was the Pastor's chair, or the Pastor's trousers, he did not know; but he drank his coffee standing, and said, "It was just as well; he could not wait long, for he must go to Rexow, to Frau Nüssler."

All the Frau Pastorin's entreaties that he would wait till his own clothes were dried were of no avail; Frau Nüssler's least wish was for him a command, registered in the memorandum book of his conscience, and so he sailed off,--the long, black flaps of the priestly garment flying behind him in the summer morning,--toward Pumpelhagen and Rexow, slowly and heavily, like the crows we used to catch, when I was a boy, and then let fly again.

He came to Pumpelhagen, and there he was accosted by Habermann, who saw him over the garden fence. "Good heavens, Zachary, how you look!"

"The result of circumstances, Karl! You know I fell into the mud, last night,--but I haven't time, I must go to your sister."

"Bräsig, my sister's business can afford to wait better than mine, I have noticed for some time, there has been a great deal going on behind my back, which I was to know nothing of. That wasn't so much; but, since last night, I am sure that the Herr Pastor and the Frau Pastorin know all about the matter, and if they are keeping anything from me, I know it can be merely out of kindness."

"You are right, Karl; it is out of kindness," interrupted Bräsig.

"I am sure of it, Bräsig, and I am not disposed to be suspicious, but for some time it has lain heavy on my heart that this is a matter which concerns me very nearly. What did you have to do with the business last evening?"

"I, Karl? I only had a rendezvous with the Frau Pastorin, in the water-ditch."

"What did the Herr Pastor have to do with it?"

"Karl, we did not know anything about it, he surprised us."

"What had the Herr von Rambow to do with it?"

"He caught your greyhound by the collar, because I had tumbled into the ditch."

"What had Fritz Triddelsitz to do with the business?" asked Habermann with terrible emphasis. "And what had Louise's hat and shawl to do with it?"

"Only this Karl, that they didn't fit the Frau Pastorin at all well, because she is much too large for them."

"Zachary," said Habermann, reaching his hand over the fence, "these are merely evasions. Will you not tell me,--and we such old friends,--or dare you not tell me?"

"Karl--the devil take the whole rendezvous business, and the Frau Pastorin's worry besides!" cried Bräsig, and grasped Habermann's hand across the fence, and shook it in the tall nettles that grew by the fence, until both were stung, and drew back. "Karl, I will tell you. The Pastor will tell you himself--why shouldn't I? Your Fritz Triddelsitz, the cursed greyhound, loved you, doubtless because you have been like a father to him, and now his love has gone on to Louise, for love always goes on, for instance, mine for your sister and Mining."

"Bräsig, speak seriously."

"Am I not speaking seriously, when I speak of your sister and Mining?"

"I know that," said Habermann, reaching after Bräsig's hand again, in spite of the nettles, "but what had Franz to do with it all?"

"For all I know, he may love you too, for your fatherly kindness, and for all I know, his love may have gone on to your daughter."

"That would be a misfortune!" cried Habermann, "a great misfortune! To put that right again, is more than I can do; the Lord himself must help us!"

"I don't know about that, Karl: he has two estates----"

"Not a word, Zachary: come in, and tell me all you know."

And when Bräsig had told all that he knew, and was again under way, and steering toward Rexow, Habermann stood looking after him and talking to himself: "He is a good fellow, his heart is in the right place; and, if I found it was really so, I should like it right well,--but--but----" He did not mean Bräsig this time, however, he meant Franz.

On this Sunday morning young Jochen was sitting, about breakfast time, in his usual chimney-corner, and in his arm-chair. Lining and Mining had spread the table for breakfast, and had brought in the dishes of ham, and sausage, and bread, and butter, and when all stood ready on the table, Frau Nüssler herself came in, and set down a platter of hot scrambled eggs, saying: "There, Jochen, don't let it get cold!" and went out again, to see about some thing or other.

The eggs were still crackling in the dish,--they were really splendid--but young Jochen did not stir. Whether it was, that he had not yet smoked out his pipe, and wanted to finish it, or that he was lost in thought over two letters, which were lying in his lap, he did not stir, and his eyes remained fastened upon one particular spot. And on this spot, under the stove, close by him, lay young Bauschan, looking at his master. Young Bauschan was the latest new-comer of the whole Bauschan race, which had been brought up and weaned in the house, since old Jochen's time; when one spoke to him he was called "Bauschan," but when one spoke of him, he was called the "Thronfolger" (crown-prince,) not on his own account, but on Jochen's account, because, so far as anybody could recollect, this was the only joke he had ever perpetrated.

So, as I said before, these two young people, young Jochen and young Bauschan, sat and looked at each other, each thinking his own thoughts; young Jochen's suggested by his letters, and young Bauschan's by the savory smell which came to his nose. Jochen did not move, but the crown-prince stroked himself with his paw over his thoughtful face, his nose grew sharper, and the nostrils quivered, he crept out from under the stove, put on a courteous mien, and made his compliments to young Jochen with his tail. Young Jochen took no notice, and young Bauschan inferring that everything was in its usual condition, went nearer to the table, looked round sideways, more after Frau Nüssler than for young Jochen, then laid his head against the table and indulged in blessed hopes, as young folks will. Hope kept him quiet for a time, but--one really needs something more substantial, for one's stomach,--the crown-prince returned to put his two paws--merely the fore paws--in a chair, and bring himself a little nearer. His nose came directly over the dish containing the red bacon, and--now, young folks--Bauschan snapped at it, exactly as we should in our youthful days, when a pair of red lips smiled up to us; and--just like us--he was frightened, in an instant, at his wickedness, and crept away, but--that I should have to say it! with the bacon in his teeth.

"Bauschan!" cried young Jochen, as impressively as the mother, who keeps guard over the red lips; but for all that, he did not move; meanwhile Bauschan--whether that as crown-prince he believed himself possessed of a species of regal right over all the red lips in his realm, or that he was so spoiled that even such a sweet, clandestine titbit made no impression upon him--looked Jochen boldly in the face, licked his chops, and hankered for more. Jochen looked him right in the eye, but did not stir, and after a little while Bauschan got up again on a chair, this time with his hind legs, and ate up a plate full of sausage. "Bauschan!" cried Jochen. "Mining, Bauschan is eating up the sausage!" but he didn't stir. The crown-prince bestirred himself, however, and when he had made way with the sausage, he addressed himself to his chief dainty, the dish of scrambled eggs. "Mother, mother!" cried young Jochen, "he is eating up the eggs!" But young Bauschan had burned his moist nose against the hot dish, he started back, upset the platter, knocked the Kümmel bottle over with his tail, and disordered the whole table, young Jochen never stirring the while, only calling from his corner, "Mother, mother! The confounded dog! he is eating up our eggs!"

"What are you roaring about, young Jochen, in your own house;" cried one, who just then entered the door, but it was such a singular figure, that Jochen was frightened. He let his pipe fall from his mouth, in his terror, put out both hands before him, and cried, "All good spirits praise the Lord! Herr Pastor, is it you, or, Bräsig, is it you?"

Yes, it was Bräsig, at least one who looked at him near enough, and had time to consider, would recognize the yellow-topped boots as belonging to an inspector's uniform, but Jochen had no time to consider, for the figure which entered the door at once perceived Bauschan's misdeeds, and ran into every corner of the room, in search of a stout stick for the crown prince's back, and behind him fluttered in the air two long, long black coattails, like the wings of a dragon, and out of the high black coat-collar, and under the high black hat, which had slipped down half over his eyes, shone a red, angry face, as if a chimney-sweep had taken a glowing coal in his mouth, to frighten the children. Young Jochen was no longer a child, to be sure, but yet he was frightened, he had started up, and held on with both hands to the arms of his chair, and exclaimed alternately, "Herr Pastor! Bräsig! Bräsig! Herr Pastor!" and the crown-prince, who was still in his childhood, was terribly frightened, he also ran into all the comers, and howled, and could not get out of the room, for the door was shut, and when the black figure beat him with the yellow stick--necessity works wonders--he sprang through the window sash, and took half the glass along with him.

This made uproar enough to raise the dead, why, then, should not Frau Nüssler hear it in the kitchen? and, just as she opened the door, Bräsig was shoving up his hat with one hand, and pointing with the other, still holding the stick, to the broken window, while he uttered the remarkable words, "You can thank nobody but yourself, young Jochen! For what does the dumb creature of a crown-prince understand? All the beautiful Kümmel!"

"Good heavens!" cried Frau Nüssler, coming in. "What is all this, Jochen? Bless me, Bräsig, how you look!"

"Mother," said young Jochen, "the dog and Bräsig--what can I do about it?"

"For shame, young Jochen," cried Bräsig, going up and down the room with great strides, his long coat-tails almost dipping in the Kümmel, "who is master of this house, you, or young Bauschan?"

"But, Bräsig, why in the world are you dressed so horribly?" asked Frau Nüssler.

"So?" said Bräsig, looking at her with great eyes, "suppose you had gone to a rendezvous with the Frau Pastorin, last night, and tumbled into the ditch, so that your clothes were all damp and muddy, this morning? And suppose you got a letter, that you must come here to Rexow, to a family council? And what was I to do? Is it my fault that the Herr Pastor is tall as Lenerenz's child, and as thin as a shadow, and that his head is so much bigger than mine? Why did the Frau Pastorin rig me out in his uniform this morning, so that all the old peasants going to church called out to me, from a distance, 'Good morning, Herr Pastor!' but that I might come here, out of pure kindness, to your family council?"

"Bräsig," said young Jochen, "I swear to you----"

"Don't swear, young Jochen! You will swear yourself into hell. Do you call this a family council, with all the Kümmel running about the room, and I in the Pastor's clothes, to be made a laughing-stock of?"

"Bräsig, Bräsig," exclaimed Frau Nüssler, who scarcely knew her old friend in his anger, and who had been picking up the broken fragments and setting the table-cloth straight, "don't mind such a trifle! Sit down, it is all right again, now."

Under Frau Nüssler's friendly words, Bräsig quieted down, and allowed himself to be seated at the breakfast-table, only growling to himself, "The devil knows, young Jochen, I have always lived in the hope that you would grow a little wiser with years, but, I see well, what is dyed in the wool will never wash out. Meanwhile though--what is the matter here?"

"Yes," said Frau Nüssler--"Yes," said Jochen also, and his wife was silent, for she thought Jochen was really going to say something; he said nothing, however, but "It is all as true as leather." So Frau Nüssler began again: "Yes, there is Rector Baldrian's Gottlieb, Jochen's sister's son, a right good fellow, and well-educated, and has studied his Articles as a Candidate--you have seen him here a great many times."

"Yes," nodded Bräsig, "a right nice young fellow, a sort of Pietist, combed his hair behind his ears, and instructed me that I did wrong to go fishing Sunday morning."

"Yes, that is the one. And he has got through with his schooling, and the Rector wants us to take him here, for a while, till he studies some last things into his head, and we wanted to ask you what we should do about it."

"Why not? The Pietists are quiet people, their only peculiarity is their love of instructing; and you, Frau Nüssler, are likely to give them opportunity for it, and young Jochen, too,--God be praised!--since he will not allow himself to be instructed by Bauschan and me."

"Yes, that is well enough, Bräsig, but there is something else; there is Kurz's Rudolph, he has studied for the ministry, too, and he also is Jochen's nephew; he heard that the other wanted to come here, and he wrote yesterday, saying he had wasted his time dreadfully at Rostock, and he would come here to Rexow, and review what was necessary. Just think of it! there in Rostock he has all the learned professors, and here at Rexow only Jochen and me."

"Oh, I know him," cried Bräsig, "he is an exceedingly fine fellow! When he was first beginning to study, he caught me half a dozen perch out of the Black Pool; the very smallest weighed a good pound and a half."

"Eh! How you remember everything! And he was the one who got Mining, when she had climbed up on the ladder to the old stork's nest, and stood there clapping her hands for joy, and we down below frightened out of our wits, and he brought her down, safe and sound. Yes, he is bright enough about such matters, but not so good at his books, and Rector Baldrian says, there at Rostock he is always getting into fights. Just think, they fought with bare swords, and he was in the midst of it all, and it was all on account of a rich merchant's pretty daughter."

"May you keep the nose on your face!" cried Bräsig. "In a real, regular fight, and about a pretty merchant's daughter! Well, young Jochen, all the troubles come from the women!"

"Yes, Bräsig, you may well say so; but what shall we do about it?"

"Why, where is there any difficulty? If you don't want the two young ecclesiastics, write and say so, and if you do want them to come, write and say so; you have room enough, and plenty to eat and drink, only look out for the expenses for the books, for those make fearful holes in the pocket. And if you wish to take only one, take the fighter, for I, for my part, would much rather fight with the one, than be instructed by the other."

"Yes, Bräsig, that is all very well," said Frau Nüssler, "but we have already written to Gottlieb Baldrian, and now we cannot refuse to take Rudolph, without affronting the Kurzes."

"No? Well, then, take both."

"Yes, Bräsig, it is easy to say so; but our two little girls--they have just been confirmed--there, Jochen, you tell him!"

And Jochen really began to speak: "It is all as true as leather,--you see, Bräsig. Mining is just like--you know all about it--educated just like a governess, and my old mother used to say, a governess and a candidate in the same house--that would never do."

"Ho, ho! Young Jochen! Now I understand you. You are afraid of love-affairs. But that little rogue and love-affairs!"

"Well, Bräsig," said Frau Nüssler, hastily, "it is not so improbable! I, as a mother, should know that. Why, I was not so old as they are, when----" Frau Nüssler stopped suddenly, for Bräsig had pulled a terribly long face, and was looking very keenly in her eyes. Fortunately, Young Jochen took up the conversation, and said; "Bräsig,--mother, fill Bräsig's glass,--Bräsig, you can understand something about it, and now, what ought we, as parents, to do?"

"Let them alone, young Jochen! Why has the Lord put young people into the world, and what else have they to do but make love to each other? But that little rogue!"

"You are jesting, Bräsig," interrupted Frau Nüssler. "You ought not to talk so about such a serious matter, for out of a smooth egg many times crawls a basilisk."

"Let him crawl," cried Bräsig.

"So?" asked Frau Nüssler. "Do you say so? But I say otherwise. Jochen is not accustomed to trouble himself about such things; for all he cares, every one of our servant-maids might fall in love. Idle about, and get married; and I--God bless me! I have both hands full of work, and enough to find fault with before my eyes, without looking after what goes on behind my back."

"What am I for, then?" asked Bräsig.

"Oh, you!" said Frau Nüssler, off hand, "you have no experience in such matters."

"What!" exclaimed Bräsig. "I, who once had three sweethearts----" He went no further, for Frau Nüssler put on a long face, and looked at him with so much curiosity, that he covered his embarrassment by drinking the Kümmel in his glass.

"A miserable piece of business!" he cried, standing up, "and who is to blame for it all? Young Jochen!"

"Eh, Bräsig, what have I to do with it?"

"You let the crown-prince eat up the breakfast, under your very nose, and take two ministerial candidates into your house, and don't know what to do about it! But, never mind, Frau Nüssler, take the two young fellows in, and don't be afraid. I will look after the little rogue, and the two confounded rascals shall catch thunder and lightning. The fighter, the duel-fighter--I will take care of him; but you must keep an eye on the proselyter; they are the slyest."

"Well, we can't do otherwise," said Frau Nüssler, also rising.

And at Michaelmas the two clerical recruits arrived at head-quarters, and Franz went away to the agricultural college at Eldena, and as he went out of the Pastor's garden, there looked after him, over the fence, in the same place where Fritz had sat, with his bread and butter and his beer-bottle, a dear, beautiful face, and the face looked like a silken, rose-red purse, out of which the last groschen had been given for a dear friend.

When Louise came back into the parlor, in the twilight, that evening, the Frau Pastor in took the lovely girl upon her lap, and kissed the sweet mouth, and pressed the pure heart to her own. Well the women-folks can't help doing such things!