Seed-time and Harvest: A Novel

by Fritz Reuter

CHAPTER XXI.

And Fritz was happy, he was the happiest being at Pumpelhagen Court, for there was not much happiness there, and that which was painted as such was not in fast colors. Habermann became, from day to day, more and more conscious that his good times were over, for his young Herr meddled with business that he did not understand, and that merely by fits and starts, with a heat and haste, which spoiled the farming, and confused the people, and when things did not go as they should, and the cart got into the ditch, then the inspector had to bear the blame. The young Herr also was unhappy, he was tormented by debts, which he wished to keep secret from his wife, he was also tormented by letters from David and Slusuhr,--personally they no longer troubled him, he had settled that, on account of the secrecy he wished to maintain, and they were very willing to consent, for the more secret the business was so much the better could they shear him, and when they had him quietly by themselves in Rahnstadt, they could use quite other knives and pincers, than they could at Pumpelhagen, where he was host, and they were obliged to treat him with some degree of respect.

But, besides this, he was not happy; he wanted to play the master, and had not the stuff in him, for he who would command must have capacity as well as knowledge; he had knowledge enough, more than many people,--"but capacity! neighbor, capacity!" said old Flegel, the wheelwright, and he had reason; the unhappiest of men is he who will, and can not. And Frida? She also was unhappy; she observed that her husband's full confidence was not given to her, she noticed that upon many serious questions they differed widely in opinion, she noticed that the business he had taken as his life work was one for which he had no training, she felt that he was unfair enough to visit his own failings upon other people, and more than all,--and worst of all for a sensible wife,--she felt that he made himself ridiculous, and that Pomuchelskopp, who, against her wishes, came often to Pumpelhagen, must have other reasons than ordinary civility, for not laughing at the confused and inconsiderate opinions of her husband. She resolved to keep watch over him, but such an occupation did not increase her happiness.

Fritz Triddelsitz was the happiest creature in all Pumpelhagen, and, if we except the two little twin-apples, in the whole region; but we must except these, for in happiness and blessedness a bride goes beyond all other beings, even the bridegrooms themselves, for if old Gottlieb, who had taken a candidate's place, with a cheerful, brisk, burgher-like old proprietor, taught and flogged the boys with uncommon pleasure and fidelity, and if Rudolph also, with Hilgendorf at Little Tetzleben, strewed manure so that it was a pleasure to see him, and the Tetzleben soil looked like a velvet coverlid, and went to bed at night singing and piping, and regularly fell asleep, for weariness, in the middle of a verse,--in comparison with the little twin-apples' blessedness as they sat together and sewed, stitching on their trousseuax, and chatting, and joking with father and mother, and telling Louise, and showing their letters, all the bridegrooms' blessedness went for nothing.

But the old fellow was really very happy. The first thing in the morning, he went to the stable, where the young Herr's two riding-horses, and Habermann's old Gray stood, together with his treasure; he fed her, stealing the oats from the very mouths of the other horses, yes, although he had never been trained to the work, he groomed her, single-handed, for Krischan Däsel, who had charge of the riding-stable, did not give him satisfaction. On Sunday afternoons, when there was nothing else to do, he went to the stable, shut the door behind him, seated himself on the fodder-chest, folded his hands on his stomach, and thoughtfully contemplated the dear old creature, as she munched her oats and straw, and if she groaned from fullness he got up, stroked her back, and called her affectionately "his good old woman;" and three times a day he exercised her, for which devotion he should not be blamed, for upon her depended his future income.

But no happiness is perfect, a little annoyance always creeps in. And he had his share. In the first place, it went very much against him, that his chestnut mare should stand next Habermann's stiff old Gray: the company was not suitable; and secondly, he was in everlasting conflict with Krischan Däsel, about fodder and grooming.

"Herr Triddelsitz," said Krischan, once as they were disputing, "let me tell you, I feed the horses all alike, and groom them all alike; but I have often noticed that you take away the oats from the inspector's old gray, and give them to your mare. Now, don't take it ill of me, Herr Triddelsitz, but the gray is just as good a creature as the other, and has an equal right to a living. And what is this?" he asked, going up to the rack. "How? this is calf-hay; how comes this calf-hay here? I will have no vermin getting into the pelts, when the inspector comes round."

"I know nothing about it," said Fritz, and he really was ignorant.

"Well, it is all the same to me," said Krischan, "but if I catch any one bringing it into the stable, I will break his bones for him, for I won't be troubled with such things."

After that Krischan Däsel lay in wait, to catch the bringer of the calf-hay, and it was not long before he was successful. And who was it, who transgressed all law and order, for the love of Fritz's chestnut mare? Who was so hard-hearted as to deprive the innocent calves of their food, for the sake of Fritz's chestnut mare? Who was so foolhardy, for the sake of the chestnut mare, as to risk the breaking of her bones by Krischan Däsel? Who was it? I must tell, but let no one repeat it. It was Marie Möller, who, every time she came from feeding the young calves, and passed the riding-stable, brought an armful of the sweet hay for Fritz's old woman.

Some one may turn upon me here,--hold! here you have blundered! How came they to have little calves in summer? I reply. Friend, that is my affair. I can skip over as much time as I please, and am now in the middle of winter, after the new year 1844. And if any one should inquire further. How came Marie Möller to do such a thing? I would answer, that is as stupid a question as the one about the calves; have I not a right to introduce good-hearted people, who forgive and forget, into my book, as well as the spiteful and venomous, who bear malice to all eternity?

Marie Möller could forgive and forget, and, since it was not suitable for her to throw herself openly upon Fritz's neck, she threw herself with her affection, and the calf-hay, upon the neck of the old mare, which was, just then, the dearest thing Fritz had in the world. And it was quite touching, and Fritz was really affected, when he learned the occasion of the quarrel between his old sweetheart and Krischan Däsel; he made his peace with his old love, and the pleasant ham-and-sausage relationship was resumed.

It was now winter, as I have said, And nothing remarkable had occurred in the region, only that Pomuchelskopp, late in the autumn, had taken his journey to the Landtag, causing a great excitement in his quiet, simple family. Häuning skirmished about the house, threw the kitchen utensils around,--that is to say, such as were not liable to break,--banged the doors, and said, openly, the Herr Proprietor had gone crazy; Malchen and Salchen took the other side,--although secretly, for they had heard that the lieutenant, who commanded the Landtag Guards, derived a great part of his income from a splendid ball which he gave, with tickets of admission a louis-d'or each. They had been to the Whitsuntide-fair ball, at Rostock, they had been to a cattle-show; but a Landtag's ball? That must go beyond everything! They teased their father so persistently, that he took courage to speak out to his wife.

"Klücken," said he, "I cannot do otherwise, I have promised Herr von Rambow, and he went yesterday, and will wait on me there."

"So?" said Häuning, "and his peacock of a wife, will she wait on me?"

"Klücking, that has nothing to do with it; and if I lose every opportunity of showing that I am a man who stands up for the nobility, how shall I get made a nobleman myself? See, I shall ride away to-day, with a black coat, we will talk about it again, when I come back with a red one."

"A pretty figure you will cut in it!" said the old woman, going out of the door.

"As good as any other nobleman," growled Pomuchelskopp, after her.

"Gracious! father, I know," cried Salchen, and she ran out, and came back with a scarlet flannel petticoat, which she threw over her father's shoulders, like a herald's mantle, and placed him before the mirror; and the Herr Proprietor turned about, and contemplated himself with great satisfaction, until the old woman came in again, and snatched off the petticoat: "If you will positively make a fool of yourself, you may do so at the Landtag, but not here in my house."

The Herr Proprietor took this for full permission to journey to the Landtag, and journeyed accordingly. But when he arrived at Malchin, and got down at Voitel's, his troubles began at once, for he had got into the wrong box; he should have stopped at the Bull, where the nobility resorted, and here he was among mere burgomeisters and burgher-proprietors, who could in no way aid his designs. He stood about in everybody's way, not knowing what to do with himself, and nobody else seemed to know, till at last he plucked up courage to inquire if any one had seen Herr von Rambow of Pumpelhagen, for he meant to pattern after Axel. Nobody had seen him; at last some one said that the Herr von Rambow had gone off that afternoon, with the Herr von Brulow, to Brulowshof, to see his blood horses. In his great embarrassment, he finally went up to a rather large and stately gentleman, who had something friendly in his appearance, but with a roguish gleam in his eyes as if he enjoyed a joke, when he had an opportunity.

"Begging your pardon," said he, "I am the proprietor Pomuchelskopp, of Gurlitz, and am here, for the first time, as a deputy. You appear to be a friendly man, and I want to ask you what I have to do here."

"Yes," said the stranger, taking a pinch of snuff, "what have you to do here? You have nothing further to do; you will have made the necessary visits already?"

"No," said Pomuchelskopp.

"Well, then, you must pay your respects to the deputy-governor, the land-marshal, and the landrath. Good evening, Langfeldt, where are you going?" he interrupted himself, and addressed this question to a man who was just going out with a lantern in his hand.

"To make the stupid old visits," said he, turning round in the doorway. "Do you stay here, Brückner? I will come back again, by and by."

"Don't wait too long, then," said the friendly Herr, and turned again to Pomuchelskopp. "So you have not made your visits yet?"

"No," said the Herr Proprietor.

"You should make them at once, then. The gentleman with the lantern has to make the same visits, you need only follow behind his lantern. That will do finely! But be quick, quick!" And Pomuchelskopp snatched his hat from the nail, rushed out of doors, and ran through the streets of Malchin, as fast as his stoutness and short breath would allow. The friendly Herr took a pinch of snuff, with his eyes full of mischief, and sat down quietly behind the table, laughing to himself, and saying, "I only wish I could see Langfeldt."

And it would really have been worth his while. When the burgomeister from Gustrow had gone in, to see the deputy-governor of Schwerin, and had given his lantern to the footman, something came puffing up the steps, and Pomuchelskopp made a low bow to the footman, and asked, "Herr Footman, where is the Herr whom one must visit here?" The man opened the door for him, and Pomuchelskopp bowed himself in, making his deepest reverences to Langfeldt, whom he took for the deputy-governor, for which he should not be blamed, since the Herr Burgomeister from Gustrow always held his head forward as if he were going to push through a wall with it, which would suit very well for a Mecklinburg deputy-governor. He turned Pomuchelskopp round, however, and showed him the right man, and since he was out of the fight, he went out, and took up his lantern. Pomuchelskopp feared that he would desert him, he made a couple of bows, and was off again, after Langfeldt's lantern.

At the land-marshal's, it was just so; the Herr Burgomeister had begun a courteous speech, when Pomuchelskopp came puffing in, behind him.

"What is that beast coming here again for?" said Langfeldt to himself, and quickly took leave, thinking to escape him; but the Herr Proprietor was persistent, the lantern was his only reliance, he rushed after him again. The performance was repeated at the landrath's; the burgomeister was getting very angry, and because he was well acquainted with the landrath, since they had sat together on the select committee, he did not restrain himself from speaking out:

"Herr, why do you run after me, so?"

"I--I--" stammered Pomuchelskopp, "I can make visits, as well as you!"

"Make them alone by yourself, then," cried the burgomeister.

The landrath endeavored to smooth matters, and Pomuchelskopp grew supercilious and obstinate; but when the burgomeister took leave, he followed him again, on account of the lantern. But the burgomeister's patience was wholly exhausted. "Herr!" said he, turning round on him in the street, "what are you running after me for?"

Pomuchelskopp, however, was no longer in distinguished company, he had found that he had only to do with a burgomeister, so he cleared his throat, and said:

"Herr, I am just as good a Fasan (pheasant) of the Grand Duke's as you are!" He meant to say Vasall (subject), but got it wrong. Even an angry man must have laughed at such a speech, and the burgomeister, who was an honest old fellow, quite forgot his vexation, and, laughing heartily, said:

"Come along then! Now I know what sort of a fellow you are."

"And where you can go," cried Pomuchelskopp, still in anger, "there I can go, any day!" and he trotted on again, after the lantern. He should not have done that, for Langfeldt had finished his visits, and was now going to his lodgings, to get his latch-key, and a little money for playing ombre. Pomuchelskopp followed him into his room. The Herr Burgomeister put down the lantern on the table,--the thing was getting to be very amusing,--turned round, and asked, laughing:

"Will you be kind enough to tell me what you want?"

"To make my visits as well as you," cried Pomuchelskopp, in great anger at being laughed at.

"To whom, then, here?"

"That is none of your concern," cried Pomuchelskopp, "the gentleman will come," and he sat down in a chair.

"Why, this is really a comedy," said the burgomeister, and he called out of the door: "Fika, bring a light!" and when Fika came he pointed to Pomuchelskopp, and asked her, "Fika, did you ever see a pheasant? See, this is a pheasant! This is the Grand Duke's pheasant!" and Fika shouted and laughed, and ran laughing out of the room, and the burgomeister's host came in, to take a look at the pheasant, and the host's children came in, and there was such a frolic, that Pomuchelskopp finally discovered whom he was visiting. He rushed out of the house, in great wrath, and the Herr Burgomeister went softly behind him, with the lantern.

"Langfeldt," inquired the friendly Herr, at Voitel's, taking a pinch of snuff, "have you made your visits properly?" and his eyes were full of roguery.

"Let me tell you," cried the Herr Burgomeister, "now I know! I might have thought that it was you who sent that beast after me." And he told the story, and so it came about, for the gentlemen at the Landtag will have their jokes, that Pomuchelskopp was called the pheasant, and Axel, after whom he was continually trotting, was called the "pheasant's keeper," and when Malchen and Salchen came up to the Landtag's ball, in gorgeous array, they were the "pheasant-chickens." When Pomuchelskopp wrote his assent on a ballot, with a "Jah!" (instead of "Ja," yes,) there were some who were for calling him the Landtag's donkey; but it wouldn't go, the "pheasant" had got the start too thoroughly.

No, he did not enjoy himself very much, at the Landtag, for even the nobility, after whom he dawdled, and with whom he voted, would have nothing to do with him, lest they should make themselves a laughing-stock; but when he reached home, his real trials began, for his Häuning called him "Pöking," continually, and he knew what o'clock that was, and Malchen and Salchen did not stand by him, as they ought, for at the Landtag's ball they had sat, as if they were sitting on eggs. And they pricked and stung the poor, simple man and lawgiver, in his sofa corner, till a stone would have pitied him: "Pöking, what did you really do at the Landtag?" and "Father, are you going to be a nobleman soon?" and "Pöking, what do they do, any way, at the Landtag?"

"Oh, I don't know. They cut at each other."

"Pöking, who did you cut at?"

"Oh, I don't know. One cuts at one, and another at another."

"Father, what did they decide about the convent-question?"

"Oh, I don't know; you will find out soon enough, from the Rostock 'Times;'" and with that he went out to the barn and took refuge among the threshers.