Seed-time and Harvest: A Novel

by Fritz Reuter

CHAPTER XXX.

Winter had come again, and the world must open to the rough guest.

When he comes properly, let him come in, and welcome; but when he comes at Christmas, with a wet shaggy coat, and fills one's room with mud, and his boots smell of train-oil, he may stay away for all me.

But this time he came differently. He came, as he has often come to my door, with ringing bells, and a snapping whip, and two gray horses before the sleigh, stamping their feet, and he sprang from the sleigh exactly like Wilhelm of Siden Vollentin, and rubbed his blue, frosty cheeks, and thrashed his arms about his body, once--twice--thrice. "Good morning, Herr Reuter, I have come for you. Compliments of the Herr and of the Frau, and you need only step into the sleigh, for there are heaps of foot-sacks and wraps there, and to-morrow is Christmas eve, and little Hans charged me to drive fast."

Yes, when he comes like that, we both sing, my wife and I, "Come in, come in, thou welcome guest!" and we treat the old fellow to a glass of wine, and then get into the sleigh, and off we go,--ten miles an hour,--and when old Winter sets us down at the door of Vollentin, Fritz Peiters says, "Why the devil have you been so long on the road?" and the Frau kisses my wife, and takes off her wrappings, and says to me, "Uncle Reuter, I have got you short kale and long sausage," and the two girls, Lising and Anning, whom I have so often carried in my arms when they were tiny little things, come and give their old uncle a kiss, and then hang about my dear wife, and Fritz and Max come, who are now at the great Anclam gymnasium and greet us with a hearty shake of the hand, and little Hans, who has been waiting his turn, comes, and jumps and frolics around me, and climbs on my left knee, and there I must hold him, the whole evening. And then little Ernest, the nestling, is presented, and we stand about this little wonder of the world, and clap our hands at his wisdom and understanding, and then comes grandmother. And then begin the winter and Christmas pleasures, the tree blazes, and the yule raps are rapped, and then comes a yule rap from my dear wife, with a poem, the only one she ever wrote in her life: "Here! sit, and here I sing, and ask for nothing more"--and the melody goes no further, but it is enough of the kind.

And then comes the first Christmas day, and all is so solemn and still, and our Lord strews the white snow flakes, like down, on the earth, that no noise may be heard. And the second Christmas day comes, and then come the Herr Pastor Pieper, and the Frau Pastorin, and the Herr Superintendent and his wife, and then comes Anna, who is my darling, for she used to be my scholar; and then comes the Frau Doctor Adam, and the Frau Oberamtmann Schönermark, and Lucia Dolle, she sits on the left hand of the Adam and on the right of the Schönermark, that is between them,--and then! yes, then comes a round ball driving up, and the Herr Doctor Dolle sits beside the ball, and rolls it out of the sleigh, and gives it to a couple of maids who stand ready,--for they have experience in the matter--and they unwind from the ball furs and cloaks and comforters and foot-sacks, until the Herr Justizrath Schröder comes to light. But he is not finished yet, by a great deal. He must sit down in a chair, and Fika takes one foot, and Marik the other, and they pull off his great fur boots, while I hold him by his shoulders, lest they should drag him off the chair.

Then comes another sleigh!--and out springs Rudolph Kurz, jumping clear over the coachman's whip, and behind him comes Hilgendorf. Do you know Hilgendorf? Hilgendorf, our Rudolph's principal? No? Let me tell you, then, in a word, Hilgendorf is a natural curiosity, he has ivory bones,--"pure ivory," and so strongly is this proprietor put together by nature, that one who ventures to slap him on the shoulder or the knee gets black and blue spots, merely on account of the ivory.

Then we drink coffee, and the Herr Justizrath tells stories, wonderful stories, and he tells them with much fire, that is to say, he is always lighting fresh matches, because he is constantly letting his pipe go out, and before long he has smoked up the whole cupful of lighters, and Max is stationed beside him, for the express purpose of keeping him supplied. And then we play whist, with Von der Heyt and Manteufel, and all the old tricks and dodges, for otherwise the Herr Justizrath will not play. Then comes supper, and over the rabbit and roast goose, the Herr Justizrath makes the finest poetry, with the drollest rhymes, and there is great applause, and when we rise from table, we press each other's hands, and separate in peace and joy, each happy face saying, "Well, next year, again!"

But in Pumpelhagen, this year, there was no such merry Christmas; winter had come, fine and clear; but that which makes it welcome, the close meeting of heart with heart, had stopped outside, instead of coming in, bringing joy by the coat-collar. Each sat with his own thoughts, no one exchanged his love for another's, Fritz Triddelsitz and Marie Möller excepted, who sat together, the afternoon of the second holiday, and eat gingernuts, until Fritz said, "No, I cannot eat more, Marik, for to-morrow I shall have to ride to Demmin, to deliver three tons of wheat; and if I should eat any more gingernuts, it might make me sick, and I should not like that; and then I must pack up our books for the circulating library, to exchange them in Demmin, so that we may have something to read, in the evenings," and then he got up, and went to look after his mare, and Marie Möller had a misgiving that the heart could not wholly belong to her, whose affections she shared with a horse.

In another room, Habermann sat, alone with his thoughts, and they were serious enough, when he reflected that his working on this earth had come to an end, and that he might henceforth fold his hands in his lap; and they were sad enough, when he reflected what an end it was, and how the seed he had sowed for a blessing seemed to have sprung up as a curse. In still another room sat Axel and Frida, together indeed, yet each was lonely, for each had his own thoughts, and was shy of exposing them to the other. They sat in silence, Frida quietly thoughtful, Axel out of humor; then sleigh bells were heard in the court, and Pomuchelskopp drove up to the door. Frida took up her needle-work, and left the room; Axel must receive the Herr Neighbor alone.

A regular agricultural talk, about horse-raising and the price of wheat, was soon in progress between the two gentlemen, and the holiday afternoon would have passed innocently and peacefully enough, if Daniel Sadenwater had not brought in the mail-bag. Axel opened it, and finding in it a letter to Habermann, was about handing it to Daniel to deliver, when he saw his own arms on the seal and, as he looked nearer, recognized his cousin's handwriting.

"Is that confounded affair still going on, behind my back?" he exclaimed almost throwing the letter in Daniel's face: "To the inspector!"

Daniel went off, astonished, and Pomuchelskopp inquired, very compassionately, what had happened to vex the young Herr.

"Isn't it enough to vex one, when my blockhead of a cousin obstinately persists in his silly romance, with this old hypocrite and his daughter?"

"Oh!" said Pomuchelskopp, "and I thought that was at an end, long ago. I was told that your Herr Cousin, upon hearing the report, which is in everybody's mouth, had broken off the business suddenly, and would have nothing more to do with them."

"What report?" asked Axel.

"Why about your inspector and the day-laborer, Regel was his name, and the two thousand thalers."

"Tell me, what do the people say?"

"Now, you know already. I thought you had given the old man notice because of it."

"I know nothing of it, tell me!"

"Why it is universally known. People say, Habermann and the day-laborer made a compromise; the inspector let the fellow get off, and had half, or more, of the stolen money, and he gave him a recommendation, upon which he got taken on as a sailor, in Wisman."

Axel ran about the room. "It is not possible! I cannot have been so shamefully betrayed!"

"Ah! and the people say, also, that the two had planned it all out, beforehand; but that I do not believe."

"And why not? What was the old sinner contriving with the woman, behind my back? The fellow, who had always been sober before, must be intoxicated, at this particular time!"

"Yes, but the burgomeister of Rahnstadt himself noticed that."

"Oh, the burgomeister! What could one do, with such a trial-justice? Now he thinks it was a poor weaver's wife who stole the money from the laborer on the highway. And why? Merely because she tried to get change for a Danish double louis-d'or, which she had found; for she sticks to that story, and the wise Herr Burgomeister has been obliged to let her go.

"Yes, and the one who saw the louis-d'or, Kurz, the shop keeper, is a connection of Habermann's."

"Ah!" cried Axel, "I would give a thousand thalers more, if I could get to the bottom of this meanness."

"It would be a hard task," said Pomuchelskopp, "but, in the first place, I would--when does he go?"

"Habermann? To-morrow."

"Well, I would examine his books with the greatest care; there is no knowing but they may be wrong, also. Look particularly at the money account; one often finds out something in that way. He seems to be in pretty good circumstances; he is going to live in Rahnstadt, on his interest. Well, he has been in a good place, for many years; but I know for a certainty, that he had old debts to pay which were not insignificant. Lately, as I have learned from Slusuhr, the notary, he has done a considerable money business at high rates of interest, with his few groschen, perhaps also with money belonging to the estate."

"Oh!" exclaimed Axel, "and once when I asked him"--he stopped abruptly, not wishing to betray himself, but a feeling of hatred arose in him, as he thought that Habermann might have helped him then, and would not, because he did not offer him high enough interest.

Nothing of importance was said, after this, for each had enough to occupy him in his own thoughts; and when Pomuchelskopp drove home, well satisfied with his management, he left the young Herr von Rambow in such a bitter, venomous state of mind, that he was angry with himself and everybody else, and could not sleep the whole night, for hateful thoughts.

In a third room, at Pumpelhagen, was another lonely man; Habermann sat before his desk, with his books lying open, and was going over the last month's accounts once more. Ever since he had managed for his young Herr, he had brought in his accounts, every quarter, for examination; but at one time the young Herr was too hurried to attend to them, and at another he said; "Yes it is all right;" but scarcely looked at them, and again he said it was quite unnecessary for him to examine them. Habermann, however, had not taken advantage of this neglect; he kept his books very carefully, as he had always been in the habit of doing, and insisted that Fritz Triddelsitz should put down his grain account regularly, every week, and on this point, if anything was wrong, he scolded Fritz much more sharply, than about other things.

As the old man sat at his work, Fritz came in, and asked about one thing and another connected with his journey to Demmin, and when Habermann had given him his instructions, and he was going out, the old man called after him, "Triddelsitz, have you made out your grain account?"

"Yes," said Fritz, "that is, I have begun it."

"Well, I wish you to finish it, this evening, and take care that it balances better than the last."

"All right," said Fritz, and went out. Daniel Sadenwater came in, and brought the inspector a letter; the old man got up, and seated himself by the window, and when he recognized Franz's hand, his heart beat quicker, and as he read and read, his eyes grew bright, a great joy beamed upon his heart and thawed all the frost and ice which had lately gathered there, just as the sun melts the snow from the roofs, and it falls in drops to the ground. He read and read, and his eyes grew moist, and tears dropped softly on the paper.

Franz wrote him how he had heard that Habermann was to leave Pumpelhagen, and was now, therefore, free; that, under the circumstances, the consideration he had hitherto exercised toward Axel must give way to Franz's own earnest wishes, which left him no peace, and drove him, though in spite of her father's request, to write to Louise herself; and he enclosed a letter which he begged Habermann to deliver to his daughter, and which he hoped might make three people truly happy.

The old man's hands trembled, as he laid the letter to his child in his pocketbook, his knees shook, as he walked up and down, so much was he agitated by the thought that upon the step which he was about to take depended the happy or unhappy future of his child; he seated himself in the sofa-corner, and it was long before he was composed enough to look at the matter with deliberation. So the morning sea rages in wild waves, and at noon, they are less boisterous, but it still looks dark and threatening over the water, and at evening the smooth mirror reflects the blue heavens, and the light summer clouds drift across it, and the setting sun frames the picture in his golden rays.

So it was with the old man; as the waves of emotion subsided, grave thoughts came over him; he asked himself, earnestly and carefully, whether it would be right for him to yield, whether he would violate his obligations, if he said, "Yes," against the will of his young master.

But what obligations had he, to a man who had rewarded him with ingratitude, who had driven him away, almost with shame and disgrace? None at all. And the pride rose in him, which one in a dependent position must so often repress, and which he only knows, who has a clear conscience; he would no longer sacrifice his best, most sacred feelings, to the ingratitude of an unreasonable boy, or the happiness of his child to an unjust, aristocratic prejudice. And when he had reached this conclusion, out of the tranquil sea shone the reflection of a lovely evening sky, and he sat long, gazing at the future of his two children, as at bright summer clouds drifting over it, and out of doors the setting sun was shining on the white snow, and its beams fell upon his white hair.

While he sat, absorbed in these happy thoughts, the door opened hastily, and Krischan Degel rushed in: "Herr Inspector, you must come, the Rubens mare has a dreadful colic, and I don't know what to do for her." The old man sprang up, and went in haste to the stables.

Scarcely had he gone, when Fritz Triddelsitz came in, carrying his travelling-bag, and the books for the circulating library, with some shirts and his proprietor's uniform, in which he meant to cut a figure at Demmin, and depositing them on a chair by the window, was about to begin packing when his eye fell upon Habermann's account-book, for the old man, in his agitation, had forgotten to put his book away.

"That just suits me," said Fritz, and took the book to enter his grain account, but he must carry it to the window, for it was growing quite dark.

He had not quite finished, when Krischan Degel rushed in again.

"Herr Triddelsitz, you are to go immediately--quick! to the granary, and bring a wrapping cloth, we are going to pack the mare in wet sheets."

When Fritz heard some one coming, he thrust Habermann's book behind him in the chair, and as Krischan hurried him off, thrusting the key of the granary into his hand, he left the book lying there, and ran out. At the door of the granary, he met Marie Möller, who had just come from milking. "Marie," said he, "do me the favor just to pack my things in the bag,--they are all on the chair by the window, and don't forget the books!"

Marie did it, and in the twilight, and lost in her loving reflections, she packed up Habermann's account book with those which were to go back to the library.

When Habermann returned from the stables he locked up his desk without any premonition of evil, and the next morning Fritz Triddelsitz was off at cock-crowing, with his load of wheat, and his travelling-bag, also without any premonition of evil. When the old inspector had given the day-laborers their instructions, for the last time, he thought of his own affairs, and began to put up his luggage, that he might be ready to leave in the afternoon. He was not quite ready, when Daniel Sadenwater came in, and called him to the Herr von Rambow.

Axel had passed a very restless night, his best thorough-bred mare, on which he had set great hopes, had been sick, the flea, which Pomuchelskopp had put in his ear, had stung him, he was annoyed at his unaccustomed position of managing for himself, and he must pay Habermann his salary, and also for the outlays which he had made in paying the laborers' wages, and he did not know how much it would be, or whether his cash would hold out. He could not humble himself however before the inspector, who had given him warning, so he must try to make some difficulty in the business, and discover some reason for refusing to pay him immediately. Such a reason would be hard to find; but he could pick a quarrel, and that might answer for a reason. A pitiable means, although a very usual means; and that Axel should resort to it, shows how rapidly his pride as a man and a nobleman was declining; but nothing drives a weak man to underhand ways quicker than the need of money, when he must keep up appearances, and "poor and proud" is a true proverb.

As Habermann entered, he turned to the window, and looked through the panes.

"Is the mare well again?"

"No," said Habermann, "she is still sick, I think it would be best to send for the horse doctor."

"I will give orders. But," he added, sitting down, and still gazing stiffly out of the window, "that comes from there being no proper supervision of the stables, from feeding the spoiled musty hay."

"Herr von Rambow, you know, yourself, that the hay got wet, this summer, but it isn't musty. And you yourself undertook the oversight of the blood-horses, for, a few weeks ago, when I had ordered a slight alteration in the stable, you forbade it, with hard words, and said you would take the horses under your own supervision."

"Very well! very well!" exclaimed Axel, leaving the window, and walking up and down the room, "we know all that, it is the old story."

Suddenly he stopped before Habermann, and looked him in the face, though a little unsteadily: "You are going to-day?"

"Yes," said Habermann, "according to our last arrangement----"

"I am not really obliged," interrupted the young Herr, "to let you go before Easter; you must at least stay till the day after New-Year's."

"That is true," said Habermann, "but--"

"Oh, it is all the same," said Axel, "but we must settle our accounts first. Go and get your books."

Habermann went.

Axel had already laid his plans, that he might not be embarrassed about his money affairs; when Habermann came with his books, he would say he had not time to examine them, and if Habermann insisted, he could mount his high horse, and say, the day after New Year's would be time enough. But he was to get off more comfortably, Habermann did not come back. He waited and waited, but Habermann did not come; at last, he sent Daniel after him, and with him there came the old man, but in great excitement, very pale, and crying, as he entered the room: "My God! what has happened! How is it possible, how can it be!"

"What is the matter?" inquired Axel.

"Herr von Rambow," cried Habermann, "yesterday afternoon, I balanced my grain and money accounts, and locked up the book in my desk, and now it is gone."

"Oh, that is admirable!" cried Axel, mockingly, and the seed which Pomuchelskopp had yesterday planted in his soul began to sprout and grow, and shoot up, "Yes, that is admirable! So long as no one wanted the book, it was there safe enough, but as soon as it is wanted, it is missing!"

"I beg of you," cried Habermann in anguish, "do not judge so rashly, it will be found, it must be found," and with that, he ran out again.

After a while, he returned, saying, in a weak voice: "It is not there; it has been stolen from me."

"Oh, that is charming!" exclaimed Axel, working himself into a passion. "At one time you say there is never any stealing here,--you know, about my two thousand thalers,--and another time it must have been stolen,--just as it suits your convenience."

"My God! my God!" cried the old man, "give me time, Herr!" and he clasped his hands. "Before God, my book is gone!"

"Yes!" exclaimed Axel, "and the day-laborer Regel is gone, too, and the people know how he got away, and my two thousand thalers are also gone, and people know where they have gone. Were they down in your book?" asked he, walking up to Habermann, and looking sharply in his face.

The old man looked at him, he looked around him to see where he was, his folded hands fell apart, and a fearful trembling went through his limbs, as when a great river breaks up its covering of ice, and the blood shot through his veins into his face, like the water in the great river, when it is free, and the blocks of ice tower up and the dam gives way: 'Ware children of men!

"Rascal!" he cried, and sprung at Axel, who had stepped back, as he saw the passion he had roused. "Rascal!" he cried, "my honest name!"

Axel reached towards the corner where a gun was standing.

"Rascal!" cried the old man again, "your gun, and my honest name!" and there ensued a struggle and a wrestling for the weapon, Habermann had caught it by the barrel, and tried to twist it out of his hand. Bang! it went off. "Oh, Lord!" cried Axel, and fell backwards towards the sofa; the old man stood over him, holding the gun in his hand. Then the door was torn open, and the young Frau rushed in, through the powder-smoke, to Axel: "Good Heavens, what is this!" and all the love which she had formerly cherished for him broke, like a ray of sunlight through the clouds which had obscured it, she threw herself down by him, and tore open his coat: "My God! my God! Blood!"

"Let it be!" said Axel, trying to raise himself, "it is the arm."

The old man stood motionless, the gun in his hand; the stream had gone back to its bed, but how much human happiness had it ruined in its overflow! and the meadows and fields of fertile soil were covered with mud and sand, and it seemed as if nothing could ever grow there again.

Daniel came running in, and one of the maids, and, with their help, Axel was lifted to the sofa, and his coat removed; his arm was dreadfully torn by the small shot, and the blood streamed to the floor.

"Go for the doctor!" cried the young Frau, trying to stanch the blood with cloths, but what she had at hand was not enough, she sprang up to fetch more, and must pass Habermann, who still stood there silent and pale, gazing at his master.

"Murderer!" cried she, as she went out, "murderer!" she repeated, as she came in again; the old man said nothing, but Axel raised himself a little and said: "No, Frida, no! he is not guilty of that," for even an insincere man will give his God the glory, when he feels His hand close to his life; "but," he added, for he could not avoid the old excusing and accusing, "he is a traitor, a thief. Out of my sight!"

The blood shot into the old man's face again, he would have spoken, but he saw that the young Frau turned away from him, he staggered out of the door.

He went to his room; "He is a traitor, a thief," kept ringing through his head. He placed himself at the window, and looked out into the yard, he saw all that was passing, but saw it as in a dream; "A traitor, a thief," that was all he understood, that alone was real. Krischan Degel drove out of the yard, he knew he was going for the doctor, ho opened the window, he wanted to call to him to drive as fast as possible; but--"a traitor, a thief," he spoke it out, involuntarily; he closed the window. But the book! The book must be found. The book! He opened the chests and boxes which he had packed, he scattered his little possessions all about the room, he fell upon his old knees,--not to pray, for "he is a traitor, a thief," but to feel with his cane under his desk, under his chest of drawers, under his bed; he must find the book, the book! But he found nothing. "A traitor, a thief." He stood at the window again, he looked out; but he had his cane in his hand, what did he want of his cane? Would he go out? Yes, he would go out, he would go away, away from here!--away! He put on his hat, he went out of the door, and the gate. Whither? It was all one! it made no difference; but, from old habit, he took the path to Gurlitz. With the old way, came the old thoughts; "My child! my child!" he cried, "my honest name!" He felt in his breast pocket, yes, the pocket-book was there, he had his daughter's happiness in his hands. What should he do now? He had ruined this letter for his child, it was destroyed forever with his honest name and by this cursed shot! and the first bitter tears were wrung from his tormented soul, and with them his good conscience came back, and its soft hand made room in his constrained breast, so that he could draw breath again; but his honest name, and his child's happiness, were gone for ever. Oh, how happy he was yesterday, sitting in his room, with the letter in his hand that Franz had written to his daughter, what blessedness that letter was to bring her, what happiness would bloom from it, what a bright future he had painted! and now it was all gone and lost, and the brand which was impressed upon him must burn into the heart of his only child, and devour and consume it.

But what had his child to do with it? Why should it stand in the way of her happiness? No, no! The curse and disgrace of the father was visited upon the children, to the fourth generation, and the same thorny hedge, which would sever him now from all honest people, would interpose between his child and happiness. But he was innocent! Who would believe him, if he said so? Those whose white garments of innocence the world has once soiled with filth must walk in them through life; no one can wash them clean, even if our Lord should come down from heaven, and do signs and wonders, that innocence should be brought to light,--the world would not believe. "Oh!" he cried, "I know the world!" Then his eye fell upon Gurlitz, upon Pomuchelskopp's manor house, and out of a corner of his heart, which he had believed forever locked, rose a dark spirit and spread her black wings over him, so that the bright winter sunlight no longer fell upon him; this was hate, which sprang up in his heart. The tears of compassion, which he had wept over his child, dried in his eyes, and the voice which had spoken in him, against his will, called again. "A traitor, a thief!" and the dark spirit moved her wings, and whispered thoughts to him, which flashed out like flames: "It is his doing, and we are enemies once more!" He went through Gurlitz, looking neither to the right nor the left, all which he had held dear had disappeared for him, he was merely conscious of his hatred, and that drove to a single aim, and in a definite path.

Bräsig stood in the way, near the Pastor's barn, he went to meet his old friend: "Good morning, Karl. Well, how is it? But what ails you?"

"Nothing, Bräsig. But leave me, let me alone! Come to-morrow to Rahnstadt, come to-morrow" and he passed on.

As he came to the elevation, beyond Gurlitz, from which Axel had first shown his young wife his fair estate of Pumpelhagen, and where her warm heart had throbbed with such pure joy, he stood still, and looked back; it was the last point from which he could see the place where he had lived so many happy years, where he had suffered such fearful anguish, and where his honor and happiness had been turned to disgrace and misery. A tempest raged in his soul. "Miserable wretch! Liar! And she? 'Murderer,' she called me, and yet again, 'murderer!' and when she had spoken the shameful word she turned herself away from me. Your unhappiness will not wait long,--I could, and would, have turned it aside, I have watched over you, like a faithful dog, and like a dog, you have thrust me out; but"--and he walked on toward Rahnstadt, and hate hovered over him, on her dark wings.