"Bless me!" cried Mrs. Nüssler at last, "I quite forgot.--Bräsig, you ought to have thought of it. You must all want something to eat and drink!"--She went to the blue cupboard, and brought out a splendid loaf of white household bread and some fresh butter, then she went out of the room and soon returned with sausages, ham and cheese, a couple of bottles of the strong beer that was brewed on purpose for old Mr. Nüssler, and a jug of milk for the children. When everything was neatly arranged on a white table cloth, she placed a seat for her brother, and lifting her little niece, chair and all, put her beside her father. Then she set to work and cut slices of bread, and poured out the beer, and saw that there was enough for everybody.
"I'll be ready to give you something presently," she said, stroking her little girls' flaxen heads fondly, "but I must see to your little cousin first.--Here's so chair for you, Bräsig--Come, Joseph."--"All right," said Joseph, blowing a last long cloud of smoke out of the left corner of his mouth, and then dragging his chair forward, half sitting on it all the time.--"Charles," said Bräsig, "I can recommend these sausages. Your sister, Mrs. Nüssler, makes them most capitally, and I've often told my housekeeper that she ought to ask for the receipt, for you see the old woman mixes up all sorts of queer things that oughtn't to go together at all; in short, the flavour is very extraordinary and not in the least what it ought to be, although each of the ingredients separately is excellent, and made of a pig properly fattened on pease."--"Mother, give Bräsig some more beer," said Joseph.--"No more, thank you, Mrs. Nüssler. May I ask for a little kümmel instead?--Charles, since the time that I was learning farming at old Knirkstädt with you, and that rascal Pomuchelskopp, I've always been accustomed to drink a tiny little glass of kümmel at breakfast and supper, and it agrees with me very well, I am thankful to say. But, Charles, whatever induced you to have any business transactions with such a rascal as Pomuchelskopp? I told you long ago that he was not to be trusted, he's a regular old Venetian, he's a cunning dog, in short, he's a--Jesuit."--"Ah, Bräsig," said Hawermann, "we won't talk about it. He might have treated me differently; but still it was my own fault, I oughtn't to have agreed to his terms.--I'm thinking of something else now. I wish I could get something to do!"--"Of course, you must get a situation as soon as possible.--The Count, my master, is looking out for a steward for his principal estate, but don't be angry with me for saying so Charles, I don't think that it would do for you.--You see, you'd have to go to the Count every morning with laquered boots, and a cloth coat, and you'd have to speak High-German, for he considers our provincial way of talking very rude and uncultivated. And then you'd have all the women bothering you, for they have a great say in all the arrangements. You might perhaps manage with the boots, and the coat, and the High-German--though you're rather out of practice--but you'd never get on with the women. The Countess is always poking about to see that all's going on rightly in the cattle-sheds and pig-sties,--in short--it's, it's as bad as Sodom and Gomorrah."--"Bless me!" cried Mrs. Nüssler, "I remember now. The farm-bailiff at Pümpelhagen left at the midsummer-term, and that would just be the place for you, Charles."--"Mrs. Nüssler is right as usual," said Bräsig. "As for the Counsellor[[4]] at Pümpelhagen"--he always gave the squire of Pümpelhagen his professional title, and laid such an emphasis on the word counsellor that one might have thought that he and Mr. von Rambow had served their time in the army together, or at least had eaten their soup out of the same bowl with the same spoon--"As for the Counsellor at Pümpelhagen, he is very kind to all his people, gives a good salary, and is quite a gentleman of the old school. He knows all about you too. It's just the very thing for you, Charles, and I'll go with you to-morrow.--What do you say, young Joseph?" --"Ah!" said Mr. Nüssler meditatively, "it all depends upon circumstances."--"Good gracious!" exclaimed Mrs. Nüssler with a look of anxiety on her pretty face. "I'm forgetting everything to-day. If grandfather and grandmother ever find out that we've been having a supper-party here without their knowledge, they'll never forgive me as long as I live.--Sit a little closer children.--You might have reminded me, Joseph."--"What shall I do now?" asked Joseph, but she had already left the room.
A few minutes later she came back, accompanied by the two old people. There was an expression of anxious watchfulness and aimless attention in both faces, such as deaf people often have, and which is apt to degenerate into a look of inanity and distrust.--It is a very true saying that when a husband and wife have lived many years together, and have shared each other's thoughts and interests, they at last grow to be like one another in appearance, and even when the features are different the expression becomes the same. Old Mr. and Mrs. Nüssler looked thoroughly soured, and as if they had never had the least bit of happiness or enjoyment all their lives long, such things being too expensive for them; their clothes were thread-bare and dirty, as if they must always be save, saving, and even found water a luxury that cost too much money. There was nothing comfortable about their old age, not a single gleam of kindliness shone in their lack-lustre eyes, for they had never had but one joy, and that was their son Joseph, and his getting on in the world. They were now worn out, and everything was tiresome to them, even their one joy, their son Joseph, was tiresome, but they were still anxious and troubled about his getting on in the world, that was the only thing they cared for now. The old man had become a little childish, but his wife had still all her wits about her, and could spy and pry into every hole and corner, to see that everything was going on as she wished.
Hawermann rose and shook hands with the old people, while his sister stood close by looking at them anxiously, to see what they thought of the visitor. She had already explained to them in a few words, why her brother had come, and that may have been the reason that the old faces looked even sourer than usual, but still it might be because she had provided a better supper than she generally did. They seated themselves at table. The old woman caught sight of Hawermann's little girl: "Is that his child?" she asked.--Her daughter-in-law nodded.--"Is she going to remain here?" she asked.--Her daughter-in-law nodded again.--"O--h!" said the old woman, drawling out the word till it was long enough to cover all the harm she thought the cost of the child's keep would bring upon her Joseph. "Yes, these are hard times," she continued, as though she thought speaking of the times would best settle the question, "very hard times, and every man has enough to do to get on in the world himself."--Meanwhile the old man had done nothing but stare at the bottle of beer and at Bräsig's glass: "Is that my beer?" he asked.--"Yes," shouted Bräsig in his ear, "and most excellent beer it is that Mrs. Nüssler brews, it's a capital rajeunissimang for a weak stomach!"--"What extravagance! What extravagance!" grumbled the old man.--His wife eat her supper, but never took her eyes off the oak chest opposite.
Young Mrs. Nüssler, who must have studied the peculiarities of her mother-in-law with great care, looked to see what was the matter, and found to her horror and dismay that the cap was gone from its stand. Good gracious! what had become of it? She had plaited it up that very morning, and hung it on the stand.--"Where's my cap?" the old woman at last enquired.--"Never mind, mother," said her daughter-in-law bending towards her, "I'll get it directly."--"Is it done up yet?"--The young woman nodded, and thought, surely grandmother will be satisfied now, but the old woman glanced into every corner of the room to see what she could find out. Bräsig's countenance changed when he heard the cap spoken of, and he looked about him hastily to see where the "beastly thing" could have got to, but in another moment old Mrs. Nüssler pointed at little Louisa Hawermann, and said with a venomous smile, like a stale roll dipped in fly-poison: "It must be plaited all over again."--"What's the matter?" cried her daughter-in-law, and starting up as she spoke, she saw the ends of the cap ribbons hanging down below the hem of the child's frock; she lifted her niece off the chair, and was going to have picked up the cap, but the old woman was too quick for her. She seized her crumpled head-gear, and when she saw the flattened puffs, and Bräsig's bit of pack-thread hanging half in and half out of the caser, her wrath boiled over, and holding up her cap so that everyone might see it, exclaimed: "Good for nothing chit!" and was going to have struck the little girl over the head with her cap.
But Bräsig caught her by the arm and said: "The child had nothing to do with it," and then growled out in a half whisper: "the old cat!" At the same moment loud crying was to be heard behind the grandmother's chair, and Mina sobbed: "I'll never, never do it again," and Lina sobbed: "And I'll never do it again."--"Bless me!" cried young Mrs. Nüssler, "it was the little girls who did all the mischief.--Mother, it was our own children that did it."--But the old woman had been too long accustomed to turn everything to her own advantage, not to know how to make a judicious use of her deafness; she never heard what she did not want to hear; and she did not want to hear now. "Come," she shouted, and signed to her husband.--"Mother, mother," cried her daughter-in-law, "give me your cap, and I'll set it to rights."--"Who's at the fold?" asked the old woman as she left the room with old Joseph.--Young Joseph lighted his pipe again.--"Good gracious!" said Mrs. Nüssler, "she's quite right there, I ought to be at the fold. Ah well, grandmother won't be civil to me again for a month."--"Crusty," said Bräsig, "was an old dog, and Crusty had to give in at last."--"Don't cry any more, my pets," said the mother, wiping her little girl's eyes. "You didn't know what harm you were doing, you are such stupid little things. Now be good children, and go and play with your cousin, I must go to my work. Joseph, just keep an eye on the children, please," and then Mrs. Nüssler put on her chip-hat, and set off to the fold where the cows were milked.
"A mother-in-law's the very devil!" said Bräsig. "But you, young Joseph," he continued, turning to Mr. Nüssler, who was smoking as calmly as if what had happened was nothing to him, "ought to be ashamed of yourself for allowing your mother to bully your wife."--"But," said young Joseph, "how can I interfere? I am her son."--"You needn't actually strike her," said Bräsig, "because your parents are given you by God, but you might give her a little filial advice now and then, such as befits an obedient son, and so prevent the devil of dispeace getting into the house.--And as for you, Charles Hawermann, don't take a little tiff like this to heart, for your sister has a cheerful disposition, and an affectionate nature, so she'll soon be on good terms with the old skin-flints again, and they can't get on without her, she's the mainstay of the household.--But now," and he pulled an enormous watch out of his pocket, the kind of watch that is called a warming-pan, "it's seven o'clock, and I must go and look after my work-people."--"Wait," said Hawermann, "I'll go part of the way with you. Good-bye for the present, Joseph."--"Good-bye, brother-in-law," said young Joseph from his corner.
As soon as they were out of doors Hawermann asked: "I say, Bräsig, how could you speak of the old people in such a way before their son?"--"He's quite accustomed to it, Charles. No one has a good word for the two old misers, they've quarrelled with all the neighbours, and as for the servants, they take very good care to keep out of the old wretches' sight."--"My poor sister!" sighed Hawermann, "She used to be such a merry light-hearted girl, and now, shut up in a house with such people, and such a Nuss (slow) of a man."--"You're right enough there, Charles, he is an old Nuss, and Nüssler (slow-coach) is his name; but he never bullies your sister, and although he is such an ass that he can manage nothing himself, he has sense enough to see that your sister is quite able to keep everything straight."--"Poor girl!--She married that man for my sake, to make my way easier for me, she said; and for our old mother's sake, to give her a comfortable home with one of her children in her latter days."--"I know, I know, Charles.--I know it from my own experience. Don't you remember it was during the rye-harvest, and you said to me, Zachariah, you said, you must be in love, for you're leading in your rye quite wet. And I said; how so? On the Sunday before that we had had spruce-beer, and your sister was one of the party, or else I shouldn't have led in the rye in such weather. And then I told you that if I didn't change my mind your sister was the only one of my three sweethearts that I'd marry.--Then you laughed heartily, and said, she was too young.--What has being young to do with it? I asked.--And then you said that my other two sweethearts came first, and so they ought to have the preference. And then you laughed again, and didn't seem to believe that I was in earnest. A short time afterwards my lord the Count changed his mind, and said he wouldn't have a married bailiff. And then a little more time passed, and it was too late. Young Joseph made her an offer, and your mother begged her so hard to take him, that she consented.--Ah well, that marriage ought never to have been," and Bräsig looked down gravely. After a moment's silence he went on--"When I saw the twins I felt drawn to them, and thought that they might have been my own, and I almost wished that the old woman, old Joseph, and young Joseph were in their graves.--It was indeed a happy day for the old Jesuits when your sister brought her loving heart and cheerful nature into their house, if it had been any one else there would have been murder done long ago."
While they were talking they had left the village behind them, and were now beside the large garden. Suddenly Hawermann exclaimed: "Look there, the two old people are on the top of the hill yonder."--"Yes," said Bräsig with a derisive chuckle, "there they are, the hypocritical old Jesuits, standing in their hiding-place."--"Hiding-place?" asked Hawermann, astonished. "Up there on the hill?"--"Even so, Charles, the old creatures can trust no one, not even their own children, and when they want to say anything to each other that they can't explain by their usual signs, they always go to the very top of the hill where they can see that there are no eavesdroppers, and shout their secrets in one another's ears. Look at them cackling away, the old woman has laid another dragon's egg, and now they're both going to hatch it."--"How eagerly they're talking," said Hawermann. "Do you see how the old woman is gesticulating? What can it all be about?"--"I know what they are laying down the law about, for I know them well.--And Charles," he continued after a short silence, "it is better that you should understand the whole state of the case at once, and then you'll know how to act. They're talking about you, and your little girl."--"About me, and my little girl!" repeated Hawermann in astonishment.--"Yes, Charles--don't you see. If you had come with a great purse full of money, they would have received you with open arms, for money is the only thing for which they have the slightest respect; but as it is they regard you and the child in the light of beggarly poor relations who will take the very bread out of the mouth of their unfortunate son."--"Oh!" sighed Hawermann, "why didn't I leave the child with the Rassows?--Who is to take care of her?--Can you advise me what to do?--I can't leave her here in my sister's charge for my sister's sake."--"Of course you'd like to have her near you. Well, Charles, I'll tell you something. You must remain at the Nüsslers to-night. To-morrow we'll go and see the Counsellor at Pümpelhagen: if we succeed there we'll look out for a good place for the child in the neighbourhood; and if we don't succeed, we'll go to the town and board her for the present with Kurz, the shopkeeper. And now good-night, Charles! Don't be down-hearted, everything will look brighter soon."--And so he went away.
"Ah, if everybody was only like you," thought Hawermann as he was returning to his sister's house, "I should soon get the better of my difficulties.--And get the better of them I must and shall," he continued with a look of determination, his courage rising and dispelling his sadness, in like manner as the sun disperses the rain-clouds, "my sister shall not be made unhappy through me. I will work hard for my little girl." ........