Hawermann at once set a chair for his master near the open window, and then began to explain the business that had brought them to Rahnstädt. As soon as Moses found what they had come for he sent David out of the room, for although he let his son manage the wool-stapling part of his trade as he liked, he did not consider him capable at five and twenty years old of taking even a subordinate place in the moneylending department. The moment the coast was clear--of David--he said again that it was a great honour to do business with Mr. von Rambow. "What have I always told you, Mr. Hawermann? Didn't I always say that Mr. von Rambow was a good man, a very good man.--And, Mr. von Rambow, what have I always said?--That Mr. Hawermann was an honest man, he worked and saved, and has paid me everything he owed me to the uttermost farthing."--But when he understood how large a sum was wanted he rather drew back, and wished to have nothing to do with it, and if he had not seen that Hawermann earnestly desired that he should undertake the business, he would have refused point blank. And who knows whether he would not have refused to have anything to do with the affair even then, if he had not heard that the money was wanted to complete the purchase of Gürlitz, and that failing his help the squire would have to come to an arrangement with Mr. Pomuchelskopp. When he heard that name Moses made a face of as much disgust, as if some one had offered him a bit of unclean meat on a plate, and then exclaimed: "With Pömüffelskopp!" that was the way he always pronounced the name. "Do you know what sort of man he is?" and as he spoke, he made a movement as though he were throwing a piece of unclean meat over his shoulder. "I advised my son David to have nothing to do with Pömüffelskopp--but young people!--David bought some wool from him. Very well, I said, you will see, I said. And what did we discover? He had mixed the lumpy wool of sheep that had died of disease with what was clean and good, and also the dirty skins of wethers that had been slaughtered by the butcher, to say nothing of two large stones that he had put in the centre. Two large stones!--Good, I said. I paid him in Prussian paper-money, making up the sum in small parcels containing about fifteen pounds each, and amongst them I slipped in a few notes that were either false, or which had passed out of currency, and lastly I added two old lottery-tickets--these are the two large stones, I said.--Oh, didn't he make noise enough about it? He came back with Slus'uhr the attorney--a man of like nature with himself--" with that he made as though he were throwing another bit of unclean meat over his shoulder.--"He looks for all the world like one of David's rats, his ears are put on his head in the same way--he must needs live, so he lives like the rats on refuse and garbage, and gnaws through the honest work of other people.--There was noise enough in all conscience now that the two were together. They said they'd go to law. What's the good of a law-suit? I asked. The wool and the money are on a par.--And do you know, gentlemen, I said something more. I said that though the attorney, Mr. Pömüffelskopp, and I are only three Jews, still we might be counted as four, for the two former were quite equal to three in their own person.--Oh dear, what a noise they made, they abused me to every one, but his worship the mayor said to me, Moses, he said, you do a large business, but have never yet gone to law with any one, leave them to do their worst. Mr. von Rambow, you shall have the money this very day at a reasonable percentage, for as you are a good man and deal kindly with your dependents, and have a good name in the country-side, you shall have nothing to do with that Pömüffelskopp."
Borrowing money is disagreeable work, and he who writes this book knows that it is so from his own experience, still there is a great difference between borrowing from a kind-hearted old friend, and applying to a man whose business it is to lend money.--The squire had a good many small debts on his estate, but there were no large mortgages on it, whenever he had wanted money before he had been able to get it from his lawyer, or from a tradesman, and this was the first time his old resources had failed him, and that he had been obliged to go to a Jewish moneylender. He had an intense dislike to the business he was about; the fear caused by the unwillingness Moses had at first shown to lend him the money, and then the sudden relief when he found he was to have it after all overpowered him so much, that he sank back in his chair pale and trembling. Hawermann asked for some water for him.--"Perhaps, Mr. von Rambow," asked Moses, "you'd like a mouthful of wine better."--"No, water, water," cried Hawermann, and Moses rushed to the door, and nearly knocked David down when he opened it, for David had been listening at the key-hole. "David," he exclaimed, "what are you standing there for? Why don't you go for some water?"
David brought the water, and the squire felt better as soon as he had drunk it. Moses counted the gold out on the table, and the squire, after picking them up, looked at his hands, and saw that they appeared every whit as white and clean as before. And after he was once more seated in the carriage, it seemed to him as he looked back at the money-lender's house, as if he had left the heavy load of care he had brought with him amongst the wool and sheep-skins in the warehouse. And Moses stood in the door-way and bowed, and bowed, and glanced from side to side to see whether his neighbours had observed that Mr. von Rambow was there.--Still he was not so much overwhelmed with the honour done him, as to be unable to look after his own affairs, he bent down his head, and drawing Hawermann aside, whispered: "You are an honest man, bailiff. When I concluded this piece of business I didn't notice how ill the squire was. You must promise me that the money will be paid off by the estate.--It is a question of life and death.--What have I to do with a sick man and a bond?"
Now that the squire's mind was at rest about his money-difficulties his health improved rapidly, and he began to look at everything in a more cheerful light, and when a few days later Hawermann again proposed that Mr. von Rambow should take a lease of the Gürlitz glebe, he consented at once, and gave Hawermann permission to make all the necessary arrangements with Mr. Behrens. Little Mrs. Behrens fluttered round her husband and Hawermann while they talked, and said that "the rent ought to be higher than before."--"Yes," answered Hawermann, "of course it ought. The rent must be raised, for the times are better than they were, but that matter will be easily settled, for it will be an advantageous arrangement for both sides."--"Regina," said the pastor, "it has just occurred to me that the flowers have never been watered this morning."--"Goodness gracious me," cried Mrs. Behrens as she hastened from the room, "I quite forgot the flowers."--"We'll get on quicker now," said the pastor. "I confess that I'd rather have an outsider for a tenant than the lord of the manor, for when the latter has the glebe-lands there are often little disagreeables and disputes that ought never to be between the parish-priest and his squire. Besides that, merely as a matter of personal feeling I'd far rather have Mr. von Rambow for a tenant than the new lord of the manor; you see I have known him for many years.--So you really think I ought to get a higher rent?"--"Most certainly, Sir, and I am commissioned to offer you half as much again as you used to get. If I myself were going to take a lease of it from you, I should offer you more, but ......"--"We understand each other, dear Hawermann," interrupted Mr. Behrens. "I agree to your terms."--So when Mrs. Behrens returned with little Louisa to say: "I needn't have gone after all, Louisa had done it for me," business was all arranged. The child threw her arms round her father's neck, exclaiming: "Oh father, father, what a good plan it is!"--Why did she kiss her father, and what did it matter to her who got the lease of the glebe?--Well, well, if her father had the land he would have to look after it, and so she hoped to him oftener.
When Hawermann was walking down the path leading to the church he met Zachariah Bräsig coming towards him. Bräsig had quite recovered from the unphilosophical state of mind into which a fit of gout always threw him, and now that the pain was over could take things as calmly and philosophically as usual. "Good-day, Charles," he said. "I have been waiting for you for some time in your room, but as the time hung rather heavily on my hands I went at last to pay my respects to the Counsellor. He delighted to see me, and received me with the greatest possible kindness; but how dreadfully changed he is." True, Hawermann replied, his master had become terribly aged and feeble, and he feared that he would not long be spared to them.--"Yes," answered Bräsig, "but what is life after all, Charles? What is human life? Look you, Charles, it is as though it were a thing twirled round and round like an empty purse from which not a single farthing can fall, however long one may wait."--"Bräsig," said Hawermann, "I don't know what other people may think of it, but life and work always seem to me to be one and the same thing."--"Oh, ho! Charles, I have you now! You learnt that from parson Behrens. He has spoken to me now and then on the subject, and he always makes out that human life in this world is neither more nor less than a sort of seed-time, and that Christian faith is the sun and rain that makes the seed sprout and grow, and that only hereafter, in the other world, comes the harvest, for while he is on earth, man must labour and toil to the uttermost.--But, Charles, that is a wrong way of looking at it, it goes clean against Scripture.--The Bible tells us of the lilies of the field, how they toil not, neither do they spin, and yet our Heavenly Father feeds them. And if God feeds them, they are alive, and yet they do no work. And when I have that confounded gout, and can do nothing--absolutely nothing, except flap the beastly flies away from my face--can I be said to work? And yet I am alive, and suffer horrible torture into the bargain. And, Charles," he continued, pointing to a field on the right, "just look at those two lilies coming towards us. I mean the lieutenant and his youngest sister; now have you ever heard that lieutenants in a cavalry-regiment do any sort of hard work, or that young ladies of rank and position busy themselves with spinning? Yet there they come, alive and well, walking over the rape-stubble."--"Will you wait a few minutes, Zachariah?" said Hawermann. "They are coming straight towards us, and perhaps wish to speak to us."--"All right," said Bräsig. "But I say, just look at the young lady wading through the stubble with a long train to her gown, and thin shoes!--Nay, Charles, life and suffering are one and the same thing, and the suffering always begins at the small end, with the feet for instance; and that this is true, witness my confounded gout, and the young lady's thin shoes.--But what I wanted to say was this, that your happiest time here is past and gone, for when the Counsellor is dead, you may look out for squalls.--You will then see strange things come to pass with my lady, her unmarried daughters, and the lieutenant.--Charles," he continued, after a few minutes silent thought, "it would be well for you to be on good terms with the crown-prince."--"Oh, Bräsig, what are you saying?" interrupted Hawermann. "I shall keep to the straight road."--"Yes, Charles, I do so too, and so does everyone who is not a Jesuit; but look at the young lady, she is also going along the straight road, but it leads her through the stubble!--Charles ....."
The young people had now come too near to allow him to finish his sentence, so he only added in a sort of aside: "A Jesuit? No! But he's a regular vocative case!"--
"Thank you, Mr. Hawermann, for waiting for us," said Alick von Rambow, coming up to them. "My sister and I set out on our walk with two different ends in view: her object was to find corn-flowers, and mine was to find horses. She can't find any cornflowers, and I can't see any horses."--"If you mean the common 'blue-bottle' by corn-flowers, Miss," said Bräsig. "But," he interrupted himself, "what a pity, that confounded rape-stubble has torn your pretty dress," and he stooped down as though he were about to try his hand at lady's maid's work.--"Oh, it doesn't matter," cried the young lady, starting back, "it's an old dress. But where shall I find the corn-flowers?"--"I'll show you. There are a good lot of them down there on the Gürlitz march; you'll find blue-bottles, red poppies, white gules, and thistles; in short, a whole plantation of weeds."--"That is a capital plan, Fidelia," said her brother, "while you go in search of corn-flowers with Mr. Bräsig, I will ask Mr. Hawermann to show me the young horses, for," turning to Hawermann, "you must know that my father was good enough to tell me this morning, that I might choose one of the best of the four-year-olds for my own use."--"I'll show them to you with great pleasure," answered Hawermann, "there are some really good horses amongst them."--So the two parties separated, and the last words Hawermann heard Bräsig say as he walked away with Miss Fidelia were, that he was delighted to make her acquaintance, for he had once had a dog that was called "Fidel," and that it had been a splendid ratter.
Hawermann and the lieutenant went together to the paddock, and as they walked they naturally talked about farming. The lieutenant was of a lively disposition, and Hawermann had known him from his childhood, but the bailiff found that he had learnt nothing about the subject on which he was talking, that his views were inpracticable, and his questions were so wide of the mark and displayed so much ignorance, that he could not help saying to himself: "He's good-natured, very good-natured, but he's very ignorant, and--good God!--when his father dies he will have the estate, and will have to make his living out of it!"
After they had reached the paddock, and had examined each of the young horses separately, the lieutenant said to Hawermann: "Well, what do you say? Which ought I to take?"--"The brown," replied the bailiff.--"I like the black better, don't you see the beautiful arch of his neck, and what a finely shaped head he has?"--"Mr. von Rambow," said Hawermann, "you don't ride on the head or neck of a horse, but on its back and legs. You want a hack, and you'll get three times as much work out of the brown as the black."--"The black looks as if he were partly English?"--"You're quite right there, he is descended from Wild-fire; but the brown is of the old Mecklenburg breed, and it is a pity that these horses should be allowed to die out, that one should not take pains to keep up what is good in our own country but should exchange it for English racers."--"That may be all quite true," said Alick, "but as all the officers in my regiment have black horses, I shall decide on taking the black."
As Hawermann could not see the force of this reasoning, he remained silent, and the conversation on the way back was not so easy as before; but when they had nearly reached the house--right in front of the door, and as if he had been preparing for this last step--the lieutenant stopped the bailiff, and said with a deep sigh, and as if lifting a heavy burden from his breast: "Hawermann, I have long wished to have a little private talk with you.--Hawermann, I'm in debt--you must help me.--I owe a hundred and thirty-five pounds, and I must have the money."--That was a bad proposal to make to Hawermann; but in really serious matters the bailiff used the influence of his age, he looked the young man of three and twenty full in the face, and said: "I can't help you in this, Mr. von Rambow."--"Hawermann, dear Hawermann, I'm desperately in want of the money."--"Then you ought to speak to your father."--"To my father? No, no! he has already paid so much for me, and now he is ill, it might do him harm."--"Still you should tell him. Such things as this ought never to be discussed with strangers, they should always be arranged between father and son."--"Strangers?" asked Alick, looking at him reproachfully. "Do you really look upon me as such a complete stranger, Hawermann!"--"No, Mr. von Rambow, no," exclaimed Hawermann, seizing his young master's hand, "you are no stranger to me. And I will do anything for you that I possibly can. This matter is in itself a mere nothing, and if I could not manage it alone, my friend Bräsig would make up the rest; but, dear Mr. von Rambow, your father is your natural helper, and it would be wrong to pass him over."--"I can't tell my father," said Alick, plucking the leaves off a willow-tree near him.--"You must tell him," cried Hawermann as emphatically as he could, "he feels that you are concealing some of your debts from him, and that pains him."--"Has he spoken to you about it?"--"Yes," replied Hawermann, "but only in connection with his own great need of money which you already know about."--"I know," said Alick, "and I also know the source from which my father received assistance.--Well, I can do what my father did before me," he added coldly and shortly as he entered the house.--"Mr. von Rambow," cried Hawermann, following him hastily, "don't do that, for Heaven's sake, you won't succeed, and you'll only be in a more unpleasant position than before."--Alick would not listen to him.