Mina therefore asked with great simplicity: "Do you play with a ball when you are dancing?"--This question showed what a stupid innocent little thing Mina was, but as she was the youngest and most inexperienced of the party, it was unkind of the Miss Pomuchelskopps to laugh at her as they did. "Well!" said Rosalia, "that is really too silly!"--"Dear me, how very countrified!" said Mally, drawing herself up, and putting on the high and mighty manner of a town-lady, and looking as if she wished it to be supposed that she had been accustomed to see Rostock cathedral out of her nursery-window from the time of her babyhood, and as if she and his worship, the mayor, had been old play-fellows.--Our poor little Mina blushed as red as a peony, for she felt that she must have said something very foolish indeed, and Louisa reddened with anger, for she could not bear to hear any one laughed at. She did not mind it so much for herself, but when one of her friends, any one whom she loved was treated so, it made her tingle all over.--"Why are you laughing?" she asked quickly. "What is there to laugh at in our not knowing what a ball is?"--"Look, look! What a rage she's in!" laughed Mally.--"Dear child ....." she could not finish her sentence, for Mr. Pomuchelskopp just then said excitedly: "I think it is very wrong, Mrs. Behrens. I am the squire of Gürlitz, and if your husband wanted to let the glebe....."--"My pastor has let it, and Mr. von Rambow is an old friend of ours, and his estate, which marches as well with our land as Gürlitz does, is also in this parish, and then Hawermann, his farm-bailiff ....."--"Is a cunning rascal," interrupted Pomuchelskopp.--"Who has cheated us once already," added his wife.--"What?" cried little Mrs. Behrens. "What?" She then stopped short, for she remembered that Louisa was present, and she was afraid of the child hearing and being hurt by what was said, so she contented herself with making signs to her visitors to change the subject. But it was too late. Louisa had heard, and was now standing before the surly looking man and his cold-hearted wife: "What did you call my father? What has he done?" And the gentle little creature who until that moment had lived in peace with all men, was filled with burning wrath against her father's slanderers, and her eyes flashed as she looked at them.--It is said that the beautiful green earth will one day burst out in fire and flame, and bury the work of men's hands and the temple of God in ashes.--It was much the same with the child, a temple of the living God that she had loved and reverenced was threatened with destruction, and her sorrow found relief in an agony of tears as her good foster-mother put her arm round her, and led her from the room.
Muchel looked at his Henny, and Henny at her Muchel; he had got into a nice scrape now. It was quite a different thing when one of his labourer's wives came to him weeping tears of blood, and told him a dismal tale of starvation and misery, he knew what to do to get rid of the woman, but now he could not think of anything to say or do, and as he looked about him awkwardly he caught sight of the raised hands in the Saviour's picture, and then he suddenly remembered one of the lessons he had learnt in his boyhood, that Christ had once said: "Suffer the little children to come unto Me, and forbid them not: for of such is the kingdom of Heaven."--He felt extremely uncomfortable. And even his brave strong-minded Henny was quite confounded; she had children of her own, and had often heard them cry when she punished them, but this was different; her Mally and Sally had often looked at her with angry eyes, and had stamped their feet at her with rage, but this was different. She soon recovered herself however, and said: "Don't look so idiotic, Kopp. What was that she said about her father? Is Hawermann her father?"--"Yes," wept Mina and Lina, "she is Louisa Hawermann," and then they left the room to join their tears with those of their school-fellow, for though they did not know how deeply their little cousin felt the blow she had just received, still their love and sympathy were so great that they longed to comfort her.--"I didn't know that," said Pomuchelskopp, using the same words that he had done eleven years before when told of the death of Hawermann's wife.--"A spoilt child!" said his Henny. "Come, Mally and Sally, we will go, I don't think that Mrs. Behrens intends to come back to us."--And so they departed like the year 1822, of which, to carry out the illustration, Henny might be called the 1, because she was always number 1 in her own estimation; Pomuchelskopp the 8, because of his round portliness, and the daughters the 2s, for they resembled, to my mind, the figure 2 that a goose makes when it is swimming in a pond.
Just as they left the house Mr. Behrens came back from Warnitz, accompanied by uncle Bräsig. He knew from the dress of the Pomuchelskopp family that they had come to pay a visit of ceremony, and hastened from the carriage that he might speak to them before they left. "Ah, how do you do! But," he added in astonishment, "where is my wife?"--"She went away and left us," said Mrs. Pomuchelskopp shortly.--"There must be some mistake," he said, "pray come in, and I will rejoin you in a few minutes." He went away to look for his wife.--Meanwhile Bräsig had approached his old acquaintance Pomuchelskopp. "Good morning, Samuel. How are you?" he said.--"Thank you, Mr. bailiff Bräsig, I am very well," was the answer.--Bräsig raised his eye-brows, looked him full in the face, and whistled, and when Mrs. Pomuchelskopp curtsied to him before going away, she might have spared herself the trouble, for he had already turned his back upon them, and was entering the house. "Come, Kopp," said his wife crossly, and they went home.
Mr. Behrens found no one in the house; so he went into the garden, and shouted, and very soon the twins appeared, red-eyed, from behind the raspberry hedge. They pointed to the hornbeam arbour with anxious faces, as much as to say that he would find the cause of their sorrow there. He went to the arbour, and there he found his Regina sitting with Louisa on her knee, comforting her. As soon as she saw her pastor she put the child gently on the bench, and, drawing him away to a short distance, told him all that had happened.
Mr. Behrens listened silently, but when his wife repeated the cruel words that Mr. Pomuchelskopp had used in speaking of Hawermann, his face flushed with anger, and his eyes were full of a deep compassion, he then asked his wife to return to the house, for he would like to speak to the child alone.--His beautiful human flower had now been hurt for the first time, she had had her first blow from the pitiless world, a blow that her gentle heart would never forget as long as it continued to beat; she had now taken her place in the eternal battle of existence that will last as long as the human race. It must have come--it must have come to that at last, no one knew that better than he did, but he also knew that the great object of those who undertake the education of a human soul is to preserve it from such rude experiences until it has grown strong to bear, so that the blow may neither strike so deep, nor the wound take so long to heal--and this child knew nothing of the malice and uncharitableness of the world.--He entered the arbour.--Thou art still happy, Louisa, in spite of all that has come and gone, for it is well for him who in an hour like this has such a true-hearted friend by his side.
Mrs. Behrens found Bräsig in the parlour. Instead of sitting on the sofa, or on a chair like a reasonable mortal, he had perched himself on the edge of the table, and was working off the excitement caused by Pomuchelskopp's snub, by throwing his legs about like weaver's shuttles. "He had me there!" he muttered. "The Jesuit!"--When Mrs. Behrens came in, Bräsig got off the table, and exclaimed:[[7]] "What is it, when one has called a man by his Christian name for forty years, and when one on meeting that man addresses him as one has been accustomed to do, and meets with a frigid 'Mr. Bailiff Bräsig' in return?"--"Ah, Bräsig ....."--"That is what Pomuchelskopp has just done to me."--"Let the man alone! Just fancy what he did here," and then she told the whole story. Bräsig was angry, very angry, he rushed up and down the room puffing and blowing, and making use of such strong language that Mrs. Behrens would have bidden him be silent, if she had not been in as great a rage as himself; at last he threw himself into a corner of the sofa, and stared moodily at the opposite wall without uttering another word.
The clergyman soon afterwards joined them, and his wife looked at him enquiringly. "She is watering the flowers," he said with a reassuring smile, and then he began to pace the room thoughtfully. At length, turning to Bräsig, he said: "What are you thinking about, my friend?"--"The punishment of hell--I am thinking of the punishment of hell, reverend Sir."--"And why?" asked Mr. Behrens.--Instead of answering, Bräsig sprang to his feet, and said: "Is it true, Sir, as you once told me, that there are mountains that vomit fire?"--"Certainly," said the pastor.--"And is it a good or bad thing for man that they do so?"--"The people who live near these mountains regard it as a good thing, because it saves them from having such violent earthquakes."--"Ah, well," said Bräsig, apparently rather dissatisfied with the answer he had received. "But," he asked, "do the flames come out of a mountain such as that in the same way as out of one of our chimneys when it is on fire?"--"Something like it," replied the clergyman, who had not the faintest idea what Bräsig was aiming at.--"Then," said Bräsig with a stamp of his foot, "I wish that the devil would seize Samuel Pomuchelskopp, and put him on the top of a horrible fire-spouting mountain such as you have described, and roast him there for a little."--"Ugh!" cried little Mrs. Behrens. "Bräsig, you are nothing better than a heathen. How dare you express such a wish in a Christian parsonage?"--"Mrs. Behrens," said Bräsig, throwing himself once more into the corner of the sofa, "it would be a benefit to humanity, and it is just the sort of benefit that I should be the first to grant to Samuel Pomuchelskopp."--"Dear Bräsig," remonstrated the clergyman, "we must not forget that when those people spoke so offensively they did not intend to hurt our feelings."--"It's all the same to me," answered Bräsig, "whether they intended it or not. He enraged me intentionally, and what he said here unintentionally was a thousand times worse than that. Reverend Sir, it is quite necessary to get angry sometimes, and indeed a good farmer ought to be angry two or three times a day, it is part of his work, but of course I don't mean a regular passion, just enough vehemence to show the labourers that one is in earnest. I will give you an instance. I told the carters yesterday when I was top-dressing a field with marl, that I wished them to drive their carts in regular order. Then I took my station by the marl-pit, and saw that everything was done properly. Well, what do you think happened? That scoundrel, Christian Kohlhaas--he's as stupid as an ox--came up with his cart still full of marl! Why, you great ass, I said, what are you doing here with your full cart? And the silly fellow looked me full in the face, and said: he hadn't time to put the marl on the field before the other carts left, and so, as he had been desired to keep the line unbroken, he had just come away with his load.--Wasn't that enough to make me angry? I was rather angry, but, as I said before, one's rages are as different as their causes. An official outburst, such as I have described, does one good, especially after dinner, but this!--Pomuchelskopp and a farm-labourer are two very different people. This is horrible, most horrible, and you'll see, Mrs. Behrens, that I shall have another attack of that confounded gout."--"Bräsig," entreated the little lady, "will you do me a great favour? Don't tell Hawermann anything about what has happened to-day."--"What do you take me for, Mrs. Behrens?--But now I will go and comfort the child Louisa, and I will tell her that as true as the sun shines, Samuel Pomuchelskopp is an infamous wretch of a Jesuit."--"No, no," interrupted Mr. Behrens hastily, "don't do that. The child will get over it, and I hope that it has done her no harm."--"Well then, good-bye," said Bräsig, picking up his cap.--"Dear me, Bräsig, ar'n't you going to remain to dinner?"--"Thank you very much, Mrs. Behrens. There is a difference. I said that anger was good after dinner, not before, it does me harm then. I shall just go to work at the marl-pit at once; but take care, Christian, I advise you not to try that dodge again with the full cart!--Good-bye." And so he went away.
CHAPTER VI.
Hawermann never heard of what had happened at the parsonage, but from that day his daughter was even more loving and tender to him than before, as if she had determined that her love should wipe away the scandalous words that had been spoken regarding him. Mrs. Nüssler of course heard all about it from her children, but she had not the heart to trouble her brother by telling him what would so sorely distress him; the clergyman and his wife were silent for the same reason, and also because they hoped that the circumstance would die out of their foster-child's memory, if it were never alluded to; Joseph Nüssler said nothing, and Bräsig held his tongue as far as Hawermann himself was concerned, but he indemnified himself for his silence, and for the sharp attack of gout which came on the day after the scene at the parsonage, by nearly raising the country-side against the Pomuchelskopps, who so little understood how to gain the love and good will of their neighbours, that they soon made themselves as disagreeable in the eyes of those who lived near them as my wife's[[8]] floors just before Whitsuntide--well-polished and shining as they are at other times.
Pomuchelskopp looked upon his surroundings as a great garden in which he might plant his self-esteem. Whether it gave him shade or flowers he did not care; as long as what was sowed there flourished and grew apace, it mattered not to him what form it took. He had come to Mecklenburg for two reasons: firstly, because he thought the purchase of Gürlitz a good bargain, and secondly, because he had an exalted idea of his future position as justice of the peace. "Henny," he said, "every one has the upper-hand of us here in Pomerania, and the Sheriff is all-powerful, but in Mecklenburg I shall be one of the law-givers. And besides that, I've always heard that if rich men of the middle-class only stick to the aristocracy through thick and thin, they receive a patent of nobility after a time. Only think, Chuck, Mrs. von Pomuchelskopp!--how would you like that? One mustn't crow too small in this world!"--That was a sin of which he never was guilty. He gave up his chief delight of making a great show with his money for fear of having to do it in the company of tenant-farmers and bailiffs, and he addressed old Bräsig coldly and distantly, and paid a visit of ceremony to Bräsig's master, the Count, instead of to his old acquaintance. He put on his blue coat with the brass buttons, and drove to Warnitz in his grand new carriage drawn by four brown horses, and when he got there he was as much out of place as a pig in a Jew's house. As soon as he reached home again he seated himself crossly in the sofa-corner, and flapped at the flies. His wife who was always loving to him when he was in a bad-humour, asked him: "What is the matter with you. Pöking?"--He growled out in reply: "What should be the matter with me? It isn't me, it's those confounded aristocrats who are friendly one moment, and turn a cold shoulder on one the next. He offered me a chair, and then asked me very politely how he could be of service to me--I didn't want his help, I'm better off than he is--but I couldn't think of anything to say at the moment, and the silence grew so frightful that there was nothing for it but to go away."--Notwithstanding this repulse Pomuchelskopp did not crow any lower; he hung on the skirts of the aristocracy as closely as the tail to the sheep, and though he had not a penny to give any of his own people when they were in distress, or to the poor artisans in the town who were often nearly starving, he always had plenty of money for any extravagant young sprig of the nobility who asked him for it; and though he prosecuted any poor man without mercy who ventured to cross one of his corn-fields, yet he gave Bräsig's master, the Count, leave to hunt over his land in harvest-time; and though he treated his clergyman scandalously with regard to the Easter-lamb, he allowed the Count's keepers to shoot a roe-deer at his very door without a word of remonstrance. Yes, Samuel Pomuchelskopp had high aims!