The cut did him no harm although it did not add to his beauty, for Mr. von so and so's pretty daughter heard of what had happened, and after she had put two and two together, and had guessed that their rivalry was the true cause of their disagreement, who could blame the girl for being even kinder to Alick than before.
Now I could tell you the whole of Alick and Frida's love story if I chose to do so, and then everyone would say that I had chosen a hero and heroine such as are not to be met with every day, a lieutenant in a cavalry-regiment and a nobleman's daughter. But I will refrain. In the first place because I never give myself more to do than I can help, and who is to oblige me to give the tradesman's young daughters who may possibly read this book private lessons in the way a cavalry-officer makes love, or to show young men without position how to make love to a nobleman's daughter.--And who will guarantee its not having that effect?--Secondly, I wish to say once for all that I am not writing for the young, but for the old who take a book to fan away the flies, and to make them forget their worries as they lie on the sofa in the afternoon.--Thirdly, I have still three girls to marry before the end of my book, and just let who ever wants to know what that is, ask the mother of three unmarried daughters. Louisa Hawermann must of course be married, and would it not be a shame to make the twins old maids and leave them to get through the world as best they can?--Fourthly and lastly, I do not feel myself capable of describing the love-making of a lieutenant in a cavalry-regiment. Such a thing is beyond me and beyond Joseph; it would require a Shakespeare or a Mühlbach to do it justice, and indeed who knows whether Shakespeare would have succeeded either, for as far as I know he never even attempted it.--The short and the long of it is that they were married at Whitsun-tide in the year 1843, and Mr. von so and so having no other dowry to give his daughter on that momentous occasion, gave her--his blessing. Now that he is our Alick's father-in-law we will call him by his right name, Mr. von Satrop of Seelsdorf, but it is as well to mention at the same time that Seelsdorf was far more deeply mortgaged than Pümpelhagen.
Frida von Satrop was a sensible girl, and thoroughly understood, even before her marriage, that as the lieutenant's affairs were somewhat involved, and as she herself had not a farthing, it would be much better for him to leave the army, and Alick consented to do so, for he saw that the joke about his cowardice was not likely to die out for a long time to come, and that the old colonel's blunder in the report would always remain there with the red ink stroke to mark it, and besides that he wanted to try some of his farming theories at Pümpelhagen, and to see whether he could not by these means make more money out of the estate and so pay off his debts.
He therefore sent in his papers, packed up his uniform, scarf and epaulettes, took sad leave of his trusty sword before laying it in the chest beside the other things, and then nailing down the lid affixed his seal to it, and tied on to it a piece of paper on which he had written these words: "The seal is to be broken by my heir if I should happen to die suddenly," and then the chest was sent to Pümpelhagen. Alick was married in a black dress-coat, and as soon as the ceremony was performed he and his young wife set off on their wedding-tour to the Rhine.
How he arrived at Pümpelhagen on midsummer's-day 1843, must be told in another chapter.
CHAPTER XI.
The three years since his father's death which Alick had spent with his regiment, and which he had filled with agricultural study, heroic deeds and a love-affair, had been equally well employed at Pümpelhagen, for these three occupations had taken as prominent a part in the life of our old friends there as they had in his. Of the farming there is no need to speak; but the heroic deeds and the love-affairs might never have become known, had it not been for Fred Triddelfitz's conduct on one of the feast-days of the church. The friendship between him and Mary Möller had changed from that of a mother and son to that of a sister and brother; but on her side there was a very tender affection, which she showed in the way she kept him supplied with ham and sausages, indeed Mary was sometimes guilty of building up insecure castles in the air about priests and rings, bridal-wreaths, farms and self-government, so that the change in her sentiments was not a little alarming. Then Fred gradually took fright lest Hawermann should discover his secret luncheons, &c., and that his aunt, and mother, and father would, when they heard of what he had been doing, lecture him by the hour, tell him how silly he was, and--in short make it very disagreeable for him, Taking his love-affairs all together it must be confessed that though he did not dislike a talk with the twins, or--if his aunt were well out of the way--with Louisa Hawermann, his greatest happiness was caused by his friendship with Mary Möller. The heroic deeds done at Pümpelhagen during these three years were all performed within his own sphere of action. At first he had only shown his courage and enterprise secretly to the farm-lads, for if Hawermann had discovered what he was about, the great glory his cane had won him on the farmboys' shoulders would have been quickly dissipated. As time went on he grew bolder from not being found out, and on Palm Sunday morning he ventured, in an evil hour for himself, to treat one of the grooms in the same way, but the man was impertinent enough to forget the respect due to him, and seized him by the collar, and beat him so hard across the back and shoulders with his own cane, that Mary Möller had to spend the greater part of the afternoon in applying damp towels to his shoulders they--smarted so terribly. The worst of it all was that every time Mary Möller laid a cool piece of linen on his back, she made his conscience prick him by recapitulating all the kindnesses she had shown him, and in spite of the pain and discomfort from which he was suffering, asked him point blank what his intentions were, taking care to assure him at the same time, that she believed in his love, and that he would be true to her. He did not like that sort of talk at all, for he himself believed far more strongly in his love for good eating than in his love for her, and as for his intentions, he would rather not tell what they were. He stammered a few words of no particular meaning, and the better his back felt, the less inclined he was to tie himself down in any way; he tried to turn the conversation to another subject, but she would not allow that to be done, and laid the damp linen on his back less gently than at first. "Triddelfitz," she said at last when she found that she could get no satisfactory answer from him, "what am I to think of you?" And then, having finished arranging the linen on his back, she came round in front of him, and putting her arms akimbo, stared him full in the face. He was rather afraid of what might follow, and said deprecatingly: "What do you mean, Polly?"--"What do I mean? Shall I have to tell you more distinctly?" she cried, her eyes losing their former sweet and loving expression, "am I always to be led by the nose?" So saying she came dose up to him, and slapped him right between the shoulders on the top of the bandages.--"Ugh!--Hang it all!" he shrieked. "That did hurt."--"Ah, that hurt you, did it?" she asked. "And do you think that it doesn't hurt me to see the man to whom I have shown so much kindness treating me so deceitfully?"--"Oh, Polly! What do you mean?"--"What do I mean? This is what I mean!"--thud, came her hand down on his back.--"Confound it! It's burning like fire."--"I'm glad to hear it. It's only what you deserve for making a poor girl believe all your fine speeches and promises."--"Bless me, Polly, I'm only nineteen!"--"What has that got to do with it?"--"And then I'd like to take a situation as bailiff somewhere first, and then----" --"Well, and then what?"--thud, came another slap on the back.--"For Heaven's sake, mind what you are about! You're hurting me frightfully."--"Mind what you are about with me. Well, and then?"--"And then I shall be ready to take a farm, and that will be in about ten years time, I suppose."--"Well, and then?" she asked with a determination that was dreadful to him.--"Yes--and then," Fred stammered, with a nervous dread of the consequence of what he was going to say, "you will be too old."--His Polly Möller stood for a moment as though rooted to the spot, her eyes blazing with anger, then, bending forward, she struck him on the mouth with the wet bandages she had in her hand, and as she did so, the water in the linen fell upon his neck and ears in spray: "Too old? You fool! Too old, did you say?" then snatching up the basin of water she dashed it over his head and shoulders, and ran out of the room. While Fred stood there puffing and blowing, she pushed the door a little open again, and cried: "You'd better never show your face in my kitchen again."
That was the end of this love-affair, at least for the present, and it was also the end of the dainty little luncheons eaten in secrecy. Fred Triddelfitz stood motionless where Mary Möller had left him, and thought over the change in his circumstances, and of how essentially this love-affair of his had differed from all his preconceptions and from all the novels he had read, and then he made use in his ill-humour of the same expression that he had used when, soon after his arrival at Pümpelhagen, he had been sent road-mending on a rainy day in November: "I never thought it would be as bad as this!--What a blessing," he added, "that the governor is out, otherwise he'd have been certain to have heard the row she made."
Hawermann and Frank had gone to church at Gürlitz that morning. The farmer walked on silently, his heart full of love and gratitude to God for all His fatherly goodness to him and to his child who was to be confirmed on that Palm Sunday morning. As he went down the dry foot-path--there had been a slight frost during the night--his eyes rested on the bright scene before him, the snow was still lying in white patches beside the ditches, and under the shade of the dark pines, while the rye-fields with their tender green carpet on which the sun poured down its golden light, announced that Easter was nigh, and quietly awaited the promised resurrection. The smoke rising from the chimneys of the small villages round about was gilded by the sun's rays, showing how little the aspect of nature is affected by the cares and troubles of man, and from the church-towers on every hand was to be heard a solemn peal ringing over woods and meadows.--"Ah, if she had only lived to see this day!" said the old man aloud, forgetting that he was not alone.--"Who?" asked Frank with some hesitation, and fearing lest he might be thought intrusive.--"My poor wife, the mother of my dear child," the old man answered softly, as he turned his honest face and looked kindly at the youth at his side, as much as to say: My face and my heart tell the same tale, as you would know if you could only read my thoughts.--"Yes," he went on, "my good wife. But what am I saying? She sees our child better than I can, she does more for her than I can, and her thoughts are higher than the blue heavens, and her joy purer than the golden sunlight."--Frank walked on in silence not wishing to disturb the bailiff; he had never before felt such a deep reverence for his dear old friend, and now as he looked at him, and saw his white hair lying on his broad forehead as white and pure as those patches of snow on the ground, and read in his expression a full assurance of hope, and a calm faith in the resurrection, such as was also to be seen in the face of nature, for while his countenance was irradiated with the sunshine of love, the earth was bathed in that of the golden sun. At last he could resist the impulse no longer, and seized the old man's hand, saying: "Hawermann, dear Hawermann, you must have had a great deal of sorrow during your life."--"Not more," was the answer, "than other people have, but enough for me to remember as long as I live."--"Will you tell me about it? It is not curiosity that makes me ask."--"Why not?" he said, and then he told him his whole story, but without once mentioning Pomuchelskopp's name; "and," he said in conclusion, "as my child was once my only comfort, she is now my only joy."
While thus talking they reached the parsonage. Little Mrs. Behrens had grown rather older and rounder in the last few years, and did not trot about the house quite so restlessly as she used to do. To-day she sat perfectly still, leaving her duster to lie idly in its drawer, where it found life as dull as a pug-dog in a toy kennel; for the solemnity of the act to be performed that day in church forbade her attending to matters belonging only to the work-a-day world, above which she was raised for the time being by reason of her position of clergyman's wife, which made her the "nearest" to those taking part in the ceremony. Still, try as she might she could not keep quite motionless, and though she did not bustle about from place to place as usual, she could not resist going to see how her pastor was getting on, and then tying his bands for him and giving him a glass of wine; after that she went in search of Louisa, straightened her ruffles and whispered words of love and encouragement in her ear, and now that young Joseph, Mrs. Nüssler, the little twins and Bräsig had come, she was just about to resume her customary ways of going on when the church-bell rang out its last peal. The twins were also to be confirmed, and when Mrs. Behrens saw the three pretty children--Lina and Mina on either side of Louisa, who was a head taller than her little cousins--walking up the church-yard path, her eyes filled with tears: "Hawermann," she said, "our child has no gold chains and brooches such as it is now the foolish fashion for girls to wear at their confirmation; and, dear Hawermann, that black silk is thirty years old, I wore it last on the first Sunday I went to church after my marriage, and a happy heart beat within it I can assure you, for it was full of love to my pastor--I never wore it afterwards for it soon grew too tight for me, I was always rather stout, and so you see it is as good as new, and no one would ever find out that a bit had been added to the bottom of the skirt to lengthen it. And, Hawermann, I have put the money you gave me to buy a new dress into Louisa's purse. You are not angry with me, I hope? I wanted so much to see my gown in all its old glory again."--When they got to the church-door Bräsig pulled Hawermann back by the coat, and then said, looking at him with great emotion the while: "A confirmation such as this is a remarkable thing, a very remarkable thing, Charles. When I saw the three little girls going on before us I suddenly remembered my own confirmation which put an end to that dreadful work of herding sheep which I hated so at my father's, and permitted me to do some real farming. Just as these three little girls are going to church, I went with my companions, Charles Brandt and Christian Guhl, only that we did not wear black silk gowns; no, Christian had on a green coat, Charles, a brown one, and mine was grey; and instead of the nosegay of flowers that the little girls are carrying in their hands, we had each a small green sprig in our button-holes, and then we did not walk in a row like these children, but followed each other in single file like geese on their way to the pond.--Ah yes, it was just like this."