As she uttered these words her parson, who been wakened by Bräsig's laughter, entered the room. He was struck by the comicality of the idea, and being too short-sighted to see his wife's angry face, laughing: "Ha, ha! Bräsig a governess!"--A great change came over Mrs. Behrens on her husband's entrance; although she had been boiling over with wrath the moment before, the mere fact of his presence seemed to cast oil on the troubled waters, and she grew calm and quiet. She was sometimes guilty of uttering a hasty word, or of reddening with anger when he was in the room, but she had never yet given way to a regular fit of passion in his presence, and so her honest round face, which only a moment ago was flushed with anger, now glowed with a deeper blush of shame at the thought that she, a clergyman's wife, had so far forgotten herself, and on such a day too. The feeling of shame drove away the last remnants of her anger, and when she heard her own words repeated, that Bräsig could never be a governess, she hid her face in her handkerchief and laughed heartily though silently.
Mrs. Nüssler had been sitting on thorns during the scene between Mrs. Behrens and Bräsig, and when the parson came in, she sprang to her feet, exclaiming: "Oh, reverend Sir, I am the innocent cause of the quarrel. Bräsig, have done with your stupid laughter. Bless me, if Mrs. Behrens thinks that my Mina ought to be a governess--I have no objection. If you and Mrs. Behrens really think it better for her, I will give my consent, for you've always given me good advice. Don't you agree with me, Joseph?"--Joseph came out from behind the stove as he answered: "Yes. It all depends upon circumstances; if she ought to go, let her go." As soon as he had finished speaking he left the room, most probably to consider the matter in solitude.--"What is the meaning of all this?" asked the clergyman, "are you in earnest, Regina?"--Mrs. Nüssler approached the little lady anxiously: "Never mind, Mrs. Behrens.--I hope you're ashamed of yourself, Bräsig?--Dear Mrs. Behrens, don't cry any more," and as she spoke she drew the handkerchief away from her friend's face gently, but on seeing the laughing face raised to hers she started back a step or two, exclaiming: "Why, what's all this!"--"Only a misunderstanding, neighbour," said the old gentleman smiling. "No one ever thought seriously that Mina ought to be a governess. No, our children shall never swell the number of poor unhappy girls who are knocked about from place to place in the world, and earn their bread as dependents. No, our children shall, please God, become good wives, and notable mistresses of households, and in course of time they may with our full consent become governesses--to their own children."--"Reverend Sir--dear Mr. Behrens," cried Mrs. Nüssler, looking as if she were relieved from a terrible dread, "God bless you for saying that. Our Mina shall not be a governess. Joseph--where are you, Joseph? Ah, he must have gone out to hide his grief. Yes, Mr. Behrens, she shall learn to be a good housekeeper. You shall see that I'll do my best to teach her thoroughly."--"Yes," cried Bräsig, "and she must be able to cook a good dinner."--"Of course, Bräsig. Ah, Mr. Behrens, I found all the governesses that I tried such a handful! And last week I went to call on the wife of the new deputy sheriff--she had once been a governess--and I found her a weakly sort of creature who moves about the house as listlessly as if she couldn't be troubled with anything, and then she's one of those sort of people who always wants what she can't get. She's a poor white-faced thing, and looks as if she thought herself a sweet holy martyr--interesting looking, she calls it."--"Bosh!" said Bräsig.--"And, Mrs. Behrens," continued Mrs. Nüssler, "she always has the eggs hard boiled, and the roasts burnt in her house. Good gracious! I'm not one of those who say that women ought not to be educated, and well educated too, so that they may be able to read the newspapers, and may know all about old Fritz and his people, and may even be able to tell in what countries the orange and quinine-trees are to be found; still, these things are only pleasant to know, they are not necessary; and, Mrs. Behrens, I always say that if any woman doesn't know that sort of thing she can always wait till she meets some one learned enough to give her the information she requires; but, Mrs. Behrens, knowing how meat ought to be roasted is a different thing altogether! There can be no question of waiting in such a case, for dinner comes at a regular hour, and, living in the country as I do, Mrs. Behrens, there is no one I can trust to look after these things, except a stupid servant who'd be sure to make some dreadful mistake if she were left to herself."--"You're quite right, neighbour," said the clergyman, "the girls must learn to be good housekeepers."--"That's what I say, reverend Sir, that's just what I say. Goodness gracious me! That poor little woman, the deputy sheriffs wife, knows nothing about house-keeping. Only fancy! She asked me how many pairs of shoes my children wore out in the year when they were seven years old; she asked me how we milked the pigs at Rexow, and she asked me what the chickens said. Ah, reverend Sir, Louisa must not be a governess either."--"No, we don't want her to be one, and as Hawermann thinks as we do on the subject, it is arranged that she should remain here and learn housekeeping. Regina is beginning to take things too easily, and," seating himself on the sofa beside his wife, and putting his arm round her waist, "she is growing too old to have so much on her hands, so she is glad to have a young girl to help her to manage the house, and besides that, she could not bear to part with Louisa."--"You would like it even less than I should, pastor. I'm beginning to feel myself quite shelved, I assure you, it's 'Louisa bring me this,' and 'Louisa get me that' from morning till night."--"Well, well, I don't deny it, I should miss the child terribly if she were to go away."
Hawermann now came back with the children and Frank. When they had nearly reached the door they saw young Joseph walking excitedly up and down the garden. As she approached him, he went up to his daughter Mina, and taking her in his arms, kissed her and said: "It isn't my fault, Mina," and when Hawermann asked him what was the matter, he merely answered: "Brother-in-law, what must be, must be." When the party was separating to go home, and Joseph was seated in the carriage, he felt as if he were driving a victim up to the sacrificial altar. Although his wife explained the whole matter thoroughly to him, and told him that Mina was not to be a governess, the conversation at the parsonage had made such an indelible impression on him, that he could never get over the idea that Mina had a sorrowful life before her. From this time forward he always made her sit beside him at dinner, and gave her all the little titbits in the dish before him, as if each meal were to be the last before her sorrows began.
CHAPTER XII.
So it was that the little girls' mode of life was settled as far as it is possible for human beings to settle the future of other people. But fate often interferes with the best laid schemes which worthy white-haired elders have made, and introduces the most unexpectedly incongruous elements. The worst of making such plans is that they never succeed whether they are wise or foolish, because the good old white-haired people have forgotten to call back to their remembrance the thoughts and feelings which influenced them before their hair began to turn grey. The old clergyman never seriously thought for a moment that any young man would come and take his foster-daughter away from him, and Mrs. Behrens, who, after the manner of women, thought much and often of the probability of such an event happening at some time or other, comforted herself with the thought that Louisa knew no one she could marry. She did not count Frank because of his position in society; and as for Triddelfitz, she regarded him as mere boy, for he was continually getting into scrapes and being scolded by her. She was now to be shown that a beautiful young girl, even though she may live in a parsonage, attracts young men to flutter round her as much as a flower does a butterfly. She was to see that the caterpillar which but a short time ago had roused her wrath in a different fashion, had turned into a gorgeous yellow butterfly which delighted to hover round the sweet flower she had so long tended. She would have thought the whole affair a good joke if the butterfly had not been her sister's son, and the flower Louisa Hawermann.
A few days after the confirmation Fred came to Gürlitz, his heart full of hatred to all women. The basin of water he had had thrown over his head, and being turned out of the paradise of good things to which he had been so long accustomed, had had a chilling effect on him; and as his novels had taught him that any young man who had been deceived in the character of his lady-love as he, Fred, had been, had a right to hate all women, he made use of his right and hated them. He had not been to Gürlitz for a long time because he wanted to punish his aunt for her constant lectures by depriving her of the pleasure of seeing him. When Fred had been sitting in the parlour for some time nursing his hatred of women, and only deigning to talk to the clergyman, little Mrs. Behrens went to join Louisa in the kitchen, and told her with great glee of his quiet manner: "Fred is very much improved," she said. "Thank God, he is growing wiser as he gets older."--Louisa laughed, but made no answer. Though she had not had much opportunity of studying the ways and manners of young men, still she knew Fred Triddelfitz too well to trust to appearances. Any one who understood the boy knew that if he tried to play some part that was unnatural to him, such as pretending to be a woman-hater, the real Fred Triddelfitz would suddenly reappear in his true colours and startle every one, but more especially his dear aunt. He had not been long in the same room with Louisa before he threw overboard his hatred of women, and all remembrance of Mary Möller, the wash-hand-basin, and the larder, and took in a large cargo of romantic ideas as ballast instead; this cargo he called "falling in love with Louisa." And as he had got rid of the trammels of the old love he was able to set sail gaily and make for the open sea. At first he tacked about so much that his aunt was puzzled, but as soon as he reached the high seas "of feeling," unfurled his top-gallant-sails, and had the rudder well in hand, she discovered what he was about, and was very much frightened. She looked upon him as a daring sea-rover, a pirate, a corsair who was trying to run down the dainty little brig in which she had shipped all her motherly love and hopes.
She tried a feint or two to draw off his attention, but the pirate kept on his course unchecked. She showed her parson the red danger signal she had hoisted in her distress, but he seemed to look upon the whole affair as a good joke, perhaps because he was convinced that the brig was in no danger. He sat back comfortably in his sofa corner, sometimes laughing and sometimes shaking his head.--Little Mrs. Behrens lost all patience with her nephew and called him in her own mind: "A silly boy, a young rascal, and a little wretch." But when the pirate began to fire one broadside after another of honied phrases and poetical sentiments at the tiny craft, she gallantly steamed out to sea to defend it and opened her attack on the rover by throwing her grappling irons, taking him in tow and carrying him off with her in triumph: "Come, my boy, come. I want to speak to you, Fred. You may as well take your hat with you." When she had him safe in the still-room she manœuvred him into a corner where he was unable to move because of the barricade of jars, tubs, &c., and then seizing a loaf of bread cut a tremendously thick slice, saying: "You must be hungry, Freddy. You have an empty stomach, sonny, and an empty stomach makes people say and do things that they had better not.--There now I've spread it with butter for you, here's the cheese, won't you have a bit--set to work, my boy, and eat a good luncheon."--Fred stood silently before her not knowing what to do; he had wished to win a heart, and instead of that he had been given a slice of bread and butter! He was about to speak, but his aunt would not allow him: "I know what you are going to say, my boy, so you needn't speak, my child. But here--just to please me--here is a bottle of beer, pray take it out to Hawermann who is sowing peas in the field below the garden. Tell him that it's some of the beer he likes so much, it comes from the mayor of Stavenhagen's brewery." While speaking she took him through the kitchen, and let him out at the back door. As he was going, she called after him through a chink in the doorway: "You won't be able to come and see us for a long time as you've begun to sow the corn and will of course have a great deal to do--no, no, my boy, it can't be helped--but when you come back, in autumn perhaps, Louisa will be seventeen, and you must give up talking such childish nonsense to her as you've been doing to-day, she'll be too old for such folly then. Good-bye now, sonny, eat your bread and butter." Then she shut the door leaving Fred outside with a great slice of bread in one hand, and a bottle of beer in the other.
He felt that his aunt had treated him very badly, and was so angry at first that he felt inclined to throw the bread and butter in at the kitchen window and the bottle of beer after it, at the same time vowing that he would never again set foot in the parsonage as long as he lived. But second thoughts are always best, so he turned and walked down the garden path glancing now at the bread and butter and now at the bottle of beer, and saying to himself: "Hang it all, I'm not a bit hungry. The old lady didn't hit the right nail on the head there. But the fact is she only wanted to get rid of me.--Wait a bit, auntie, you won't get the better of me so easily! I know when and where Louisa goes to walk.--She must be mine! Whatever happens, she must be mine!" Then he threw himself under the hedge at the end of the garden and proceeded to lay out his plan of operations in this new love affair. How angry he would have been if he had known that Louisa saw him from her garret window!--He did not know that however, and as he was afraid that his bread and butter would fall on the gravel and be spoilt, he thought it better on the whole to eat it while it was good, and when he had finished it, he said: "I don't care a farthing for my aunt and Mary Möller; Louisa is an angel! She must be mine! It's quite clear that my relations won't approve of our love.--Bong! No girl like Louisa is ever to be won without a struggle. I'll ...... yes, what ought I to do?"--Before he did anything else he thought it as well to drink the bottle of beer, and when he had finished it every drop, he rose and crossed the ploughed field with renewed courage, stamping his firm determination into the soft soil as he went on: "She shall be mine!" And when the seed had sprung up the villagers, said: "Look, do you see where the devil has been sowing thistles and nettles amongst old bailiff Hawermann's corn!"
So Fred went heart and soul into his new love affair. There was one good thing in it, and that was that he was now far more amenable to the bailiff than before, because he looked on him in the light of his future father-in-law. He sat by his side in the evening and told him how much his father would advance to set him up in business, and asked his advice as to whether, he should buy or rent a farm, or consulted him about buying a large tract of land in Livonia or Hungary. The old man gently talked him out of any of his ideas which were simply absurd, but he silently rejoiced in the change that had taken place in his pupil: "The young rascal used to be able to talk of nothing but riding, dancing and hunting, and now he speaks of sensible things however foolishly." One evening when he and Fred were alone, Frank having gone to Gürlitz, he was still more astonished by Fred's confiding to him that if he remained in Mecklenburg he would either buy or rent a place with a good house in the middle of a park--park was the very word he used, not garden--for, he said, he owed it to his future wife that everything should be done in good style, and added, that he would love and care for her nearest relations like a father, as he said this he looked at the bailiff with such a touchingly affectionate gaze that the latter felt quite uncomfortable. "Triddelfitz," remonstrated Hawermann, "you are surely not so foolish as to think yourself in love at your age?"--Fred answered that it might be so, or it might not be so, but he could at least say with certainty, that he intended his old father-in-law to have a whole wing in his house for his sole use, and that as he had always been accustomed to plenty of fresh air and exercise, he should keep a couple of horses for him to ride or drive. Having said this, he rose and began to walk up and down the room with long strides, waving his hands as he went, so that Hawermann, who was sitting in the sofa corner, had to move his head about from side to side in his efforts to keep his eye on his pupil's movements. When he was saying good-night that evening, Fred pressed the old gentleman's hand as warmly and emphatically as if it were a matter of life and death, and a moment later when Hawermann suspected no evil, he was startled to feel a warm hand stroking his white hair, then a head bent over him and a hearty kiss was pressed on his brow. Before the old man had had time to recover from his consternation, Fred had left the room.
Fred was a very good-hearted young fellow and wished the whole world to be as happy as he was himself. His intentions were good but his actions were foolish. He had never gone back to see his aunt at Gürlitz. It made him cross to think of the wretched day when he had been forbidden to show his feelings to Louisa, and yet he daily lived over again all that had passed on that occasion. Bitter as the thought was, it was not long before gall was added to the draught he had to drink--And by whom was this added?--By Frank!--During the whole of that spring Frank went to Gürlitz whenever he had time, and in summer when the three Miss von Rambows came to Pümpelhagen, Louisa used to go and see them very often, and when she was there Frank was never far away, while he--our poor Fred, was not with them, and had to content himself with envying them from a distance.