Alick entered and greeted the worthy couple, and it must be confessed that his politeness was as great to the lady in the old black dress as to the gentleman in the green checked trousers. He made himself so pleasant and talked so agreeably that Henny was charmed and called her husband Pöking; indeed before the end of the visit, even she came to the conclusion that the old gown looked too shabby to be worn any longer.--Mally then came into the room pretending that she had forgotten something, and she was soon afterwards followed by Sally, who pretended that she had come for something. Pomuchelskopp introduced them, and the meaningless chit chat of the earlier part of the visit was changed to a learned discussion about Sally's worsted-work, which in its turn gave place to a political conversation, when Mally took up the newspaper. Philip now came in and stationed himself in the corner behind his mother; he was followed by Tony, who joined him in his retreat, and then all the little ones came in singly and surrounded their mother, till Henny looked like an old black hen with all her chickens taking refuge under her wing when a hawk is overhead. And when she took the key of the linen press out of her basket--for she felt she could do no less--and left the room, she was followed by the whole brood, for they knew that the short-bread was kept there which Henny baked twice a year, and then kept for any important occasion. It cannot be denied that these cakes were uncommonly good at first, but in course of time they contracted a slight flavour of brown soap from their proximity to the linen; but that was no drawback in the estimation of the family at Gürlitz manor, they had been accustomed to the flavour from their infancy and would quite have missed it if it had not been there. If Alick had not been so deeply engaged talking to Pomuchelskopp he could not have helped hearing the begging and coaxing going on outside.--"Do give me some, mother"--"And me too, mother."--But Pomuchelskopp had taken him in hand and was determined to give his visitor a good impression of himself and his family. "Look here, Mr. von Rambow," he said, "you will find that ours is an extremely quiet family; I myself am a quiet man, and my wife," here he glanced round the room to make sure that his Henny was well out of hearing, "is also quiet, and so we have brought up our daughters and our other children very quietly. We make no show, and only care to live a simple family life. We don't desire to make many acquaintances, for I am thankful to say we are sufficient to ourselves, but," he added putting on a dignified patriarchal air, "everyone of us has some duty to perform; each of us has some necessary work which he or she must--I say must carry out after having once undertaken to perform it, and I am convinced that the blessing of God rests upon such work when it is conscientiously done."--Alick replied politely that these sentiments did him honour.--"Yes," said Pomuchelskopp taking Phil by his coat collar and drawing him forward with his mouth ninety eight per cent full of short bread and two per cent of brown soap, "Make a bow, Phil. Look at this little fellow, Mr. von Rambow. It's his duty to hunt for eggs, I mean for the eggs of those hens that may chance to lay out in the wood, he gets a ha'penny far every dozen he brings in, and the money is put in a savings-box for him. Phil, my boy, tell us how much you've made already by egg hunting?"--"One pound, four, and seven pence," answered Philip.--"You see then, my dear boy," said Pomuchelskopp patting his son on the head encouragingly, "that God's blessing always rests on the diligent. Then," he continued turning to Alick, "Tony gets so much a pound for all the old iron, nails and horse-shoes that he can find, while Polly, Harry and Steenie are allowed to sell all the apples, pears and plums--of course I only mean those that have fallen under the trees, most of them are mere trash, but still the townspeople are glad enough to buy them. So you see Mr. von Rambow that my children have each their own particular apartment"--Alick smothered a laugh at the last word, while Mally and Sally glanced to each other and then looked down and smiled at their father's mistake. Pomuchelskopp like Bräsig was sometimes guilty of mispronouncing or using a long word in the wrong place, but there was this difference between them, that Bräsig used long words from sheer love of them, and although he knew that he often made absurd mistakes he did not mind that a bit, while Pomuchelskopp who did it in self-glorification, took such accidents rather ill-humouredly. He knew that he had made some ridiculous blunder when he saw his daughters laughing at him, and was much relieved by his wife coming in with the cake and wine. She had taken the opportunity of changing her dress, and now wore a light yellow silk gown and a large mob-cab.--"Henny," said Pomuchelskopp, "not that wine. When we have such distinguished visitors let us always have the best we possess."--"Say what you want then," replied his wife shortly. He did so, and then went on with the thread of his discourse. "Even my two eldest daughters have their own particular lines. Sally is most interested in art, such as embroidery and music; while Mally delights in reading the newspaper and in studying politics." Alick was surprised to hear that, so few young ladies cared about such things, and Mally assured him that it was quite necessary for some member of a household to know what was going on at the seat of government, and her father did not read that part of the paper. She then went on to say that just as Mr. von Rambow arrived they had been agreeing that her father ought to attend the next meeting of parliament. "Yes, Mr. von Rambow," said Muchel, "I intend to go; not because of the changes my middle class colleagues want to bring about, I care nothing for them, and I know the difference between lords and commons perfectly. I'm only going because I wish to show those people what is the proper mode of action." Alick now enquired, for something to say, whether Mr. Pomuchelskopp had many acquaintances in the neighbourhood. "Who is there for me to know?" asked Pomuchelskopp. "Mr. Nüssler at Rexow? Why he's a fool. And as for the farm-bailiff that wouldn't quite do, and there's nobody else in the neighbourhood."--"Then I suppose that you are only intimate with the clergyman and his family?"--"No, not even with them. The parson's conduct has been such from the very first, that I could have nothing to do with him. He has friends whom I don't like; and besides that, he has adopted the daughter of your bailiff Hawermann, and I don't wish my girls to be thrown into such society."--"I thought that she seemed to be nice," said Alick.--"Oh yes, I've no doubt she is," replied Pomuchelskopp. "I've nothing to say against the girl. You see, Mr. von Rambow, I'm a quiet man. I used to know Hawermann long ago, and I won't say he deceived me, but ..... Besides that, I didn't like the way in which the girl was thrown with young Mr. von Rambow by her father and the people at the parsonage."--"With my cousin Frank?" asked Alick.--"Yes, his name was Frank. I mean the young gentleman who learnt farming with Hawermann. I don't know him myself, for he never entered my house, and I'm just as well pleased if what people tell me is true."--"He still writes to her," said Henny.--"No, mother," said Mally, "you can't say that, his letters are always addressed to Mr. Behrens. Our postman carries the parsonage letters too," she added, addressing Alick.--"It's all the same," said Henny, "which he writes to."--"This is the first time I've heard of it," said Alick looking down at the floor.--"Oh," said Pomuchelskopp, "the whole country-side knows it. She ran after him wherever he went, under pretext of visiting her father and your sisters, and if ever anything came between them Hawermann and the people at the parsonage made it all right again."--"No, father," cried Sally, "old Bräsig was the greatest match-maker amongst them, and he always carried their letters to each other."--"Who is this Bräsig?" asked Alick who was now very angry.--"He's a sly rogue," cried Henny.--"Yes, that's just what he is," said Pomuchelskopp disdainfully. "He has a small pension from Count .... and has nothing earthly to do but to go about making mischief. Besides that he's ....."--"No, father," interrupted Mally, "I'll tell. The old man is a democrat, Mr. von Rambow; an out and out de-mo-crat."--"You're right there," said Pomuchelskopp, interrupting Mally in his turn, "and I shouldn't be at all surprised if the scoundrel were also an incendiary."
Alick remembered that he had had that good-for-nothing fellow to dine with him at his own table, and that by Hawermann's fault. The conversation had irritated him so much, that he, not finding the shortbread a sufficient inducement to prolong his visit, took leave, and was accompanied by Pomuchelskopp as far as the gate of the court-yard. "Is what you have told me about my cousin quite true?" asked Alick as they crossed the yard.--"Mr. von Rambow," said Pomuchelskopp, "I'm a quiet old man, and people at my age don't trouble themselves about love stories. I only repeated what others had told me."--"Ah well, I suppose that it's a mere passing caprice; a case of 'out of sight, out of mind.'"--"No, I don't think so," replied Pomuchelskopp thoughtfully. "If I know Hawermann at all, he's a sly dog, and too wide awake to his own interest to let such a chance slip out of his fingers. Your cousin has fallen into his toils."--"The boy has only lost his head," said Alick, "and he'll soon learn more sense. Good-bye, Mr. Pomuchelskopp. Thank you for telling me about my cousin. I hope soon to have the pleasure of seeing you at my house. Good-bye," and with that he turned down the road to the right--"I beg your pardon," cried Pomuchelskopp. "You're going the wrong way. The Pümpelhagen road is to the left."--"I know," said Alick, "but I'm going to the parsonage to fetch my wife. Goodbye."
"Ah!" said Pomuchelskopp as he went back to the house. "This is charming, de-lightful! And why shouldn't she be there? It's quite proper for Mr. von Rambow to come to my house, but I'm not good enough for his wife to know! Children," he exclaimed as he entered the family sitting-room, "Mrs. von Rambow is at the parsonage. We ar'n't grand enough for her ladyship I suppose!"--"Well, Pöking," said his wife, "I congratulate you upon having been again taken in by an aristocrat."--"Is it possible!" cried Sally.--"It's an undoubted fact," said her father, giving Tony and Phil the remains of the short bread, and then added: "Now be off, you young rascals." After that he threw himself into the sofa corner and slashed at the flies, while his wife hovered about him, and made satirical remarks about grand acquaintances, beggars and aristocrats: "Sally," she said at last, "take that bottle of wine back to the cellar, there's enough of it remaining for your father to treat another of his grand friends on some future occasion."--After a long silence she exclaimed: "Come to the window, father. Look there. Your grand friend and his butterfly wife are passing, and do you see who they've got with them. Your incendiary old Bräsig."
It was quite true. Bräsig was walking along the Pümpelhagen road with the Rambows, and was so pleased with the young lady's gentle kindness, that he took no notice of Alick's short answers. He had met Mrs. von Rambow at the parsonage and thought her even prettier and nicer than on the memorable occasion of the dinner-party.
Well might he like and admire her; well might anybody like her who had seen her in the parsonage that day. When she entered the parlour she found the clergyman lying on the sofa weak and ill; he would have risen to receive her, but she would not allow him to do so. Then laying both hands on little Mrs. Behrens' shoulders she entreated the good old lady to help her in her new life, saying that she often needed good advice. After that she went to Bräsig and shook his hand warmly like an old friend.--When Louisa came in shortly afterwards, she greeted her also like an old friend, and could not help looking at her again and again, as if there were always something new to be read in her face, and as she did so she grew thoughtful like a person reading a beautiful book, who cannot turn to a new page before thoroughly understanding the preceding ones.
Mrs. von Rambow found that there were many pages of the book of human life for her to study in that quiet room. Mr. Behrens, with his long experience and loving sympathy for all men; Mrs. Behrens with her great housekeeping talents, her happy nature and true-heartedness; Louisa with her modesty and thoughtfulness, and her pleasure in making acquaintance with Mrs. von Rambow, who bore the same name as that she used to know so well, and which was so dear to her; and then there was Bräsig, who might be looked upon as forming a sort of commentary upon the others to make their meaning clearer, and Mrs. von Rambow read the commentary with as much pleasure as we young rogues used to do the Ass' Bridge ad modum Minellii in Cornelius Nepos. There was so much innocent mirth and affectionate sympathy amongst these people that Mrs. von Rambow felt almost as gay as if she were making one of a party of happy children dancing "kringel-kranz," with Louisa for their queen, round the bole of a shady old tree.
Alick at last joined the happy circle at the parsonage, but what he had just heard had made him too cross to be able to enter into the spirit of what was going on. He disliked the thought of his wife being in such company as he now found her, and was still more put out when Bräsig said: "How d'ye do, Lieutenant von Rambow." Instead of answering, he turned to the clergyman, and addressed a few words to him about his health and the weather, but his manner was so cold that his warm-hearted wife could not bear to see it, and hastily rose to take leave, that the friendliness with which she had been received might not be utterly chilled, and that Alick's manner might have no worse effect than a slight shower of hail on a summer-day.
They took their departure, but uncle Bräsig went with them. Mr. von Rambow's coldness made no impression on him, for he knew that he had done nothing to deserve it; his conscience was clear of offence. Another reason for his going with them was that he had a high opinion of his powers of conversation being able to charm any man out of a bad temper, and bring him back to a more cheerful view of life. He therefore walked on beside the young squire, and talked to him about this and that, but all his efforts were unavailing to change the short cold answers he received into more friendly ones. When Mr. von Rambow stopped at the end of the road leading to the church, and asked him which way he was going, it suddenly flashed upon the old man that his companion thought he wanted to thrust himself upon him.--"This takes me by surprise, Sir," he said, standing still in his turn. "Are you ashamed of walking with me in the public road? Well, let me assure you that it wasn't for your sake that I came with you, but entirely out of respect, for your wife, she has been so very kind to me. I won't incommodate you any further," then making a deep bow to Mrs. von Rambow, he went across the rape-stubble to where Hawermann was busy superintending the stacking of the rape-straw.
"Why were you so unkind to that good-natured old man, Alick," asked Frida.--"That good-natured old man, as you call him, is nothing better than a mischievous fellow and a match-maker."--"Do you really think so? And do you think that our Hawermann would be so fond of him if he were?"--"Why not, when he finds him useful?"--Frida looked at him anxiously: "What's the matter with you, Alick? You used to be so kind to every one, and so trustful. What can have set you against these two people? People who have always been friendly and honest in all their dealings with you."--"Friendly!--Well, why not? It's their interest to be so, I'm the owner of the estate. But honest?--Time will show. From all that I hear honesty isn't quite the term I should use."--"What have you heard? And from whom did you hear it?" cried Frida quickly. "Tell me, Alick. I am your wife."--"I've heard a good many things," answered Alick with a sneer. "I've heard that 'our' Hawermann, as you call him, was once bankrupt, and the best that I've heard is that he made use of the influence he had acquired as teacher to bring about a sort of engagement between my cousin Frank and his daughter. In this he was assisted by Mr. and Mrs. Behrens, and that old match-maker, Bräsig. And," he continued angrily, "the young fool has allowed himself to be caught in their snares."--Mrs. von Rambow felt her spirit rise against such a base libel. She knew how impossible it was for that innocent child Louisa Hawermann to have lent herself to such a scheme, and more than that, she resented the scandalous story as an insult to womanhood. Her eyes flashed, as laying her hand on her husband's arm, She made him stand still, and said: "You've been in very bad company, and have allowed yourself to be influenced by unworthy people." Then letting her hands fall to her side she went on sadly: "Oh, Alick, Alick, you are so good and true, how can you let such mean whispers affect your honest judgment?"--Alick was astonished at the zeal with which his wife took up the case, and would willingly have withdrawn what he had said, but he had said it, and he would have despised himself if he had not stuck to his opinion, so he asked: "What is the matter, Frida? It is a fact that my foolish cousin has got his name mixed up with that of the girl. It's the common talk of the neighbourhood."--"If you will change your way of putting it. If you will say that your cousin has fallen in love with the girl, I will believe it. I hardly know him, but I shall like him all the better if it is so."--"What? Do you think that my cousin who is rich and independent ought to marry my bailiff's daughter?"--"The advantage of being rich and independent is that a man is free to choose as he likes, and your cousin has not chosen unworthily."--"Then you think that it would be a pleasant thing for me to be connected by marriage with my farm-bailiff! And let the plotters win the day! No, I'll never consent to bear that silently."--"Why," cried Frida, "don't you see that the lie and calumny are in that part of your story. How can you believe such a wretched piece of scandal? How can you believe--putting aside the lovely innocent face of the girl--such ill of that unsophisticated old man, that loving father whose only joy is in his daughter's happiness; how can you think such wickedness possible in that dignified old clergyman or his true-hearted wife; or even in the good man who has just left us deeply wounded by your harshness to him, and whose uprightness and honesty are easily seen in spite of his mistaken use of long words? Do you really think it possible that these good people would make a mere speculation of their darling's beauty?"--"But," said Alick, "they only want to make her happy."--"Oh," answered Frida gravely and sadly, "then you and I have very different notions of happiness. Nobody can be made happy by such means."--"I'm not talking of my own idea of happiness," said Alick, struck by her reproachful tone. "I only mean what these kind of people think happiness."--"Don't deceive yourself, Alick. For God's sake, don't deceive yourself. A high worldly station may enable one to take a large view of human affairs, but believe me, in a less exalted position love influences the lives of men in a way that it unfortunately can seldom do those of higher rank. In short, we often have to do without it," she said slowly, and wiping a tear from her eyes as she thought of her motherless childhood passed in the society of a father whose life was spent in a hard struggle to keep up his position, and who found an unfailing comfort in every distress--in field-sports.
Then they went home. Alick in the goodness of his heart was kind and affectionate to his wife, and she took his kindness and affection as they were meant; thus peace was ratified between them--outwardly at least--for they each held to their own opinion.