Bräsig meanwhile made his way to where Hawermann was standing by the rape-stacks. He was angry, very angry. Such a thing had never happened to him before, except that once when Pomuchelskopp was rude to him, and he felt that the only way to get rid of his wrath was to expend a little of it on some labourer who might deserve it from his stupidity.--"Good-day, Charles," he said, passing Hawermann with his head in the air, and his eyebrows raised as high as they would go. He walked round one of the stacks, and then placing himself in front of his friend, asked: "Are you trying to make a pancake?"--"Don't talk of it," said Hawermann, looking very much put out, "I've been angry enough about it as it is. I sent Triddelfitz to look after the stacking of the rape yesterday, and told him to make the stacks twenty feet broad and high in proportion, and he has only made them half what I told him. When I came out here I found the mischief done, and I hav'n't time to undo it all. It must just remain as it is--fortunately it's only straw, so that it won't hurt much if it should happen to rain before I can get it into the yard, but I hate to see such unworkmanlike stacks in one of my fields."--"Yes, Charles, and your neighbour Pomuchelskopp won't fail to draw attention to it."--"Let him! But what Triddelfitz means by it I can't make out. He has been neither to hold nor to bind since Mr. von Rambow promised him the horse."--"Have you spoken to him seriously?"--"What's the good of it? He can think of nothing but horses. He doesn't want my advice about that even, for Mr. von Rambow advised him to get an English mare, and has promised to buy all the foals. He won't listen to a word I say, and I'm sure he'll end by buying that wretched screw."--"Doesn't he want to get Augustus Prebberow's sorrel-mare Whalebone?"--"Yes, that's the very one he has set his heart on."--"Capital!" cried Bräsig. "Splendid! He'll ride about, and show himself off on that old mare when the Grand Duke makes his triump'ant entrance into Rahnstädt. Charles, that grey-hound of yours is a treasure."--"Yes," answered Hawermann drily, and glancing at his stacks, "you're about right there."--"Oh, I don't mean as a farmer, but as an amusing fellow, especially when he and your young squire get together."--"Bräsig," said Hawermann gravely, "don't speak in that way of my master before the labourers."--"Quite right, Charles, I oughtn't to have done so, but come away with me."--When they were, out of hearing of the work-people Bräsig stood still, and said slowly and emphatically: "Charles, that young gentleman was ashamed to be seen walking with me on the public road. What do you say to that? He gave me to understand as much in the presence of his lovely wife."--He then told all that had happened. Hawermann tried to talk him into a better humour, but did not quite succeed. Bräsig at last exclaimed with indignant emphasis: "It was his own folly that made him act as he did, but it was Samuel Pomuchelskopp who roused him to do it. He had just been calling at Gürlitz manor. And you may say what you like, Charles, your master's a fool, and when once you've been sent about your business, I'll amuse myself by coming over here, and standing on the top of this hill that I may see what a mess your master and your grey-hound make of the farm."--"Well," said Hawermann, "if you want to see something queer you needn't wait till then. Just look over there!" He pointed as he spoke over the thorn-bush behind which they happened to be standing, and down the road. Bräsig did as he was desired, and was so struck by amazement at what he saw, that he was unable to utter a word. At last he said: "Why, Charles, your grey-hound has gone crazy. Apothecaries often go mad, and I daresay their children inherit the disease from them."--It really seemed as if Bräsig was right. Fred was riding the famous sorrel-mare up the road at a foot's pace. He had taken off his hat, and was waving it violently, and shouting as loud as he could: "Hurrah! Hurrah!" and all apparently for his own edification, for he could not see the two old men behind the thorn-bush till they advanced towards him, and Hawermann asked whether he had gone mad.--"It's all a lie," said Fred.--"What's a lie?" asked Hawermann angrily.--"That the mare won't stand shouting," and with that he began to hurrah again.--"Look!" he said dismounting and tying his horse to a willow-branch, and then going to a little distance he shouted "hurrah!" once more. "You see she doesn't shy a bit. And you," turning to Bräsig who looked as if he were on the point of bursting out laughing, "told me she couldn't stand it, and you see it isn't true."--"I see," said Bräsig, shaking with laughter, "but still it's quite true. I said what I said, and it was this, that she couldn't hear it, and neither she can, for the creature's as deaf as a post, and has been so for all the five years that I've known her."--On hearing this Fred Triddelfitz, clever, quick-witted Fred Triddelfitz stood staring at the old man with the most sheepish expression in the world. "But," he stammered out at last, "Augustus Prebberow is a great friend of mine, and he never told me that"--"Ah," said Bräsig, "you'll soon find out that friendship counts for less than nothing in horse-dealing."--"Never mind, Triddelfitz," said Hawermann kindly, for he was sorry for the lad. "The mare may suit you very well though she's deaf; it's better to be deaf than tricky."--"Oh," said Fred, his spirits rising. "I know what to do. Look now--yes, that's spavin she has got, but still she's a thoroughbred. She's in foal by Hector. Mr. von Rambow has promised to buy all the foals, and when I've sold three or four ...."--"You'll buy a large estate," interrupted Bräsig. "We all know that. Now ride home quietly, and take care that you don't break your milk-jug on the way like that girl. You remember it Charles. In Gellert's Fables."
Fred rode off.--"The rascally grey-hound!" said Bräsig.--"I don't know why," said Hawermann, "but I can't help liking the lad. He is so sweet-tempered."--"That's because he's young, Charles."--"Perhaps so," answered Hawermann thoughtfully, "but just look at him, riding away on the deaf old mare as happy as a king."
CHAPTER VIII.
And Fred was happy; he was the happiest creature at Pümpelhagen, for there was not much of that blessing to be found there, and the realities of life were discovered to be very different from what everybody had expected. Hawermann saw more distinctly every day that his old peaceful life was gone for ever, for the young squire was so full of plans he did not know how to execute, that he left but little time for the necessary work of the farm, which had to be hurried over anyhow. The labourers were kept in such a bustle that they got confused and made mistakes, and then when anything went wrong Hawermann had to bear the blame.--Neither was Mr. von Rambow happy, his debts weighed upon him and also the fact of their concealment from his wife. He was troubled by the letters he received from David and Slus'uhr, with whom he had made it a condition of his doing business with them, that they should never show their faces at Pümpelhagen, and they were only too glad to consent to this arrangement, for the more the affair was involved in secrecy, the better chance they had of fleecing him. When they got him into their clutches at Rahnstädt for a consultation, they could turn the screw on him to better purpose than at Pümpelhagen, where they had to treat him with more deference, as he was in his own house. But Alick had another reason besides this for his unhappiness. He wanted to be master, but had not the power, for before a man takes the reins of government into his own hands he ought to have a practical knowledge of the work to be done, not merely a theoretical knowledge such as he had, and which made him imagine he knew everything much better than anyone else. "The great point is to be able to do a thing yourself," old Flegel the carpenter used to say, and he was right. The most unfortunate of men is the one who undertakes to do what he knows nothing about.--And Frida?--She was not happy either; she saw that her husband did not confide in her; that they held opposite opinions on many important subjects; that he was totally ignorant of the work to which he was now to devote his life; that he threw the blame of his own mistakes on other people's shoulders, and more than that, she felt--what was harder than aught else for a clever woman to bear--that he made himself ridiculous. She was convinced that Pomuchelskopp, who, much to her distress, often came over to Pümpelhagen, must have other reasons for doing so than mere neighbourly civility, and that he must often laugh in his sleeve at the crude, ill-considered opinions propounded by her husband.--She made up her mind to try and discover the motive for his visits; but that determination did not tend to increase her happiness.
Fred Triddelfitz was the happiest creature in all Pümpelhagen, and if we except the twins, he might be called the happiest in the whole parish. But the twins must be excepted, for a girl who is engaged to a man she loves, is much happier than anyone else, even than her lover. Godfrey had taken a situation as tutor in the family of a good tempered enterprising landowner of the middle-class, whose sons he taught and flogged with cheerful conscientiousness. Rudolph was earning farming from Hilgendorf at Little-Tetzleben, where he had to superintend the spreading of manure over the fields till they were covered as though with a soft blanket, and on going to bed at night he used to whistle or sing merrily, but as he was very tired he always fell asleep before he had finished the first verse.--Happy as these two undoubtedly were, their happiness was not to be compared with that of the little twins who sat side by side sewing busily at their trousseaux, or making jokes with their father and mother, or telling Louisa all about it, or showing bits of their letters. No, no. Even Fred's joy in the possession of his new horse was not to be named in the same day with it.
But the boy was really very happy. His first act every morning was to go to the stable which his treasure shared with Mr. von Rainbow's two riding horses, and Hawermann's old hack. He fed his mare himself; he even stole the oats from under the noses of the other horses and gave them to her, indeed--little as he liked work in general--he rubbed her down with his own hands, for which Christian Däsel, who had charge of the riding horses, did not thank him.--On Sunday afternoon when there was nothing else to be done, he went into the stable, shut the door, and seating himself on the corn-bin stroked her gently, and looked on well pleased while his beloved mare eat her oats and chopped straw. When she could eat no more, he rose, passed his hand caressingly down her back and called her his "good old woman."--He never failed to visit her three times a day, and no one could blame him for it, for his future wealth depended upon the success of his speculation.
But there is no joy without a flaw.--In the first place he did not like his sorrel mare to be in the next stall to Hawermann's old horse, she was too good to be in such company; and secondly, he had a never ending battle with Christian Däsel about the food and cleaning of his favourite. "Mr. Triddelfitz," Christian said on one occasion when they were disputing about it. "I'll tell you something. I give each of the horses under my charge an equal quantity of food, and I rub them all down with equal care, but I've noticed that you always take away the oats intended for the bailiff's old horse and give them to your own. Don't take it ill of me, Mr. Triddelfitz, if I say that the one animal is every bit as good as the other, and that both must live. But what's the meaning of this," he asked, going, up to the rack. "Why, it's some of the calves' hay! How did it come here? I should get into no end of a scrape if the bailiff should happen to see it."--"I know nothing about it," said Fred, and it was quite true that he did not.--"I don't care," said Christian, "but I only give you fair warning that I'll break the legs of anyone I find bringing it. I won't have any such goings on here."
Christian Däsel set himself to watch for the person who smuggled the calves' hay into the stables, and before long he made a discovery. Who was it who broke the stable laws for the sake of Fred's sorrel-mare; who was it who was hard-hearted enough to deprive the innocent little calves of their provender for the sake of Fred's sorrel-mare; who was it who was so lost to every good feeling as to put Fred's sorrel-mare in danger of having her legs broken by Christian for having the hay at all? Who was it, I say? I shall have to tell who it was, for no one would guess. It was Mary Möller who brought Fred's "old woman" a handful of the sweet hay every time she left the young calves and went past the stable where the riding-horses were kept. Perhaps some one may exclaim: Stop, you're getting on too fast, how did there happen to be young calves so late in summer? To which I reply: My dear friend, surely I have a right to skip a few months if I like, and the fact is that I'm telling you what happened in the winter of 1844, about New-year's-time. And if I am asked: But how did Mary Möller come to do such a thing? I will answer, that that is as stupid a question as the one about the young calves. Havn't I as good a right to tell you about nice people who can forgive and forget, as about malicious wretches who go on nagging to all eternity? Mary Möller was a woman who was generous enough to be able to forgive and forget, and as she could no longer show her love for Fred in the old way, she contented herself with showing it to his horse by giving it the calves' hay. It was a touching incident, and Fred was much moved when he discovered, from finding his old sweetheart and Christian Däsel quarrelling at the stable-door, that it was she who had shown him this kindness in secret. He therefore made friends with her again and they once more entered into the old sausage and ham alliance.
Winter had come as I said before, and nothing of particular interest had happened in the neighbourhood, except that Pomuchelskopp had attended the parliament which met late in autumn, and had caused great excitement in his quiet family circle by his determination to do so. Henny rushed about the house, knocking everything about that there was no fear of breaking by such rough usage, and banging the doors; she did not even hesitate to say that her husband was mad. Mally and Sally took their father's part against her in secret, for they had heard that Mr. von Rambow, who was to command the guard round the parliament-house, drew a large part of his income from the grand ball given after the meeting of parliament was over, and to which he could give a ticket of admittance for the sum of eight and four pence. They had been to a Whitsun market ball at Rostock, and also to an agricultural meeting, but a parliament ball! That must be far more delightful than anything they had as yet experienced. They roused their father to summon up all his courage, and act in opposition to the will of his beloved wife. "My chick," he said, "I can't help it I promised Mr. von Rambow that I would go. He started yesterday and expects me to follow him."--"Oh, indeed!" said Henny. "Then I suppose that his grand lady wife expects me too?"--"She isn't going, my chuck. If I neglect this opportunity of showing myself, and of proving that I am a man in whom the nobility may trust, how can I expect them to raise me to their rank? I am going away in a black coat to-day, and I shall perhaps come back in a red one."--"You're sure to have it all your own way," answered his wife sarcastically as she left the room.--"I've as good a chance as any of the other noblemen," he muttered after her as she retreated.--"Good gracious, father," cried Sally running away, "I know ...." A few minutes afterwards she came back with a scarlet petticoat which she threw over her father's shoulders like a herald's mantle, and then she made him look at himself in the glass. Mr. Pomuchelskopp was turning, twisting and examining the effect of his decoration when his wife came back, and seeing what he was about exclaimed: "If you will make a fool of yourself, do it in the parliament house and not in my drawing-room."
Pomuchelskopp took this for a consent to his going to the parliament, and so he went. His discomforts began from the moment of his arrival at Malchin, for after he had taken a room at Voitel's Inn, he discovered that the nobility all patronised the Bull, and that no one went to Voitel's except the mayors of towns and middle-class landowners with whom he did not care to associate. He hung about the coffee-room for some time and got in everybody's way, for he did not know what to do with himself. At last he summoned courage to ask whether anyone had seen Mr. von Rambow of Pümpelhagen, as all his hopes rested on Alick. Nobody had seen him, but at last some one remembered that Mr. von Rambow had driven out to Brülow grange that afternoon with Mr. von Brülow to see a thoroughbred horse. It was a great disappointment to Mr. Pomuchelskopp for Alick was his mainstay, and was to introduce him to his noble friends, and now he had gone away to inspect a horse. He at last turned in his despair to a stout dignified looking man with a smiling face, but unfortunately for him he did not see the mischievous sparkle in the stranger's eyes which showed how thoroughly he enjoyed a joke, for if he had seen it he would have refrained from appealing to him: "Pardon me," he said, "I am Squire Pomuchelskopp of Gürlitz and have come here to attend parliament for the first time. You look so good-natured that I venture to ask you what I ought to do now."--"Ah," said the gentleman, taking a pinch of snuff and looking at him enquiringly. "You want to know what you have to do? You hav'n't anything particular to do; of course you've paid all the necessary visits of ceremony?"--"No," answered Pomuchelskopp.--"Then you must go and call on the government commissioner, the Chief of the constabulary, and High Sheriff at once. Good-evening, Langfeldt, where are you going?" he exclaimed, breaking off in his sentence and addressing a man who was leaving the inn with a lantern in his hand.--"To make those tiresome calls," and half turning round he added: "Shall I find you here when I come back, Brückner? I shan't be long."--"Well, make as much haste as you can," said the good-natured looking man, and addressing Pomuchelskopp again he went on: "Then you hav'n't paid those visits yet?"--"No," was the answer.--"I strongly advise you to get them over as soon as you can. The gentleman you saw with the lantern is going to make the same calls as you, so that all you have to do is follow him. Yes, that's a capital plan! But you must make haste."--Pomuchelskopp snatched his hat from the peg, hastened out of doors, and ran down the streets of Malchin in pursuit of the lantern as fast as his round-about figure and shortness of breath would allow him.--The good-natured looking man took a pinch of snuff smilingly, seated himself at one of the tables and said to himself with a chuckle of enjoyment: "I'd give a good deal to see Langfeldt now!"