I have seen many Grand Ducal chamberlains get out of their carriages at my neighbour, Mrs. Laurence's inn, but never in all my life did I see anything so perfect as the way in which Joseph was shot out of the phaeton; he fell on the top of Godfrey into the muddy ditch, and Christian, not to be behindhand with his master, tumbled from the box in such a manner as to lie side by side in the ditch with him.--"Faugh! Oh! Just stay where you are, Sir," cried the honest old fellow. "The horses are standing quite still!"--"You idiot!" said Joseph.--"Thank God!" said Christian rising, "none of my bones are broken. But stay where you are, Sir, I'll catch the horses."--"You idiot!" cried Joseph once more as he struggled to his feet, while Godfrey was coughing and choking in the deep mud bed in which he was lying, "what on earth made you upset us?"--"It all depends upon circumstances," answered Christian, who had learnt to make use of his master's favourite expressions during his long years of service at Rexow, "what was to be done on such a road in a pitch dark night?"--Joseph did not know what else to say, now that the very words were taken out of his mouth, so he contented himself with asking: "Are any of your bones broken, Godfrey?"--"No, uncle," said the divinity student, "and yours?"--"No, I'm all right except my nose, which I think has been knocked off my face altogether."--Meanwhile the carriage had been raised, and when Joseph and Godfrey had resumed their seats in it, Christian once more turned round on the box, and said: "Didn't I tell you so this very afternoon? This is the exact place."--"Idiot!" said Joseph rubbing his nose energetically, "you had gone to sleep."--"To sleep, Sir, to sleep? It doesn't much matter in such pitch darkness whether one's asleep or awake; I told you before. I know the road by heart and I warned you." And whenever he told the story afterwards to the other servants, he always added: "but I told him how it would be beforehand," and made out that Joseph was a regular daredevil who had no fear of risking his life.
They drove home, and Godfrey was the first to get out of the carriage. Lina had long been uneasy about their absence, and was listening anxiously for every sound that should bring her certainty of the good or evil fate of her father and lover. There was a noise outside. They are coming!--It was only the sighing of the wind in the poplars.--But now!--Yes, it was a carriage, it same nearer, it drove up to the door. She sprang up and rushed out of the room, but had to stop a moment with her hand pressed to her side to still the beating of her heart, which was torn by the conflicting emotions of hope and fear. Would Godfrey bring her good news or had he failed in his attempt? She ran out into the porch. "Don't come near me!" cried Godfrey, but his warning came too late, for Lina, although she was the eldest of the family, was still very thoughtless, and she had thrown herself into his arms as soon as she saw him. But suddenly she felt her hands and arms quite damp and cold, it almost felt as if she were embracing a frog, and letting him go, she exclaimed: "Good gracious! what's the matter?"--"The carriage was upset," said Godfrey; "the carriage was upset by the Providence of God; I mean that Christian upset the carriage, and God has providentially shielded us from all harm."--"What objects you look, to be sure!" said Bräsig, who just then came into the porch with a candle in his hand, and saw Joseph behind Godfrey.--"Yes, Bräsig," said Joseph, "it's just as it is. We've had an accident."--"How did you manage it," asked Bräsig. "I don't see how any reasonable mortal can get himself upset on his own roads; a man of your age too! You must have gone to sleep, Joseph."--"Merciful Heaven!" cried Mrs. Nüssler, "what a sight you've made of yourself, Joseph!" and she turned him round before the candle, as if he were a roast she was turning on a spit--"Mercy! Joseph, look at your nose!"--"His Reverence is in a nice mess too," said Bräsig, examining Godfrey from head to foot. "Hollo," he cried, "just look at Lina! Why, Lina, were you in the upset too? Mrs. Nüssler, do you see that she has got half the road from here to Gürlitz sticking to her clothes."
Lina blushed deeply, and Mina at once began to rub her down, while Mrs. Nüssler did the same kind office to her husband: "My goodness, Joseph, what a state you're in, to be sure. And your beautiful new cloak!"--Joseph had bought the cloak twenty years before, when he was engaged to be married.--"This'ill never do," he said, "I must change my clothes, and then to-morrow they can all be put in the oven, and thoroughly dried."--They all agreed that it was the only thing to be done, and soon afterwards uncle and nephew were able to join the rest of the family in the parlour. Mrs. Nüssler now caught sight of her Joseph's nose in the bright light, and exclaimed: "Joseph, look at your nose!"--"You said so before," said Joseph.--"Well," said Bräsig, "I should be telling a downright lie if I were to say that I had ever thought your nose a particularly handsome one; but keep this nose! and what a nose it is!"--"For shame, Bräsig. Why do you wish him to keep this nose. Preserve us all! it's growing thicker every moment! What's to be done?"--"Mrs. Nüssler," said Bräsig, "he must go to the water-cure."--"What!" cried Mrs. Nüssler, "my Joseph go to a water-cure because he has given his nose a little bit of a knock."--"Please, understand me," said Bräsig, "I don't mean him to try the water-cure on his whole body, on his legs and arms; no, I only mean him to put a cold plaget on his nose. Or, Joseph, what do you say to bleeding your nose a little. It would cool it down nicely if you did."--Joseph could not agree to the last proposal, so they determined to try the effect of cold water. At last he settled down in his chair with stately composure, a wet linen rag on his nose, and his pipe in his mouth.
"But now," said Bräsig, "none of us have heard what arrangements you made with Samuel Pomuchelskopp."--"Yes," said Lina, "what did you do Godfrey?"--Godfrey then described their interview with the squire of Gürlitz, and when he had done, Joseph said: "It's all right. I signed a paper."--"And what paper did you sign?" asked Bräsig angrily.--"A promise not to take a lease of the glebe."--"That was a very foolish thing to do. Oh the Jesuit! He wants the land himself. Nightingale, I hear you, you want to get it all your own way! That's your aim and object! But--but"--here Bräsig sprang to his feet and began to pace the room with long strides--"I'll catch you in your own net. Don't count your chickens before they're hatched! Samuel Pomuchelskopp, we've not done with each other yet. What did the celebrated poet say of David and Goliath? I look upon myself as David, and upon him as Goliath. 'He took the sling in his hand and struck him on the forehead, and so did for him.' And how beautifully the celebrated poet ends the story by saying: 'Thus it is with all boasters, when they think they stand, they are sure to have a fall.'--And so it shall be with you, Samuel. I've been in a passion, Mrs. Nüssler, so I can't eat any supper, and will say 'good-night' now as I've a good many things to think about."--He took his candle and went to his room, and the others followed his example soon after supper was finished. Lina lay awake for a long time in anxious thought, listening to the wind in the trees by her window, and to uncle Bräsig walking about in his room, which was below hers.
CHAPTER XIV.
The year 1845 had come, and the earth had completed another of its old crooked courses. Day and night, joy and sorrow had changed places again and again, just as they used to do in the old time, just as they have done since the Lord God created day and night, placed man in the Garden of Eden, and then drove him out again. How many days and nights, and how much joy and sorrow have come into the world since then! The day shines for every man, and the night closes over every man; there is no respect of persons. But is it the same with joy and sorrow? Are they meted out to every one with equal justice? I think so. God stretches His hand over each individual, and happiness and grief, consolation and care are equally spread over the world, and each has his share in them; but man does not see clearly, he often changes what is meant for his happiness into sorrow, and thrusts the cup of consolation away from him as if it contained gall, and then laughs away his care.
The men and women whose history I am relating in this book were no better than the rest of their kind, and acted in the same way as their neighbours would have done. Two things that God has sent into the world especially form our joy and sorrow; in the first there is no gall mixed, and our feelings about the other cannot be laughed away; these are Birth and Death, the Beginning and the End. And in the little world of which I am writing there was also Beginning and End, Birth and Death. A beautiful young wife was sitting in the manor-house at Pümpelhagen with to little daughter on her knee, and the child had reopened the doors of the mother's heart, so that she was able to feel the sunshine of God's goodness. The dark shadowy figures which had surrounded Frida ha vanished in the clear light of day, and she was happy, very happy.--Close by Gürlitz parsonage was a grave often visited by two women clothed in deep mourning, who, when spring came on, planted flowers upon it, and who later in the season, when the old lime-tree came into leaf, sat side by side on the bench beneath it, as in the old days when Mrs. Behrens and her little Louisa had been wrapped in the folds of the same shawl. But now it was Louisa who sheltered her foster-mother, and wrapped her own shawl round her. Thus the two women sat silently blessing the memory of him who was gone from them; they were often joined by Hawermann, and then the three mourners would sit together till the shades of evening fell; none of them thrust aside the cup of consolation which had been given them, and so when they separated they felt comforted and refreshed.
The first violence of grief was over at the parsonage, but its traces were still to be seen in the look of chastened sorrow, the Angel of Death had imprinted on the faces of those who remained, after he had taken their husband and father from them. The Angel had kissed Louisa's forehead as he went and had left her graver, higher thoughts than she had ever had before; he had clasped little Mrs. Behrens in his arms, and after that embrace her old lively impetuosity had died away leaving in its place a calm gentle determination to dedicate her future life to the carrying out of her pastor's wishes. She only lived in her memory of him, everything must remain as he had been used to see it. His arm-chair was placed before his study-table on which his last sermon was lying with the pen beside it, and his old Bible was kept open at the place where his hand had ruffled the leaves when he was dying. The first thing she did every morning was to go to his study with her duster and put everything in good order for the day, and when this was done she would often look round at the door as though she expected him to come in and say: "Thank you, dear Regina," as in the old time. At dinner Louisa always prepared for three people, and the pastor's chair was kept in its old place because her foster-mother liked it to be so, and it seemed to her as if he must needs come in as usual with some cheerful greeting. She took care not to indulge in the luxury of woe, but always tried to make the meal pass as pleasantly as it used to do, and never despised any consoling thought that came to her. This state of things could not go on for ever. Some new clergyman must have the living sooner or later, and then Mrs. Behrens would be obliged to leave the house and even the village, for there was no house for her to go to. She must go away from her husband's grave, for Pomuchelskopp, who alone had power to let her stay, had determined that she should go. She watched the fruit-trees her husband had planted blossom for the last time. She sat under the flowering palm-willow where she had so often sat by his side for the last time. She had seen the spring come and wind his leafy garlands round her old home for the last time. Now summer was showering his golden glory over the world. She said to Louisa one day with a sad smile: "When the swallows take their flight in autumn, Louisa, we shall have to go too." As she spoke she felt the full bitterness of death had come to her.
Hawermann was her most untiring friend and she allowed herself to be guided by him in all things. With the best will in the world to spare her, he could not save her from having to leave the parish; but at least he could make the parting as easy as possible for her. Kurz the shopkeeper had a house adjoining the one in which he himself lived, which he wanted to let with its back garden, and this house Hawermann arranged as much as he could in the style of the parsonage. He took Louisa into his confidence and got her to measure the size of the parsonage rooms, after which, Schulz the cabinet maker was ordered to furnish the rooms in the new house according to Louisa's measurements and description; but he utterly refused to do so, "for," he said, "I can't do it. Women always measure by their belts or apron strings and I can't do anything from that sort of measurement. All the same, plans are plans, and I don't like drawn plans; I get on much better when I carry my plans in my head."--Kurz was of opinion that the more the new house differed from the old one, the better it would be, but Hawermann was not to be dissuaded, and Schulz seeing how determined he was, said: "If you will have it so, I'll go out to the parsonage and make all the measurements myself."--So one morning early while Mrs. Behrens was asleep, Schulz appeared and made all the necessary measurements. When he was doing so he might have been heard muttering: "Seven--seven--five and twenty--five and twenty--Kurz--Hawermann--Kurz--Hawermann--bother--a mistake here would have put it all wrong--too great a space--a beam across--Ah, yes--all right--yes, yes, done, done!" After that was done he went out, and getting into his tax-cart drove his lazy brown pony home, and as he jogged along the road he matured his plan. The furnishing was now begun, and Hawermann was very well pleased with the result of Schulz's plan upon the whole, although he would have liked a few little things to have been different, however the cabinetmaker was so pleased with the look of the house that he would change nothing, and Hawermann was obliged to be satisfied with things as they were. Kurz helped as much as he could, by giving a ready consent to all their wishes.
As I said before, there was great joy at Pümpelhagen. Frida's clear eyes were turned lovingly on her little daughter, and motherly love had woven an invisible veil with which to cover their clear-sightedness, and hide the impending gloom from her for the time being. It had never been the case before in her active life, but now she indulged in one dream after another of the future happiness of her husband and child, especially when she held the baby out for its father to look at. Alick's heart was also full of joy. He came out and in continually to look at his wife and child, but still there was one drop of bitterness in his cup: he had hoped for a son to carry on his old and noble race, and he was disappointed. It is a sad thing for an innocent little girl to come into the world when she is not wanted, and to have to suffer because of the disappointed hopes of other people. Alick would have been angry if any one had said that to him, for he had really rejoiced in spite of his disappointment. He had at once announced the "good news" to all his acquaintances, not excepting the horse-dealers he employed, and Pomuchelskopp; he had only forgotten to announce the event to three people: to his cousin Frank--"the young fool"--to Mrs. Behrens--"the match-maker"--and to Mrs. Nüssler--"the under-bred old woman." When he laid the envelopes containing the announcements on his wife's bed and she expressed her surprise that he had omitted these three people, he answered coldly, that he did not care to have anything to do with such persons, and that if she wished to send them announcements she must do it herself. She did so.