The bailiff went to his room, shut his door, and sat down to think, but it was long before he could make up his mind to any course of action. Meanwhile there was much shouting and talking going on in the yard. "Triddelfitz."--"Mr. von Rambow."--"Where are you going, Joseph?"--"I don't know, I've had no orders."--"What are you going to do with that harrow, Fred Päsel?"--"How can I tell, I'm going to harrow the ploughed land."--"What a fool you are," cried Fred Triddelfitz, "we're going to lead in the rye."--"I'm sure I don't care, what isn't to be, isn't to be," pulling the harrow out of the cart, "I shall do whatever the bailiff tells me."--"Flegel," shouted the squire.--"Fred Flegel," repeated Triddelfitz.--"What do you want," shouted a gruff voice from the hay-loft.--"Where are the boards to heighten the waggons?" asked Fred Triddelfitz.--"There, just as they were," was the answer, "no one told me, they'd be required to-day."--"What's to be done now?" asked the labourer Näsel.--"God alone knows," answered Pegel, "we've received no orders."--"Flegel," cried Fred, "we're going to lead in the rye, and the waggon-wheels must be greased."--"You may do it for all I care," shouted Flegel from the loft. "Here's the tub if you want it"--"Where's Hawermann, Mr. von Rambow, mayn't I call him?"--"No," answered Alick lowly as he turned away.--"Well then," said Fred, who was growing rather anxious, "we won't get any of the rye in this morning."--"That doesn't matter. We can begin this afternoon."--"But what are the labourers to do till then?" "Confound the labourers," said Alick petulantly and turning to go, "it's always the labourers. They can make themselves useful here in the yard until they are wanted. Stop a moment," he added looking back, "they can help to grease the waggon-wheels."
Meantime the old bailiff was sitting at his desk, thinking how best he could write something that it nearly broke his heart to have to write. He was about to sever the tie that bound him to the place where the late squire had been so good to him. He heard some of the foolish talk that was going on in the yard, and started to the window to put things right, but no sooner had he got there than he drew back again, remembering that he had nothing more to do with it. He crumpled up the letter he had begun, and tried to write another, which gave him as little satisfaction as the first. He put all his writing things together and shut his desk. What was he to do now? What was there for him to do? Nothing! He was supposed to be beyond work. He threw himself into the corner of the sofa, and thought and thought.
Everything was ready for leading in the rye by the afternoon, thanks to the exertions of the old carpenter, and of two or three of the steadiest of the old labourers. So the work began. Alick got on horseback, and took command of the whole affair, and Fred, not to be outdone by his master, must needs ride also. As his deaf mare was lame he mounted a spirited old thoroughbred, and acted as adjutant. They set off. Six pairs of horses were taken out, and a pair of these was harnessed into each of the six harvest-waggons, which were then driven out of the yard in a row. Order was of more importance than anything else. On one side were the forkers, and the men who standing in the waggons arranged the sheaves on them, then others went to the barns to be ready to receive the loaded waggons, and the field-workers got into the waggons, and set off for the corn-field preceded by Alick and Fred on horseback. Such an arrangement was never known before at Pümpelhagen as on that lovely afternoon; but order must be maintained. The old carpenter, Frederic Flegel, stood at the barn-door and watched the harvesters set out: "Wonders will never cease," he muttered, scratching his head, "however it's no business of mine," and as he went back to his work, he said: "What has become of our old bailiff?"
Hawermann was still sitting quietly in his room thinking. His first anger had passed away, and he was able to write calmly, so he rose and wrote a few lines giving up his situation at Christmas, and asking for leave of absence during harvest, for he knew that he could be of no use there. Having done this he took his hat and stick, and went out; he felt that he must have fresh air; he was stifling in the house. He seated himself on a stone wall under the shade of an elder-bush, and gazed down the Warnitz road to see if the waggons were coming; but there were no waggons to be seen; the only moving object he could descry was Bräsig, who was coming towards them along the Warnitz road.--"As sure as your nose is in the middle of your face, I can't understand you, Charles! Why are you leading in the rye so soon? It's as green as grass! And what do you mean by letting six waggons follow one another in a row? And why are the loaded waggons stopping on the road?"--"I don't know, Bräsig. You must ask the squire and Triddelfitz."--"What?"--"I've nothing more to say, Bräsig"--"How? Why? What do you mean?" asked Bräsig, raising his eyebrows as high as he could in his astonishment.--"I've nothing more to say," repeated the old man with quiet sadness, "I am put on one side; the squire thinks me too old to be of any use."--"Charles," said Bräsig, laying his hand on his friend's shoulder, "what's the matter? Tell me."--And so Hawermann told him all that had happened. When Bräsig knew the whole story he turned round, and clenched his teeth savagely, looking as if he wished the beautiful world, at which he was glaring so angrily, were a hazel-nut that he might grind it between his teeth. Then he growled passionately as he looked down the Warnitz road: "The Jesuits! The beastly Jesuits!" and turning again to Hawermann, he said: "Triddelfitz is another serpent you have warmed in your bosom, Charles."--"How do you make that out, Bräsig? He must do as he is told."--"Here he comes at a gallop, and all the six waggons after him! Will they ever keep up, I wonder--just look how top-heavy they are! It's a comedy, an agricultural comedy! Mark my words! There'll be an upset at the old bridge!" cried uncle Bräsig, dancing as vehemently on his poor gouty legs, as if he wished to make them pay the penalty of all the mischief that had been done that day. I am sorry to have to confess it, but it is nevertheless true that Bräsig was full of delight at the thought that the returning harvesters were almost certain to meet with an accident, which he thought would only serve them right after what had happened that morning. "There it is, as flat as a flounder!" he exclaimed joyfully when the first overloaded waggon reached the turn of the bridge, and then upset.--"Wo!" was shouted from the bridge. "Confound it! won't you stop! Wo, can't you!" Fred looked round about him, what was to be done? He did not know what to do. Suddenly he caught sight of Hawermann and Bräsig, seated on the wall, galloped up to them, and said: "Oh, Mr. Hawermann ....."--"Sir, you've made your bed, and must lie upon it!" interrupted Bräsig.--"Oh, Mr. Hawermann, what are we to do? The first waggon is lying right across the bridge, and the others can't move."--"Ride quickly ...."--"Hold your tongue, Charles, you've been set aside like a lamb for the sacrifice, and have nothing to do with it," exclaimed Bräsig.--"No, never mind, the men are wiser than you, they're putting everything right down there."--"It isn't my fault, Sir," said Fred, "Mr. von Rainbow gave all the orders himself. The waggons are to go in a row, and are to move on quickly though they are overloaded."--"Then obey orders, and ride till your tongue hangs out of your mouth like a dog's," said Bräsig.--"He's on horseback over there on the heather-hill, and is overlooking and ordering everything himself."--"Then, I suppose, he has a telespope in one hand and a field-marshal's baton in the other like old Blücher in the hop-market at Rostock," said Bräsig scornfully.--"Ride on to the farm," interrupted Hawermann, "and see that each waggon sets off again for the field the moment it is emptied."--"I dar'n't do that," answered Fred, "the squire has given express orders that the waggons are all to go back to the field in a row as they came. He says that order must be maintained."--"Then you can tell him that I never saw a finer specimen of a donkey in all my life ....."--"Bräsig, take care what you say," cried Hawermann warningly.--"Than--than your little mule, Mr. Triddelfitz," added uncle Bräsig with great presence of mind.
Fred rode away to the farm.--"Charles," said Bräsig, "let us go too. We shall see everything capitally from your window."--"It's all the same to me," said Hawermann with a deep sigh, "where I am; whether here or there." So they went. The waggons all drove into the yard, the first right up to the barn, and the others in a row behind it. The forkers muttered that they were being worked to death; the labourers grumbled about the wet rye, and asked who was to thrash it out in winter; the men in charge of the horses laughed and played each other stupid tricks to while away the time they had to wait doing nothing, and Fred rode about the yard with a quiet conscience, for he was doing his duty, and carrying out his master's orders. As soon as the rye was all put in the barn, he placed himself at the head of the empty waggons and the procession moved off. The forkers and stackers closed the barn door softly to shade them from the sun, lay down and went to sleep, for they had plenty of time to enjoy a nap.--"What a delightfully quiet harvest time, Charles," said Bräsig, "the yard is as silent as death, and not a leaf is stirring! It's a great pleasure to me to see anything of the kind, for I assure you I had never thought such a thing possible."--"It isn't at all pleasant to me," replied Hawermann, "I see misfortune coming. Two or three mistakes of this kind will deprive the squire of the people's respect. As soon as they begin to see that it's really ignorance and not a new mode of farming that has brought about the changes, they'll begin to take their own way. I am very sorry for the unfortunate young squire, and still more so for his poor wife."--"There's Mrs. von Rambow coming out of the house, and there's the nursery-maid with the baby asleep in a perambulator. But, Charles--come to the window quick--what's all this?"--It was certainly worth the trouble of hastening to the window, there was now a stir and movement in the yard, which a moment before had been so still and quiet, Fred Triddelfitz thundered up to the farm on the old thoroughbred Bill, Alick followed about twenty yards behind, and shouted: "Triddelfitz."--"Coming," cried Fred, galloping out at the other gate with Alick still in pursuit.--"What the devil does all this mean?" asked Bräsig. He had hardly time to ask the question when Fred and Alick came back and recrossed the yard shouting: "Triddelfitz."--"Coming."--"Have you gone mad, Sir?" asked Bräsig as Fred galopped past the farm-house, but he received no answer. Fred was sitting crumpled up like a sack in his saddle, and when he heard Bräsig's question could not help giggling from fright and misery. As he passed Mr. von Rambow he tried to touch his cap, but knocked it off instead, and Frida cried out anxiously: "Alick, Alick, what's the matter?" but got no answer, for Alick was too busy. Suddenly Bill jumped over the fence in front of the sheep's pen, and Fred was thrown head over heels into a heap of straw. Alick now drew in his horse and called again: "Triddelfitz."--"Coming, Mr. von Rambow," answered Fred from out of the straw.--"What devil drove you to ride so hard?" asked Alick.--"None," said Fred, getting up, and finding to his great joy that he had met with no injury, "I was riding one, that's all, and I think that Bill ran away with me."--"You're right enough there," said Christian, who had come out of the stable to see what was the matter. "You gee, Sir," turning to Mr. von Rambow, "the count used to ride Bill in steeple-chases, and when once the beast gets his head, he goes on till he finds a fence or hurdle to jump, and after he has had a good run he stands as quiet as a lamb. Just look at him now."--"Alick," asked Mrs. von Rambow, who now came up, "what is it?"--"Nothing, my dear; I had given Triddelfitz an order, and no sooner had he ridden off than a better plan occurred to me, so I followed him to make the desired change, but his horse ran away with him, and I went in pursuit."--"Thank God it was no worse," she said. "But, Alick, won't you come in and have some tea?"--"Yes," he said, "I've been working very hard to-day and am rather tired. Triddelfitz, just go on as we have been doing."--"All right, Sir," answered Fred, and then Alick went back to the house with his wife.
"Alick," she asked, when they were seated at tea, "I don't understand. The harvest waggons used always to come into the yard one by one as they were filled, at my father's place, but I see that you're making them come in a string of six."--"I know the old-fashioned way perfectly, Frida dear, but I think that it's a bad way, and one in which it's impossible to keep order; while if you have a train of six waggons you can easily maintain order."--"Did Hawermann arrange it in that way?"--"Hawermann? No. He has nothing whatever to do with it. I have at last found it necessary to emancipate myself from the bailiffs leading-strings, and have told him that I intend to bring in the harvest without his assistance."--"Alick, what have you done! He'll never stand that."--"He must though. He must learn that I am master here."--"He has always treated you as such. Dear Alick, what you have done to day cannot fail to do us a great deal of harm," and she leant back in her chair in deep and painful thought.--Alick felt uncomfortable and a little cross.--The door opened and Daniel Sadenwater brought in a letter: "With Mr. Hawermann's compliments."--"There it is," said Frida.--Alick read the letter: "The bailiff gives up his place at Christmas. He may go now for all I care. I don't require a bailiff. Besides that, I could get a hundred instead of him if I liked. I'm only sorry that it was he who gave up his place, not I who told him to go," and starting to his feet, he began to walk up and down the room. Frida sat still, and said nothing. Alick felt that her silence was meant as a reproach. He knew that he was in a difficult position, but that he must not confess it even to himself, and must lay the blame of what had happened on the shoulders of another, so he went on: "But it's your fault, it all comes of your taking that pretentious old scoundrel's part"--Frida made no answer; she rose and left the room.
That evening she sat by her little daughter's cradle and rocked her to sleep. Alas, who can rock his thoughts to sleep as she did her child! A baby comes straight from God, and still has the peace of heaven in its heart; but human thoughts come from earth, and are full of care and trouble and utter weariness; to such as are burdened with these, sleep is unattainable. Alick was right, he could easily get another bailiff, a hundred if he wanted them. But Frida was also right: they were losing a true friend.
CHAPTER XVI.
There was great joy in Joseph Nüssler's house. Godfrey was elected, he was to have the living of Gürlitz. And to whom did he especially owe his election? Why to our good simple-minded old friend Pomuchelskopp, to be sure. His was the casting vote. Three divinity students preached one after the other, each anxiously struggling so to interpret the Word of God as to please the congregation, and prove himself most worthy of obtaining the living. "Henny," said Pomuchelskopp, when Godfrey had finished his sermon, and was passing his handkerchief over his white face, "Henny," he said, "we'll choose this one, for he's the stupidest."--"How can you be sure," asked his loving wife, "does one fool always know another when he sees him?"--"My chuck," said Pomuchelskopp, overlooking his affectionate wife's pleasantry, either because he was so accustomed to her little jokes, or because Godfrey's sermon had touched him, for Godfrey had preached on the text: "Forgive your enemies."--"Henny, listen. The first of these students, the one with the red face, is a son of old farmer Hamann, and custom is a great thing, you'll see that fellow will work his own glebe; the second, look, there he is, was seen examining the glebe by Gustavus, and was heard asking the parsonage-coachman, who had charge of the barns, for the roofs were in bad order. There'd be no hope with either of these; the rector's son is the man for us."--"He who reckons wrong, reckons without his host," said Henny drily.--"I hav'n't done so at any rate," answered Pomuchelskopp, "Mr. von Rambow and Nüssler have both given me a written agreement not to take the land, the young man can't farm himself, he's far too stupid for that, and the ground is too small to make it worth while for any one to take it by itself. He must let it to me, I am sure of getting it, and I can say to him: So much, and not a penny more!"--So Godfrey was elected, for almost all the votes were given to him, only one or two of the oldest labourers at Rexow gave their votes to their master, Joseph Nüssler. But that was merely an oversight and made no difference, for it was all in the family.
So, as I said before, there was great joy in Joseph Nüssler's house. The twins basked in the sunshine of happiness, and made plans for the future. Mina was quite as happy as Lina though she had not the same cause. Still she could not help remembering that her father had said one day when he came from the fields, that he found the sole management of the farm too hard work, and only wished that Rudolph were far enough on to be able to come and help him. Her mother had certainly answered that he ought to be ashamed of himself for saying such a thing, for he was still a young man, and he had replied that he would go on by himself a little longer. But still Mina saw that her father would really like to have Rudolph there, and so it would come to pass sooner or later. Lina's things were all ready, the trousseau was prepared, and Mrs. Nüssler's sitting-room looked more like a shop than anything else, Spinning, knitting, sewing, embroidering, crocheting were going on there, bales of goods were unwound and then wound up again. Every one was busy, even young Joseph and young Bolster. Young Joseph had to help to wind skeins of wool or cotton. He sat straight up with his pipe in his mouth, and a skein of knitting cotton over his hands, his wife stood in front of him, and wound it into a ball. Then he had a little rest, but when Lina or Mina came in he had to begin again. And young Bolster did not escape; if ever any one had cause to curse the marriage it was he; he was continually being tramped on and tumbled over, and at last came to the conclusion that it was better on the whole to take up his abode in the yard than in the parlour until the trousseau was finished.