"That is what I say, Karl! These old skulking gray chafers are such sly old dogs, they are not to be reckoned on, and no more is the mischief they do. You shall see, Karl, this whole year will be a spoiled omelet, everything is going contrary to nature. How? Usually you will see crows in the rye, by May-day; this year you will see half-grown turkeys there! No, Karl, the world has turned round, and in some places the pastors are already preaching from their pulpits that the moon has crowded in between the sun and the earth, and that then the sun comes too near to the earth, and everything will be destroyed, that this is the beginning of the last day, and that people must repent."
"Ah, Zachary, that is all stuff and nonsense."
"So I say, Karl, and the repenting has turned out badly, in some places, for at Little Bibow, the day-laborers have struck work, and sold their bits of possessions to the Jews, and drink from morning to night, because they want to enjoy their property here. My Pastor Gottlieb would have preached something of the kind, but I stood by Lining, and she talked him out of it. But no good will come of such a year, Karl."
"I think, myself, that we shall have a bad harvest; but Kurz was here yesterday, and he talked so much about the fine winter wheat, which is standing in the fields----"
"Karl, I thought you had more sense. Kurz! I beg of you. Kurz! He knows what a salt herring ought to be, he understands that, for he is an experienced merchant; but when he talks about winter wheat, he should get up earlier in the morning,--that belongs to farmers, experienced farmers. And this is just what I say, Karl, everybody thinks he may meddle with our business, and these old city folks are as wise as the bees. Well, if any one practices farming pour paster la tante, just for his own amusement,--a la boncœur! I have no objections; but if he sets himself as a judge--well! Kurz! In syrup casks and cards, he can see straight enough; but when he looks at a rye-field, there is a veil before his eyes. But what I was going to say is, next week I am coming to you, bag and baggage."
"No, Bräsig, no! If this proves a bad year, you will be necessary to the young people, and the young pastor knows too little of farming to be able to get on without you."
"Yes, Karl, he is stupid, and if you think so,--for I have quite given myself up to you,--then I will stay with him. But now, good-bye. I don't know what ails me, but my stomach feels badly: I will see if Frau Pastorin hasn't a little kümmel for me."
With that he went out, but put his head in again to say, "I had almost forgotten about Pumpelhagen, they have a management there, now, that you could warm your hands and feet at. Yesterday I met your Triddlesitz, at the boundary, and although he is such an infamous greyhound, he almost cried. 'Herr Inspector,' said he, 'you see I lay all night, thinking about the management, and not able to sleep, and when I had planned it all out, in the nicest way, and given the people their orders, in the morning, do you see, the Herr comes out with his arm in a sling, and spoils my plans, and sends one laborer here, and another there, running about the fields like hens with their heads cut off, and I run after them and get them together again, and get things in order, and then, in the afternoon, he tears it all to pieces again!' Karl, it must be a great satisfaction for you,--that is, to see that they cannot get on without you." Then he shut the door, and went off, but, after a little while, made his appearance again: "Karl, what I was going to say--half the horses in Pumpelhagen are used up; a couple of days ago, there stood a loaded manure-cart, and the poor beasts stood there so forlorn, head and ears down, just like the peasants in church. And it is not because they are overworked, but because they have not enough to eat, for your young Herr has no superfluity in his barns, and he has sold this spring three tons of oats and two tons of peas to the Jews, and now his granary is as bare as if the cattle had licked it. And now he must buy oats; but the poor screws that earn his bread don't get it, most of it goes to the old thorough-bred mares who do nothing but steal a living from others. There is great injustice in the world! Well, good-bye, Karl!" and this time he really departed.
That was a sad picture, which Bräsig had drawn of the situation at Pumpelhagen; but in truth, matters were much worse, for he had said nothing of the influence which Axel's constant need of money had upon his temper, and this was the saddest. Continual embarrassment not only makes a man out of humor, it makes him hard towards his inferiors, and our Axel fell into the old fault; he believed he was so badly off because his people fared too well, and Pomuchelskopp was always telling him so. He took from them one thing here, and another there, and when his natural good-nature got the upper hand, he gave them again something here and there; but everything capriciously,--and that has a bad effect. At first, the people had laughed at his confused management, but that is always the beginning, and the laughing soon became a grumbling, and the grumbling broke out into accusations and complaints. Under Habermann's rule, the day-laborers had always received their grain and money at the right time; now they must wait, until there was something to give them; that was bad. And if they went to their master with complaints they were snubbed; that was worse. Discontent was universal.
Axel comforted himself with the new, harvest, and with the new receipts; but, unfortunately, Bräsig proved a true prophet; when the harvest was ripe it was very thin, and when it was garnered, the barns were only half full, and the old experienced country people said to the new beginners: "Take care! Spare in time, and you will have in need! The grain will not hold out." The advice was good, but of what use was it to Axel? He must have money, so he had most of his grain thrashed out, for seed-corn and for sale. And grain was for sale at a fine price, for the Jews saw how it must turn out, and bought up on speculation, and so to the natural scarcity was added an artificial. The old day-laborers, at Pumpelhagen, shook their heads, as the loads of rye were driven from the Court: "What will become of us! What will become of us! We have got no bread-corn." And the housewives stood together, wringing their hands: "See, neighbor, that little heap! Those are all my potatoes, and all poor, and what are we to live on this winter?" And so the scarcity was universal, and it had come over this blessed land like a thief in the night, no one had thought of it, no one had prepared for it, since no one knew what to expect. But it was the worst in the little towns, and there it was the hardest for the poor mechanics,--for laboring men, there was still labor, and their children went about begging from door to door, and afterwards there were soup-kitchens organized; but the poor mechanics? They had no work,--no one employed them,--and they did not understand begging, nor did it suit their honor and reputation. Ah, I went once into the room of a right clever, industrious burgher's wife, when the dinner stood upon the table, and the hungry children stood around it, and as I entered the room the Frau threw, a cloth over the platter, and when she had gone out to call her husband, I lifted the cloth, and what did I find? Boiled potato-skins. That was their dinner.