Seed-time and Harvest Part 91

Brasig went up to the gracious Frau, who had rested her arm on the table and covered her eyes with her hand, as if the light hurt them, made a deep bow, and inquired after her health, and when she had answered quietly, he asked, "And how is the young Herr von Rambow?"

Frida shrank together, and Habermann, who had intended to call in the others, one by one, saw that a diversion must be made, or Brasig, in all innocence, would distress the young Frau with his questions and remarks.

"Zachary," said he, "do me the favor to bring in the Frau Pastorin and my sister; Louise may come, too."

"Very well, Karl," and presently he returned with the women.

Frau Pastorin went up directly to the young Frau, and pressed her to her heart, and could not restrain herself from weeping bitterly. Louise stood by, with the deepest, though silent, compa.s.sion in her heart.

"G.o.d of Abraham!" exclaimed Moses, "what a night is this! They want to transact a business, and they cry over each other, and press each other's hands, and hang about each other's necks, and are magnanimous and affectionate, and keep an old man, like me, sitting up till morning. Mamselle Habermann," he added aloud, "when you are done with your tender feelings, perhaps you can get me a drop of wine; I am an old man."

Louise ran and brought a bottle of wine and a gla.s.s, and Brasig said, "Bring me a gla.s.s, too, Louise!" and had possibly the intention of having a little frolic with Moses, for he sat down by him, and began to touch gla.s.ses: "To your good health, Moses!"

But it wasn't successful, Moses did not seem disposed to respond, and Habermann brought up his sister; Moses moistened his pencil, and wrote.

After Frau Nussler came the Frau Pastorin; Moses wrote again, and before the young Frau, who sat in the corner with Louise, knew what was going on, it was all settled; and Moses stood up, saying:

"Shall I tell you some news? I will tell you: the thirty-one thousand thalers are secured, and the people are all good; but it is no business, your magnanimity has run away with you. Well, what will you have? I am a Jew, it has run away with me too; I will advance the money. But I am an old man, I am a cautious man. If the Herr von Rambow will not employ an Inspector, and do as he ought, the business is worthless, and I will have nothing to do with it. When they lay me in the church-yard, under the fir-trees, where I have built an enclosure, then people would say, 'Well, he built that enclosure for himself; what is an enclosure of oaken-wood? Shortly before his death he got honest people into trouble, only that he might make a speculation.' There is Frau Nussler, there is Frau Pastorin, there is Herr Habermann, and there is also Herr Brasig. I have been a man of business, from my youth, first with my pack, and then with my produce and wool, and finally with my money, and as a man of business I will die; but a cautious one. Come, Habermann, take hold of me, and help me home again!

Good-night, Frau Nussler, my regards to Herr Jochen, he must come and see me. Good-night, Herr Inspector Brasig, you must come and see me too; but don't talk about the Reform any more, I am an old man.

Good-night, Mamselle Habermann, when you pa.s.s my house again, greet me as kindly as you did last time. Good-night, Frau Pastorin, when you go to bed, you can say I have had honest people in my house, tonight, the old Jew, also, is an honest man." Then he went up to Frida:

"Good-night, gracious Frau, you have wept to-night, because you are not used to it; but never fear, it will all come right; you have a new friend, it is the old Jew; but the old Jew has shed tears over you, and he will not forget it; he does not weep often now."

He turned away, and, saying "Good-night!" once more, without looking round, went out with Habermann, Louise lighting them to the door. All was silent in the room; each was busy with his own thoughts. The first to recollect herself was Frau Nussler; she called Krischan, who was asleep in the hall, and made him bring around the carriage. Krischan obeyed with unusual celerity, for, when Habermann returned from convoying Moses home, the young Frau and his sister were already in the carriage, and he had barely time to say a few friendly, hopeful words to the young Frau, when Frau Nussler said, "Good-night, Karl! She must go back to her child. Krischan, to Pumpelhagen!" and they drove off.

Habermann was still standing in the street, looking after the carriage, and was just turning to go into the house, when, another carriage came slowly up the street, with a pair of gray horses s.h.i.+ning before it, in the moonlight. The old man stepped back, and stood in the doorway, his daughter had left a candle for him, in the hall, and he stood there like a gigantic shadow against the light. He waited to see who was driving, so late or so early, through the silent streets; the carriage came nearer, it stopped before the house.

"Take the reins!" cried a voice which seemed strangely familiar to him, and a man on the front seat threw back the reins to the coachman, and jumped down.

"Habermann! Habermann! Don't you know me?"

"Franz! Herr von Rambow!"

"What is going on here, that you are up so late? No misfortune?"

"No,--thank G.o.d!--no! I will tell you directly."

The young man threw his arms about the old man, and pressed him to his heart, and kissed him, again and again, and it was no misfortune, it was the purest happiness, and yet one might have supposed it was misfortune, if he had seen the maiden who sat in the next room. The color was all gone out of her cheeks, and her great eyes grew larger and larger, staring at the door, and she pressed both hands against her heart, and when she tried to rise, it seemed as if the earth trembled, and thunder rolled above her, and the voice outside struck like, lightning to her heart. She did not know, she could not make it clear in this brief moment; but the garden, which she had planted years ago, with quiet, modest flowers, with shady trees, where she had so often watched the evening star, and on which the silent night had fallen, stood suddenly revealed before her, in the lightning flashes, and when these pa.s.sed over, and the heart was bowed down, suddenly the sun arose, with such blinding radiance, that she must turn away her eyes; but yet she could not, for in her quiet garden wonder after wonder was bursting into bloom in the sunlight; the modest violets changed into red roses, s.h.i.+ning like a bridal wreath, and the odor of the fragrant blossoms changed into the song of nightingales calling to their mates.

And her hands sank down from her heart, and her heart beat evenly, and full, and when he entered the door, holding Habermann's hand, she threw herself on his breast, and the earth no longer trembled, and the thunder no longer rolled, and no lightning flashes smote her; but light was all around her, pure light! And they spoke to each other, they talked much with each other: "Franz!" "Louise!" and no one understood their language, and they all stood about her, and could not understand, for it was long since they had heard the language, and yet they must have had some perception of its meaning, for Uncle Brasig took pity on the young people, who were flying away, above the earth, among the clouds, and brought them back, with a shock, to terra firma.

"Frau Pastorin," said he, "when I had three sweethearts at once----"

"For shame, Brasig!" cried Frau Pastorin, through her tears of emotion.

"Frau Pastorin, you said the same thing, when I wrote, through Doctor Urtlingen, to the young Herr von Rambow, at Paris; but I wasn't, at all ashamed, and I am not ashamed to-day; I have never in my life done anything to be ashamed of. For, you see, Frau Pastorin," and he placed himself before her with great dignity, and blew his nose, but rather, above it, as if something had got into his eyes; "you see, Frau Pastorin, I have brought about a good many rendezvous lately; first in the water-ditch----"

"Brasig!" cried the little Frau Pastorin.

"Be quiet, Frau Pastorin, I shall say nothing about it, and I will tell lies for you, if it is necessary. Secondly, Gottlieb and Lining in the cherry-tree; thirdly, Rudolph and Mining, also in the cherry-tree; but you must not think it strange if a man has a certain feeling of pride, at having brought about a rendezvous between Rahnstadt and Paris; and that is what I have done."

"Yes," said Franz, coming down to the earth, "you have done that, and I thank you heartily for your beautiful letter. It is here, I keep it always by me."

"Hm!" said Uncle Brasig, "always by him! Very much obliged! Would you have the kindness to tell me, quite sincerely, do you value the letter so highly, on account of my style,--you know, Karl, I was always ahead of you in style, at Pastor Behrend's,--or is it because the letter-paper belonged to Louise?"

"For both reasons!" cried Franz, laughing heartily, "but chiefly because of the good news contained in your letter. Yes," he added, turning to Habermann, "now these torments, these self-torments, are over, the last shadow of reason for our separation has vanished," and he went up to Louise, and gave her a kiss; it was a very remarkable kiss, it might have been divided by twelve, and each result have been an entire kiss.

"Bless me!" said the Frau Pastorin, at last, "the morning is s.h.i.+ning in at the window."

"Yes, Frau Pastorin," said Brasig, "and you have been watching all night, and you are an old lady, and not used to it; you should go to bed."

"Brasig is right," said Habermann, "and you, Louise, go to bed, too!"

"Come, child," said the Frau Pastorin, "there will be another day to-morrow, and a happy day, too," and she kissed her. "Now your happy days are coming, and, in yours, I shall live mine over again." They went out.

"Herr von Rambow," said Habermann.

"Why not Franz?" said the young man.

"Well, then, Franz, my dear son, you can sleep in my bed, up-stairs, with Brasig, I----"

"I cannot sleep," interposed Franz.

"Karl," said Brasig, "I am not at all sleepy, either, my time for sleeping and nightly rest is over." He went to the window, opened it, and looked out at the weather: "Karl, it looks to me as if this morning would be a good time for the perch to bite. I must go out, I shall get too fidgety here; I will go fis.h.i.+ng; in the Rexow firs, there is a place under the trees, where there is a splendid perch. So, good-morning, young Herr von Rambow, good-morning, Karl, entertain yourself with your future son-in-law." With that, he went off.

"But how did it happen, dear father," asked Franz, "that I found you all up so late? I started from Paris, immediately on receiving Brasig's letter, travelled night and day, and arrived at my estate day before yesterday. But there was so much to be attended to,--my inspector is just leaving, he is going to be married,--that I could not leave, to come hither, until about this time yesterday morning. I had sent forward relays, however, and when I arrived,--well, I may as well confess,--I wanted at least to see the house in which Louise was sleeping. And here I found you all stirring."

"Ah," sighed Habermann, "it was a sad occasion. It was on account of the young Herr von Rambow of Pumpelhagen, his wife was here herself.

She has suffered terribly, but there was no help for it; and even yet everything is in suspense. Would G.o.d you had come half an hour sooner; then I believe it could all have been settled." And he related what had happened, first and last, and all with such sincere regret and such cordial interest, that an earnest wish arose in Franz's heart; he must help, also, in the matter, and the best of it was, he could help. He had had the fortune to have trustworthy guardians, and honest and capable inspectors; his property and estates had increased in value under their hands, and, more recently, under his own, for he had not made it a ladder, on which to descend to abysses of misfortune and ruin, and his good sense had kept him from folly. Now he could render a thank-offering for his happiness, for he had not only the will but the ability to do good.

The two friends talked of many things, and what seemed good to the one was approved by the other; they would both help, and it was settled that Franz should have an interview with Moses; but, in spite of all their sincerity, each had a secret from the other. Habermann dared say nothing of Axel's debt to his sisters, the young Frau had confessed it to him with bitter tears and a bleeding heart, the secret was not his own property, but that of another, dearly bought and dearly won. Franz also had his secret, but it must have been a good one, for his face was full of thoughtful joy, and he put one foot up comfortably, on the sofa, and then the other, and he nodded to Habermann, in a friendly way, as he went on talking, and he kept nodding, and finally nodded himself to sleep. Youth and nature must have their rights. Old Habermann got up softly, and looked at him. Joyous thoughts were still hovering over his face, like the beams of the setting sun over a clear, still, transparent lake, and the old man brought a coverlet, and wrapped it gently over him, and then he went out into the Frau Pastorin's little back-garden, and seated himself in an arbor, which he himself had planted, several years before, in his trouble and sorrow, and looked at the window of the room where his daughter slept. Ah, did she sleep? Who can sleep, with bright sunlight s.h.i.+ning in the heart?

Who can sleep when every sound turns into a melody singing of love and happiness? A light step sounded on the gravel in the garden path, and a lovely maiden, in a light morning dress, approached, turning up her face to the sun-rising, and, with her hands folded on her breast, gazing at the morning sun, as if she too longer feared to be blinded by its light; but tears ran down her rosy cheeks. Right, Louise! The sun is G.o.d's sun, and the happiness is G.o.d's happiness, and when it s.h.i.+nes bright and dazzling in our eyes, tears are good, they soften the light.

She bent down, and lifted a rose, to inhale its fragrance, but did not pluck it. Right, Louise! Roses are earthly roses, joys are earthly joys, they both blossom in their season, leave them to their season.

Wilt thou enjoy them before their time, thou hast only a withered rose on thy breast, and a withered joy in thy heart.

She walked on slowly, through the garden, and when she came to the arbor, where her old father sat, she sprang towards him, threw herself into his arms, and nestled her head upon his bosom: "Father! father!"

Right, Louise! Here is thy rightful place! In thy father's heart beams G.o.d's suns.h.i.+ne, in thy father's heart bloom earthly roses.

CHAPTER XLVI.

Frau Nussler took Frida back to Pumpelhagen, dropping many a comforting word, which fell, like the dew upon a scorched field, on the young Frau's heart, and if it were not yet quite ready to sprout with fresh green, Frau Nussler would have said, "Never fear! My brother Karl will manage that."

So the young Frau entered her room, in the gray morning, in quite a different mood from that of the evening before, when she had rushed put into the storm; and, with hope, love and faith had returned to her heart. She went up softly and kindly to Fika Degel, who sat in an arm-chair, watching by her child, and had fallen asleep, and stroking her hair gently said:

"Fika, I thank you very much; but you must be weary; go to bed."

"Gracious Frau," said Fika, starting up from a dream of her lover, "she has slept very quietly; I had to give her drink only once."