Part 22 (1/2)

Address: ”To MY OWN, destined for me by FATE.”

Superscription: ”Sun of my darkened Soul!!”

”Dost thou know what _h.e.l.l-torments_ are? I suffered them yesterday afternoon, at two o'clock, when I was strewing manure. The air was free, the enemy was in the clover-field, and thy handkerchief fluttered like one of my white pigeons in the perfumed air. I was just upon the point of giving the pre-arranged signal of three whistles, when that old horned beast of a Brasig came up to me, and stood talking a whole hour, about the manure. When he was gone, I rushed down to the water-ditch, but, vinegar!

”The time had seemed long to thee, and thou wert gone! But now, _listen_! This evening, punctually at half past eight, when I have eaten my sour milk, I will be at the _place of rendezvous_; to-day is Sat.u.r.day, the Pastor is writing his sermon, and the _dragon_ is cleaning house; the _opportunity_ is favorable, and the underbrush will conceal us there. (Schiller.) Wait but a little, thou too shalt rest, (Goethe) in the arms of thy DEVOTED ONE, who would sell all that is dear to him, to buy with it something dear to thee.

”Oh, meeting blest! Oh, meeting blest!

Awaiting which I calmly rest, And all my longing, all my dreams, Bury in Lethe's silent stream.

I shall behold thee, dear, once more.

When the waves wash me to the sh.o.r.e, So farewell, yet not in sorrow, We shall meet again to-morrow!

”The _beginning_ is my own, the _middle_ from Schiller, and the _end_ from a certain Anonymous, who has written a great deal; but I altered it a little to suit my purpose.

”With torments of longing,

”THINE OWN.”

”Well!” exclaimed the little Frau Pastorin, when she read this patch work, ”This goes beyond everything! Yes, my dear sister, you have brought up a beautiful plant, and it bears fine fruit. But other people must trim and prune it, and I think, as his aunt, I am the nearest to him. And I'll do it!” she cried, in a loud voice, stamping her little foot, ”and I should like to see who will hinder me!”

”I for one would not think of it, Frau Pastorin,” said Brasig, who had come up, unperceived, behind the bee-hives.

”Have you been listening, Brasig?” asked the Frau Pastorin, still in an excited tone.

”Listening?” said Brasig, ”I never listen; I only keep my ears open, and then I hear something, and I keep my eyes open, and see something.

For instance, I see now that you are provoked about something.”

”It is true; but it is enough to drive an angel wild.”

”No, Frau Pastorin, the angels have enough to do with their wings; we need not incommode them about our matters, but if you want to see something wild, I believe the devil has broken loose here in Pumpelhagen.”

”Good heavens, has Fritz----”

”No, I didn't say so;” said Brasig; ”I don't know what it is; but there is something going on.”

”What is it, then?”

”Frau Pastorin, Habermann is irritable, and when that is the case, you may be sure there is some disagreeable business in the wind. You see, a few days ago, I came to Pumpelhagen, when he was busy with the hay and the rape harvest, and I said, 'Good morning,' says I. 'Good morning,'

says he. 'Karl,' says I, and was going on to say something, when he interrupts: 'Have you seen my Triddelsitz anywhere?' 'Yes,' said I.

'Where?' asked he. 'Sitting in the great water-ditch,' said I. 'Did you see young Herr von Rambow anywhere?' asked he. 'He is sitting in the next ditch close by,' said I. 'What are they doing?' asked he. 'They are playing,' said I. 'You are joking,' said he, 'playing at this busy time?' 'Yes, Karl,' said I, 'and I have been playing too.' 'What have you played then?' asked he. 'Bo-peep, Karl. See! there is your greyhound peeping over the ditch towards Gurlitz, and your n.o.bleman is peeping after the greyhound, and I was peeping out of the marl-pit after both of them, and when one turned his head, the other ducked, and so we sat there, peeping and ducking alternately, till the thing grew rather tedious to me, so I went boldly up the n.o.bleman. ”Good day,”

said I. ”Good day,” said he. ”Begging your pardon,” said I, ”what sort of farm-work are you doing here?” ”I?” said he, and stammered, ”I was looking after our peas, whether they were filling out well.” ”Hem!”

said I. ”So?” said I. ”Well!” said I, ”good morning,” and went towards the greyhound.' You won't mind it, Frau Pastorin, I always call your nephew so.”

Not at all, said the Frau Pastorin, she called him worse names, herself.