Part 59 (1/2)

”Oh, that is admirable!” cried Axel, mockingly, and the seed which Pomuchelskopp had yesterday planted in his soul began to sprout and grow, and shoot up, ”Yes, that is admirable! So long as no one wanted the book, it was there safe enough, but as soon as it is wanted, it is missing!”

”I beg of you,” cried Habermann in anguish, ”do not judge so rashly, it will be found, it must be found,” and with that, he ran out again.

After a while, he returned, saying, in a weak voice: ”It is not there; it has been stolen from me.”

”Oh, that is charming!” exclaimed Axel, working himself into a pa.s.sion.

”At one time you say there is never any stealing here,--you know, about my two thousand thalers,--and another time it must have been stolen,--just as it suits your convenience.”

”My G.o.d! my G.o.d!” cried the old man, ”give me time, Herr!” and he clasped his hands. ”Before G.o.d, my book is gone!”

”Yes!” exclaimed Axel, ”and the day-laborer Regel is gone, too, and the people know _how_ he got away, and my two thousand thalers are also gone, and people know _where_ they have gone. Were they down in your book?” asked he, walking up to Habermann, and looking sharply in his face.

The old man looked at him, he looked around him to see where he was, his folded hands fell apart, and a fearful trembling went through his limbs, as when a great river breaks up its covering of ice, and the blood shot through his veins into his face, like the water in the great river, when it is free, and the blocks of ice tower up and the dam gives way: 'Ware children of men!

”Rascal!” he cried, and sprung at Axel, who had stepped back, as he saw the pa.s.sion he had roused. ”Rascal!” he cried, ”my honest name!”

Axel reached towards the corner where a gun was standing.

”Rascal!” cried the old man again, ”your gun, and my honest name!” and there ensued a struggle and a wrestling for the weapon, Habermann had caught it by the barrel, and tried to twist it out of his hand. Bang!

it went off. ”Oh, Lord!” cried Axel, and fell backwards towards the sofa; the old man stood over him, holding the gun in his hand. Then the door was torn open, and the young Frau rushed in, through the powder-smoke, to Axel: ”Good Heavens, what is this!” and all the love which she had formerly cherished for him broke, like a ray of sunlight through the clouds which had obscured it, she threw herself down by him, and tore open his coat: ”My G.o.d! my G.o.d! Blood!”

”Let it be!” said Axel, trying to raise himself, ”it is the arm.”

The old man stood motionless, the gun in his hand; the stream had gone back to its bed, but how much human happiness had it ruined in its overflow! and the meadows and fields of fertile soil were covered with mud and sand, and it seemed as if nothing could ever grow there again.

Daniel came running in, and one of the maids, and, with their help, Axel was lifted to the sofa, and his coat removed; his arm was dreadfully torn by the small shot, and the blood streamed to the floor.

”Go for the doctor!” cried the young Frau, trying to stanch the blood with cloths, but what she had at hand was not enough, she sprang up to fetch more, and must pa.s.s Habermann, who still stood there silent and pale, gazing at his master.

”Murderer!” cried she, as she went out, ”murderer!” she repeated, as she came in again; the old man said nothing, but Axel raised himself a little and said: ”No, Frida, no! he is not guilty of that,” for even an insincere man will give his G.o.d the glory, when he feels His hand close to his life; ”but,” he added, for he could not avoid the old excusing and accusing, ”he is a traitor, a thief. Out of my sight!”

The blood shot into the old man's face again, he would have spoken, but he saw that the young Frau turned away from him, he staggered out of the door.

He went to his room; ”He is a traitor, a thief,” kept ringing through his head. He placed himself at the window, and looked out into the yard, he saw all that was pa.s.sing, but saw it as in a dream; ”A traitor, a thief,” that was all he understood, that alone was real.

Krischan Degel drove out of the yard, he knew he was going for the doctor, ho opened the window, he wanted to call to him to drive as fast as possible; but--”a traitor, a thief,” he spoke it out, involuntarily; he closed the window. But the book! The book must be found. The book!

He opened the chests and boxes which he had packed, he scattered his little possessions all about the room, he fell upon his old knees,--not to pray, for ”he is a traitor, a thief,” but to feel with his cane under his desk, under his chest of drawers, under his bed; he must find the book, the book! But he found nothing. ”A traitor, a thief.” He stood at the window again, he looked out; but he had his cane in his hand, what did he want of his cane? Would he go out? Yes, he would go out, he would go away, away from here!--away! He put on his hat, he went out of the door, and the gate. Whither? It was all one! it made no difference; but, from old habit, he took the path to Gurlitz. With the old way, came the old thoughts; ”My child! my child!” he cried, ”my honest name!” He felt in his breast pocket, yes, the pocket-book was there, he had his daughter's happiness in his hands. What should he do now? He had ruined this letter for his child, it was destroyed forever with his honest name and by this cursed shot! and the first bitter tears were wrung from his tormented soul, and with them his good conscience came back, and its soft hand made room in his constrained breast, so that he could draw breath again; but his honest name, and his child's happiness, were gone for ever. Oh, how happy he was yesterday, sitting in his room, with the letter in his hand that Franz had written to his daughter, what blessedness that letter was to bring her, what happiness would bloom from it, what a bright future he had painted! and now it was all gone and lost, and the brand which was impressed upon him must burn into the heart of his only child, and devour and consume it.

But what had his child to do with it? Why should it stand in the way of her happiness? No, no! The curse and disgrace of the father was visited upon the children, to the fourth generation, and the same th.o.r.n.y hedge, which would sever him now from all honest people, would interpose between his child and happiness. But he was innocent! Who would believe him, if he said so? Those whose white garments of innocence the world has once soiled with filth must walk in them through life; no one can wash them clean, even if our Lord should come down from heaven, and do signs and wonders, that innocence should be brought to light,--the world would not believe. ”Oh!” he cried, ”I know the world!” Then his eye fell upon Gurlitz, upon Pomuchelskopp's manor house, and out of a corner of his heart, which he had believed forever locked, rose a dark spirit and spread her black wings over him, so that the bright winter sunlight no longer fell upon him; this was hate, which sprang up in his heart. The tears of compa.s.sion, which he had wept over his child, dried in his eyes, and the voice which had spoken in him, against his will, called again. ”A traitor, a thief!” and the dark spirit moved her wings, and whispered thoughts to him, which flashed out like flames: ”It is his doing, and we are enemies once more!” He went through Gurlitz, looking neither to the right nor the left, all which he had held dear had disappeared for him, he was merely conscious of his hatred, and that drove to a single aim, and in a definite path.

Brasig stood in the way, near the Pastor's barn, he went to meet his old friend: ”Good morning, Karl. Well, how is it? But what ails you?”

”Nothing, Brasig. But leave me, let me alone! Come to-morrow to Rahnstadt, come to-morrow” and he pa.s.sed on.

As he came to the elevation, beyond Gurlitz, from which Axel had first shown his young wife his fair estate of Pumpelhagen, and where her warm heart had throbbed with such pure joy, he stood still, and looked back; it was the last point from which he could see the place where he had lived so many happy years, where he had suffered such fearful anguish, and where his honor and happiness had been turned to disgrace and misery. A tempest raged in his soul. ”Miserable wretch! Liar! And she?

'Murderer,' she called me, and yet again, 'murderer!' and when she had spoken the shameful word she turned herself away from me. Your unhappiness will not wait long,--I could, and would, have turned it aside, I have watched over you, like a faithful dog, and like a dog, you have thrust me out; but”--and he walked on toward Rahnstadt, and hate hovered over him, on her dark wings.