Part 77 (1/2)
”Brasig, I beg of you; Kurz have the croup?” and Habermann laughed in spite of his agitation, ”what are you talking about?”
”Karl, you needn't laugh at me! See, his saddle-horse has the inflorentia,--the horse-doctor said so, and he ordered that the old mare should be separated from the other horses, on account of the infection, and there was Kurz running about the sick horse in his cotton-wadded dressing-gown, feeling her here, and feeling her there, and then he ran back to the sound ones, to see if they had caught it already, and so he has infected the sound ones, for the infectious matter would get into the cotton wool of the dressing-gown,--cotton wool is the best thing in the world to carry infection,--and, you shall see, he has caught it himself, and to-morrow he will have the croup.
The glanders is catching, why shouldn't the inflorentia be?”
Habermann pa.s.sed a very restless night; but although he had not closed an eye, he was full of energy next morning; a beam of hope had fallen into the darkness, and gilded his prospects; but he could not stay in the house, the four walls oppressed him, he must have room for his restlessness, and long before Brasig went to the Rathhaus to keep his appointment with the burgomeister, Habermann was wandering along the quiet footpaths through the green spring fields. And what a lovely spring it was! It was just as if heaven were saying to earth, ”Hope confidently!” and earth again to man, ”Hope confidently!” and to the old inspector also, she cried, with her green springing leaves and bird-voices, ”Hope confidently!”
Heaven did not keep her promise to earth, the next year was a year of want; earth did not keep her promise to man, the next year was a year of misery; would she keep her promise to the old man? He knew not, but he trusted the message. He walked on, and on, he came to Gurlitz, he went along the same pathway where he had walked with Franz, that Palm-Sunday morning, when his daughter was to be confirmed. He knew that it was on this day that love had first stirred in the young man's heart,--Franz had written him so, he often wrote to him,--and a great bitterness arose in him that the happiness, which had grown so silently and purely in two innocent hearts, should be disturbed and destroyed by the foolishness and injustice of another person, and be turned off, abruptly, into another path which led to Rexow, that he need not go through the Pumpelhagen garden.
A girl came towards him with a child on her arm, and as she came nearer she stood still, exclaiming:
”Herr Inspector! Herr Inspector! How long it is since I have seen you!”
”Good day, Fika,” said Habermann, and looked at the child, ”how goes it with you?”
”Ah, Herr, very badly; Krischan Dasel mixed himself up in that business against the Herr, that we might be able to get married, and the Herr has sent him away, and I should have gone too, but the gracious Frau would not permit it. Well, if you want to get down, run then!” she said to the child, who was struggling in her arms.
”I always have to take her out about this time,” she added, ”for the gracious Frau is busy about the housekeeping, and the little one frets after her.”
Habermann looked at the child. She plucked flowers at the roadside, and coming up to him with ”Da! man!” she put a marigold blossom into his hand, and through Habermann's heart shot the recollection of such a flower, which another child--his own child--had put into his hand years ago, and he lifted the child in his arms, and kissed her, and the child stroked this white hair: ”Ei! ei!” and he let her down, and turned to go, saying, ”Fika Degel, take her home, it will rain soon.”
And as he went his way, the spring rain fell to the earth in gentle drops, and his heart shone beneath it, like the fresh grain. What had become of his hatred?
When Habermann reached Rexow, his sister sprang to meet him, as quickly as her stoutness would allow:
”Karl! G.o.d bless you! Karl! Have you come at last! And how bright you look! And so handsome! Dear brother, has anything happened? Has something good happened to you?”
”Yes, child, yes; I will tell you by and by. Where is Jochen?”
”Jochen? Dear heart, you may well ask. Where he is, no mortal knows; he comes and goes like a bird on the fence. Since the time when it was settled that Rudolph and Mining are to be married next week, on Friday,--you are coming to the wedding?--he has no rest, day nor night, and busies himself about the farming, and now that the spring seed is all planted and he has nothing in the world to do, he runs about the fields, and when he comes home, he makes us all miserable. It is just as if he would make up, in the eight days between now and the wedding, what he has neglected for five and twenty years.”
”Oh, let him work! It will do him no harm.”
”So I say, but Rudolph is vexed because he follows him round so.”
”Well, that won't last long. Is everything quiet here?”
”Oh, yes, and if Jochen had not wanted to make that speech about the geese, we should have known nothing about the troubles, but at Gurlitz and Pumpelhagen it looks badly.”
”At Pumpelhagen, too?”
”Oh, yes, yes! They say nothing about it; he doesn't speak, and she doesn't speak, but the whole region knows that it may break out, any day. He has so many debts, now the day-laborers demand their wages, and he has been letting them run up, and then they want you again for inspector.”
”Oh, that last is all nonsense!”
”So I said. No, I told the gracious Frau, my brother Karl will never come to this place again.”
”What?” asked Habermann, hastily, ”have you been to see her?”
”Yes, indeed, Karl. Didn't Brasig tell you we were going?”