Fred rode off.--"The rascally grey-hound!" said Bräsig.--"I don't know why," said Hawermann, "but I can't help liking the lad. He is so sweet-tempered."--"That's because he's young, Charles."--"Perhaps so," answered Hawermann thoughtfully, "but just look at him, riding away on the deaf old mare as happy as a king."
And Fred was happy; he was the happiest creature at Pümpelhagen, for there was not much of that blessing to be found there, and the realities of life were discovered to be very different from what everybody had expected. Hawermann saw more distinctly every day that his old peaceful life was gone for ever, for the young squire was so full of plans he did not know how to execute, that he left but little time for the necessary work of the farm, which had to be hurried over anyhow. The labourers were kept in such a bustle that they got confused and made mistakes, and then when anything went wrong Hawermann had to bear the blame.--Neither was Mr. von Rambow happy, his debts weighed upon him and also the fact of their concealment from his wife. He was troubled by the letters he received from David and Slus'uhr, with whom he had made it a condition of his doing business with them, that they should never show their faces at Pümpelhagen, and they were only too glad to consent to this arrangement, for the more the affair was involved in secrecy, the better chance they had of fleecing him. When they got him into their clutches at Rahnstädt for a consultation, they could turn the screw on him to better purpose than at Pümpelhagen, where they had to treat him with more deference, as he was in his own house. But Alick had another reason besides this for his unhappiness. He wanted to be master, but had not the power, for before a man takes the reins of government into his own hands he ought to have a _practical_ knowledge of the work to be done, not merely a _theoretical_ knowledge such as he had, and which made him imagine he knew everything much better than anyone else. "The great point is to be able to do a thing yourself," old Flegel the carpenter used to say, and he was right. The most unfortunate of men is the one who undertakes to do what he knows nothing about.--And Frida?--She was not happy either; she saw that her husband did not confide in her; that they held opposite opinions on many important subjects; that he was totally ignorant of the work to which he was now to devote his life; that he threw the blame of his own mistakes on other people's shoulders, and more than that, she felt--what was harder than aught else for a clever woman to bear--that he made himself ridiculous. She was convinced that Pomuchelskopp, who, much to her distress, often came over to Pümpelhagen, must have other reasons for doing so than mere neighbourly civility, and that he must often laugh in his sleeve at the crude, ill-considered opinions propounded by her husband.--She made up her mind to try and discover the motive for his visits; but that determination did not tend to increase her happiness.