“Much too low, Studmann!” cried the Rittmeister triumphantly. “You’re no farmer …”
“I carried out a test on the—lessor. He didn’t know why I was asking and wanted to try and fool me; like you he thought I was no farmer. But I’m a man who can calculate; it was Herr von Teschow who was fooled. The lessor admitted against his will that only an average crop of five to six hundredweights is to be expected, not more. ‘There’s a lot of sand in the outfields,’ he said.”
“But then I’m paying …” The Rittmeister paused in dismay.
“Yes,” said Studmann inexorably, “you pay twenty-five to thirty per cent of your crop as rent. That can hardly be called reasonable. If you will remember, Frau von Prackwitz, the peasants in the Middle Ages paid a tithe to their manorial lords, that’s to say, a tenth of their produce. It was not tolerable, and in the end they rose and killed their lords. Your husband doesn’t pay a tenth, no, he pays a quarter—even so, I wouldn’t advise killing.” Herr von Studmann smiled. He was happy. The nursemaid could instruct, the teacher could teach—forgetting, meanwhile, the despair of his listeners. A child whose toy has been broken does not find much consolation in being told how this could have been avoided.
“But what are we to do?” said Frau von Prackwitz tonelessly. “What can we do?”
“My father-in-law has certainly no inkling of all this,” said the Rittmeister. “One must tell him. You’re so clever and calm with it, Studmann.…”
“What about asking his son in Birnbaum to keep quiet?”
The Rittmeister said nothing.
“So far, one might still think the lessor was just a man eager to get money. Too eager. Somewhat greedy, eh? But unfortunately it is much worse.”
“If you please, Herr Studmann! We’ve had enough now.”
“Yes, you really must stop.”
“One must know everything, otherwise one will do the wrong thing. The rent amounts to three thousand hundredweights—one and a half hundredweights per acre, which corresponds to a farm of two thousand acres. And that is the area as given in the lease.”
“Is that also false?”
“I always heard, long before, that Neulohe had two thousand acres of land,” said Frau von Prackwitz.
“That’s quite true, Neulohe has two thousand,” replied Studmann.
“Well, then!” The Rittmeister heaved a sigh of relief.
“Neulohe has two thousand acres, but how large is the area you cultivate, Prackwitz? From the two thousand acres you must take away paths, unfertile land, the field-balks, ditches, heaps of stones. You must exclude, too, a few bits of arable land which have been planted with firs—you can get yourself a Christmas tree without having to ask the owner of the forest, Prackwitz …”
“Yes, I know. Nothing much.”
“You must exclude also the huge farmyard, the laborers’ houses, this staff-house, your Villa with its garden, and you must exclude too the Manor and the park! Yes, my dear Prackwitz, you even pay rent to your father-in-law for the house in which he lives!”
“I’ll be damned if I’ll do that!” cried the Rittmeister.
“Steady, steady—you want to get out of all your difficulties, don’t you? I have reckoned it out on the ground-plan; the area actually cultivated amounts to a trifle over fifteen hundred acres, so you are really paying two hundredweights of rye.”
“I’ll contest the contract, I’ll sue the fellow!” The Rittmeister looked as if he were about to dash immediately to the nearest law court.
“Oh, Achim!” wailed Frau von Prackwitz.
“Sit down!” shouted Studmann. “Now you know everything, and we can sit in judgment on the culprit—that’s you, Prackwitz. Steady, now! How could you have signed this disgraceful contract? You signed it as well, madam. Well, go on, Prackwitz. You can talk now.”
“How could a man imagine he was being tricked in such a low-down way—by relatives!” cried the Rittmeister angrily. “I knew my father-in-law was a skin-flint and after money like a cat after canaries. But I still can’t believe, Studmann, that he would cut his own daughter’s throat.”
“Herr von Teschow is no fool,” said Studmann. “When he drew up this lease he knew it could never be carried out. He must have had some motive. Have you anything to say about that, Prackwitz? I’d like to hear your views, too, madam.”
“I don’t know what my father was thinking.” But Frau von Prackwitz turned red under Studmann’s scrutiny.
“I’ll chuck the damn thing in his face! I’m going to court!”
“According to clause seventeen any objection to a condition of the contract dissolves the lease. Once you have lodged your complaint you are no longer the lessee. How did the contract come to be made? It’s new, and you’ve been farming here a long time.”
“Oh, that’s got nothing to do with the case. After the war we had nothing. I wasn’t going to be paid my pension—was I not a traitor? So we landed up here as visitors. I ran around the fields with my father-in-law—slaving like the devil. I found it fun at the time. Then one day he said: ‘I’m getting old, take the place as it stands. Eva will inherit all one day.’ So I started managing it alone.”
“Without any contract?”
“Without a contract.”
“What rent did you pay?”
“Nothing was settled. When he needed money I gave it to him if I had any; otherwise he just waited.”
“And then?”
“Then one day he said: ‘Let’s draw up a contract,’ and so we made this disgraceful lease with which I’m landed.”
“He just said ‘Draw up a contract’? But something must have happened?”
“Nothing happened.”
“Something’s missing,” persisted Studmann. “Well, Frau von Prackwitz?”
She had flushed. “Well, Achim,” she said hesitantly, “oughtn’t we to tell him? It’s better.…”
“Oh, the old story!” growled the Rittmeister. “Studmann, you’re a real nagger. What good will it do you to know—it won’t alter the lease.”
“Frau von Prackwitz,” pleaded Studmann.
“A short while before the lease was made,” she said quietly, “I had a quarrel with Achim. He thought it was time he started being jealous again—”
“Please, Eva, don’t be ridiculous!”
“Yes, Achim, it’s true. Well, you know him, and I do too. He immediately flew into a temper—you’d have thought the world was coming to an end. Screamed about divorce, adultery—well, it wasn’t nice to listen to. But I’ve been used to it for nearly twenty years and know that he really doesn’t mean it.”
“My dear Eva,” said the Rittmeister stiffly, “if you go on talking about me in this way I shall leave the office. And anyway, I was quite right. That affair with Truchsess—”
“Was years ago,” interrupted Studmann. “Please sit down again, Prackwitz. Don’t forget, it’s your money we are discussing.”
“I don’t want to hear any more of these stories!” cried the Rittmeister fiercely, sitting down, however.
“Go on, Frau von Prackwitz. So there was a little domestic quarrel?”
“Yes, and unfortunately my father heard of it without our knowing. From that time onwards he was convinced that Achim tormented and ill-treated me.”
“Ridiculous! I’m the most peaceful, most placable man.”
“For weeks he urged me to divorce Achim—”