RECOLLECTIONS OF MECKLENBURG.
John, the footman, opened the door of the anteroom, and shouted in a
loud and solemn voice, "Your excellency, here is Hennemann, the
hussar, and his son Christian!"
"Well, come in!" said Blucher, good-naturedly, puffing a cloud of
smoke from his pipe.
An old man with silver-white hair, his bent form clad in the old and
faded uniform of a hussar, and holding his old-fashioned shako in
his hand, entered the room. He was followed by a young man, wearing
the costume of a North-German farmer, his heavy yellow hair combed
backward and fastened with a large round comb; his full, vigorous
form dressed in a long blue cloth coat, reaching down almost to his
feet, and lined with white flannel; under it he wore trousers of
dark-green velvet that descended only to the knees, and joined there
the blue-and-red stockings in which his legs were encased; his feet
were armed with thick shoes, adorned with buckles, while their soles
bristled with large nails.
"Where do you come from?" asked Blucher, fixing his eyes with a kind
expression on the two men.
"From Rostock, your excellency," said the old man, making a
respectful obeisance.
"From Rostock?" asked Blucher, joyously. "Why, that is my native
city."
"I know that very well, general," said the old hussar, who vainly
tried to hide his Low-German accent. "All Rostock knows it, too, and
every child there boasts of Blucher being our countryman."
"Well," said Blucher, smiling, "then you come from Rostock. Do you
live there?"
"Not exactly in Rostock, your excellency. My daughter Frederica is
married to a tailor in Rostock, and I was with her for four weeks. I
myself live at Polchow, a nobleman's estate four miles from Rostock;
I am there at the house of my eldest son."
"Is that your eldest son?" asked Blucher, pointing with his clay
pipe at the young man, who stood by the side of his aged father, and
was turning his hat in his hand in an embarrassed manner.
"No, sir, he is my youngest son, and it is just for his sake that I
have come to you. Christian was a laborer in the service of our
nobleman at Polchow, and he desired to marry a girl with whom he had
fallen in love. But the nobleman would not permit it; he said
Christian should wait some ten years until there was a house vacant
in the village, and some of the old peasants had died. This drove
him to despair; he wanted to commit suicide, and said he would die
rather than be a day laborer on an estate in Mecklenburg, which is
no better than being the nobleman's slave."
"Yes," cried Christian, indignantly, "that is true, general. A day
laborer on an estate in Mecklenburg is a slave, that is all. The
nobleman owns him. If he wants to do so, he may disable him, nay, he
may kill him. Such a laborer has no rights, no will, no property, no
home, no country; he is not allowed to live anywhere but in his
village: he cannot settle in any other place, and is not permitted
to marry unless the nobleman who owns the village gives his consent,
nor can he ever be any thing else than what his father and
grandfather were, that is to say, the nobleman's laborers. And I do
not wish to be such and do nothing else than putting the horses to
the plough. I want to marry Frederica, and become a free man, and if
that cannot be I will commit suicide."
"Ahem! he has young blood," said Blucher, well pleased and smiling,
"fresh Mecklenburgian blood. I like that! But you must not abuse
Mecklenburg, Christian; I love Mecklenburg, because it is my native
country."
"It is a good country for noblemen who have money," said Christian,
"but for day laborers who have none it is a poor country. And that
was the reason why I said to the old man, 'Vatting [Footnote:
"Vatting," Low-German for "papa."], shall I commit suicide or run
away and enlist.'"
"And I then said, 'Well, my son, in that case it will be better for
you to enlist,'" added the old man, "'and, moreover, you shall
enlist under a good general. I will show you that my life is yet
good for something; I will do for your sake what I have purposed to
do all my lifetime: I will go to General Blucher, tell him whom I
am, and ask him to reward my boy for what I did for him.'"
Blucher looked with a good-natured smile at the poor old man who
stood before him in the faded and threadbare uniform of a private
soldier.
"Well, my old friend," he said, "what have you done for me, then?"
The old man raised his head, and a solemn expression overspread his
bronzed and furrowed countenance. "General," he said, gravely, "it
was I who took you prisoner in Mecklenburg in 1760, and to me,
therefore, you are indebted for all your glory and happiness."
Blucher covered his face with his hands, that the old man might not
see his smile. "It is just as Amelia told me it would be," he said
to himself. He then added aloud: "Well, tell me the story, that I
may see whether it was really you who took me prisoner."
"It is a long story," said the old man, sighing, "and if I am to
tell it, I must ask a favor of your excellency."
"Well, what is it? Speak, my old friend," said Blucher, puffing a
cloud from his pipe, and satisfied that the old hussar would apply
to him for money.
"I must beg leave to sit down, general," said the old man, timidly.
"We have come on foot all the way from Rostock, and it is only
fifteen minutes since we reached this village. We took only time
enough at the tavern to change our dress; I put on my uniform, and
Christian put on his Sunday coat. I am eighty years old, general,
and my legs are not as strong as they used to be."
"Eighty years old!" exclaimed Blucher, jumping up, "eighty years
old, and you have come on foot all the way from Rostock! Why, that
is impossible! Christian, tell me, that cannot be true!"
"Yes, general, it is true. We have been on the way for three weeks
past, for the old man cannot walk very fast, and we had not money
enough to ride. We had to be thankful for having enough to pay for
our beds at the taverns. And my father is more than eighty years of
age! We have brought his certificate of birth with us."
"Eighty years of age, and he came on foot all the way from Rostock,
and I allow the old man to stand and offer him no chair!" exclaimed
Blucher,--"I do not ask whether he is hungry and thirsty! John!
John!" And Blucher rushed to the bell-rope and rang the bell so
violently that John entered the room in great excitement. "John,
quick!" shouted Blucher. "Quick, a bottle of wine, two glasses, and
bread, butter, and ham; and tell them in the kitchen to prepare a
good dinner for these men, and have a room with two beds made ready
for them in the adjoining house. Quick, John! In five minutes the
wine and the other things must be here! Run!"
John hastened out of the room, and Blucher approached the old man,
who looked on, speechless and deeply moved by the kind zeal the
general had displayed in his behalf.
"Come, my dear friend," said Blucher, kindly, taking him by the hand
and conducting him across the room to his favorite seat at the
window. "There, sit down on my easy-chair and rest."
"No, general, no; that would be disrespectful!"
"Fiddlesticks!" replied Blucher; "an octogenarian is entitled to
more respect than a general's epaulets are. Now do not refuse, but
sit down!" And with his vigorous arms he pressed him into the easy-
chair. He then quietly took his clay pipe from the window, and sat
down on a cane chair opposite the old hussar. "And now tell me the
story of my arrest as a prisoner. I promise you that I will believe
it all."
"General, you may believe nothing but what is true," replied the old
man, solemnly.
Blucher nodded. "Commence," he said, "but no--wait a while! There is
John with the wine and the bread and butter. Now eat and drink
first."
"I cannot eat, for I am not hungry. But, if the general will permit
me, I will drink a glass of wine."
"Come, John, two glasses!--fill them to the brim! And now, my
friend, let us drink. Here's to our native country!" Blucher filled
his glass with claret; his eyes flashed, and his face kindled with
the fire of youth, when he, the young septuagenarian, touched with
his glass that of the feeble octogenarian. "Hurrah, my old
countryman," he shouted, jubilantly, "long live Mecklenburg! long
live Rostock and the shore of the Baltic! Now empty your glass, my
friend, and you, John, fill it again, and then put the wine and the
bread and butter on the table beside the fireplace, that Christian
may help himself. Eat and drink, Christian, but do not stir, or say
a word, for we two old ones have to speak with each other. Now tell
me the story, my old friend!"
"Well," said the old man, putting down his empty glass, "I had run
away from my parents because I was just in the same difficulty as
Christian: I did not wish to remain a day laborer. I also wanted to
marry, and the nobleman would not let me. Well, I ran away, and
enlisted in Old Fritz's army, in Colonel Belling's regiment of
hussars. It was in 1760; we had a great deal to do at that time; we
were every day skirmishing with the Swedes, for we were stationed in
Mecklenburg, and the Swedes were so dreadfully bold as to make raids
throughout Brandenburg and Mecklenburg. One day, I believe it was in
August, 1760, just when we, Belling's hussars, occupied the towpath
close to Friedland in Mecklenburg, another detachment of Swedish
hussars approached to harass us. They were headed by a little
ensign--a handsome young lad, scarcely twenty years of age, a very
impertinent baby! And this young rascal rode closely to the old
hussars, and commenced to crow in his sweet little voice, abusing
us, and told us at last, if we were courageous enough, to come on;
he had not had his breakfast, he said, and would like to swallow
about a dozen of Belling's hussars. Well, the other hussars rejoiced
in the pluck of the young fellow, and a handsome lad he was, with
clear blue eyes and red cheeks. But his saucy taunts irritated me,
and when the little ensign continued laughing, and telling us we
were cowards, I became very angry, galloped up to him and shouted:
'Now, you little imp, I will kill you!'"
"Sure enough," exclaimed Blucher, in surprise, "that was what the
hussar shouted. It seems to me as though I hear it still sounding in
my ears. But none of the other hussars told me this; it is new, and
it is true. Hennemann, could it be possible that you should really
be the man who took me prisoner at that time?"
"Listen to the remainder of my story, general, and you will soon
find out whether it was I or not. I galloped up to him, and while
the Prussians and Swedes were fighting, I fixed my eyes on my merry
little ensign; when I was quite close to him, I shot down his horse.
The ensign was unable then to offer much resistance, and, besides, I
was a very strong, active man. I took him by the collar and put him
on my horse in front of me."
"And the ensign submitted to that without defending himself?" asked
Blucher, angrily.
"By no means! On the contrary, he was as red in the face as a
crawfish, and resisting struck me. I held his arms fast, but he
disengaged himself with so violent a jerk that the yellow facings of
his right sleeve remained in my hand."
"That is true," exclaimed Blucher.
"Yes, it is true," said the old man, calmly; "but it is true also
that I got hold again of the ensign and took him to Colonel von
Belling, to whom I stated that I had captured the handsome lad. The
colonel liked his face and courageous bearing; he kept the Swedish
ensign at his headquarters, where he appointed him cornet the next
day, and made the little Ensign Blucher apply to the Swedes for
permission to quit their service."
"And I got my discharge," exclaimed Blucher, quite absorbed in his
reminiscences, "and became a Prussian soldier. Good, brave Colonel
Belling bought me the necessary equipment, and appointed me his
aide-de-camp and lieutenant. The Lord have mercy on his dear soul!
Belling was an excellent man, and I am indebted to him for all I
am."
"No, general," said Hennemann, "it is to me that you are indebted,
for if I had not taken you prisoner at that time--"
"Sure enough," exclaimed Blucher, laughing, "if you had not taken me
prisoner, I should now be a poor old pensioned Swedish veteran. But
you certainly took me prisoner, I really believe you did!"
"I have the proofs that I did," said the old man solemnly.
"Christian!"
"Here I am, vatting," said Christian, rising. "What do you want?"
"Give me the memorandum-book with the papers."
Christian drew from his blue coat a red morocco memorandum-book and
handed it to his father. "Here, vatting," he said, "every thing is
in it, the certificate of birth, the enlistment paper, the
discharge, and the other thing."
"I just want to get the other thing," said the old man, opening the
memorandum-book, "and here it is!" He took out a yellow piece of
cloth and handed it to Blucher.
"It is a piece of my sleeve!" exclaimed Blucher, joyously, holding
up the piece of cloth. "Yes, Hennemann, it was really you who took
me prisoner, and I am indebted to you for being a Prussian general
to-day! And I promise you that I will now pay you a good ransom.
Give me your hand, old fellow; we ought to remain near each other.
Fifty-two years since you took me prisoner, but now I take you
prisoner in turn, and you must remain with me; you shall live at
ease, and at times in the evening you must tell me of Mecklenburg,
and how it looks there, and of Rostock, and--well, and when you are
in good spirits, you must sing to me a Low-German song!"
"Mercy!" exclaimed the old man, in dismay; "I cannot sing, general.
I am eighty years old, and old age has dried up the fountain of my
song."
"Sure enough, you are eighty years old," said Blucher, puffing his
pipe, "and at that age few persons are able to sing. But I should
really like to hear again a merry native song. I have not heard one
for fifty years, for here, you see, Hennemann, people are so stupid
and ignorant as not even to understand Low-German."
"I believe that," said the old man, gravely, "and it is not so easy
to understand--one must he a native of Mecklenburg to understand
it."
"It is a pity that you cannot sing," said Blucher, sighing.
"But, perhaps Christian can," said old Hennemann. "Tell me,
Christian, can you sing?"
"Yes, vatting," replied Christian, clearing his throat.
"'Vatting!'" exclaimed Blucher. "What does that mean?"
"Well, it means that he loves his father, and therefore calls him,
in good Mecklenburg style, 'vatting.'"
"Sure enough, I remember now," exclaimed Blucher. "Vatting! mutting!
[Footnote: "Mutting," mamma] Yes, yes; I have often used these
words, 'mutting--my mutting!' Ah, it seems to me as though I behold
the beautiful blue eyes of my mother when she looked at me so mildly
and lovingly and said, 'You are a wild, reckless boy, Gebhard; I am
afraid you will come to grief!' Then I used to beg her, 'My mutting,
my mutting! I will no longer be a bad boy! I will not be naughty! Do
not be angry any more, my mutting!' And she always forgave me, and
interceded for me with my father, whenever he was incensed against
me, and scolded me, because, instead of studying my books and going
to school, I was always loitering about the fields or hunting in the
woods. At last, when I was fourteen years old, and was still an
incorrigible scapegrace, they sent me to the island of Rugen, to my
sister, who was married to Baron von Krackwitz. But I did not stay
there very long. The Swedes came to the island, and I could not
withstand the desire to become a soldier; therefore, I ran away from
the island and enlisted in the Swedish army. Well, I had to do so, I
could not help it, for it was in my nature. Up to that time I was
like a fish on dry land, moving his tail in every direction without
crushing a fly; when I got into the water it was all right. If I had
been kept much longer out, I would have died very soon [Footnote:
Blucher's own words]. When I was now in the water--that is to say,
when I was a soldier, I lost my mother; I never saw her again, and
know only that she wept a great deal for me. And I never was able to
beg her to forgive me, and tell her, 'Do not be angry, my dear
mutting!' I was a dashing young soldier, and she was weeping for me
at Rostock, for she believed I would come to grief. Well, I was
first lieutenant in some Prussian fortress when they wrote to me
that my mother was dead. Yes, she had died and I was not at her
bedside; I was never able to say to her for the last time, 'Forgive
me, my mutting!' But now I say so from the bottom of my heart."
While uttering these words, Blucher raised his head and fixed his
large eyes with a touching and childlike expression on the wintry
sky.
Old Hennemann devoutly clasped his hands, and tears ran slowly down
his furrowed cheeks. Christian stood at the door, and dried his eyes
with his coat-sleeve.
"Thunder and lightning," suddenly exclaimed Blucher, "how foolish I
am! That is the consequence of being absorbed in one's
recollections. While talking about Mecklenburg I had really
forgotten that I am an old boy of seventy years, and thought I was
still the naughty young rascal who longed to ask his mutting to
forgive him! Well, Christian, now sing us a Low-German song."
"I know but one song," said Christian, hesitatingly. "It is the
spinning-song which my Frederica sang to me in the spinning-room."
"Well, sing your spinning-song," said Blucher, looking at his pipe,
which was going out.
Christian cleared his throat, and sang:
Spinn doch, spinn doch, min lutt lewes Dochting,
Ick schenk Di ock'n poor hubsche Schoh!
Ach Gott, min lewes, lewes Mutting,
Wat helpen mi de hubschen Schoh!
Kann danzen nich, un kann nich spinnen.
Denn alle mine teigen Finger,
De dohn mi so weh,
De dohn mi so weh!
Spinn doch, spinn doch, min lutt, lewes Dochting,
Ick schenk Di ock'n schon Stuck Geld.
Ach Gott, min lewes, lewes Mutting,
Ick wull, ick wihr man ut de Welt,
Kann danzen nich, un kann nich spinnen
Denn alle mine teigen Finger,
De dohn mi so weh,
De dohn mi so weh!
Spinn doch, spinn doch, min lutt, lewes Dochting.
Ick schenk Di ock'n bubschen Mann!
Ach ja, min lewes, lewes Mutting,
Schenk min lewsten, besten Mann.
Kann danzen nu, un kann ock spinnen,
Denn alle mine teigen Finger,
De dohn nich mihr weh,
De dohn nioh mihr weh!
[Footnote: The song is translated as follows:
Spin, spin, my little daughter, dear!
A pretty pair of shoes for thee!--
Alas, my mother! let me hear
What use are pretty shoes to me!
I cannot dance--I cannot spin:
And why these promised shoes to win!
O mother mine. I will not take
Thy kindly gift. My fingers ache!
Spin, spin, my little daughter dear!
And a bright silver-piece is thine!--
Alas, my mother's loving care
Makes not this shining money mine!
I cannot dance--I cannot spin;
What use such wages thus to win?
O mother dear! I cannot take
This silver, for my fingers ache.
Spin, spin, my little daughter dear!
For thee a handsome husband waits.--
Oh, then, my mother, have no fear;
My heart this work no longer hates.
Now can I dance, and also spin,
A handsome husband thus to win.
Thy best reward I gladly take!
No more--no more, my ringers ache.]
"A very pretty song," said Blucher, kindly. "And I believe I heard
the girls sing it when I was a boy. Thank you, Christian, you have
sung it very well. But, tell me now, old Hennemann, what is to
become of Christian? You yourself shall remain here at Kunzendorf,
and I will see to it that you are well provided for. But what about
Christian?"
"He is anxious to enlist, general," said Hennemann, timidly, "and
that is the reason why I brought him to your excellency. I wanted to
request you to take charge of him, and make out of him as good a
soldier as you are yourself."
Blucher smiled. "I have been successful," he said, "but those were
good days for soldiers. Now, however, the times are very
unfavorable; the Prussian soldier has nothing to do, and must
quietly look on while the French are playing the mischief in
Prussia."
"No, general," said Hennemann, "it seems to me the Prussian soldier
has a great deal to do."
"Well, what do you think he has to do?" asked Blucher.
"To expel the French from Prussia, that is what he has to do," said
the old man, raising his voice.
"Yes," said Blucher, smiling, "if that could be done, I should like
to be counted in."
"It can be done, general; every honest man says so, and it ought to
be, for the French are behaving too shamefully. They must be
expelled from Germany. Well, then, my Christian wishes to assist you
in doing so; he wishes to become a soldier, and help you to drive
out the French."
"Alas, he must apply to some one else if he wishes to do that," said
Blucher, mournfully. "I cannot help him, for they have pensioned me.
I have no regiments. I--but, thunder and lightning! what is the
matter with my pipe today? The thing will not burn." And he put his
little finger into the bowl, and tried to smoke again.
"The pipe does not draw well, because it was not skilfully filled,"
said Christian. "I know it was badly filled."
"Ay?" asked Blucher. "What do you know? John has been filling my
pipes for four years past."
"John has done it very poorly," said Christian, composedly. "To fill
such a clay pipe is an art with which a good many are not familiar,
and when it is smoked for the first time it does not burn very well.
It ought first to be smoked by some one, and John ought to have done
so yesterday if the general wished to use his pipe to-day."
"Why, he knows something about a clay pipe," exclaimed Blucher, "and
he is right; it always tastes better on the second day than on the
first."
"That is the reason why the second day always ought to be the first
for General Blucher," said Christian.
"He is right," exclaimed Blucher, laughing, "it would surely be
better if the second were always the first day. Well, I know now
what is to be made of Christian; he is to become my pipe-master."
"Pipe-master?" asked old Hennemann and Christian at the same time.
"Pipe-master, what is that?"
"That is a man who keeps my pipes in good order," said Blucher, with
a ludicrously grave air--"a man who makes the second my first day--
who smokes my pipes first--puts them back into the box at night,
preserves the broken ones, and fills them, however short they may
be. He who does not prize a short pipe, does not deserve to have a
long one. A good pipe and good tobacco are things of the highest
importance in life. Ah! if, in 1807, at Lubeck, I had had powder for
the guns and tobacco for my men, I would have raised such clouds
that the French could not have stood. [Footnote: Blucher's own
words.--Vide "Marshall Forward," a popular biography.] Well,
Christian, you shall therefore become my pipe-master, and I hope you
will faithfully perform the duties of your office."
"I shall certainly take pains to do so," said Christian, "and you
may depend on it, general, that I shall preserve the broken, short
pipes; I will not throw them away before it is necessary. But
suppose there should be war, general, and you should take the field,
what would become of me in that case?"
"Well, in that case you will accompany me," said Blucher. "What
should I do in the field if I could not get a good pipe of tobacco
all the time? Without that I am of no account. [Footnote: Blucher's
own words.] But it is necessary to do good service for Prussia, and
hence I need, above all, a good pipe of tobacco in the field. Well,
then, tell me now plainly, will you accept the office I offer you in
peace and in war, Christian?"
"Yes, general," said Christian, solemnly. "And I swear that General
Blucher shall never lack a well-lighted pipe, even though I fetch a
match from the French gunners to kindle it."
"That is right, Christian; you are in my service now, and may at
once enter upon the duties of your office. You, Hennemann, stay here
and do me the favor of living as long and being as merry as
possible. Now, pipe-master, ring the bell!"
The new pipe-master rang the bell, and John entered the room.
"John!" said Blucher, "I owe a reparation of honor to this aged
hussar. It was he who took me prisoner in 1760. He brought me the
proof of it--the yellow facing of the sleeve here. Take it and
fasten it to the old uniform of Blucher, the Swedish ensign, which I
have always preserved; it belongs to it. You see that hussar
Hennemann is an honest man, and that I owe him the ransom. He will
stay here, and have nothing to do but eat and drink well, sit in the
sun, and, in the evening, when it affords him pleasure, tell you
stories of the Seven Years' War, in which he participated. If other
hussars come and tell you they took me prisoner, you know it is not
true, and need not admit them. But you must not abuse the poor old
fellows for that reason, nor tell them that they are swindlers. You
will give them something to eat and drink, a bed overnight, and, in
the morning, when they set out, a dollar for travelling expenses.
Now take the old man and his son to the adjoining building, and tell
the inspector to give them a room where they are to live. And then,"
added Blucher, hesitatingly, and almost in confusion,--"you have too
much to do, John; you must have an assistant. It takes you too much
time to fill my pipes, and this young man, therefore, will help you.
I have appointed Christian Hennemann my pipe-master. Well, do not
reply--take the two men to the building, and be good friends--do you
hear, good friends!"
John bowed in silence, and made a sign to the two Mecklenburgians to
follow him. Blucher gazed after them with keen glances. "Well, I am
afraid their friendship will not amount to much," he said, smiling
and stroking his beard. "John does not like this pipe-master
business, and will show it to Christian as soon as an opportunity
offers. I do not care if they do have a good fight. It would be a
little diversion, for it is horribly tedious here. Ah, how long is
this to last? How long am I to sit here and wait until Prussia and
the king call upon me to drive Napoleon out of the country? How long
am I to be idle while Bonaparte is gaining one victory after another
in Russia? I have not much time to spare for waiting, and--well," he
suddenly interrupted, himself, quickly stepping up to the window,
"what is that? Is not that a carriage driving into the court-yard?"
Yes, it really is, just entering the iron gate, and rolling with
great noise across the pavement. "I wonder who that is?" muttered
Blucher, casting a piercing glance into the carriage which stopped
at this moment in front of the mansion. He uttered a cry of joy, and
ran out of the room with the alacrity of a youth.