Why Fritz Sahlmann got a box on the ears, and the watchmaker spent
the night fighting with Mamsell Westphalen's four-post bed, and
why the French Colonel paid a visit to the watchmaker in a red
blanket.
When the Miller's waggon had driven off, the Amtshauptmann began to
walk towards the house, but suddenly turning round again, he went up to
Herr Droz and asked: "Droz, how much do I owe you?" Droz said as well
as he could that he had been very glad to do it, for "ze Allemagne is
now my patrie and I am tout for ze patrie."
"I don't mean that," said the old Herr, "I meant for my watch which you
set to rights for me?" Droz replied that that was already paid for,
adding "ze leetle boy, Fritz Sahlmann, had make it all right."
"I am quite aware of that," said the old Herr; "but, my dear Droz, a
watchmaker must be paid not only for what he does to a watch but also
for what he does not do, and therefore take this," and he put a couple
of thalers into his hand and went into the house.
"Oh! let him go," said Mamsell Westphalen, "he's a curious old
gentleman, but he means it well. But Herr Droi now come in with me and
stay a bit in my room for this weather is enough to make one's soul
freeze in one's body."
Herr Droi went with her, but they had scarcely sat down when in came
Fritz Sahlmann with the Frenchman's sword in his hand, and the
Frenchman's helmet on his head, and a moustache which he had grown on
the instant with the snuff of a candle. Smack! he had a box on his ears
from Mamsell Westphalen: "Monkey!" and she took the sword and helmet
from him and put them by her bed: "Monkey, have you nothing better to
do than to be playing your tricks on an evening like this when we're
all in such trouble? Go down to Herr Droi's good wife, represent my
compliments to her, and she is not to be anxious; Herr Droi is with me,
and there is no danger."
Fritz Sahlmann goes; and now they both sit down and tell one another
about old times and new, that is to say, they try; but what Mamsell
Westphalen says, Herr Droi does not understand well, and what Herr Droi
says, Mamsell Westphalen understands very badly indeed.
"He are bon," said Droz and chinks the two thalers in his hand.
"Of course, they're good," replied Mamsell Westphalen, "do you think
the Amtshauptmann would give you bad money?"
"Ah! not bad money! I mean _him_, lui-meme," and he pointed to the room
above.
"Oh! the Herr Amtshauptmann you mean is bong. Yes, certainly he is
bong, but the older he gets the more whimsical he grows, for he turns
night into day and day into night, Herr Droi. Just think, here have I
to sit up and roast and fry right into the middle of the night because
he won't eat his supper till eleven or even twelve o'clock; and if it
is burnt or dried up, he begins to scold, and then Frau Amtshauptmann
who is very soft-hearted, she begins to cry. Then I say, 'Frau
Amtshauptmann, why do you cry? Can we help it if he will live like a
heathen? Leave off crying, we have a good conscience.' But Herr Droi
it's very hard for me, a lone person, to sit here and listen to the
storm raging round the Schloss, and the rain beating against the
windows, and the owls hooting, and the winds whistling along the
passages, as if all the evil spirits were let loose. Just listen! what
weather it is again!--Herr Droi, are you at all afraid?"
"Oh, non!" replied Herr Droi; but he sat still and listened to the
weather outside and said at last: "Leesten, Mamsell, du tonnerre!"
"What! Pommes de terre?" asked Mamsell Westphalen, "what have potatoes
to do with the weather at this season?"
"I not mean ze leetle boys wid ze brown jack'ts, I mean"--and here he
made a rapid gesture with his hand indicating forked lightning--"I mean
ze bright tsick-tsack wid rumpel, pumpel, rat-tat-te-tah."
"Then you are right, Herr Droi, for it really does go rumpel, pumpel,
rat-tat-te-tah, out of doors."
"Ah!" said Herr Droi, "zat are ze tambours, zat are my camerades, ze
grenadier." And he jumped up and marched up and down with his bearskin
on his head, for here it was high enough; and then he stood still
again: "Ecoutez, zey march on ze marche, on ze market, and ecoutez, zat
are ze grand canons!"
And Mamsell Westphalen sat there with her hands folded in her lap and
looked at him and shook her head and said: "How his soldiering does
cling to him! He's generally a well-behaved man, what does he want to
be looking so fierce for now? It's just like the old coachmen, when
they can drive no longer, they are still always cracking their whips."
Presently the wife of Stalsch the weaver came in at the door,--she was
Mamsell Westphalen's oracle and newspaper, bringing her the news of the
town, and for every mouthful of news she brought to the castle, she
took away a plateful of food,--she had turned her gown up over her head
and the rain was streaming off her as from the roof of a house. She
shook herself once, twice--
"Br-r-r, what a night it is," she said.
"That it is, Frau Meister," answered Mamsell Westphalen;--she always
called her Frau Meister to show that she was the wife of a _master_
weaver, "not for Stalsch's sake" she would say, "no, for my own sake,
for what would people say if I were to be intimate with a woman of no
standing. I can be proud like other folk."
"Mamsell," said the Frau Meister, "I came up to tell you the
market-place is full of Frenchmen, and they've brought with them ever
so many great cannons, and the Burmeister has sent for my husband, and
has ordered him this dark night and in this weather to the villages
round about to tell the peasants to be here with their waggons at noon
tomorrow, and you see if you don't get some one quartered on you
to-night."
"Heaven preserve us!" exclaimed Mamsell Westphalen, and went to the
door and called to Hanchen and Corlin (the maids) and told them to
light the fire in the blue room next hers, and to put up a couple of
bedsteads for the Devil would soon send a bigmouthed French Colonel and
a chattering ape of an adjutant up to the Schloss, and turning round to
her company: "There they may lie," she said, "and if the ghost in the
blue room is a Christian ghost it's not much sleep they'll get to-night
and that's the best luck I wish them. For, Herr Droi," she went on,
"the next room to this is haunted. Do you believe in ghosts?"
Herr Droi said, no.
Presently there was a noise outside and as Mamsell Westphalen looked
out at the window, yes, there was a French Colonel with his adjutant
coming in at the gate, and a couple of orderlies were following them.
They were taken into the blue room where they put on dry clothes, and
then they went up to the Amtshauptmann's room and had supper.
Herr Droi in the meantime sat deep in thought, muttering over and over
again "Diable" and "Diantre", and on their questioning him it came out
that he was in great fear; it might be his death he said, for if he
were to go out in his uniform and the bearskin and sword and gun, he
might be seen by one of the orderlies or one of the French sentries or
some ruffian or other of a Frenchman and they might ask him where he
came from and where he was going to, and then if he could not give a
satisfactory account of himself, there would be the devil's own work,
and the story of this afternoon might come out, and what would happen
then?
"Herr Droi," said Mamsell Westphalen, "that's a bad business. You
couldn't put on that imp Fritz Sahlmann's things, for if you did manage
to squeeze yourself into them, they would be much too short for you.
And the Herr Amtshauptmann's clothes? No, Herr Droi, you mustn't ask
that of me. It would be just as if I were to set fire to the Schloss
with my own hands. And, heaven be praised, we have no other men here.
But Herr Droi you saved us when we were in danger this afternoon, and
so I will save you in return. Your wife knows that you're up here
amongst Christian folk. You shall sleep to-night in my four-post
bedstead, and I will sleep with the housemaid; I'll put on fresh linen.
Come, Frau Meister." So saying she went out, and presently she came
back again, put fresh sheets on the bed and asked once more: "Herr
Droi, are you not afraid?"
And Herr Droi again replied that he was not.
"That's all right," said she; "for it often goes tap--tap--tap, in a
curious way close by. But it never comes into the room. I have had a
horseshoe nailed over the door.--Listen, just listen! The Frenchmen are
going to bed now. Just listen to the chattering! Herr Droi can you
understand it all?"
"Ah, yes," said Herr Droi.
"I can easily believe it, for the wall is very thin. This was one large
room once, but now it's made into two. Well, good night, Herr Droi.
Come, Frau Meister."
So saying she went out, followed by the Frau Meister, and shortly
afterwards by Herr Droi too, who suddenly remembered he had a message
for the Frau Meister to take to his wife. Scarcely were the three out
of the room, when some one flew along the corridor where the night-lamp
was burning, into Mamsell Westphalen's room. It was that young rogue
Fritz Sahlmann, and under his arm he had a lump of ice as large as a
pumpkin; he climbed up the bedpost like a cat, and laid the lump of ice
on the top of the bed. "Wait a little while, you old termagant, this is
for the box on the ears I got," he said to himself. "It will perhaps
cool you a little." And he slid down again and was out of the door in a
moment.
Herr Droi now came back again, undressed, laid "la grande nation" on a
chair by the side of the bed, blew out his candle, lay down, and
stretched himself out in the nice soft bed and said: "Ah! que c'est
bon;" then listened to the storm outside and the rain pouring down and
the jabbering of the Frenchmen. At last the chattering ceased; and Herr
Droi was half asleep and half awake--when tap--tap--tap. "Haha,"
thought Herr Droi, in French, "that's the ghost in the next room;" and
he listened to hear what his countrymen would have to say to it. They
lay quite still; but tap--tap--tap--it goes again and now it seems to
Herr Droi to be in his room. Yes, it is in his room; and if it's in the
room, it must have come in at the door. How else could it get in? So he
caught up one of his shoes and flung it at the door. Bang! went the
shoe against the door; the noise resounded through the corridor as if a
thunderbolt had fallen. The Frenchmen in the next room began to move
and to speak to one another. All however was soon quiet again, but
tap--tap--tap--it went once more, close to Herr Droi's bed. He raised
himself up and bent over the side of the bed to be able to hear
better,--splash!--fell a drop on his bald head--and splash! another on
his nose, and on stretching out his hands he found the bedclothes were
beginning to get wet through. "Diantre!" he exclaimed, in French,
"there's a hole in the roof, and the rain's coming in through the
ceiling. What's to be done?" Of course he at once thought of moving his
bed as any other sensible person in his place would have done. He
therefore got up and began to drag at the head of the old bed, but
forgot all about the French Chasseur's helmet and sword which were
standing in the corner and which now fell rattling and jangling along
the wall down to the ground. Herr Droi was not a little startled and
stood still and listened and--yes--the two Frenchmen had been awakened
by the noise and were raging and swearing.
"But," thought he, "even this much must have done some good," and he
crept into bed again. But the lump of ice was now nearly melted and the
water of course came streaming through on to the bed; he lay still a
while, but it kept coming faster and faster, and the water came through
the bedclothes, and he got quite cold and he thought, in French, "they
will be fast asleep now, if I can only bring the foot of the bed as far
away from the wall, I shall get rid of this rain," and got up and began
to move the foot of the bed;--crash! fell his musket along the wall on
to the floor; and if there was no noise before, there was certainly
noise now.
The poor watchmaker stood there biting his lip, biting his nails, and
holding his breath as if his very breathing might wake the Frenchmen,
who were already swearing half aloud and crying "_silence_" and tapping
against the wall.
"Que faire?" he said to himself, in French. "The first want must be
supplied, as the old woman said when she burned her kneading-trough to
heat the water for the bread;" crept into bed again and said, "Heaven
be praised at last I'm out of the drip."
But he had got out of the drip to come into the torrent, for--dash!--it
came down from above,--splash! it poured into the bed. He felt cold and
wet, like a frog in spring. It was all of no use. He must get up once
more and turn the bed round again; but softly so as not to throw
anything over. He pulled it into one corner, it had been dry there
before; he pulled it into the other corner, there too it had been dry
before, and in this way he went pulling the bed about the livelong
night always gently, very gently, but wherever he went there was water.
At last he stood still in the middle of the room, and thought and
thought, and finally slapped his forehead, in French, saying: "Fool
that I am!" for a light had flashed across him, that's to say across
his mind, for in the room it was quite dark. But a light in the room he
must have. So he stole out into the corridor--yes--the nightlamp was
still burning; he lighted his candle, and went back, looked up at the
top of the bed and saw something lying there, muttered: "Ah, Canaille!"
and mounted on to the bed, but could not reach. He stretched himself
out as far as he could and tried to get the lump of ice, but it was so
slippery he could not hold it. Parbleu! half an inch more. He leant his
whole weight against the top of the bed when--crack it went, and bed
and ice and Droi all fell in a heap against the wall, and there lay
Herr Droi among the innocent white curtains, helplessly kicking his
feet about, as if they could express the state of their owner's mind.
All at once the door opens, and in comes the French Colonel. In order
not to catch cold he had thrown a red blanket over his shoulders and in
his hand he held a double-barrelled pistol. Behind him stood the
adjutant with a drawn sword. Herr Droi scrambles out from under the
bed-curtains, puts on his bearskin, then draws himself up to his full
height and makes a salute saying: "Bon soir, mon colonel."
The Colonel looked at Droz, and the adjutant looked at the Colonel.
They saw that they had a Frenchman to deal with. They saw the black
leggings and the whole "grande nation" lying beside the bed. They saw
the sword and gun, and--worse and worse--they saw the Chasseur's sabre
and helmet. What's this? What's the meaning of this? Herr Droi stammers
out something. Herr Droi begins to tell them about Jena and Marengo.
Herr Droi begins to tell lies. Herr Droi lies capitally, pity they
don't believe him. In the room and in the corridor there is a fearful
noise; the Colonel calls Herr Droi a deserter and marauder, the
adjutant calls for the orderlies, the orderlies in haste and in scant
apparel,--as if some one had fallen into the water and they wanted to
jump in after him without wetting their trousers,--rush in from one
side of the corridor, while from the other side advances Mamsell
Westphalen with the cook and the housemaid. In her hand she has a large
stable lantern, but otherwise she is not well off as to clothes. She
holds one hand up to her eyes as if the light of the lantern blinded
her, and the housemaid looks over her (Mamsell Westphalen's) shoulder
and says to the cook "Good heavens, Corlin, do look."
"For shame," says Mamsell Westphalen, "what is she to look at? what
have you got to look at? and what is there here to look at? We have
come here on account of this heathenish noise at a time when every one
ought to be asleep, and because we heard Herr Droi's voice crying out
in terror and trouble. And now turn about." The two women and Mamsell
Westphalen turn their backs on the Frenchmen and Mamsell says: "Herr
French Colonel, what is this? what do you call this? and what is the
meaning of this? Why don't you let Herr Droi sleep in peace in my room?
This is a christian house and a quiet house, and we are not accustomed
to such ways." And she added to herself half aloud "one of them will be
sure to understand me."
The French Colonel looked at himself, as he stood there in his red
blanket, and Herr Droi with the bearskin on his head, and his
thin-legged adjutant skipping about in his zeal, and Mamsell
Westphalen's broad back; and the whole scene looked so comical, he
burst out laughing and said in good German that she was only to go on,
he could understand her well enough, for he was a German, a Westphalian
(Westphalen).
"That's my name," said Mamsell Westphalen.
The Colonel laughed and said he was only a Westphalian by birth, his
name was "von Toll."
Mamsell Westphalen dropped a low curtsey, backwards. "Begging your
pardon, are you perhaps a relative of Toll our postmaster and innkeeper
down in the town?"
The Colonel said that he had not the honour, but that he was almost
freezing; that the orderlies were to remain with Herr Droi, for he must
be a French deserter, and they were also to search for the French
Chasseur to whom the helmet and sabre belonged.
Herr Droi now began again to lie, and Mamsell Westphalen felt quite
ashamed of him and turned round in anger and said: "For shame, Herr
Droi, to be stuffing the easy chair that ought to make you comfortable
in your old age with wickedness, you're making a hard pillow for your
conscience." Then making a little curtsey, she said to the colonel, "My
compliments, Herr Colonel von Toll," and marched off with the two
maids.
The others also went; and soon all was still again, and the Herr
Amtshauptmann had no suspicion of what was passing in his house for he
slept the sleep of the just.