Proves that Friedrich was not really a thief; and relates how the
Emperor Napoleon would have nothing to do with the Rathsherr;
and how the Colonel had secrets with the Rathsherr.
Before the Stemhagen Rathhaus, the waggon drew up, and, at one bound,
my Father was down from his sack, and telling the others to stay in the
waggon till he called them.
As he came into the Hall, he was met by Marie Wienken with a light, for
it had gradually got dark. Marie, who was our housemaid, on seeing my
Father in Hans's jacket was very near letting the light fall, and was
just going to scream, when he pushed her quickly into his room, and
said "Hold your tongue, Marie! You are generally a sensible girl."
Marie was really stupid; but nothing brightens stupid people more than
to hear themselves called clever.
"Is the Herr Amtshauptmann still here?" asked my Father.
"Yes, Herr."
"Then set down your light, and go into the room--don't let my wife
suspect anything--and say to the Herr Amtshauptmann that there is some
one outside who wishes to speak to him; and then bring him in here."
She did so and the old Herr came in.
"Good evening, my son, what is it you want, and what are you doing here
in the Burmeister's room?"
"Herr Amtshauptmann, what are my wife and children doing?"
"What do I know of your wife and children, my lad?--You're young to
have a wife and children."
"A thousand devils!" cried my father; "don't you know me then? Why I'm
the Burmeister."
"What say you, eh?" cried the old Herr; "that's quite another thing.
That's a very strange thing!--_Consul Stavenhageniensis_ in a boy's
jacket! But what says Horace? _Nil admirari_--above all in these times,
my friend."
"My wife, Herr Amtshauptmann?"
"She knows you are free and will be delighted to see you back."
"But?"----
"Well, it won't do her any harm if she does see you in a short jacket.
Come along!"
All sudden surprises, even pleasant ones, are painful. When joy sounds
in our ears, as if, all at once two dozen trumpets had been blown close
behind us, we feel as if our head and heart were split, and the most
beautiful music becomes mere pain. No! I love joy when it comes like a
singing bird in a cool wood, coming nearer and nearer from twig to
twig, till at last it sings its song full in my ears from the nearest
bush.
Joy had come to my mother rather too hastily at first; but she had got
over the shock. Now it came to her from twig to twig; and, as my father
entered the room, it sang its song full in her ears; the bird had come
to her at last in a short jacket, and it seemed as if it were making
all manner of bobbings to her out of the bush; she laughed with all her
heart. The memory of this day was preserved amongst us down to the
latest times, and whenever my father happened to return home from his
work and cares in a particularly happy mood, we used to say: "father
has got his short jacket on to-day."
When the first burst of happiness was somewhat over, the old Herr
began: "And so you have brought the French Chasseur along with you, my
friend?"
"Not _I_," said my father; "the Miller's Friedrich has done the greater
part of the business; the Guelzow Bailiff helped him."
"This Friedrich must be a clever determined fellow," said the
Amtshauptmann. "Eh, what say you? Let us have him in."
Friedrich came and the Bailiff too.
"Was it you, Friedrich, who threw the Frenchman out of the waggon?"
Friedrich thought to himself--"What? Is another court of justice going
to be held?" And since he must needs answer the Amtshauptmann's
question with a "_yes_," he planted himself firmly, with one leg
advanced, and stood ready prepared for whatever might come: "Yes, Herr
Amtshauptmann," said he.
"And are you aware that you have brought the Miller into great
trouble?"
"Trouble? He's pretty well used to troubles, and one more won't hurt
him."
"Was it you who took the valise from the Frenchman's horse?"
"Yes, Herr."
"And did you not take eight groschen of the Frenchman's property?"
"I only paid myself back eight groschen of my own," said Friedrich and
he told them the story.
"You took them contrary to law and right, and what is he called who
does that?"
Friedrich looked boldly at the old Herr, but said not a word.
"Bailiff Besserdich, what is such a man called?"
"By your leave, Herr Amtshauptmann, a thief!" the Bailiff broke out.
"And he is one. Herr, it was only to-day he stole one of Bullfinch's
sausages off the smoking-stick,--and the fellow wants to marry my
Hanchen!"
"What does he want to do?"
"My Hanchen, Herr, who is in your service, he wants to marry her."
"Oh! ho!" said the Herr Amtshauptmann, and he looked at Friedrich from
top to toe; "that's quite another thing.--You can go out now, my son,
but I shall remember you."
Friedrich went, inwardly cursing the Bailiff and the Herr
Amtshauptmann: "What does he want to remember me for?" he said to
himself as he stood in the Hall.
But if he had known what those words meant in the mouth of the old
Herr, he would not have been angry; for it was not the custom of the
Amtshauptmann to remember what was bad; evil passed over his head
without touching him, but if ever a means of doing good came in his
way, he was only afraid lest he should lose the opportunity, and
then it was always "Neiting,--Fritz Sahlmann,--Westphalen,--or
children,--help me remember."
When Friedrich was gone, the old Herr turned round and said, laughing:
"You have lost Fritz Sahlmann's sausage of this morning, Neiting; the
Pinnow Bullfinch must have it, for, if this rascal of a Friedrich is to
marry the Bailiff's Hanchen, we must first make him an honest man
again."
"Yes," cried my father, and laid down an eight groschen piece on the
table; "and here is the money which he took from the Frenchman."
"Well, and now, Bailiff, when is the wedding to be?" laughed the old
Herr.
The Bailiff pulled a long face, and looked as if some one behind him,
had suddenly clapped a pair of leather spectacles over his eyes, so as
to prevent his seeing what was passing around him.--"But, Herr
Amtshauptmann, the fellow is a beggar," he said at last.
"Things may change," said the Amtshauptmann. "In these troubled times
several farms in this parish have become vacant, and who knows what the
High Ducal Cabinet may think of Friedrich's services."
"Yes, but he is a thief as well, sir."
"Do not let me hear you say that again, Bailiff. When he took the eight
groschen out of the valise this morning, could he not have kept the
whole? Who would have known anything about it? And if he had carried it
off across the Prussian frontier, what dog would have barked, or what
cock would have crowed after him? What say you, eh?"
"Well, sir, but the eight groschen and the sausage?"
"The one he looked upon, in his ignorance, as his right, and the other
as a joke."
"Well, Herr," said the Bailiff again, and he scratched his head, "even
if it is so,--still my Hanchen is too young for the old lubber."
"I beg your pardon, Herr Amtshauptmann, for talking, in among law
matters and farm business," Mamsell Westphalen here broke in, "but,
Bailiff Besserdich, that's all stuff and nonsense, for it's right that
a silly young girl like your Hanchen should have an experienced
husband. And, Herr Amtshauptmann, if I may make so bold as to say so,
he is a determined fellow and useful in times like these; and last
night,--I won't say anything against Herr Droi, for he must know when
it is the proper time to go at a man with sword and gun,--but last
night Friedrich went at the Frenchman all alone by himself; and though
his sayings are not quite proper for your room nor yet for my ears,
still I could not help saying to myself, 'That's the man to do a deed!'
And, Bailiff, the two would do well for one another, for what he is for
deeds she is for words; and, Herr Amtshauptmann, she can keep a man at
arm's length, for she has a blessed sharp tongue of her own, and that I
can speak to."
The Bailiff looked at Mamsell Westphalen and then at the Herr
Amtshauptmann;--he was quite dumb. All the objections which he had made
were explained away; he sought for fresh ones but found none, till, at
length, there flashed across him the thought which always did come to
his aid at last, and he scratched his head, and said--"Well, Herr
Amtshauptmann, I must hear first what my wife has got to say to it."
"Right, Bailiff. But, above all you must hear first what Hanchen says
to it. For my part I have only wished to make it clear to you that
Friedrich is no thief."
And so the matter was put off to St. Nobody's day, as we say in
Mecklenburg.
The Frau Amtshauptmann had gone back to the Schloss with Mamsell
Westphalen, and the other part of the company were getting tired, when
Luth came back from his ride to Kittendorf, and said from the Herr
Landrath--his compliments to the Herr Amtshauptmann, and he had sent
his own valet-de-chambre about the silver.
Everything was now ready: The Herr Amtshauptmann had only to write a
letter to the French Colonel. My father told Luth exactly what he was
to do and say. Friedrich and Luth took the Chasseur between them in the
waggon. The valet and Fritz Besserdich took their seats in front, and
off they went through the dark night and muddy lanes towards
Brandenburg.
"Yes," said the Bailiff, as he walked home alone in the dark towards
Guelzow, "it's all very well for you to talk. The Amtshauptmann and
Burmeister and Mamsell up at the Schloss are grand folks, and have
nobody over them, but everybody commands a poor bailiff like me. Yes,
if it were not for my wife,--and the fellow were not a thief,--and he
were some ten years younger--and he had a farm of his own,--and Hanchen
would have him, yes, then--then--no; then he would still not get the
girl, for her mother would not have it...."
Now, no one can take it ill, if in telling an amusing tale I have no
wish to mix up horrible stories with it, and so I shall not say more
than necessary touching the French Chasseur. I shall say nothing about
how he felt when he got to Brandenburg, or how he was brought before
the Court-martial, and nothing about how the anguish of death came
nearer and nearer, until he met the fate his evil deeds had brought
upon him. And I could not do so, even if I wished; for I only write of
what I know and _this_ I don't know. I have never in my life hardened
myself so far as to be able to look on a poor sinner led out for the
last time, and to see how one sinner, by warrant of a human court,
sends another sinner, before his time to the Tribunal of the Almighty.
But let me say shortly that it happened; it was so.--And when his
bleeding body lay on the sand, probably no one thought that the bullets
would strike much deeper in another heart, far away in France. I mean
his old mother's.
I will therefore only say that, through the Frenchman's being given up
safe and sound, the Miller and the Baker were acquitted of the murder;
and that, through his confession and through the evidence of Inspector
Braesig and the valet-de-chambre, the Landrath von Uertzen came to his
own again; and the Colonel von Toll, when the Judge was going to keep
back the money, as unclaimed property, got up, and said severely, that
his regiment should not be branded with robbing and thieving. And so
saying he took the valise and said to Luth:--
"You seem a sensible man; take this sealed valise and give it to the
Herr Amtshauptmann Weber; he is to do with it what is right according
to the practice of the country." Luth received a paper with it, and
thus the matter was settled.
But now there arose a difficulty which no one had thought of
before:--what was to be done with my uncle Herse. When the Miller and
the baker and all the others had gone out of the court and away from
him, my uncle remained there, like a fine old oak which the forester
has left in a clearing, alone in its grandeur.
The Colonel looked at him and asked: "Why are you still here?"
My uncle Herse stirred his branches as it were, and from the look in
his dusky-red face, it was clear that a storm of wind was beginning to
agitate the head of the old tree: "That's what I was going to ask you,"
was his answer.
If a stranger had entered the room at that moment, he would hardly have
been able to say which was the Rathsherr and which the colonel. Both
had imposing uniforms on, both had proud aristocratic faces, and both
had these from the habit of command; if the Colonel was a couple of
inches taller, my uncle Herse was half a foot broader; and if the
Colonel had hair on his upper lip, my uncle had it all over his face,
for he had not been shaved for the last two days: old Metz the barber
had forgotten to shave him the day before yesterday, and the day before
yesterday's, yesterday's and to-day's growth, weighed fully as much as
the French officer's moustache.
"Who are you?" asked the Colonel.
"I am a Rathsherr, a Stemhagen Rathsherr," replied my uncle.
This seemed to take the Colonel by surprise. He walked up and down and
at last stood still before my uncle and said: "I do not see any
advantage for the Emperor Napoleon in my dragging you about the country
any longer. You can go."
Now this was not the sort of thing my uncle was used to.--"Sir!" he
cried: "this treatment...."
"I am truly sorry," interrupted the Colonel, "that you should have been
put to such inconvenience. You must have been taken up entirely by
mistake."
This was a little too strong for my uncle. All along the road and
through the wintry night, he had comforted himself with the reflection
that he was the chosen victim of the "Corsican dragon," and now it was
all said to be a pure mistake. He had, in his innocence, reckoned at
the very least on a public apology before a whole French regiment, and
here was he being, as it were, kicked out and told--"he might go!"
"To take up a man like _me_ by mistake!" cried he.
"You may think yourself fortunate," said the Colonel, tapping him on
the shoulder and smiling pleasantly, "worse things than that often
happen in war; many a one gets shot by mistake. Look upon this as a
trial sent by God."
"If this is to be called a trial," said my uncle, "it's a very stupid
one."
The Colonel laughed and passed his arm under the Rathsherr's: "Come
with me, Herr Rathsherr. I am right glad the matter has ended thus and
that I have been able to do what the Herr Amtshauptmann asked. And I
have a few words to say to you in secret."
'In secret,' those were two words that my uncle Herse could not resist,
so he went with him.
"Herr Rathsherr," said the Colonel, when they were out in the
market-place, and stood before the door of the "Golden Button," which
was the Colonel's head quarters; "Herr Rathsherr, tell the good old
Herr Amtshauptmann, with my kindest regards, that I have fortunately
been able to comply with his request; and beg him in return to comply
with mine,--which is that, if it can be done with justice, he should
give the money that finds no owner to the young girl who brought me his
letter yesterday on the road, here. And you will yourself see, Herr
Rathsherr, that this must be kept secret, as else the Herr
Amtshauptmann might be suspected."
My uncle Herse was now, once more, in his element--: "You mean Fieka?"
he asked eagerly; "Miller Voss's Fieka who is standing out there?" and
he pointed to Fieka, who was standing a little way off with her
father,--her arm round his neck and crying for joy.
"Yes, I mean her," said the Colonel and he went up to the two.
Fieka drew her arm from round her father's neck, but she could not
prevent the tears from flowing, and as the Colonel came nearer, she
felt as if she must cry all the more; when he gave her his hand she
curtseyed silently, for she could not bring out a word. As long as
anxiety, like a dark night, had lain upon her, she had gone steadily on
her way without looking either to right or left,--trust in God her sole
guiding-star; but now that the sun had risen, she stood still; her
heart opened like a beautiful rose to the light; as the fresh morning's
breeze plays in its leaves, so her thoughts could now wander hither and
thither, to the right and to the left, behind her and before her, and
her tears fell like the morning dew.
The old Miller, too, stood silent before the Colonel; but when he was
asked if he was the father of the young girl, the words came out in a
torrent.
"Yes, sir," said he. "And though it's true what our Herr Amtshauptmann
says, that boys are better than girls, girls are always crying--for
they _are_ that, sir, as you can see in Fieka"--and, as he spoke, he
wiped the tears from his own eyes--"still I don't know what better I
can wish you, for your goodness to us, than that God may some day send
you a little daughter like my Fieka."
The Colonel no doubt thought so too, though he did not say so. He
turned quickly towards Fieka, and asked: "Can you write?"
"Yes, Herr," said Fieka, and made a curtsey.
"She can do everything," said the Miller; "She can write and read
writing like a schoolmaster, for she has to do all my writing."
"Well, then, my little one," said the Colonel, "write your name and the
place where you were born, in here; but in Platt-deutsch, mind."
And Fieka wrote in the Colonel's pocket-book, "Fieka Voss, born at the
Gielow Mill in the parish of Stemhagen." The Colonel read it, shut up
his pocket-book, gave her and her father his hand, and went away with
the words: "Good-bye! We may perhaps meet again some day."