town-governor (_Stadt-hauptmann_) Heinrich von Geusau, to whose
jurisdiction Kohlhaasenbrück belonged, was occupied in founding several
charitable institutions for the poor and sick, a considerable sum,
which had come into the possession of the city, being appropriated for
that purpose. Above all he was endeavouring to convert a mineral
spring, the source of which was in a neighbouring village, and
concerning the virtues of which higher expectations were raised than
were fulfilled by the parties, to the use of invalids, and as Kohlhaas,
in consequence of many transactions he had had with him, during his
sojourn at the court, was well known to him, he allowed the servant
Herse, who had not been able to breathe without a pain in the chest
since the unlucky day at Tronkenburg, to try the little spring, which
was now enclosed and roofed over. Now it chanced that the governor was
standing by the bath, in which Herse was laid by Kohlhaas, to make
certain arrangements, when the horse-dealer received by a messenger,
sent by his wife, the disheartening letter from his advocate at
Dresden. The governor, who while he was talking with the physician,
saw Kohlhaas drop a tear on the letter he had just received and opened,
went up to him in a kind manner, and asked him what misfortune had
happened; and when the horse-dealer, instead of answering, put the
letter in his hand, this worthy man, to whom the abominable wrong,
which had been done at the Tronkenburg, and in consequence of which
Herse lay ill before him, perhaps for life, was well known, slapped him
on the shoulder, and bid him not to be disheartened, as he would aid
him to obtain justice. In the evening, when the horse-dealer, in
compliance with his instructions, called upon him at his castle, he
told him that he need only draw up a petition to the Elector of
Brandenburg, with a short statement of facts, attach to it the
advocate’s letter, and claim seignorial protection on account of the
violence he had suffered in the Saxon territory. He promised to
enclose the petition in a packet, which lay ready at hand, and thus to
put it into the hands of the elector, who would certainly, on his own
account, apply to the Elector of Saxony, as soon as circumstances
permitted. Such a step was all that was wanted to obtain justice from
the tribunal at Dresden, in spite of the tricks of Squire von Tronka
and his adherents. Kohlhaas, highly delighted, thanked the governor
most heartily, for this new proof of kindness, told him he was only
sorry that he had not at once commenced proceedings at Berlin, without
taking any steps at Dresden, and after he had duly prepared the
petition in the secretary’s office, and had handed it over to the
governor, he returned to Kohlhaasenbrück better satisfied than ever as
to the prospects of the affair. In a few weeks, however, he had the
mortification of learning, through a judge, who was going to Potsdam,
about some affairs of the governor, that the elector had handed over
the petition to his chancellor, Count Kallheim, and that the latter,
instead of going immediately to the court at Dresden to examine the
matter and inflict punishment, as seemed to be his duty, had first
applied for information to Squire von Tronka himself. The judge,[3]
who stopped in his carriage before Kohlhaas’s door, and who seemed to
have been expressly commissioned to make this communication, could give
no satisfactory answer to the question of his surprise: “But why did
they act in this way?” he merely said, that the governor had sent word,
begging him to be patient, appeared anxious to pursue his journey, and
it was not till the end of a short conversation, that Kohlhaas learned
by a few stray words, that Count Kallheim was related by marriage to
the von Tronka’s. Kohlhaas, who no longer took any delight in
attending his horses, or in his house and farm--scarcely in his wife
and children--waited the arrival of the following month with the
gloomiest misgivings, and it was quite in accordance with his
expectations, that when the interval was passed, Herse, who had been in
some measure relieved by the bath, returned from Brandenburg with a
letter from the governor, accompanying a paper of larger dimensions.
The letter was to the effect that the writer was sorry he could do
nothing for him, but that he sent him a decree of the chancery, and
advised him to take away the horses, which he had left at Tronkenburg,
and let the whole matter drop. According to the decree, “he was a
vexatious litigant, on the information of the tribunal at Dresden; the
squire with whom he had left the horses did nothing to detain them; he
might send to the castle and fetch them, or at any rate let the squire
know where he was to send them, and at all events he was to abstain
from troubling the court with such wranglings.” Kohlhaas, to whom the
horses were not the chief object--had it been a couple of dogs he would
have been equally mortified--literally foamed with rage when he had
received this letter. Whenever there was a noise in his farm, he
looked with the sickening sensation which had even stirred his heart
towards the gate, expecting to see the squire’s servants, with his
horses starved and worn out; this was the only case in which his mind,
otherwise well-trained by the world, could find nothing that exactly
corresponded with his feelings. Shortly afterwards he learned by means
of an acquaintance, who had travelled that way, that the horses were
still used with the squire’s at Tronkenburg for field labour, and in
the midst of his pain at seeing the world in such a state of disorder,
there arose a feeling of inner contentment as he found there was at
least something like order in his own heart. He invited the
proprietor[4] of the neighbouring lands, who had long entertained the
notion of increasing his possessions by purchasing the pieces of ground
adjoining, and asked him, when he had taken a seat, what he would give
him for his estates in Brandenburg and Saxony, taking house and farm
all in the lump, with or without fixtures. His wife Lisbeth turned
pale as she heard these words. Turning round she took up the youngest
child, who was sporting on the floor behind her, and darted at the
horse-dealer, and a paper which he held in his hand, glances, in which
doubt was depicted, and which passed across the red cheeks of the boy,
who was playing with the ribbons on her neck. The farmer, who observed
his confused manner, asked him what had put so strange a thought all at
once into his head. Kohlhaas, with as much cheerfulness as he could
assume, replied that the notion of selling his farm on the banks of the
Havel was not quite new, that they had both often discussed this matter
already, that his house in the suburbs of Dresden was comparatively a
mere appendage, not to be considered, and finally that if he would
comply with his offer and take both estates, he was quite ready to
conclude the contract. He added, with a kind of forced levity, that
Kohlhaasenbrück was not the world; that there might be purposes, in
comparison with which that of presiding over one’s household, like an
orderly father, was trivial and subordinate, and that in short his
mind, as he was bound to say, was set upon great matters, of which
perhaps the farmer would soon hear. The farmer satisfied with this
explanation, said merrily to the wife, who kissed her child again and
again: “He won’t want immediate payment, will he?” and then laying upon
the table the hat and stick he had hitherto carried between his knees,
he took the paper which Kohlhaas had in his hand to read it. Kohlhaas
moving closer to him, explained that this was a conditional contract
which he had drawn up, and which would become absolute in four weeks;
showed that nothing was required but the signatures and the filling in
of the two sums, namely, the purchase-money and the price of
redemption, in case he should return within the four weeks, and again
asked him in a cheerful tone to make an offer, assuring him that he
would be reasonable, and would not hesitate about trifles. The wife
walked up and down in the room, her heart palpitating to such a degree
that her handkerchief, at which the child was pulling, seemed ready to
fall from her shoulders. The farmer said that he had no means of
estimating the value of the Dresden property, whereupon Kohlhaas,
pushing to him the documents that had been exchanged when he had
purchased it, replied that he valued it at one hundred gold crowns,
although it appeared clearly enough from the documents themselves, that
it cost him almost half as much again. The farmer, who read the
contract over once more, and found that on his side also the liberty of
retracting was specially provided, said, already half determined, that
he could not make use of the stud that was in the stables; but when
Kohlhaas replied that he did not wish to part with the horses, and that
he also wished to keep some weapons that hung in the gun-room, he
hemmed and hesitated for a while, and at last repeated an offer which,
half in jest, half in earnest, he had made in the course of a walk, and
which was as nothing compared to the value of the property. Kohlhaas
pushed pen and ink towards him that he might write, and when the
farmer, who could not trust his senses, asked the horse-dealer if he
was really serious, and the horse-dealer somewhat sharply asked the
farmer if he thought he could be in jest, the latter, with a somewhat
scrupulous countenance, took up the pen and wrote. He struck out the
part relating to the sum to be paid, in case the vendor should repent
his bargain, bound himself to a loan of one hundred crowns on the
security of the Dresden property, which he would on no account consent
to purchase, and left Kohlhaas full liberty to recede from his contract
within two months. The horse-dealer, touched by this handsome conduct,
shook the farmer’s hand very heartily, and after they had agreed on the
chief condition, which was that a fourth of the purchase-money should
be paid in cash down, and the rest at the Hamburg bank three months
afterwards, he called for wine, that they might make merry over a
bargain so happily concluded. He told the servant-maid, who entered
with bottles, that his man Sternbald was to saddle the chesnut horse,
saying that he must ride to the city, where he had business to
transact, and hinting that when he returned he would speak more openly
about that which he must now keep secret. Then filling the glasses he
asked about the Poles and the Turks, who were then at war with each
other, entangled the farmer into all sorts of political conjectures on
the subject, and finally took a parting glass to the success of their
bargain, and dismissed him.
No sooner had the farmer left the room, than Lisbeth fell on her knees
before her husband. “If,” she cried, “you still retain any feeling for
me, and for the children which I bore you; if we are not already cast
off--for what cause I know not--tell me what is the meaning of these
frightful preparations?”
“Nothing, dearest wife, that can trouble you, as matters stand,”
answered Kohlhaas. “I have received a decree, in which I am told that
my proceeding against Squire von Tronka is mere vexatious wrangling;
and because there must be some misunderstanding in this matter, I have
determined to commence my suit once more, personally, with the
sovereign of the country himself.”
“But why sell your house?” she exclaimed, as she rose from the ground
in confusion.
The horse-dealer, gently embracing her, replied: “Because, dearest
Lisbeth, I will not abide in a country in which my rights are not
protected. If I am to be trampled under foot, I would rather be a dog
than a man. I am certain that, on this point, my wife thinks with me.”
“But how do you know,” she asked, wildly, “that they will not protect
you in your rights? If you approach our sovereign as modestly as you
ought, with your petition, how do you know that it will be cast aside,
or answered with a refusal to hear you?”
“Well then,” answered Kohlhaas, “if my fear turns out to be groundless,
my house, at any rate, is yet unsold. Our sovereign himself, I know,
is just; and if I can succeed in approaching his person, through the
people who surround him, I have no doubt I can obtain my rights, and
before the week has passed, can return gladly to you and my old
business back again. May I then,” he added, as he kissed her, “remain
with you till the end of my life! However,” he continued, “it is
advisable that I should be prepared for every event, and hence I wish
you to leave this place for a time, if possible, and to go, with your
children, to your aunt at Schwerin, whom you have been long anxious to
visit?”
“How,” cried the wife. “I go to Schwerin?--I cross the border with my
children, to go to my aunt at Schwerin?” And her voice was stifled
with horror.
“Certainly,” replied Kohlhaas, “and, if possible, immediately, that I
may not be impeded in the steps I am about to take in this matter.”
“Oh, I understand you,” she exclaimed. “You want nothing but weapons
and horses; the rest any one may take who will.” And so saying, she
threw herself down upon a seat and wept.
Kohlhaas, much perplexed, said: “Dearest Lisbeth, what are you doing?
God has blessed me with wife, children, and property; shall I wish, for
the first time, that it was otherwise?” And he sat down by her in a
kindly mood, while she, at these words, fell blushing on his neck.
“Tell me,” he said, moving the curls from her forehead, “what I am to
do? Shall I give up my cause? Shall I go to Tronkenburg, and ask the
knight for my horses, mount them, and then ride home to you?”
Lisbeth did not venture to answer “Yes;” she shook her head, weeping,
clasped him fervently, and covered his breast with burning kisses.
“Good!” cried Kohlhaas. “Then, if you feel that I must have justice,
if I am to carry on my business, grant me the liberty which is
necessary to attain it.” Upon this he rose up, and said to the
servant, who told him that his chestnut horse was saddled, that the
horses must be put in harness the following day, to take his wife to
Schwerin. Suddenly Lisbeth saying that a thought had struck her,
raised herself, wiped the tears from her eyes, and asked him, as he sat
down at a desk, whether he could not give her the petition, and let her
go to Dresden instead of him, to present it to the sovereign.
Kohlhaas, struck by this sudden turn, for more reasons than one, drew
her to him, and said: “Dearest wife, that is impossible! The sovereign
is surrounded by many obstacles, and to many annoyances is the person
exposed who ventures to approach him.”
Lisbeth replied that the approach would be a thousand times easier for
a woman than for a man. “Give me the petition,” she repeated; “and if
you wish nothing more than to know that it is in his hands, I will
vouch for it.”
Kohlhaas, who had frequently known instances of her courage as well as
of her prudence, asked her how she intended to set about it. Upon
which she told him, hanging down her head abashed, that the castellan
of the electoral castle had formerly courted her, when she served at
Schwerin; that it was true he was now married, and had many children,
but that she might still not be quite forgotten--in short, she asked
him leave to take advantage of this and other circumstances, which it
would be superfluous to name. Kohlhaas kissed her right joyously, told
her that he accepted her proposition, and that nothing more was wanted
than for her to stay with the castellan’s wife, to secure an interview
with the sovereign, gave her the petition, had the brown horses
harnessed, and sent her off, safely stowed under the care of his
faithful servant, Sternbald.
Of all the unsuccessful steps which he had taken in the affair this
journey proved the most unlucky. For, in a few days, Sternbald
returned to the farm, leading slowly along the vehicle in which Lisbeth
lay stretched, with a dangerous bruise on her breast. Kohlhaas, who
approached it pale and terrified, could learn nothing connected as to
the cause of this calamity. The castellan, according to the servant’s
account, had not been at home, they had, therefore, been obliged to put
up at an inn in the vicinity of the castle; this inn Lisbeth had left
on the following morning, and had told the man to remain with the
horses; it was not till the evening that she returned, in the condition
in which she was seen. It appeared that she had pressed forward too
boldly towards the sovereign, and that, without any fault on his part,
she had received a blow on the breast, from the shaft of a lance,
through the rude zeal of one of the guards who surrounded him. At
least so said the people who, in the evening, brought her to the inn in
a state of insensibility, for she herself could speak but little, being
prevented by the blood that flowed from her mouth. The petition was
afterwards taken from her by a knight. Sternbald said that he had
wished immediately to set out on horseback and inform his master of the
misfortune that had happened, but that, in spite of all the
representations of the surgeon who had been called, she had insisted on
being conveyed to her husband at Kohlhaasenbrück. The journey had
quite exhausted her, and Kohlhaas put her in a bed, where she laid some
days striving with difficulty to draw her breath. Vain were all
endeavours to restore her to consciousness, that she might throw some
light on the events; she lay with her eyes fixed, and already glazed,
and returned no answer. Only once, just before her death did she
recover her senses. For, as a minister of the Lutheran religion (to
which newly springing faith she had attached herself, through the
example of her husband) was standing at her bed-side, and with a loud
and solemn voice was reading to her a chapter out of the bible, she
looked at him suddenly, with a dark expression, took the bible out of
his hand, as if there were nothing in it to be read to her, turned the
leaves over and over, as if she were looking for something, and at last
pointed out to Kohlhaas, who sat by the bed, the verse: “Forgive thine
enemies--do good unto them that hate thee!” She then pressed his hand,
with a most significant glance, and expired. “May God never forgive me
as I forgive the squire,” thought Kohlhaas--and he kissed her, while
his tears were flowing fast, closed her eyes and rushed out of the
room. The hundred golden crowns, which the farmer had already advanced
him on the Dresden stables he took, and bespoke a funeral which seemed
less fitted for Lisbeth than for a princess. The coffin was of oak,
strongly cased with metal, the cushions were of silk with gold and
silver tassels, and the grave, which was eight ells deep, was lined
with stones and lime. He himself, with his youngest child in his arms,
stood by the grave, and watched the progress of the work. When the day
of burial came the corpse was laid out, as white as snow, in a room,
which he had lined with black cloth. The minister had just finished a
touching discourse by the bier, when the sovereign’s decree in answer
to the petition, which the deceased had presented, was put in the hands
of Kohlhaas. The purport was, that he should fetch the horses from the
Tronkenburg, and make no further applications in this matter under pain
of imprisonment. Kohlhaas put up the letter, and ordered the coffin to
be placed on the bier. As soon as the mound was raised, the cross was
set upon it, and the guests, who had assisted at the funeral had been
dismissed, he threw himself down once more before his wife’s deserted
bed, and then commenced the work of revenge. Taking a seat, he drew up
a decree, in which, by virtue of his innate power, he condemned the
Squire Wenzel von Tronka, within three days after the sight thereof, to
bring back to Kohlhaasenbrück the horses which he had taken, and which
he had spoiled by field-work, and to feed them in person in his stables
until they were restored to their good condition. This paper he
conveyed by a messenger on horseback, whom he instructed to return to
Kohlhaasenbrück immediately after he had delivered it. The three days
having passed and no horses having been delivered, he called Herse to
him, informed him of the notice he had given to the squire concerning
the feeding, and asked him which of two things he would do: whether he
would go with him to the Tronkenburg and fetch the squire, or whether,
when he was brought him, he would hold the whip over him, in case he
should prove lazy in obeying the decree in the Kohlhaasenbrück stables.
Herse shouted out, “Let us begin to-day, master,” and flinging his cap
into the air swore that he would have a thong twisted into ten knots to
teach the art of currying. Kohlhaas sold his house, sent his children
in a vehicle over the border, called, in addition to Herse, the rest of
his servants, seven in number, and all as true as steel, at the
approach of night, armed them, mounted them, and set off for the
Tronkenburg.