anything having been looked forward to with such curiosity--excepting
the birth of a hereditary prince--as the opening of Van der Kabel’s
last will and testament. Van der Kabel might have been called the
Crœsus of Haslan, and his life a comedy of coins. Seven distant
relatives of seven deceased distant relatives of Kabel’s indulged in
some little hope of a place in the testament, the Crœsus having sworn
to remember them there; but the hope was a faint one, as he seemed
not greatly to be trusted, not only because he was in the habit of
managing his affairs in a grimly moral and unselfish manner--in matters
of morality the seven relatives were but beginners--but also because
he handled things in so cynical a spirit, and with a heart so full of
traps and snares that there was no depending upon him. The continuous
smile about his temples and thick lips, and his shrill sneering voice,
impaired the good impression which his nobly-formed features and a pair
of large hands, dropping New Year’s gifts and benefits every day, might
have made; therefore the swarms of birds declared this man, this living
fruit-tree, which furnished them with food and nests, to be a secret
snare, and would not see the visible berries for invisible nooses.
Between two strokes of paralysis he had dictated his testament, and
entrusted it to the magistrate. When in a half-dying state he handed
the receipt of deposit to the seven heirs-presumptive, he said, in
his old tone, that he should greatly deplore it if this sign of his
approaching decease would strike down sensible men, whom he liked to
picture as laughing heirs rather than as weeping ones.
In due time the seven heirs put in an appearance at the Rathhaus with
their receipt of deposit. There was the Right Reverend Glanz, the
Police-inspector, the Court-agent Neupeter, the Court-attorney Knoll,
the Bookseller Pasvogel, the Preacher Flachs, and Flitte from Elsass.
They urged the magistrate to produce the _charte_ of the deceased
Kabel, and open the will with all the formalities of the law. The
high executor of the same was the ruling burgomaster in person; the
low executors were the town councillors. Without delay the _charte_
and testament were fetched out of the private closet and deposited
in the court-room, passed around to the senators and heirs, that they
might gaze upon the printed town-seal. The directions written upon the
outside of the _charte_ were read in a loud voice by the town-scribent
to the seven heirs, who were therewith informed that the deceased had
in truth deposited the said _charte_ with the magistrate, and entrusted
it to the same _scrinio rei publicae_, and that on the day when he
had thus deposited it he had been in his right mind; last, the seven
seals which he himself had placed thereon were examined and found
intact. After the town-scribent had entered a registry of all these
proceedings, the testament was opened in God’s name, and read aloud by
the ruling burgomaster as follows:--
“I, Van der Kabel, herewith declare my last will and testament this 7th
day of May 179--, here in my house in Haslan in the Hundgasse, without
many millions of words, though I was once a German Notary Public and
a Dutch dominé. But I believe I am still sufficiently conversant with
the art of a notary to be enabled to act the part of a testator and
bequeather in a proper and becoming manner.
“As for charitable legacies, so far as they are any concern of the
lawyer’s, I declare that the poor of this town, 3000 in number, shall
receive as many light florins, for which they may celebrate the
anniversary day of my death next year by pitching a camp upon the
public common; make a merry day of it, and then take the tents to make
clothes out of them. To all schoolmasters of our dukedom I bequeath a
Louis d’or apiece; and to the Jews of the place I bequeath my pew in
church. As I desire to have my testament sub-divided into paragraphs,
this may be considered as the first.
“_Paragraph 2._--Declarations of inheritance and disinheritance are
universally counted among the essentials of a testament. I therefore
bequeath to the Right Reverend Glanz, the Court-attorney Knoll,
the Court-agent Peter Neupeter, the Police-inspector Harprecht, the
Preacher Flachs, the Bookseller Pasvogel, and Herr Flitte, nothing for
the present, not so much because the most distant relatives can lay
no claim to a _Trebellianica_, nor because most of them have enough
to pass on to future generations as it is, but mainly because I know
from their own assurance that they esteem my humble person more than my
large fortune, of which I must therefore dispose otherwise.”
[Illustration: “SEVEN ELONGATED FACES HERE STARTED UP.”]
Seven elongated faces here started up. Especially did the Right
Reverend Glanz, a young man noted throughout Germany for his spoken and
printed sermons, feel himself keenly injured by such sneers. Flitte,
from Elsass, permitted a whispered oath to escape his lips; and as for
Flachs, the preacher, his chin grew longer and longer, and threatened
to grow into a beard. Many a whispered ejaculation was overheard by
the magistrate addressing the late Herr Kabel by such appellatives as
scoundrel, fool, antichrist. But the ruling burgomaster waved his hand,
the court-attorney and the bookseller set all the elastic springs in
their faces as in a trap once more, and the former continued reading
albeit with affected seriousness.
“_Paragraph 3._--Excepting my present residence in the Hundgasse,
which, according to this third paragraph, I will leave, with all that
pertains thereto, to that one of the afore-mentioned seven gentlemen
who, in one half-hour (counting from the reading of the paragraph),
shall outdo his six rivals by being the first to shed a tear over me,
his deceased relative, before an honourable magistrate, who shall
register the fact. Should there be a drought at the end of that
time, then the property must accrue to my heir-general, whom I shall
forthwith name.”
Here the burgomaster shut the will, remarking the conditions to be
unusual, but not illegal, and in accordance therewith the court would
now proceed to award the house to the first that wept; laid his watch,
which pointed to half-past eleven, upon the table, and sat down
silently to note, together with the lawyers, in his office of chief
executor, who would first shed the required tears.
That so long as this world exists there has ever been a sadder and more
ruffled assembly than this of seven dry provinces united as it were to
weep, cannot fairly be assumed. At first precious moments were lost in
dismay and smiling surprise; it was no easy matter to be transported so
abruptly from cursing to weeping. Emotion pure and simple was not to be
thought of, that was quite evident; but in twenty-six minutes something
might be done by way of enforcing an April shower.
The merchant Neupeter asked if that was not a confounded affair and
fool’s comedy for a respectable man to be concerned in, and would have
nothing to do with it; but at the same time the thought that a house
might be washed into his purse on the bosom of a tear strangely moved
his lachrymal glands.
The Court-attorney Knoll screwed up his face like a poor workman
getting shaved and scratched by an apprentice on Saturday night by the
light of a murky little lamp; he was greatly enraged at the misuse of
testaments, and was not far removed from shedding tears of wrath.
The sly bookseller at once proceeded to apply himself assiduously to
the matter in hand, and sent his memory on a stroll through all the
sentimental subjects he was publishing or taking on commission; he
looked much like a dog slowly licking off the emetic which the Paris
doctor Demet had spread on his nose; some time must necessarily elapse
before it could take effect.
Flitte, from Elsass, danced about the Session-room, looked at all the
mourners with laughing eyes, and swore, though he was not the richest
among them, he could not for the whole of Strasburg and Elsass weep
when there was such a joke abroad.
At last the Police-inspector Harprecht looked at him very
significantly, and remarked that if Monsieur hoped to extract the
required drops from the well-known glands by means of laughter, and
fraudulently profit thereby, he begged to remind him that he would
gain as little as if he were to blow his nose, for it was well known
that the _ductus nasalis_ caused as many tears to take that direction
as flow into a pew under the most affecting funeral sermon. But the
Elsassian assured him that he was only laughing for fun without any
serious intentions. The inspector on his part tried to bring something
appropriate to the occasion into his eyes by opening them very wide and
looking fixedly at one spot.
The preacher Flachs looked like a beggar on horseback, whose nag is
running away with him; like the sun shining on a dismal day, his heart,
which was piled about with the most suitable clouds of hardships
at home and in church, might easily have drawn water on the spot,
but unfortunately the house swimming in on the high-tide proved too
pleasant a sight, and repeatedly served as a dam.
The Right Reverend Glanz, who knew his nature from his experience in
New Years’ and funeral sermons, and who was quite certain that he
would be able to work upon his own feelings if only he were granted
an opportunity of addressing himself in touching language to others,
now arose and said with dignity that he was sure every one who had
read his printed works would feel convinced that he had a heart in his
bosom, and that it was rather to be expected of him to suppress such
sacred symbols as tears, so as to deprive no human brother, than to
extract them by force. “This heart has overflowed ere now, but it was
in secret, for Kabel was my friend,” he said, and looked about him.
With satisfaction he saw that they were all sitting there as dry as
so many sticks. As things stood now, crocodiles, stags, elephants,
and witches could have wept more easily than the heirs, irritated and
enraged by Glanz as they were. Only Flachs had a turn of good luck. He
thought of Kabel’s good deeds and of the shabby dresses and grey locks
of his congregation at early service, then in haste he gave a thought
to Lazarus and his dogs and to his own lengthy coffin, then to all
the people who have been beheaded at one time or other, the “Sorrows
of Werther,” a battle-field; and last he gave a pitiful thought to
himself, how young he was, and how he was working and slaving for
a miserable paragraph in a testament. Another good heave with his
pump-handle and it would fetch him water and a house.
“Oh, Kabel, my Kabel,” continued Glanz, almost weeping at the glad
prospect of mournful tears, “when on some future day, beside thy
precious bosom now covered with dust, my own lies mouldering----”
[Illustration: “I BELIEVE, GENTLEMEN, I AM WEEPING.”]
“I believe, gentlemen,” said Flachs, getting up sadly and overflowing
with tears, “I am weeping.” Thereupon he sat down again and allowed
them to run cheerfully down his cheeks; he was high and dry now; he
had successfully angled the house away from Glanz, who was very much
put out by his efforts, because he had talked away his appetite all
to no purpose. Flachs’s emotion was duly registered, and the house
in the Hundgasse was legally assigned to him. The burgomaster was
gratified that the poor devil should have it. It was the first time in
the dukedom of Haslan that the tears of a teacher and preacher, like
those of the goddess Freya, had changed into gold. Glanz was profuse in
his congratulations, and jocosely reminded Flachs that he himself had
perhaps been instrumental in bringing about this happy consummation.
_Jean Paul Friedrich Richter_ (1763-1825).
_DIVISION OF LABOUR IN MATTERS SENTIMENTAL._
LOVE is the perihelion of women--ay, it is the transit of such a
Venus through the sun of the ideal world. During this time of their
highest refinement of soul they love whatever we love, even though
it be Science, and the best world of beauty within us; and they
despise whatever we despise, even though it be dress and gossip.
These nightingales sing up to the date of the summer solstice; their
marriage-day is their longest day. The devil does not take it all at
once, but piecemeal day by day. The firm bands of wedlock tie up the
wings of poesy; to the free play of fancy marriage means imprisonment
on bread and water. Many a time I have followed about one of these
poor birds of paradise or peacocks or Psyches during their honeymoon,
and picked up the moulted feathers that were strewn about; and when
later the husband complained that he had taken unto himself a bald
and unlovely bird, I would show him the wasted treasure. Why is this?
Because marriage erects a crust of reality about the ideal world; it
is much the same case as with the sphere we live on, which, according
to Descartes, is a sun enveloped in an earthy shell. A woman lacks the
power which a man has to protect the inner structures of air and fancy
against the encroachments of the rough outside. Where shall she seek
refuge? In her natural keeper. A man should ever stand guard with a
spoon over the fluid silver of the feminine intellect, to remove the
scum as it rises, that the regulus of the ideal may shine the brighter.
But there are two kinds of men: the Arcadians or lyric poets of life,
who love for ever, like Rousseau when his hair was grey--such are not
to be comforted when the gilt-edged feminine anthology of wit shows
no gold as they turn the leaves, as is apt to be the case in books
bordered with gold; second, there are the boorish shepherds of to-day,
the plebeian poetasters and practical men of business, who thank God
when their enchantress, like other enchantresses, changes into a
growling domestic cat, and keeps the house free from vermin.
No one suffers from greater _ennui_ and anxiety than a fat, weighty,
slouching, bass-voiced man of business, who, like the Roman elephants
of former times, is called upon to dance upon the slender rope of love,
and whose amorous pantomimes always remind me of dormice, that seem to
be at a loss about their every movement when sudden warmth interrupts
their dormant state. Only with widows, who care less to be loved than
to be married, can a heavy man of business begin his romance where the
novelists end theirs--viz., at the steps of the altar. Such a man,
constructed on the crudest style, would have a load off his mind if
he could get some one to love his shepherdess in his name until there
was nothing more to be done but to have the wedding; the taking upon
myself of such crosses and burdens for another is just what I should
feel a calling for. I have often thought of advertising it in public
papers (had I not feared it might be taken for a joke), that I offer
myself to serve as plenipotentiary to any man of business who has no
time to properly make love to a girl. Provided only she be tolerable,
I should be willing to swear platonic everlasting affection, make the
necessary declarations of love, and, in short, substitute myself in the
most disinterested manner, or escort her arm-in-arm through the ups and
downs of the land of love, until on the border I could make her over to
the prospective bridegroom in proper condition to be married. Instead
of marriage by proxy we should thus have love by proxy.
_Jean Paul Friedrich Richter._
_A TENDER-HEARTED CRITIC._
HE composed reviews as others do prayers--only when in straits; it was
like the carrying of water of the Athenian so that he might thus be
free to devote himself to his favourite studies without hunger. But his
satirical sting he would put in the sheath when writing reviews. “Petty
authors,” he said, “are always bitter, and great ones are worse than
their works. Why should I be less severe upon the genius for his moral
faults, such as vanity, than upon the dunce? On the contrary. Poverty
and ugliness not self-incurred deserve no disdain; but neither do they
deserve it _when_ self-incurred, though Cicero be against me. For
neither a moral fault nor its punishment can be increased by a physical
consequence which may follow or may not follow. Is the spendthrift who
is impoverished in consequence of his way of living more to be blamed
than the spendthrift who goes free? On the contrary.”
Applying this to poor writers whose unconquerable self-conceit hides
their worthlessness to themselves, upon whose innocent hearts the
critic vents his just wrath over their guilty heads, it is certainly
permissible to scoff bitterly at the type, but the individual should
be more gently dealt with. Methinks it would be the gold-test of a
morally immaculate scholar if he were called upon to review a poor but
celebrated book.
_Jean Paul Friedrich Richter._
_THE ACCIDENT OF THE DISTINGUISHED STRANGER._
(FROM SCENE XII. OF “DIE DEUTSCHEN KLEINSTÄDTER.”)
(_Scene in the Burgomaster’s home in a small town. News has just been
received of a traveller, whose carriage has met with an accident
in a quarry just outside the town._ FRAU STAAR, _the Burgomaster’s
mother, is all in a flutter as to the best way of doing honour to the
distinguished stranger, and has sent for all of her female relatives,
to obtain their advice in this difficult question_.)
FRAU STAAR. FRAU BRENDEL.
FRAU BRENDEL.
Here I am, most dear Dame Cousin. I ran so, I have no breath left. I
was but just drinking my seventh cup of coffee, but I jumped up and
left everything, at your message.
FRAU STAAR.
Greatly obliged, most esteemed Dame Cousin. Have you heard----
FRAU BRENDEL.
I know everything! My maid had gone to market, and the butcher told her
his neighbour, the linen-draper, had heard how the bailiff had said to
his daughter: Mickey, he said, out in the quarry there are a couple of
counts lying, who have broken their arms and legs, and will be here in
a minute. The watchman will blow a horn from the turret, the children
will strew flowers on their path, the magistrate _in corpore_ will go
to meet them, and the bells will be rung.
FRAU STAAR.
It is only one, Dame Cousin; only one is lying in the quarry, probably
a gentleman of quality. He is to be our guest. The Minister of State
has written and has asked my son. Now you can fancy, Dame Cousin, the
excitement in the house. And everything is on my shoulders! Everything
rests upon me!
(_Enter Frau Morgenroth._)
FRAU MORGENROTH.
Your servant, most esteemed Dame Cousin. Only see how my walk has
heated me. I trust I am not too late? With your permission be it said,
I had scarce a thing on me, was singing my morning hymn and combing
my poodle-dog. At the third stanza your maid came rushing in. My God,
I thought the house was on fire! Then and there I jumped up, the
poodle-dog dropped from my lap, the hymnal fell in the coals where I
was warming my coffee, the coffee was spilled, and two stanzas of the
hymn, “Awake, my heart, and sing!” were burned up.
FRAU STAAR.
I regret it, exceedingly, worthy Dame Cousin----
FRAU MORGENROTH.
Oh, it’s of no consequence. I know all. Out in the quarry lie three or
four princes; one is dead, the other is gasping a bit now and then. The
coachman has broken his neck, the horses are lying stiff and stark. I
met the Herr Assistant-Bailiff Balg on the street; his cook told him;
she knows it from the wife of the Lottery Inspector; her husband’s
barber told her all the details.
FRAU STAAR.
Tut, tut, it is not quite so bad as all that. A short time ago a
peasant came here from Kabendorf----
FRAU BRENDEL.
I know, he got a solid thaler for a tip.
FRAU MORGENROTH.
Far from it, Dame Cousin, a Louis-d’or it was.
FRAU STAAR.
He had run as fast as he could run.
FRAU BRENDEL.
They say it gave him a pain in his side.
FRAU MORGENROTH.
His nose bled too.
FRAU STAAR.
A person of quality met with an accident.
FRAU BRENDEL.
A count----
FRAU MORGENROTH.
Several princes.
FRAU STAAR.
That we do not know. He must be of noble extraction, for he does not
lodge in the “Golden Cat,” but at our house, at the express desire of
his Honour the Minister of State. Now, as my son, the Burgomaster and
Chief Alderman, represents in his person the whole town as it were, you
will, of course, understand that he must do honour to his position.
FRAU BRENDEL.
A banquet at the Town Hall----
FRAU MORGENROTH.
A dance at the archers’ guild----
FRAU STAAR.
To-morrow, as you know, is the great _fête_.
FRAU BRENDEL.
Oh yes, the woman that stole the cow nine years ago----
FRAU MORGENROTH.
To-morrow she goes to the pillory. I am looking forward to it with a
great deal of pleasure.
FRAU BRENDEL.
I have had a brand-new robe made for the occasion.
FRAU STAAR.
There have been many arrangements made to fitly celebrate this event.
But to-day the honour of the town is wholly in our hands; to-day _we_
must show what we can do, and with the help of God we will. The tables
shall bend under His blessings. My worthy cousins are herewith invited.
FRAU BRENDEL.
I look upon it as a great honour.
FRAU MORGENROTH.
Shall not fail.
FRAU STAAR.
Now, you see, I should like to make the distinguished stranger
acquainted with our people of quality. So I have sent for you to ask
your advice as to the persons to be invited.
FRAU BRENDEL (_meditating_).
Ah, well, I think----
FRAU MORGENROTH.
You might perhaps----
FRAU BRENDEL.
Invite the Herr Convoy-and-Land-Excise-Commissary Kropt----
FRAU STAAR.
No, Dame Cousin, he gave a banquet the other day on his mother’s
birthday, and did not ask us.
FRAU BRENDEL.
Ah, indeed!
FRAU MORGENROTH.
Perhaps the Herr Board-of-Revenue-Supernumerary-Secretary Wittmann?
FRAU BRENDEL.
No, Dame Cousin; my husband, the late Herr Brendel, had a law-suit with
him about his drains.
FRAU MORGENROTH.
That alters the matter.
FRAU STAAR.
I thought of the Herr Post-Luggage-Inspector-General Holbein?
FRAU MORGENROTH.
For heaven’s sake, Dame Cousin! he has a most insufferable wife!
There’s hardly a Sunday passes but she has a new dress, and the way she
goes rustling past my pew----
FRAU BRENDEL.
She carries her head higher than need be----
FRAU MORGENROTH.
And we all remember her so well----
FRAU BRENDEL.
Yes, when she wore a grey spencer with a green apron.
FRAU MORGENROTH.
There are strange rumours where she takes it from.
FRAU BRENDEL.
No, I would rather suggest the Herr
County-Tavern-Harvest-and-Quarter-Tax-and-Impost-Controller Kunkel.
FRAU STAAR.
Don’t mention him, worthy Cousin; he is a rude fellow, who has no
manners! Would you believe it, he did not so much as call upon us in a
decent and proper manner, the pert addle-head! He left his card, fancy!
One might sooner ask the Herr Penal-Raft-Commander Weidenbaum.
FRAU BRENDEL.
No, Dame Cousin, for heaven’s sake, no! You remember how the wicked
fellow was seen to talk to my brother-in-law’s step-daughter three
times, and how consequently he intended to marry her? Now he holds
himself aloof, and has made the poor girl the talk of the town.
FRAU STAAR.
Goodness me, is there any one we can ask then?
FRAU MORGENROTH.
There comes Cousin Sperling.
(_Enter Sperling, with a large bouquet._)
SPERLING.
Frau Under-Tax-Receiver, Frau Chief-Raft-and-Fishery Master, Frau
Town-Excise-Treasury-Secretary, your humble servant! I was in my
garden--the Herr Vice-Church-Superintendent sent for me--I ran like
a sunbeam! Scarce did I take the time to cull these children of the
spring.
THE THREE LADIES.
Do you know already?
SPERLING.
I know all. A celebrated professor--carriage smashed up--nose
ditto--letter of recommendation from the Minister of State.
FRAU STAAR.
A professor, you say?
FRAU BRENDEL.
Only a professor?
FRAU MORGENROTH.
Oh, my delicious coffee that was spilled in the fire!
FRAU STAAR.
Never believe it, Dame Cousin. All my life I have heard that
ministers take little interest in professors. No, no, there is some
misunderstanding.
SPERLING.
Nay, but I will stand up for my opinion that the man who has had his
nose smashed is a learned professor, on his way from Egypt or Weimar,
where he has either been measuring the pillar of Pompey, or else seen
Wieland put his head out of the window. In short, there is no time to
be lost. Here are the flowers. Now get me some children. Children I
must have! Then he may come and see what the town of Krähwinkel can do!
FRAU STAAR.
Gently, gently; they shall be here at once.
(_Exit._)
(SPERLING _turns aside and mutely practises the pantomimes of
reception_.)
FRAU MORGENROTH.
Have you noticed, worthy cousin, what ridiculous airs the old lady is
putting on?
FRAU BRENDEL.
Yes, indeed, Dame Cousin; she puffs herself up like dough in the oven.
FRAU MORGENROTH.
Goodness me! Her husband was only _Under_-Tax-Receiver.
FRAU BRENDEL.