Next morning when Zachariah Braesig got up, he put both hands up to his
head, and said: "You may be glad, Charles, that my headache isn't worse
than it is, for otherwise who could act as assessor to-day? If I had
allowed Grammelin to make the punch after his confounded receipt I
should have had neither more nor less than a frightful buzzing in my
head. As it was, I made the punch myself."--"I suppose," said
Hawermann, "that you never missed your turn."--"Well certainly the
younger ones didn't. I kept rather back. I sat beside David Berger,
and--oh Charles--what that fellow can get through! I suppose it's
because of his business, but he drank one glass after another without a
pause! It was only quite at the end that he grew what is called
sentimental, and, seizing my arm, said with tears in his eyes, that his
earnings were so small in these times of political agitation, that both
I and Mr. Suessmann--Kurz's shopman--would be sorry for him if we knew
it. Mr. Suessmann then proposed that a fraternity ball should be got up
for David Berger's benefit, that's to say, a political ball at which
all classes; nobles, squires, tenant-farmers, and towns-folk should
meet, shake hands and dance together, indeed they might even kiss each
other if they liked for all that I care. The motion was at once
carried, and next Sunday week is the day chosen for the ball. Mr.
Suessmann has prepared a list, and I have secured tickets for you and
me, Mrs. Behrens and Louisa."--"Braesig! What could you have been
thinking of? How can Mrs. Behrens or Louisa go to a ball, or I either,
for that matter."--"You must go. It's for a noble purpose."--"You won't
be able to go either Braesig, for Mina is to be married on Friday week,
and on the following Sunday, she's to go to church in state. What would
my sister say if you were not to be at Rexow because of a stupid
ball?"--"Of course that's a good reason for changing my mind about the
ball, so good-bye for the present, Charles, I must go and see Mr.
Suessmann at once about this alteration, and then I have to be at the
town hall--you understand? Four pence an hour."
On leaving home Braesig went straight to Kurz's shop, but Mr. Suessmann
was not there. Kurz was fussing about, opening drawers and shuting
them again with a bang. "Good morning, Kurz, where's your young
gentleman?"--"I have no young gentleman. I'm master here."--"Take
care, Kurz, remember that we are living in a democratic age, and
that ...."--"What do you mean? Take care, do you say? I think very
little of democracy when it makes my shopman lie in bed till this hour
of the morning and spend the night in drinking punch. Old people should
be ashamed ...."--"Stop, Kurz, don't begin to make me flattering
speeches again like those of last Sunday, I won't allow it because of
my position in the law courts. Now good-bye, Kurz, I'm sorry for you.
You've got inflorenza and ought to go to bed, you have pains in all
your bones, and if you were to feel your glands you would find that you
were in for a regular sore throat." He then went away, leaving Kurz in
a worse humour than that in which he had found him. The latter knocked
about the things in the shop, abusing everything and everybody, till at
last when the shopman appeared, Mrs. Kurz came to the rescue, and
carrying off her worthy husband made him go to bed, and so kept him
quiet for the time being.
After this little scene Braesig went to the town-hall, where he earned
one and eight pence without any trouble to himself, for the sitting of
the justices lasted five hours. When he came home dinner was over, and
so he had to content himself with something that had been kept hot for
him, and Mrs. Behrens grumbled about irregular hours, saying that
Braesig had not come in until two o'clock that morning, and now he
wanted to have dinner at two in the afternoon. The old bailiff listened
to her scolding with a broad self-satisfied grin on his face, as much
as to say: if you only knew what hard work I've been doing, and how
useful I've been, you would pat me and stroke me, kiss me and pet me as
you've never done before. When he had finished dinner, he rose and said
solemnly: "It'll all come to light, Mrs. Behrens, as his worship, the
mayor, would say," and winking at Hawermann, he continued: "Bonus! as
Mr. Rein says." Then going to Louisa, he took her in his arms and
kissed her, saying: "Louie, dear, will you give me a sheet of your best
writing paper? I want to send a small--piece of evidence let me call
it--so that it may carry well, it has a long way to go." As he left the
room with the sheet of paper he turned round again, and said: "As I
told you before, Charles, what can be done shall be done." He came back
once more to say: "I shall be at home in good time for supper, Mrs.
Behrens."
He went to the post-office. The post-master was at home, but he was
always at home. He had allowed himself to be confined in a regular
bird-cage of a room, which he dignified by the name of an office, for
the salary of twenty two pounds ten a year. When he was not occupied
with any postal business, he amused himself by whistling and singing
like a canary-bird. He was thus employed when Braesig came in, and said:
"Good morning, post-master. You are a man of honour, so I do not
hesitate to speak to you about an affair of great delicacy. You needn't
be told what it is exactly, for it is a secret, and you must promise
not to breathe a word of what I am at liberty to tell you. I am going
to write to Paris."--"To Paris? Confound you, what have you got to do
writing to Paris?"--"To Paris," repeated Braesig, drawing himself
up.--"What the devil's the matter now! One bailiff gets a letter from
Paris, and another wants to send one there. Well, I'll look and see how
much the postage will cost." He looked it up in his book, and said at
last: "I can't find it here. But it'll cost a pretty penny, it can't be
less than sixteen pence."--"That doesn't matter. I earned one and eight
pence this morning at the town-hall."--"Who are you going to write
to?"--"To young Mr. Frank von Rambow."--"Do you know his address, the
place where he lives?"--"Why, Paris!"--"But Paris is a large place. You
must know the name of the street and the number of his house."--"God
bless my soul!" cried Braesig. "What a fuss to make about such a small
matter! I don't know either."--"Can't you ask Hawermann?"--"But you see
that's impossible. I don't want him to know anything about it."--"Then
the only thing I can think of, is to send the letter to Dr. Uertlingen
at the Mecklenburg Embassy, perhaps he may find out where he
lives."--"Of course he _must_," said Braesig, "for the letter is one of
great importance, and he's paid for doing such things. But I was going
to ask, if I might write here in your house, as I don't want Hawermann
to know anything about the letter?"--"Oh, certainly," replied the
post-master, "come in here that my wife mayn't see you, for though
properly speaking this is only a waiting room, she won't allow anyone
under the rank of a count to enter it. I'm afraid that I must lock you
in."--Braesig consented, so there he sat from three in the afternoon
till dusk of evening writing his letter. In the office in front of him
was the post-master whistling merrily. The post-mistress tried to get
into her best parlour, but all in vain did she rattle at the door, her
husband had the key in his pocket, and went on whistling and singing as
if he had nothing to do with it. Braesig wrote and wrote. At last the
letter was finished. He read it over and we may now see what he had
written, it was as follows:
"Honoured Sir,
"A very strange thing has happened here. Kurz, the shopkeeper had the
manure he bought for his own field carted to, and spread over that of
Wredow, the baker, who is his rival in respect to the town jail.
Hawermann found a bit of black waxcloth with the Rambow arms upon it
amongst the manure, and this has been a great comfort to him, because
of the suspicion resting on him of having taken part in the theft of
the Louis d'ors in the year '45, especially as the mayor says that it
is a piece of evidence. The mayor has just appointed me assessor, in
which post I can make a little money, but at great inconvenience to
myself, for I have always been accustomed to lead a very active life as
farm-bailiff, and indeed I ought still to take a great deal of exercise
because of my gout. I havn't to work hard, but sitting still so long
makes me horribly sleepy. However there's one good thing in it, and
that is, that I get to know what the mayor won't let me tell Hawermann.
But as you are in Paris, and not in Rahnstaedt, I can tell you as a
friend, all that is going on. The thing is this. The weaver told a lie
when he said he had never had any communication with his divorced wife,
and that, the mayor says, is another piece of evidence. Indeed we have
so many of these links in the chain of evidence, that it's enough to
make even a dog howl to think that more can't be made out of them. The
central point of the story is widow Kaehlert. Now widow Kaehlert is
determined to marry the weaver, and has discovered that he won't have
her, because his divorced wife has made up her mind to marry him again.
This discovery has given rise to an evil feeling in dame Kaehlert's
breast, which may be characterised as jealousy, and so she has let fall
some new bits of evidence that the mayor tells me are both important
and relevant, or as I should say, to the point. The mayor says,
however, that one has to be very cautious about believing the woman,
for she is so enraged that she wouldn't stick at a lie if she thought
it would serve her cause. I don't know about the lies, but I'm sure
that she told the truth when she said that the weaver showed her a
number of Danish double Louis d'ors which he has in his possession, for
Krueger, the butcher, has twice borne witness to his having them. And
this morning while the weaver was giving us new evidence of his powers
lying, Hoeppner and some other detectives were busy searching his house,
where they found _nine_ Danish double Louis d'ors in the secret drawer
of his desk. He tried to deny all knowledge of them at first, but did
not succeed in convincing any one. The former Mrs. Schmidt is also
arrested as a principal actor in this affair, for the police have found
in her possession a snuff box which belonged to the late Mr. Behrens,
and which had always been kept under a glass case as a sort of heir
loom. This theft has gained her free quarters in the jail. Dame Kaehlert
is there too, but merely for puncto cichuriarum,[3] for in her passion
she managed to insult all the members of the town-council including his
worship the mayor, and myself the assessor. They all tell lies till
they are black in the face, but what good does that do them? The mayor
says he is morally certain that these people committed the theft, and
that it will be proved that they did so some time or other. What a
triumph it will be for my friend Charles Hawermann, when he is
proved in his old age to be as innocent as an angel, and can go about
among the people in his white hair and white robes of innocence. They
will all be as much ashamed of themselves for ever having suspected
him, as a poodle is, when a can of water is poured over him. I
allude--respectfully of course--to Pomuchelskopp and the squire of
Puempelhagen; by the way I must tell you that these two are no longer
friends, because Samuel has gone to law with the other; but I will say
no more about that, for I have already given Pomuchelskopp a bit of my
mind at our Reform-club, and your cousin of Puempelhagen can't abide me.
Things are going badly with him just now, as besides what I have told
you, Moses has given him notice to pay up his mortgage at midsummer. He
has no money and no fodder, so how is he to live? He is very ignorant.
Remember, you must never let Hawermann know that I have written to you,
for it is a secret. I thought you would like to know who the real
rogues were, and that Charles Hawermann--God be thanked!--is not one of
them. He has grown much more cheerful since the beginning of these
discoveries, and can kick out now like a colt when its saddle is taken
off. I look upon this as a good sign for the future. The only news I
can give you of your old friends here is, that Mina and Rudolph are to
be united in marriage on the Friday of next week. Mrs. Nuessler, whom
you no doubt recollect as an extremely handsome young woman, is very
well indeed, but has perhaps grown a little fatter than she used to be.
Joseph also enjoys very good health, and is bringing up a new heir to
the throne in preparation for his retiring on a pension. Your old
fellow pupil, Triddelfitz, is now factotum at Puempelhagen. Hawermann
declares that he will turn out well in the end, but I say that he is a
greyhound, for he went about shooting at the people, and has put Mrs.
Nuessler and me under the ban because we have put a stop to that little
amusement. We have got up a Reform-club at Rahnstaedt. Young parson
Godfrey preaches against it, but Lina knows how to calm him down.
Rector Baldrian has carried the cause of the seamstresses and a man
called Plato, Platow or Patow through the Reform-club; but Kurz has
been turned out of it repeatedly; his four horses have all got
inflorenza; the first to take the illness was his old saddle horse, and
he himself will be the last, for he has begun to show symptoms of
having taken the disease. Old Mrs. Behrens is still the honoured head
of our house, and provides us with meat and drink and lodging, for
Hawermann and I live in her house and have our daily bread there. She,
as well as Hawermann, would beg to be remembered to you, but she can't
send you any message as she doesn't know that I am writing. We often
talk of you, for you are an ever present picture before our eyes. I
think that I have nothing more to tell you--oh, I forgot--Pomuchelskopp
has got himself elected member of the Reform-club; Schulz, the
carpenter, is a very good fellow, he stood by me bravely on that
occasion; Christian Daesel has been turned off by your cousin; and no
traces of Regel have as yet been found; but Louisa Hawermann is, thank
God, quite well.
"Hoping that my having written will neither trouble you nor cause you
any discomfort, I have the honour to take leave of you with the
greatest respect, and to give you my good wishes for your happiness as
an old friend. I am,
"Your very obedient
"Zachariah Braesig,
"formerly bailiff, now Assessor."
"Rahnstaedt. May 13th, 1848."
"P.S. I think it is as well to mention that I am writing this letter in
the post-mistress' sanctum, into which the post-master has locked me
for the express purpose, and he has promised to tell no one of my
letter. The reason for my keeping it such a secret is that I don't want
Hawermann or Mrs. Behrens or Louisa to know anything about it. Louisa
gave me this sheet of paper, and I think you will like to know that it
was from her I got it, for I remember the days of my own youth when I
had three sweethearts all at once. Louisa goes about her father, doing
little things for him with all love and humility, to everyone else she
is a costly pearl of humanity. When I hear from you that you would like
to have another letter from me, I will write from time to time and let
you know the latest news of these thievish wretches. If you happen to
be in our part of the world on Sunday week, I will give you an
invitation to our fraternity ball, all the seamstresses are to be asked
to it.
"Z. B."
As soon as Braesig had finished his labours, he knocked and battered at
the door, and when the postmaster unlocked it and let him out, great
drops of perspiration were standing on his forehead.--"Bless me!" cried
the post-master, "how ghastly you look! Work that one's unused to is
the hardest of all, isn't it?"--He then took the letter and put it in
an envelope which he addressed to Mr. von Rambow, and after that he
enclosed it in a second envelope addressed to the Mecklenburg Embassy
at Paris. Braesig paid down his sixteen pence, which turned out to be
the exact price of the postage, so the letter might now go on its
journey at once in the mail cart which was waiting at the door. Whilst
he was putting up the letter the post-master sang: "A student of
Leipzig, &c. &c.", but when Braesig was going away he changed his song
to: "A weighty despatch old Custine sendeth, to Paris quick his
messenger wendeth. The Saxons and Prussians are marching fast, to
bombard Mayence and I must at last, capitulate if help comes not, &c.
&c."--"You may capitulate as much as you like," said Braesig, "it's
nothing to me; but mind you hold your tongue about what I told you,
remember your promise." Our old friend then went home, and besides the
happy feeling of having done a good action, he had the pleasant
consciousness of having surmounted a great difficulty with no little
skill, for he felt not a little triumphant that he had been able to
bring Louisa's name into the transaction.
Now when any one goes home after having accomplished a good deed of
this kind and desires to sun himself in the remembrance of it, he
thinks it very hard when instead of meeting with a kind reception, he
comes in for a perfect storm of reproaches and scolding. It was so with
Braesig when he entered the parlour where Mrs. Behrens and the little
member were sitting. Louisa was not there. Mrs. Behrens was busy
lighting the lamp, but the matches would not strike, partly because
those Kurz sold were not of the best, and partly because Mrs.
Behrens--perhaps from a desire to be economical--was in the habit of
putting any broken or headless match back into the box, thus giving a
useless match twenty times the amount of enjoyment during its short
life that a good one could have. But although it may have been a very
pleasant life for the match, it generally succeeded in putting the
human being who was trying to strike it into a rage. "There you are at
last," cried Mrs. Behrens angrily as she endeavoured to strike a match.
"So you've really come home, have you?" trying a second. "You do
nothing but gad about the town," another match, "but you always take
care to go with your eyes shut"--two matches at once this time--"and
your ears too"--another match--"and still you think you know all that's
going on"--another match--"but when it comes to the point you know
nothing"--three matches at once. Braesig always treated Mrs. Behrens
courteously and showed himself willing to do anything in her service,
so he now took the box from her, saying: "Allow me!" a match. "How do
you mean?"--a second match--"Have I offended you in any way?"--a
third--"Kurz may cover himself with these things without being in
danger of catching fire!"--two matches at once. "Things that ought to
catch with him, don't, and what oughtn't to catch, does,"--three
matches--"These beastly things must have got inflorenza too!" So saying
he flung the match box on the table and taking his own box of vesuvians
out of his pocket, lighted the lamp. "Braesig," said Mrs. Behrens, as
she carefully replaced all the matches that had been tried in the
match-box, "I have a right to be annoyed with you. I am not curious,
but when anything happens that concerns Hawermann and Louisa, I
consider that as I am the nearest to them, I ought to be told. Why do
you leave it to our little Anna to tell me what you ought to have told
me long ago, for you knew all about it, I see in your face that you
did."--"Why, what do you mean?" asked Braesig, pretending to look
unconscious; but Mrs. Behrens was too indignant to listen to him, for
she thought herself badly used, so she continued: "Now don't pretend,
it's of no use. I know that you know all about it, and that you've been
keeping me in the dark." Then she began to cross-question the old man,
and Anna helped her to the best of her ability. So the two women cast
their nets round Braesig and never let him alone, until they had got all
he knew out of him, for keeping a secret was not one of his strong
points. At last he exclaimed in despair: "I know no more, I assure
you," but little roundabout Mrs. Behrens went up to him, and said: "I
know you Braesig. I see it in your face. I see that you _do_ know
something more. Out with it! What is it?"--"Why, Mrs. Behrens, it's a
private matter altogether."--"That doesn't signify. Out with it!"
Braesig sidled about on his chair, looked to the right and left for
help; but all in vain; he had to confess what he had done, so he said:
"I wrote to Paris to tell Mr. Frank von Rambow what is going on; but
Charles Hawermann must never know what I've done."--"You wrote to
Paris," cried Mrs. Behrens, putting her arms akimbo, "to young Mr. von
Rambow! And pray what did you write to him about? You've been writing
about Louisa, I see that you have! You've told him what _I_ should have
been afraid even to whisper to myself, that's what you've done," and
hastening to the bell, she rang violently. "Sophie," she said to the
servant, "run to the post-office and ask the post-master to be so
good as to give you the letter that Mr. Braesig has just written to
Paris."--"Tooteritoo!" was that instant heard under the window, and the
mail cart dashed down the street, bearing Braesig's letter straight to
Paris, and Mrs. Behrens, throwing herself back in the sofa corner,
ordered Sophie to return to the kitchen. I am sorry to say that as soon
as the maid had left the room, Mrs. Behrens began to murmur against
Providence for having allowed the Rahnstaedt mail to start--for the
first time she had ever known it do so--at the right hour, on that day
of all others, thus insuring the safe arrival of Braesig's nonsense in
Paris. Braesig swore that he had conducted the affair with the greatest
delicacy, and that no possible harm could come of the letter. "Did you
write that she wished to be remembered to him?" asked Mrs. Behrens.
"No," answered Braesig, "I only told him that she was well."--"Did you
say nothing more than that about her?"--"I only said that she had given
me the sheet of paper on which I had written, and that she was a costly
pearl of humanity."--"That she is," interrupted Mrs. Behrens. "And then
I finished the letter in a very friendly way by asking Mr. Frank to
come to our fraternity ball."--"That was very stupid of you," cried
Mrs. Behrens, "he'll think you mean to try and arrange a meeting
between him and Louisa."--"Mrs. Behrens," said Braesig drawing himself
up, "your sentiments do you honour, but tell me, is it either stupid or
wicked to try to bring two people together who have only been separated
by the malice and evil-doing of others? I confess that such was my
intention, and that that was the reason I wrote the letter. Hawermann
couldn't do it, for he is Louisa's father and it would be unfitting for
him to stir in the matter. You couldn't do it because the good people
of Rahnstaedt would call you all manner of pretty names if you did;
indeed they have done so already. But as for me, I don't care a pin if
they dub me letter carrier. I never trouble my head about such things.
I've just sent off a letter to Paris, and if he, to whom I sent it,
looks upon me as a man of honour and a true friend to Charles Hawermann
and Louisa, I don't care whether the Rahnstaedters nickname me 'go
between' or not."--"Yes, Mrs. Behrens, yes," cried Anna throwing her
arms round the old lady's neck, "Mr. Braesig is right. What does
Rahnstaedt gossip matter? Who cares for the silly prejudices of the
world as long as one can make two people happy? Frank must come, and
Louisa must be happy," and then running up to Braesig, she put her arms
round his neck and kissed him in order to show how she rejoiced in what
he had done, saying: "You're a dear old uncle Braesig, that's what you
are." Braesig returned her kiss, and answered: "And you're a dear little
musical girl, a sweet little lark. You must also be happy in the same
way as Louisa. But stop. We mustn't count our chickens before they're
hatched. We can't see our way clearly yet. The scoundrels hav'n't
confessed their crime, and I know Charles Hawermann well enough to be
sure that he must be quite free from suspicion before he will give his
consent. That's the reason I wanted to keep the whole affair secret
from him and Louisa for fear of making them uneasy. It's by God's
providence that Kurz is laid up with inflorenza, otherwise he would
never have held his tongue."--"Well, Braesig," said Mrs. Behrens,
"Taking it all in all, I believe that you've done right."--"Yes,
hav'n't I, Mrs. Behrens, and wer'n't you only displeased with me
because you wished that you had done it yourself? I'm sure that that's
it, and so you shall have the honour of writing to Mr. Frank when
everything is known."
Three days after this conversation when Braesig came home he met Mrs.
Behrens in the front hall. Her right hand was in a sling for she had
sprained her wrist the day before by falling on the stairs leading to
the cellar. He said with great seriousness and very impressively: "I'm
coming down stairs again immediately, Mrs. Behrens; I've got something
particular to say to you." After which, he went up to Hawermann. When
he entered his friend's room he neither said: "Good day," nor anything
else, but went in with a solemnity that was unusual to him, and walking
right through the sitting room, went into the bed-room beyond. He got a
glass of cold water and giving it to Hawermann, said: "There, Charles,
drink that."--"But, why?"--"Because it'll do you good. You'll find it
necessary afterwards, so it can do you no harm now."--"What's the
matter, Braesig," cried Hawermann, pushing away the water. He saw that
something had happened which was of interest to him. "Well, Charles, if
you won't, you won't; but prepare yourself to hear what will surprise
you, prepare." He then began to walk up and down the room, and
Hawermann, who had turned very pale, watched him anxiously, for he felt
from Braesig's manner that his fate was now to be decided. "Charles,"
asked Braesig, standing before him, "are you ready?" Yes, he was quite
ready; he rose and said entreatingly: "Tell me at once, Braesig; I can
go on bearing what I've borne so long already."--"I don't mean that,"
answered Braesig, "The murder's out! The rogues have confessed, and
we've got the money, part of it at least." The old man had prepared
himself to hear the bad news he feared was coming bravely, the
destruction of the hope he had allowed to grow in his heart during the
last few days, but when a new day of joy and certainty broke for him
thus suddenly, his eyes were blinded by the unaccustomed brightness,
and he fell back in his chair: "Braesig, Braesig," he gasped, "my honest
name! My Louisa's happiness!" His friend offered him the glass of
water, and when he had drunk some of it, he felt better, and clasping
Braesig, who was standing before him, round the knees, asked:
"Zachariah, you have not deceived me?"--"No, Charles, it's the truth,
and you'll find it in the indictment. The mayor says that the wretches
are to be sent to Dreibergen, but they'll have to go to Buetzow for
their trial."--"Braesig," said Hawermann, rising and going to his
bedroom, "leave me alone for a little, and say nothing to Louisa.--Oh,
please, tell her to come to me."--"Yes, Charles," said Braesig going to
the window, and staring out as he wiped the tears from his eyes. When
he went out of the room, he could see Charles on his knees beside his
bed.
Louisa went upstairs to her father; Braesig told her nothing more.
But in Mrs. Behrens' parlour the matter did not go off so
silently.--"Good gracious!" cried the good little woman, "there's
Louisa gone now, and Hawermann hasn't come down yet, and as for you,
Braesig, you're never in time. The dinner will be spoilt and we have
such a nice bit of fish. What was it you wanted to say to me,
Braesig?"--"Oh nothing," he answered, looking as mischievous as if the
rogues he had seen that morning had infected him with their evil ways,
"only Hawermann and Louisa aren't coming to dinner. So we'd better
begin."--"But, Braesig, why ar'n't they coming?"--"Because of the
apron."--"The apron?"--"Yes, because it was wet."--"What apron was
wet?"--"Dame Kaehlert's. But we must begin, Mrs. Behrens, the fish will
be cold."--"Not a bit of it!" cried Mrs. Behrens, putting a couple of
plates over it, and then a table napkin, and lastly her own two round
little hands. She looked at Braesig with such round frightened eyes that
he could not bear to tease her any longer, and said: "It has all come
out, Mrs. Behrens. They have confessed, and we've got back the greater
part of the money."--"And you never told me before," she exclaimed,
trotting off in search of Hawermann.--Braesig stopped her, and bribed
her to sit down quietly on the sofa, by promising to tell her the whole
story from beginning to end. "Well, Mrs. Behrens," he said, "you must
know that widow Kaehlert's evidence was the most damaging of the lot,
and that it was all through her wicked jealousy that we got anything
out of her at all. Jealousy is a terribly common failing in women, and
it often leads to the most dreadful consequences. I'm not alluding to
you remember, only to Mrs. Kaehlert. You see the woman had made up her
mind to marry the weaver, and he wouldn't hear of it. She then came to
the correct conclusion, that the reason he wouldn't marry her after
all, was because of the influence of his divorced wife, and so she
watched everything her rival did, and that was how when her apron--I
mean widow Kaehlert's--was wet one day, she took it out to the hedge
in the garden to dry. While she was spreading it out to dry, she
saw from her hiding-place the weaver and his former wife holding a
_randy-voo_--you know what that is, Mrs. Behrens."--"Now, Braesig,
I tell you that ...."--"Don't be afraid, Mrs. Behrens. They were
not sitting in a ditch, but were standing up behind a row of
scarlet-runners. The woman must have climbed over the hedge from the
other side in order to get into the garden without going through the
house. The widow was so malicious in her jealousy, that she called Mrs.
Krueger, the butcher's wife, to come and see what was going on. They
watched the two vanish behind the bean stalks, and then saw the woman
get over the hedge, and the weaver going up the garden path, whereupon
they both left their hiding-place. Mrs. Krueger swore to the truth of
this. The mayor told me that if we could only get widow Kaehlert to
begin to talk we'd soon get to know more. So I said: 'Female jealousy,
your worship.'--'But how can we make use of that?' he asked.--Then I
said: 'Mr. Mayor,' I said, 'I understand that sort of thing from my old
experience when I had three sweethearts at once. Jealousy is a
frightful thing, it knows neither mercy nor compassion. Let me see what
I can do.' When dame Kaehlert came in again I said quietly: 'Well, if
it's illegal for Schmidt to marry any other woman, there's nothing to
prevent his remarrying his former wife.'--The mayor understood my lead,
and answered: 'Yes, he may do that if he likes; the Consistory cannot
make any objection.' The widow immediately got into a state of
desperation, and shrieked out: If that was the case she would tell
everything. The weaver had got some money out in the garden, for
although he hadn't had a farthing in his desk that morning, yet when
she looked there afterwards she found a number of double Louis d'ors.
You see she had done for herself by this confession, for she had
acknowledged that she had a false key to open other people's desks. So
the mayor sent her off to prison. We had the three canaries safe in our
hands now. When the weaver was brought before us again he lied about
the way he got the money, and he lied in Mrs. Krueger's face by
declaring that his wife had not been with him in the garden. Mrs.
Krueger grew very angry and said, she had not only seen the creature
in the garden, but she had also seen her legs as she got over the
hedge--pardon me, Mrs. Behrens--that was just what she said. The weaver
was ordered ten stripes on the jacket, for--God be thanked--a man can
still be given a thrashing for lying in our courts of justice. The
mayor put heaven and hell plainly before him, and threatened him with
the disgrace of being turned out of the weavers' guild; but he wouldn't
be persuaded. No sooner had he felt the first three blows, than he fell
upon his knees, the sight of which horrified me so much that I had to
turn away. Then he said, he would confess all, and that it wasn't he
who had stolen the money, but his wife. The woman had taken the black
packet out of the labourer Regel's waistcoat pocket while he was drunk,
and had hidden it under some bushes in the wood, where she had left it
for two years, for she was always able to help herself to a few gold
pieces whenever she went to gather sticks, and these Louis d'ors she
had changed by the help of some old Jewish women--and one, as you know,
she tried to pass in Kurz's shop. About a year and a half ago she met
the weaver, and asked him if he would marry her again, now that she was
no longer poor. To prove that she was speaking the truth she made him a
present of a double Louis d'or, but he would not do as she asked him,
for he had meanwhile fallen in love with widow Kaehlert. With widow
Kaehlert, if you please. You might give _me_ widow Kaehlert on a salver
and _I_ should never think of falling in love with her. However he took
the Louis d'or, and that only made him wish for another, go she kept
him supplied at intervals, and thus succeeded in arousing a faint
liking for her on his part, and making him give up caring for the other
woman. Then she showed him her whole treasure, and they tried to hide
it in different places; at last this spring they shut it up in a box
and throwing the waxcloth into the butcher's yard, proceeded to bury
the money in the garden. We went there with the weaver, and found two
hundred and ten pounds worth of Louis d'ors amongst the potatoes. The
rest they had spent on furniture, &c."--"Good gracious!" cried Mrs.
Behrens, "both you and the mayor must be frightfully clever to have
found out so much!"--"Of course we are, Mrs. Behrens," said uncle
Braesig calmly.--"But the woman?" asked the old lady, "she is the
nearest to him, you know."--"Yes, Mrs. Behrens, that was a sublime
moment when the mayor, with the small box and the money hidden away in
his every day hat, confronted the woman with her former husband and
called upon her to tell the truth. She lied again. The mayor then took
up his hat and said: 'It doesn't matter. We've got the money.' The
moment she caught sight of the box, she fell upon the weaver like a
fury, and in one second, before you could look round, had torn his face
with her nails, exclaiming: 'The wretch! I wanted to make him happy and
now he has made me miserable!' Ah, Mrs. Behrens, love is even madder
than jealousy. Mrs. Kaehlert would never have done that! But, Mrs.
Behrens, I think that our fish must be growing cold."--"Oh, Braesig, how
can you think of such a thing just now! But I must go to Hawermann and
tell him ...."--"How glad you are that he's cleared at last," said
Braesig, drawing Mrs. Behrens gently back to the sofa, "and so you
shall, but not quite yet. You see I think that Hawermann wants to have
a little quiet time to tell God all about it, and that Louisa is
helping him, which is quite right. It's enough for her to be there, for
as you know being a clergyman's wife, that our God is a jealous God,
and doesn't suffer people to meddle when he is speaking to a soul that
is filled with gratitude to Him. He draws back all such as would
interfere, and now leads the way with human compassion as He once did
with the Shining Light."--Little Mrs. Behrens gazed at him in
speechless amazement. At last she murmured: "Oh, Braesig, I've
always looked upon you as a heathen, and now I see that you're a
Christian."--"I know nothing about that, Mrs. Behrens. I'm sure of
this, however, that what little I've been able to do in this matter has
been done as an assessor and not as a Christian. But, Mrs. Behrens, our
fish dinner is quite spoilt, and besides that, I'm not at all hungry. I
feel as if I hadn't enough room to breathe here, so good-bye for the
present, I'm going out to get a little fresh air."