CHAPTER XVII.
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 Gülzow 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 Gülzow, "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 Bräsig 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."