Peter Thun, of Schleminn, a violent-tempered man, and but too prompt to fire a shot or to draw the sword, was at constant loggerheads with his neighbour Ber. They were joint owners of a nice pond. Ber claimed the exclusive enjoyment of the half adjoining his estate, and which also happened to be the better stocked with fish. Thun, on the other hand, maintained that the whole of the pond was joint property. Ber having planted hemp along the common road, Thun sent his cattle to graze there, and went himself on horseback so that his mount might trample the plant down. Finally, a lot of peasants went under the personal command of Thun to Ber's windmill, and promptly sapped its foundations, so that it came down with a crash. Naturally, the law is set in motion. Thun is condemned to indemnify Ber constrictibus; then comes an appeal to the Imperial Chamber, which upholds the first verdict with executoriales cum refusione expensarum; the total amounting to about nine hundred florins.
Puffed up with his success and purse-proud besides, Ber applauded each scurvy trick his people played his enemy. Thun, on the other hand, was not a man to be played with. One of Ber's servants (in fact, his illegitimate son, a young, brazen and robust fellow), finally assailed Thun. The latter stood his ground valiantly, but his affrighted wife seized his arm; the bastard's sword went right through him. Thun's only heir was his nephew, a minor, the succession was most involved, and its liquidation cost me a great deal of trouble and a number of fatiguing journeys. My honorarium was fixed at twenty florins per annum. I only took ten from the minor, because I never returned from Schleminn empty-handed. Later on, his guardians made it up to me in presents of money and in kind; they provided for my building operations splendid oaks, which made magnificent joists. In sum, this affair yielded a good three hundred crowns to me.
H. Smeker, of Wüstenfeld, was a character who ruined himself in litigation and in building. He left this or that structure which was ready to be roofed in to be spoilt by the rain or the snow, after which he had it completely razed to the ground. A Mecklenburger named Negendanck was, it would appear, one of his important creditors. To get his claim settled he employed a means rather common in his country. One night he arrived at Wüstenfeld at the head of a troop of armed horsemen. Smeker was asleep in his room, and his wife, who had just been brought to bed, lay in an adjoining closet. Lievetzow, her brother, a handsome young fellow, had been accommodated with a room near the drawbridge. Negendanck, swearing and bellowing, orders the bridge to be lowered. Lievetzow, in his shirt, issues from his room and tries to appease him by informing him of the condition of his sister. Negendanck replies with a shot which kills the defenceless and scantily-dressed stripling on the spot. Then, taking the passage by storm, he gets as far as the invalid's room, lays his hand upon everything, shatters the silver chest, which he knew where to find, takes whatever he likes, and finally drags the body of her brother to the foot of the sister's bed. Smeker, who had been awakened by the noise, had taken flight in his nightgown. Knowing the moat to be fordable, he had crossed it with the water shoulders high, and after making for the stables, had taken refuge in a kind of bog inaccessible to the horsemen. Negendanck took all the horses and cattle away with him.
Naturally, the Imperial Chamber was finally called upon to try the affair. A rule having been granted to prove his allegations, Smeker came to Greifswald to enlist my services. He was an old man with a grey head and short beard; a fluffy white gown with large pleats and black girdle reached to his feet. In short, the feathers pretty well indicated the nature of the bird. I had so often heard them call out at Spires, "Smoker contra Negendanck," "the Duke Heindrich of Mecklenburg contra Heindrich Smoker," as to make the name familiar to me. To my question if he was the identical Smoker, he replied in a surly tone, "My name is Smeker, not Smoker."
He produced a host of witnesses, many of whom lived in outlying regions of Pomerania or Mecklenburg; their hearing involved constant travelling. Smeker would have never got out of the difficulty by himself, in consequence of his want of ready money. The moment he found himself in possession of some, he got hold of the horse of one of his peasantry as if to ride to the nearest village, and never drew rein until he got to Spires. If, during his journey, the money ran short, he borrowed from people who all knew him and were sure of being repaid by his son Mathias. Not only did he pay nothing to his procurator, Dr. Schwartzenberg, but the latter had to feed him, to advance the chancellery fees, and to look to his return journey. Mathias, on the other hand, was most open-handed. His secretary, who came to Greifswald in order to watch the proceedings, lavished claret wine and tarts on the commissaries, and even sent some to my wife. Each session was worth from between fifty to seventy crowns to me. That secretary appreciated my trouble like a true expert. Said inquiry brought me about two hundred and fifty crowns.
On the occasion of a suit before the Imperial Chamber, and in which little Heindrich gained the day against big Heindrich--that was the designation of Smeker respectively of himself and his adversary--the Duke of Mecklenburg, the latter carried off all Smeker's sheep. Among the flock there was an old ram, accustomed to get a bit of bread at meal times from his master's hands. The animals either escaped, or perhaps the duke had them driven back to Wüstenfeld. At any rate, the ram appeared at the head of the flock, its appetite sharpened by the march, and, moreover, fond of bread, ran towards the table. No sooner did Smiterlow catch sight of it than he got up, doffed his hat, and bade it welcome. "What an agreeable surprise!" he exclaimed. "Bene veneritis! The soup of princes is not to thy taste, it appears, inasmuch as thou comest back already." But Smeker caught at the chance of another lawsuit at Spires which brought me twenty crowns.
His son and his son-in-law, who did their best to save the considerable paternal fortune, hit upon the idea to credit the suzerain, Duke Heindrich, with the intention of retiring the fiefs. Starting from that gratuitous supposition, they pointed out to the old man that the journeys to Spires became more and more difficult to him; that, moreover, he incurred the risk of being dispossessed, and that, in such a case, his son would have the greatest possible trouble to be reinstated. What, on the other hand, could be more simple than the averting of the blow by a pretended renunciation in favour of Mathias? He, the father, would take up his quarters for some time in a house close by, which he liked very much; he should always come and take his meals with his sons, or merely eat and drink there when he liked; they would give him a young, nice and bright peasant girl to take care of him, for in spite of his age he refused to dispense with female company. Heindrich Smeker, having been prevailed upon, signed an act duly engrossed on vellum, which the principal county gentlemen of Mecklenburg attested with their seals, and to which Duke Heindrich promptly affixed his ratification.
When the old man's eyes opened to the deception it was too late. He was furious, and accused his son of having enacted the traitor to him, calling him all kind of names. Then he begged of me to bring the affair before the Imperial Chamber, but I had an excellent excuse for refusing, as I was only a notary. His robust constitution enabled him to make another journey to Spires--on a cart-horse as usual. Having been politely bowed out by Dr. Schwartzenberg, he simply wasted his breath with the other procurators--all of whom knew him. Finally, Schwartzenberg gave him the money to go home. Like a dutiful son, Mathias loyally kept his promise and showed his father every attention and consideration. He invited his father to his table or had his meals taken to him. He sent him beer and wine, and there was always a capital bed at his disposal when the fancy took him to lay at his former domicile. It was the sweetest existence imaginable, but the administration of his property was denied to him.
The worshipful council of Rostock having been cited before the Imperial Chamber by the kindred of an individual named Von der Lühe, who had been beheaded for highway robbery, the commissaries entrusted with the case took me as their notary in the inquiry made at Rostock, and as delegate notary in the inquiry set on foot by the plaintiffs. The attestationes and the sententia definitiva conclusively proved my assiduity in the matter; hence my honorarium amounted to four hundred crowns, plus a present in silver worth fifty crowns.
The counsellor Anthony Drache, a most pious gentleman, had only one brother who was drowned and left no issue. Drache pretended to reduce the widow's share, in accordance with the feudal laws of Pomerania; but besides his fiefs or hereditary tenures of land, the deceased possessed considerable property, the dividing of which was to be effected according to the urban or local statutes. Duke Philip, of blessed memory, having carried the affair into court, the trustee of the widow confided the case to me. I worked it up very conscientiously, assisted as I was by my particular studies, by the courses I had followed of Joachim Moritz and other professors at Greifswald, and finally by my private consultations with Moritz, who was good enough to give me his directions in specie. I had a verdict on all counts, though Dr. Gentzkow was on the other side, which, moreover, could count on the sympathy of the judges and even of the prince. This success had the effect of spreading my name throughout the land, and it prompted Dr. Gentzkow to propose my appointment as secretary to the council of Stralsund. My client gave me twenty crowns, a quantity of butter and a flitch of bacon.