Debit and Credit / Translated from the German of Gustav Freytag

by Gustav Freytag

As we have before said, the market-day at Rosmin is a great day still. From early dawn hundreds of basket-carriages, filled with field-produce, move on toward the town, but the serf no longer whips on the used-up chargers of his master, but his own sturdy horse of German breed. And when the light carriage of a nobleman rolls by, the peasant urges his horse to a sharper trot, and only slightly touches his hat. Every where they are moving on toward the town: the children are driving their geese thither, and the women carrying their butter, fruit, and mushrooms, and, carefully concealed, a hare or two that has fallen a victim to their husbands' guns. Numbers of carts stand at the door of every inn, and crowds are pushing in and out of every drinking-shop. In the market-place the corn-wagons are closely ranged, and the whole wide space covered with well-filled sacks, and horses of every size and color; and a few brokers are winding their way, like so many eels, among the crowd, with samples of grain in each pocket, asking and answering in two languages at once. Amid the white smock frocks of the Poles, and their hats adorned with a peacock's feather, the dark blue of the German colonists appears, together with soldiers from the next garrison, townspeople, agriculturists, and fine youths, sons of the nobility. You may see the gendarme yonder at the corner of the square, towering high on his tall horse; he, too, is excited to-day, and his voice sounds authoritatively above all the confusion of the carts that have stopped up the way. Every where the shops are opened wide, and small dealers spread out their wares on tables and barrels in front of the houses; there the bargains are deliberately made, and the enjoyment of shopping is keenly felt. The last purchase over, the next move is into the tavern. There, cheeks get redder, gestures more animated, voices louder, friends embrace, or old foes try hard to pick a quarrel. Meanwhile men of business have to make the most of this day, when actions are brought and taxes paid. Now it is that Mr. Löwenberg drives his best bargains, not only in swine, but in cows and wool; besides which, he lends money, and is the trusted agent of many a landed proprietor. So passes the market-day, in ceaseless talking and enjoyment, earning and spending, rolling of carts and galloping of horses, till evening closes in, and the housewife pulls her husband by the coat, remembering that the earthen mugs he carries are easily broken, and that the little children at home are beginning to cry out for their mother. Such has ever been the weekly market in the town of Rosmin.

During the last winter the numbers attending it had not decreased, but there was a degree of restlessness to be observed in many, particularly in the gentry of the district. Strangers of military appearance often entered the principal wine-shop, and went into the back room, of which the door was at once shut. Youths wearing square red caps, and peculiarly attired, walked in and out among the crowd, tapping one peasant on the shoulder, calling another by name, and taking them into a corner apart.

Wherever a soldier appeared, he was looked at as a character in a masquerade; many avoided him; many, Germans and Poles alike, made more of him than ever. In the taverns, the people from the German villages sat apart, and the Poles on Herr von Tarow's estate drank and bought more than they were wont to do. The tenant of the new farm had been unable, last market-day, to find a new scythe any where in the town, and the forester had complained to Anton that he could not in any shop get powder enough to last him more than a week. Something was in the wind, but no one would say what it was.

It was market-day again at Rosmin, and Anton drove thither, accompanied by a servant. It was one of the first spring days, and the sun shone brightly, reminding him how gay the gardens must now be with early flowers, and that he and the ladies in the castle would see none this year, save a few, perhaps, from the little farm garden behind the barn. But, indeed, it was no time to care much for flowers; everywhere men's hearts were restless and excited, and much that had stood firm for years now seemed to totter. A political hurricane was blowing over wide districts; every day the newspapers related something unexpected and alarming; a time of commotion and universal insecurity seemed impending. Anton thought of the baron's circumstances, and what a misfortune it would be to him should land fall in value, and money rise. He thought of the firm, of the place in the office which he secretly still considered his own, and of the letter written by Mr. Baumann, telling him how gloomy the principal looked, and how quarrelsome the clerks had become.

He was roused out of his sorrowful reverie by a noise on the road. A number of gentlemen's carriages drove past him, Herr von Tarowski occupying the first, and politely bowing as he passed. Anton was surprised to see that his huntsman sat on the box as if they were going to the chase. Three other carriages followed, heavily laden with gentlemen; and behind came a whole troop of mounted men, Von Tarow's German steward among them.

"Jasch," cried Anton to the servant who drove him, "what was it that the gentlemen in the second carriage were so careful to hide as they drove by?"

"Guns," said Jasch, shaking his head.

This sunny day, after so long a period of snow and rain, naturally attracted people from all sides of the town. Parties of them hurried forward, but few women were among them, and there was a degree of excitement and animation prevailing that was in general only displayed when returning in the evening. Anton halted at the first public house on the way, and told the driver to remain there with the horses.

He himself walked rapidly on through the gate. The town was so crowded that the carts of grain could hardly make their way along. When Anton reached the market-place he was struck with the scene before him. On all sides heated faces, eager gestures, not a few in hunting costume, and a strange cockade on numerous caps. The crowd was densest before the wine-merchant's store; there the people trode on one another, staring up at the windows, from whence hung gayly-colored flags, the Polish colors above the rest. While Anton was looking with disquietude at the front of the house, the door was opened, and Herr von Tarow came out upon the stone steps, accompanied by a stranger with a scarf bound round him, in whom Anton recognized the same Pole who had once threatened him with a court-martial, and who had been inquiring for the steward a few months ago. A young man sprang out of the crowd on to the lowest step, saying something in Polish, and waving his hat. A loud shout rose in return, and then came a profound silence, during which Von Tarow spoke a few words, the import of which Anton could not catch, owing to the noise of carts and the pushing of the crowd. Next, the gentleman with the scarf made a long oration, during which he was often interrupted by loud applause. At the end of it, a deafening tumult arose. The house door was thrown wide open, and the crowd swayed to and fro like the waves of the sea, some rushing off in another direction, and others running into the house, whence they hurried back with cockades on their caps and scythes in their hands. The number of the armed went on rapidly increasing, and small detachments of scythe-bearers, headed by men with guns, proceeded to invest the market-place.

Hearing the word of command given behind him, Anton turned, and saw a few men mounted and armed, who were ordering all the wagons to be removed from the market-place. The noise and confusion increased, the peasants dragging off their horses in all haste, the traders flying into the houses with their stores, the shops being gradually closed. The market-place soon presented an ominous appearance. Anton was now swept off by the crowd to its opposite side, where the custom-house stood, made conspicuous from afar by the national escutcheon suspended near the windows. That was now the point of attraction, and Anton saw from a distance a man plant a ladder against the wall, and hack away at the escutcheon till, amid profound silence, it fell to the ground. Soon, however a drunken rabble fell upon it with wild yells, and, tying a rope about it, ignominiously dragged it through the gutter and over the stones.