Part 4
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.
When he died he left a debt to the Treasury.
FRAU MORGENROTH.
Dear me, and I wonder what the banquet will be like? Do you remember that joint eight weeks ago? It was horribly burned.
FRAU BRENDEL.
And how she looks! what will she put on?
FRAU MORGENROTH.
Not much choice. She has but three gowns.
FRAU BRENDEL.
To be sure, the brown one----
FRAU MORGENROTH.
And the white one----
FRAU BRENDEL.
And her stuff gown.
FRAU MORGENROTH.
She had that made for the first christening at the burgomaster’s.
FRAU BRENDEL.
Begging your pardon, Dame Cousin, it was made when the Vice-Church-Superintendent married his second wife.
FRAU MORGENROTH.
Who was another such fool.
FRAU BRENDEL.
You’re right there, quite right there.
(_Enter Frau Staar with two children, the latter eating enormous slices of bread and butter._)
FRAU STAAR.
There are the children.
SPERLING.
Come along then!
FRAU STAAR.
Drop a curtsey to your dear Dame Cousin first, there’s a good child! Now shake hands; that’s right!
FRAU BRENDEL (_wiping the butter from her fingers_).
Enchanting little creatures. God bless them!
FRAU MORGENROTH.
The very pictures of our dear Dame Cousin.
FRAU BRENDEL.
I trust they have had the pox!
FRAU STAAR.
Not yet. My son wished to have them inoculated, but I will never give my consent. I would not forestall the Almighty.
SPERLING.
Children, lay your bread and butter aside.
CHILDREN.
No, no.
SPERLING.
Well, then, take the flowers in the other hand.
(_Enter Herr Staar and the Burgomaster._)
HERR STAAR (_hastily_).
They are just driving in through the gate. The street is full of boys. They are running along by the carriage, and yelling at the top of their voice.
BURGOMASTER (_hastily_).
He comes, he comes! The watchman is standing ready with his trumpet.
SPERLING.
Goodness gracious! The children are so awkward----
HERR STAAR.
All you have to do is to strew your flowers and fling them in his face.
(_The blast of a trumpet very much out of tune._)
BURGOMASTER.
Quick, quick! All go to meet him!
HERR STAAR.
The children lead the way!
SPERLING (_snatches the bread and butter out of their hands and throws it on the table_).
Leave your bread and butter here.
HERR STAAR (_urging the children toward the door_).
Quick, quick!
CHILDREN (_crying_).
I want my bread and butter! My bread and butter!
BURGOMASTER (_following them_).
Will you hold your tongues?
FRAU STAAR.
Frau Chief-Raft-and-Fishery-Master, you will have the kindness to precede me.
FRAU BRENDEL.
Never, Frau Town-Excise-Treasury-Secretary. I most urgently beg you----
FRAU MORGENROTH.
Frau Under-Tax-Receiver, the honour is due to you.
FRAU STAAR.
The heavens preserve me! I am at home in this house.
FRAU BRENDEL.
I know my place----
FRAU MORGENROTH.
I will not stir a step.
(_The three begin to bow and curtsey, and all talk at the same time._)
(THE CURTAIN DROPS.)
_August von Kotzebue_ (1761-1819).
_HOW THE VICAR CAME AROUND._
THE Frau Obersteuerrätin was “auntie” to the whole world; and indeed she deserved the name, for she was a motherly friend, counsellor, and helper to all who came within her domain; she was the best and most charitable of women, judging mildly of the weaknesses of others so long as her own little weaknesses were respected. She over-looked the eccentricities of her clerical brother, which he committed in a state of absent-mindedness, and she did not raise any objections to Susie’s marvellous _naïveté_, though often enough it caused her bitter dilemmas.
It was a warm May day on which the Vicar entered the room with his usual greeting: “Good morning, Auntie--good morning, Susie.”
Auntie nodded pleasantly. Susie, who was sitting by her on the sofa, knitting a white stocking, arose, dropped a little familiar curtsey, and said: “_Votre servante_, Uncle.”
“But, Heaven preserve us, what is the matter with you to-day, Vicar?” said Aunt Rosmarin.
“How so?” queried the Vicar, putting his hands in all of his pockets in a vain search for a handkerchief with which to wipe the perspiration from his brow.
“It’s very likely you have your wig in your pocket,” said Auntie, “for your handkerchief is on your head.”
“On my head,” exclaimed the Vicar in surprise, and putting his hand there he found it. “I shouldn’t be greatly surprised if you were right, Auntie; it’s a hot, hot day; the sun was burning, my back was burning; I came from town, so I took off my wig to cool my head, spread my handkerchief over the latter, and lay down in a corn-field.”
Again he began to search his pockets, while Susie made room for him on the sofa, and went out to get him a refreshing drink of water and raspberry syrup.
“What are you looking for, Vicar?” asked Auntie.
“If I mistake not, I brought a letter for you from town; but what has become of it is more than I can tell. I think it is from the Burgomaster. Seek and ye shall find.”
“But, Vicar, first of all, put on your wig--this is very indecent. It is an insult to your congregation to walk about bald-headed.”
“I should hope not. But in that case I trust that there would be bears to obey me, like the prophet Elisha, and devour all bad boys who would make bold to have a laugh at me. But, _ad vocem_, my wig, Auntie; what did you do with it?”
“What did I do with it? You did not entrust it to my keeping. Perhaps you lost it on the way!”
“Heaven preserve us! It was my best wig. You are right, Auntie; it is lying in the grass, together with the Burgomaster’s letter, precisely on the spot where I myself lay a quarter of an hour ago, in the shadow of the corn.”
Auntie seized her bell. The maid appeared; the Inspector was called, and ordered to send for the wig and the letter--as quick as possible. Auntie was quite as impatient to hide the Vicar’s baldness as to read the Burgomaster’s letter. The shape of the wig, as well as colour and address of the letter, were explicitly described to the Inspector, and he forthwith sent two grooms, four threshers, and one dairy-boy out upon all roads, footpaths, and byways that run between Nieder-Fahren and Waiblingen. He stationed himself upon the hill by the wind-mill and reconnoitred the field of action through a telescope. Such excellent arrangements could not fail to bring about the desired result. In half-an-hour the seven messengers returned to the house led by the wig, the letter, and the Inspector.
Sure enough the letter was from the Burgomaster. It contained nothing less than a formal invitation to the Frau Obersteuerrätin, together with her brother and Fräulein Susie and the Inspector Säblein, to the wedding of the Burgomaster’s eldest daughter.
Although Auntie felt very much flattered by this attention of the Burgomaster, with whom she was but slightly acquainted, there were some difficulties in the way which must needs be talked over in a family council.
Auntie was very much averse to bringing Susie into contact in any way with the young gentlemen of Waiblingen. First of all, Susie was seventeen years old--a fact which did not seem at all portentous to the child, but all the more so to her cautious aunt. Second, Susie was beautiful as any Susanna, not excepting the one in the Old Testament. Thirdly, she had the prospect of inheriting a considerable fortune, and Auntie had no notion of giving up her darling to the first-comer. Fourthly, Susie was exceedingly inexperienced, though she was not wanting in the usual measure of laudable curiosity.
The young men of Waiblingen were in no way suited to be the companions of such a girl. First, because a great many of them were handsome, which is a very bad thing; and secondly, they were all great lovers of comedies and novels; they kept up an amateur stage; and at Waiblingen two booksellers made their living with circulating libraries--a bad sign of our times! Thirdly, even though one might have forgiven them their sleek faces and romantic tendencies, few of them had a fortune that would weigh in the scales against Aunt Rosmarin’s possessions, nor were they of a rank to be compared with the title of Obersteuerrat.
Auntie had pondered this question long since in the silence of her own heart, and she had come to the conclusion that it was best to take defensive measures against the elegant world of Waiblingen. Susie seldom went there, and still seldomer were there any young guests invited to Nieder-Fahren.
After ripe consideration it was decided in the family council, in which the Inspector also took part, to go to the wedding at the Burgomaster’s, but not without the utmost caution.
Auntie undertook to call Susie’s attention to the dangers arising out of the affections. The Vicar was to add spiritual admonition, and the Inspector--who had the reputation of having been a good waltzer in his younger years, while now he was unfortunately a bachelor of fifty-six--promised to renew Susie’s dancing-lessons. At the wedding all three pledged each other to do their best, and not lose the damsel out of sight.
Hereupon tailors, shoemakers, and milliners were put in a fair way of getting a living. Auntie was desirous of doing whatever was due to her rank, and she also had the pardonable pride of showing off Susie’s beauty to the best advantage.
Susie was delighted with the elaborate preparations--all this was a new experience. She put her dancing-master quite out of breath, and her only regret was that his feet being fifty-six years old were not as flexible as hers being seventeen. Joy and nature taught her to dance; but Säblein took it all upon his account. He was nothing loath to practise his noble half-forgotten art, the less so as the family council had decreed that he alone should be Susie’s partner at the wedding.
Unfortunately this plan miscarried, and the reason was this. The day before the wedding all the dances were to be reviewed once more under the supervision of the Vicar and Auntie. Before the spectators came, Säblein exerted himself more than was good for him to dance at least no worse than his clever pupil. She floated about like a butterfly, and in her rapture took many a step which was no less graceful for not coming under any rule. Säblein, in an ecstasy of delight, rashly undertook to show her the acme of his art. Years ago he could dance _entrechats_,--ambition pricked him to make a trial once more. His first attempt was half a failure, his second was a whole one. His lank, thin-whittled legs, which had never been a cause of reproach to him, got so hopelessly and abnormally entangled that, the rest of his body keeping in motion, a disaster was inevitable. The unfortunate dancing-master fell in a most _un_masterly manner upon the floor, and as a falling pine uproots all blooming bushes that surround it, so he pulled down the little sylph that was frolicking about him.
The Vicar, just about to open the door from without, heard the fall which shook the very foundations of the house, and entered hastily. It was partly this haste and partly the Vicar’s near-sightedness, which he was wont to forget in his absent-mindedness, which became the cause of a second accident. He stepped upon the dancing-master’s leg, which the latter drew back with pardonable abruptness, thereby robbing the Vicar of his equilibrium. Before he had time to beg pardon he lay upon the floor along with the others. While his powdered wig was propelled by the rapid motion far under the sofa, his short legs performed some wonderful antics, and at last turned up their soles toward Heaven, as if imploring its aid.
The whole occurrence was a very short one. The Vicar was the first to gather himself up, and, mistaking Susie’s snowy, befrilled cap for his escaped wig, he seized it without more ado, and covered his head therewith because he heard the Obersteuerrätin at the door. Susie was on her feet too before Auntie entered. But Säblein sat upon the floor making horrible faces, for he had hurt his hip.
“Great heavens!” cried Aunt Rosmarin, clapping her hands together, and looking now at the Inspector’s painful grimaces, now at her brother’s head in a woman’s cap. “Are you playing a farce? Are you forgetful of all decency? Do you call this good breeding? and especially you, Vicar?” ...
“And pray, why is it especially I?” he asked with a touch of sensitiveness, for he did not greatly like his sister’s sermons.
Here Susie gained a hearing, and quickly restored peace by giving her perplexed aunt the explanation to this riddle, and laughingly exchanging her cap for the wig.
This apparently unimportant occurrence was the firs cause to all following misfortunes; for Säblein went limping about for many days, and consequently could not dance at the wedding.
* * * * *
Aunt Rosmarin had her suspicions when she saw Susie, now swimming in bliss, now abject and mournful, or when she heard how Susie went walking in the park evening after evening, and when she herself, putting aside her dread of rheumatism, secretly followed her there, but always found Susie alone.
Auntie shook her head, and said to her brother: “I believe, Vicar, our little baroness is in love.” She had hit it, but wise Auntie never thought of the baron. “We must keep our eyes on this marvellously mysterious child, for she will confess nothing to me. It is a delicate task, I know, and I myself am too old to run after her in the park every day the Lord makes. And, of course, Vicar, it is not a matter to be entrusted to the domestics; that were contrary to all dignity and order. But at the same time she must be watched, for these constant visits to the park for the last fortnight must have some good reason.”
“Trust me, Auntie,” said the Vicar--“trust me; I will guard the park like a spy. Murder shall out. This is just the sort of thing that suits me.”
The plans were laid with great subtlety. The Vicar looked unconcerned in Susie’s presence, and the following day at sunset he started upon his errand.
He was indeed very lucky, for the Baron was really in the park. He was twice lucky, for it so happened that he entered the park from the side where it touched the woods, and where the Baron was wont to enter it. He was in the habit of leaving his horse there, and giving it to the servant to hold.
The servant, finding his task decidedly dull, had to-day tied the Baron’s horse to a young birch-tree and gone about his own affairs. The Vicar looked at the elegantly-equipped noble steed from all sides, and nodding his head thoughtfully, unfastened it, saying to himself, “I’ll take it home to our stable; the owner will no doubt apply for it, and all the rest will follow. In truth, it’s a shrewd plan!”
But there was an unfavourable circumstance. There seemed to be a secret understanding between the horse and his master. He most decidedly objected to being pulled along by the bridle; no amount of patting and caressing had any effect; he planted his fore-legs firmly on the ground and pulled his head back.
“Friend,” said the Vicar, “at best you are but a beast, and you have no eyes behind your ears. I’ll wager you will go willingly.” With that he climbed upon the noble animal’s back, which stood as patient as a lamb. To be sure it was thirty years or more since the good Vicar had been on horseback, and, moreover, his legs were about two inches too short for the stirrups; but then it was to be but a few moments’ ride, and it was well to show Aunt Rosmarin that he had not forgotten the chivalrous arts over his theology. Over and above all this there was danger in delay.
So he belaboured the horse’s shanks with his boots, and the steed, taken aback by such ill-treatment, at once began to canter along the woody path, across the field into the open road, having for weeks past traversed no other way than this with the Baron. The Vicar, in danger of losing his balance, with laudable precaution clasped his fingers in the mane of his Pegasus. Finding himself upon the road, however, instead of parading under Auntie’s window, he tried to grasp the bridle. Over this attempt he came very near losing both stirrups. Making sure of these once more, he let the bridle alone. For a while these two purposes warred with each other, and between times he admonished the fiery horse with many caresses to stand still. But it was all in vain; and when in his despair he pulled the line too tight, at the same time clasping the horse’s sides firmly with his legs, it forthwith rose upon its hind feet, and, to his inexpressible horror, began to walk about like a human being, and perform tricks which were positively not to the Vicar’s taste just at that moment.
He now succumbed to fate and to his horse, clinging to the latter with hands and feet while it sped along at a full gallop till the poor Vicar was deaf and blind with dizziness.
“Out of the depths have I cried unto Thee,” he sighed. “If this isn’t the very devil himself! Had I but left the beast standing where I was how happy should I be!”
It so happened that right here the road had been barred by peasants in honour of the grazing cattle.
“Te Deum laudamus!” cried the Vicar. “Here surely this rascal of a horse will come to a stand.” But the steed leaped over as if he had wings, so that the horseman’s hair stood on end, and his hat and wig took flight in horror. “I have learned to ride better than you, for I still hold my seat,” said the good Vicar in Christian tranquillity to the truants, not venturing to turn and look after them.