The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries Volume Vii Part 78

"Not _false_ witness!"

"No, none at all; you have been badly taught; he who accuses another in his confession is unworthy to receive the Sacrament."

Both were silent. "Uncle, what makes you think of this?" Frederick finally asked. "Your conscience is not clear; you have lied to me."

"I? How?"

"Where is your axe?"

"My axe? On the barn-floor."

"Did you make a new handle for it? Where is the old one?"

"You'll find it at daylight in the woodshed."

"Go," he continued scornfully. "I thought you were a man; but you are like an old woman who thinks the house must be on fire as soon as she sees smoke rising from her pot. See," he went on, "if I know anything more about this story than that doorpost there, may I never hope for salvation. I was at home long before," he added. Frederick stood still, oppressed and doubtful. He would have given much to be able to see his uncle's face. But while they were whispering, the sky had clouded over.

"I am very guilty," sighed Frederick, "because I sent him the wrong way; although--but still, I never thought it would come to this, no, certainly not! Uncle, I have you to thank for a troubled conscience."

"Well, go and confess!" whispered Simon in a trembling voice. "Desecrate the Sacrament by tale-bearing, and set a spy on poor people who will manage to find a way to s.n.a.t.c.h their bit of bread from between their teeth, even if he is not permitted to talk--go!" Frederick stood, undecided; he heard a soft noise; the clouds cleared away, the moonlight again fell on the bedroom door; it was closed. Frederick did not go to confession that morning.

The impression which this incident had made on Frederick wore off only too soon. Who doubts that Simon did everything to lead his adopted son down the same paths that he was following? And Frederick possessed qualities which made this only too easy: carelessness, excitability, and, above all, boundless pride, which did not always scorn pretense and ended by doing its utmost to escape possible disgrace, by trying to realize what it first had pretended to possess. He was not naturally ign.o.ble, but he fell into the habit of preferring inward to outward shame. One need only say that he habitually made a display while his mother starved.

This unfortunate change in his character was, however, the work of many years, during which it was noticed that Margaret became more and more quiet on the subject of her son, and gradually came to a state of demoralization which once would have been thought impossible. She became timid, negligent, even slovenly, and many thought her brain had suffered. Frederick, on the other hand, grew all the more self-a.s.sertive; he missed no fair or wedding, and since his irritable sense of honor would not permit him to overlook the secret disapprobation of many, he was, so to speak, up in arms, not so much to defy public opinion as to direct it into the channel which pleased him.

Externally he was neat, sober, apparently affable, but crafty, boastful, and often coa.r.s.e--a man in whom no one could take delight, least of all his mother, and who, nevertheless, through his audacity, which every one feared, and through his cunning, which they dreaded even more, had attained a certain preeminence in the village. The preeminence came to be acknowledged more and more as people became conscious of the fact that they neither knew him nor could guess of what he might be capable.

Only one young fellow in the village, Will Huelsmeyer, who realized his own strength and good circ.u.mstances, dared to defy him. Since he was also readier with his tongue than Frederick, and could always make a pointed joke, he was the only one whom Frederick did not like to meet.

Four years had pa.s.sed. It was the month of October; the open autumn of 1760, which filled every barn with corn and every cellar with wine, had also lavished its riches on this corner of the earth, and more intoxicated people were seen and more fights and stupid tricks were heard of than ever before. Everywhere there were festivities; Blue Mondays were the fashion, and whoever had laid aside a few dollars quickly wanted also a wife to help him feast today and starve tomorrow.

A big, noteworthy wedding took place in the village, and the guests could expect more than the one violin, generally out of tune, than the single gla.s.s of whiskey, and higher spirits than they themselves brought along. Since the early morning all had been astir; clothing had been aired in front of every door, and all day B. had looked like a frippery-stall. Since many outsiders were expected, everybody was anxious to uphold the honor of the village.

It was seven o'clock in the evening and everything was in full swing; fun and laughter were rampant on every side, and the low rooms were crowded to suffocation with blue, red, and yellow figures, like pen-folds into which too large a herd had been huddled. On the barn floor there was dancing--that is, whoever succeeded in capturing a two-foot s.p.a.ce twirled around on it and tried to make up by shouting for what was lacking in motion. The orchestra was brilliant, the first violinist as a recognized artist drowned out the second, and a great ba.s.s-viol with three strings was sounded _ad libitum_ by dilettantes, whiskey and coffee flowed in abundance, all the guests were dripping with perspiration--in short, it was a glorious affair.

Frederick strutted about like a c.o.c.k in his new sky-blue jacket and a.s.serted his position as the first beau of the village. When the lord of the manor and his family arrived he happened to be sitting behind the ba.s.s-viol, sounding the lowest string with great strength and much decorum. "John," he called imperiously, and up stepped his protege from the dancing-floor, where he too had tried to swing his awkward legs and shout a cheer. Frederick handed him the bow, made his wishes known by a proud nod, and joined the dancers. "Now, strike up, musician, the 'Pape van Istrup!'" The favorite dance was played, and Frederick cut such capers before the company that the cows in the barn drew back their horns and a lowing and a rattling of chains sounded from their stalls. A foot high above the others, his blond head bobbed up and down like a pike diving out of the waters, on every side girls screamed as he dashed his long flaxen hair, by a quick movement of the head, into their faces as a sign of admiration.

"Now is the time," he said finally, and stepped up to the refreshment table, dripping with perspiration. "Here's to the gracious lords and ladies and all the n.o.ble princes and princesses; and whoever doesn't join in the toast will get such a boxing on the ears from me that he'll hear the angels singing!" A loud _Vivat_ responded to the gallant toast.

Frederick bowed. "Take nothing amiss, gracious lords and ladies; we are but ignorant peasant people." At this moment a disturbance arose at the end of the floor--shouting, scolding, laughter, all in confusion.

"b.u.t.ter-thief, b.u.t.ter-thief!" called a few children; and John n.o.body pushed his way, or rather was pushed, through the crowd, his head sunk between his shoulders and pressing with all his might toward the door.

"What's the matter? What are you doing to our John!" called Frederick imperiously.

"You'll find out soon enough," coughed an old woman in a kitchen ap.r.o.n and with a dish-rag in her hand. "Shame!" John, the poor devil, who had to put up with the worst at home, had tried to secure for himself a paltry half pound of b.u.t.ter for the coming time of scarcity, and, without remembering that he had concealed it in his pocket, neatly wrapped in his handkerchief, had stepped near the kitchen fire, and now the grease was disgracing him by running down his coat.

There was general excitement; the girls sprang back from fear of soiling their clothes, or pushed the culprit forward. Others made room as much out of pity as of caution. But Frederick stepped forward. "Rogue!" he cried; and a few hard slaps struck his patient protege; then he pushed him toward the door and gave him a good kick on the way. The gallant came back dejected; his dignity was injured; the general laughter cut him to the quick, although he tried to bring himself into the swing again by a bold huzza!--It did not work. He was on the point of taking refuge behind the ba.s.s-viol again, but before that he wanted to produce still another brilliant effect; he drew out his silver watch, at that time a rare and precious ornament. "It is almost ten o'clock," he said.

"Now the Bride's Minuet! I will strike up."

"A beautiful watch!" said the swineherd, and leaned forward in reverential curiosity.

"What did it cost?" cried Will Huelsmeyer, Frederick's rival.

"Will you pay for it?" asked Frederick. "Have you paid for it?"

retorted Will. Frederick threw him a haughty glance and seized the bow in silent majesty. "Well, well," Huelsmeyer went on, "such things have happened. As you know well enough, Franz Ebel had a beautiful watch too, till Aaron the Jew took it away from him." Frederick did not answer, but nodded proudly to the first violin and they began to play with all their might and main.

Meanwhile the lord of the manor had stepped into the room where the women of the neighborhood were investing the bride with the white head band, the insignia of her new position. The young girl was crying bitterly, partly because custom so decreed, partly from honest nervousness. She was to manage a run-down household, under the eye of a peevish old man, whom, moreover, she was expected to love. He stood beside her, by no means like the groom in the Song of Solomon who "steps into the chamber like the morning sun." "You've cried enough now," he said crossly; "remember, it isn't you who are making me happy; I am making you happy!" She looked up to him humbly and seemed to feel that he was right. The business was ended; the young wife had drunk to her husband's health, some young wags had looked through the tripod to see if the bride's head band was straight, and they were all crowding again toward the dancing-floor, whence there still resounded inextinguishable laughter and noise. Frederick was no longer there. He had met with a great unbearable disgrace, when Aaron the Jew, a butcher and casual second-hand dealer from the nearest town, had suddenly appeared, and, after a short unsatisfactory conversation, had dunned him before the whole company for the sum of ten thalers in payment of a watch delivered at Eastertide. Frederick had gone away, as if annihilated, and the Jew followed him, shouting all the while: "Oh, woe is me! Why didn't I listen to sensible people! Didn't they tell me a hundred times you had all your possessions on your back and no bread in your cupboard!" The room shook with laughter. Some had pushed after them into the yard.

"Catch the Jew! Balance him against a pig!" called some; others had become serious. "Frederick looked as white as a sheet," said an old woman, and the crowd separated as the carriage of the lord of the estate turned into the yard. Herr von S. was out of sorts on the way home, the usual and inevitable effect when the desire to maintain popularity induced him to attend such feasts. He looked out of the carriage silently. "What two figures are those?" He pointed to two dark forms running ahead of the wagon like two ostriches. Now they sneaked into the castle. "Another blessed pair of swine out of our own pen!" sighed Herr von S. Having arrived at home, he found the corridor crowded with all the domestics standing around two lower-servants, who had sunk down pale and breathless on the steps.

They declared that they had been chased by old Mergel's ghost, when they were coming home through the forest of Brede. First they had heard a rustling and crackling high above them, and then, up in the air, a rattling noise like sticks beating against one another; then suddenly had sounded a shrieking yell and quite distinctly the words, "O, my poor soul!" coming down from on high. One of them even claimed to have seen fiery eyes gleaming through the branches, and both had run as fast as their legs could carry them.

"Stupid nonsense!" exclaimed the lord of the estate crossly, and went into his room to change his clothes. The next morning the fountain in the garden would not play, and it was discovered that some one had removed a pipe, apparently to look for the head of a horse's skeleton which had the reputation of being an attested instrument against any wiles of witches or ghosts. "H'm," said Baron von S.; "what rogues do not steal, fools destroy."

Three days later a frightful storm was raging. It was midnight, but every one in the castle was out of bed. The Baron stood at the window and looked anxiously out into the dark toward his fields. Leaves and twigs flew against the panes; now and, then a brick fell and was dashed to pieces on the pavement of the courtyard. "Terrible weather!" said Herr von S. His wife looked out anxiously. "Are you sure the fire is well banked?" she asked; "Gretchen, look again; if not, put it all out with water! Come, let us read the Gospel of St. John." They all knelt down and the lady of the house began: "In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with G.o.d, and the Word was G.o.d." There was a terrible clap of thunder. All started; then there was a terrible scream and noise up the stairs. "For G.o.d's sake! Is something burning?" cried Frau von S., and sank down with her face on the chair. The door burst open and in rushed the wife of Aaron the Jew, pale as death, with her hair wildly disheveled, dripping with rain. She threw herself on her knees before the Baron. "Justice!" she cried, "Justice! My husband is murdered!" and she fell in a faint.

It was only too true, and the ensuing investigation proved that Aaron the Jew had lost his life by a single blow on the temples delivered by some blunt instrument, probably a staff. On his left temple was the blue mark; beyond that there was no other injury. The statement of the Jewess and her servant, Samuel, ran thus: Three days ago Aaron had gone out in the afternoon to buy cattle and had said at the time that he would probably be gone overnight, because there were still several bad debtors in B. and S., on whom he would call for payment; in this case he would spend the night with the butcher, Solomon, in B. When he did not return home the next day his wife had become greatly worried and had finally set out at three o'clock in the afternoon with her servant and the big butcher dog. At the house of Solomon the Jew, no one knew anything about Aaron; he had not been there at all. Then they had gone to all the peasants with whom they knew Aaron had intended to transact some business. Only two had seen him, and those on the very day when he had left home. Meanwhile it had become very late. Her great anxiety drove the woman back home, where she cherished a faint hope of finding her husband after all. They had been overtaken by the storm in the Forest of Brede and had sought shelter under a great beech on the mountain side. In the meantime the dog had been running about and acting strangely, and had, in spite of repeated calling, finally run off into the woods. Suddenly, during a lightning flash, the woman had seen something white beside her on the moss. It was her husband's staff, and almost at the same moment the dog had broken through the shrubbery with something in his mouth; it was her husband's shoe. Before long they found the Jew's body in a trench filled with dry leaves.

This was the report of the servant, supported only in general by the wife; her intense agitation had subsided and her senses now seemed half confused or, rather, blunted. "An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth!"

These were her only words, which she at intervals e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed.

The same night the guards were summoned to take Frederick into custody.

They needed no warrant, because Herr von S. himself had been witness to a scene which inevitably threw the strongest suspicion on him; furthermore there was the ghost story of that night, the beating together of the sticks in the forest of Brede, the scream from above.

Since the clerk of the court was at that time absent, Herr von S.

hastened everything faster than would otherwise have been done.

Nevertheless dawn was already breaking when the riflemen as quietly as possible surrounded poor Margaret's house. The Baron himself knocked; it was hardly a minute before the door was opened, and Margaret appeared, fully dressed. Herr von S. started; he scarcely recognized her, so pale and stony did she look. "Where is Frederick?" he asked in an unsteady voice.

"Search for him!" she answered, and sat down on a chair. The Baron hesitated a moment longer.

"Come in, come in," he then said roughly to the guards; "what are we waiting for?" They stepped into Frederick's room. He was not there, but the bed was still warm. They climbed to the garret, down the cellar, examined the straw, looked behind every barrel, even into the oven; he was not there. Some of them went into the garden, looked behind the fence and up into the apple trees; he was not to be found.

"Escaped!" said the Baron with conflicting feelings; the sight of the old woman made a strong impression on him. "Give me the key to that trunk!" Margaret did not answer. "Give me the key," he repeated, and noticed now for the first time that the key was already in the lock. The contents of the trunk were brought into view--the fugitive's best Sunday clothes and his mother's poor finery, then two shrouds with black ribbons, one made for a man, the other for a woman. Herr von S. was deeply affected. Under everything else, at the very bottom of the trunk, lay the silver watch and some doc.u.ments in a very legible hand, one of these signed by a man who was strongly suspected of alliance with the forest-thieves. Herr von S. took them along to examine them, and the guards left the house without Margaret's giving another sign of life than that of incessantly biting her lips and blinking her eyes.

Having arrived at the castle, the Baron found the court clerk, who had returned the night before and declared he had slept through the whole affair because his Honor had not sent for him. "You always come too late," said Herr von S. crossly; "wasn't there any old woman in the village to tell your maid about it? And why didn't they wake you up then?"

"Your Honor," replied Kapp, "of course my Anne Marie learned of the incident an hour before I did; but she knew that your Honor was directing the matter yourself--and then," he added in a plaintive tone, "that I was deathly tired!"

"A fine police force!" muttered the Baron. "Every old hag in the village knows about a thing whenever it's supposed to be conducted in absolute secrecy." Then he continued angrily: "He'd have indeed to be a stupid devil of a criminal who would let himself be caught!"

Both were silent a moment. "My driver lost his way in the dark," began the clerk again; "we were delayed over an hour in the wood; the weather was awful; I thought the wind would blow the wagon over. At last, when the rain slackened, we drove on in the name of G.o.d, heading toward the Zellerfeld, unable to see our hands before our eyes. Then the coachman said: 'If only we don't get too near the stone-quarries!' I was frightened myself; I had him stop, and struck a light, to find some comfort at least in my pipe. Suddenly we heard a bell ring very near, perpendicularly under us. Your Honor will realize that I felt dreadfully. I jumped out of the wagon, for one can trust one's own limbs, but not those of a horse. So I stood in the mud and rain without moving, until presently, thank G.o.d, it began to dawn. And where had we stopped? Right near the Heerse ravine with the tower of Heerse directly under us! If we had driven on twenty paces farther, we should all have been children of Death."

"That was indeed no joke!" exclaimed the Baron, half conciliated.

Meanwhile he had examined the papers that he had taken along. They were dunning letters for money lent, most of them from usurers. "I had not thought," he muttered, "that the Mergels were so deeply in debt." "Yes, and that it must come to light in this way," replied Kapp; "that will be no little cause for vexation to Mistress Margaret."

"Oh, dear me, she does not think of that now!" With these words the Baron arose and left the room to proceed together with Kapp to the judicial examination of the body. The examination was short--death by violence evident; the suspected criminal escaped; the evidence against him very strong indeed, but not sufficient to establish his guilt without a personal confession; his flight at all events very suspicious.

So the judicial investigation had to be closed without satisfactory results.

The Jews in the vicinity had manifested great interest. The widow's house was never empty of mourners and advisers. Within the memory of man never had so many Jews been seen together in L. Extremely embittered by the murder of their co-religionist they had spared neither pains nor money to trace the criminal. It is even known that one of them, commonly called "Joel the Usurer," offered one of his customers, who owed him many hundreds and whom he considered an especially sly fellow, remission of the entire sum if he could help him to arrest Mergel; for the belief was general among the Jews that the murderer could not have escaped without efficient a.s.sistance, and was probably still in the vicinity.

When, nevertheless, all this did no good, and the judicial investigation had been declared closed, a number of the most prominent Israelites appeared in the castle the next morning to make a business proposition to the gracious lord. The object was the beech-tree, under which Aaron's staff had been found and where the murder had probably been committed.

"Do you want to hew it down, now that it is in full leaf?" asked the Baron.

"No, gracious Sir, it must remain standing winter and summer, as long as there is a chip of it left."

"But then, if I should have the forest cut down, it would injure the young trees."