The Marquise of O and Other Stories (13 page)

Kohlhaas, who could now take no further pleasure in breeding horses, or in his home and farm, or scarcely even in his wife and children, waited through the next month with a feeling of despondency and foreboding. At the end of this period, just as he had expected, Herse, who had obtained some relief from the mineral bath, returned from Brandenburg with a lengthy rescript accompanied by a letter from the governor. It stated that he regretted he could do nothing about his lawsuit, that he was sending him a resolution from the State Chancellery which had been directed to him, that he advised Kohlhaas to take away the horses left behind at Tronka Castle and otherwise to let the affair rest. The resolution declared that Kohlhaas was, according to information received from the Dresden court, a vexatious litigant; that the Junker with whom he had left the horses was in no way trying to withhold them from him; that he should have them fetched from the castle, or at least inform the Junker where he should send them; that the State Chancellery wished in any event not to be troubled with any further contentions and complaints of this sort. Since for Kohlhaas the horses were not the issue – he would have been equally aggrieved had they been a couple of dogs – this letter made him foam with rage. A feeling of repugnance such as he had never experienced before filled his heart as he looked towards the gate whenever he heard a sound in the courtyard, expecting to see the Junker's men appear and, perhaps even with some excuse, hand the starved and emaciated horses back to him. Well schooled
in the world's ways though he was, this would have been the one eventuality to which his feelings could have found no fitting response. Shortly afterwards, however, he heard, from a friend who had travelled that way, that the nags were as heretofore being used on the fields at Tronka Castle with the Junker's other horses. And in the midst of his grief at seeing the world in such monstrous disorder, an inward sense of contentment now flooded over him as he found harmony within his own heart.

He invited a neighbour to call on him, a local magistrate who had for a long time had the notion of extending his estate by purchasing land that bordered on it; and when this man had seated himself Kohlhaas asked him what price he would offer for his properties in Brandenburg and in Saxony, house and land, just as they stood, estate and chattels and all. At these words his wife Lisbeth paled. She turned away, picked up her youngest child who was playing behind her on the ground, and as the little boy toyed with her necklaces she stared in mortal anxiety past his red cheeks at her husband and at a document he held in his hand. The magistrate, looking at the horse-dealer in amazement, asked what had suddenly made him think of so strange a proposition. Kohlhaas, mustering as much cheerfulness as he could, replied that the idea of selling his farm on the banks of the Havel was not so new; they had both often discussed the matter before. By comparison the house on the outskirts of Dresden was a mere appendage of little importance, and, in short, if the magistrate would oblige him by taking over both properties, he was prepared to conclude the contract. He added, in a rather contrived jesting tone, that Kohlhaasenbrück was not the whole world; that there could be purposes compared with which his role as father and head of the household was subordinate and unworthy; in short, that he must tell him his mind was set on higher things, which might presently be heard of. The magistrate, reassured by these words, said jokingly to the horse-dealer's
wife, who was kissing her child over and over again, that her husband would presumably not expect immediate payment, placed his hat and stick, which he had kept between his knees, on the table, and took the document from the horse-dealer's hands to read it. Moving closer to him, Kohlhaas explained that it was a contingent contract of sale which he had drawn up and which lapsed at the end of four weeks. He pointed out that nothing was missing except the signatures and the amount both of the purchase price and of the forfeit which he would agree to pay if, within four weeks, he should change his mind. And he good-humouredly called on his neighbour to make an offer, assuring him that he would not expect a high price and wanted a quick settlement. His wife was walking up and down the room, her bosom heaving in such agitation that the kerchief the little boy had been tugging at seemed about to slip right off her shoulders. The magistrate said that he could not possibly assess the value of the property in Dresden, whereupon Kohlhaas pushed across to him the letters that had been exchanged upon its purchase, and answered that he valued it at a hundred gold florins, although it was evident that he had paid almost half as much again. The magistrate re-read the contract and found that it particularly stipulated a right of withdrawal on his own part; he then said, with his mind already half made up, that he could not use the stud-horses in his stables. But when Kohlhaas replied that he did not in any case intend to sell the horses and that he also wanted to keep some weapons that were hanging in the armoury, he finally, after further and further hesitation, offered a sum which he had already mentioned to Kohlhaas once on a walk, partly as a joke, partly in earnest, and which bore no relation to the value of the property. Kohlhaas pushed pen and ink over to him to write with, and when the magistrate, who could not believe his senses, had again asked him if he were serious and the horse-dealer had rather testily retorted: ‘Do you suppose I am merely making fun of you?'
he took the pen, though still looking very doubtful, and signed. He crossed out, however, the paragraph referring to a forfeit in the event of the vendor's changing his mind, undertook to make him a loan of a hundred gold florins on the security of the Dresden property which he had no wish actually to buy, and left him complete freedom to withdraw from the transaction within two months. The horse-dealer, touched by this behaviour, warmly shook him by the hand and when they had agreed, as one of the chief stipulations, that a quarter of the purchase price should without fail be paid immediately in cash and the rest credited to the vendor's bank account in Hamburg within three months, Kohlhaas called for wine to celebrate such a happy conclusion to the deal. He told the maid who brought in the bottles that Sternbald, the groom, was to saddle the sorrel for him, as he had to ride to the capital on some business. He hinted that before long, on his return, he would speak more candidly about matters which he must keep to himself for the present. Then, filling the glasses, he asked about Poland and Turkey, which at that time were engaged in hostilities with each other, and involved the magistrate in all sorts of political conjectures on this subject; finally he toasted the success of their transaction once more, and let him take his leave.

When the magistrate had left the room, Lisbeth fell on her knees before her husband. ‘If you have any feeling for me and the children I have borne you,' she cried, ‘if you have not already disowned us in advance for some reason which I cannot even guess, tell me what these terrible arrangements mean!' Kohlhaas said: ‘Dearest wife, they mean nothing that should still worry you as things now stand. I have received a court decision informing me that my claim against Junker Wenzel von Tronka is a vexatious triviality. And because there must have been a misunderstanding, I have decided to present my case in person to our sovereign.' ‘Why should you want to sell your house?' she
cried, rising to her feet with a distraught gesture. The horse-dealer, drawing her gently to his bosom, replied: ‘Because, dearest Lisbeth, I do not wish to remain in a country where I and my rights are not defended. If I am to be kicked, I would rather be a dog than a man! I am sure that you, as my wife, think the same in this respect as I.' ‘How do you know,' she asked wildly, ‘that you and your rights will not be defended? If you approach the Elector with your petition in all humility, as is proper, how do you know that it will be rejected or that he will refuse to listen to you?' ‘Very well,' answered Kohlhaas, ‘if my fear is groundless, my house will not yet have been sold. The Elector himself, I know, is just, and if only I can succeed in getting past the people who surround him and can reach him in person, I do not doubt I can obtain justice and joyfully return to you and my old business before the week is over. And then,' he added, kissing her, ‘I shall have no wish but to stay with you until the end of my life! But,' he continued, ‘it is advisable for me to be prepared for any eventuality, and so I want you to go away for a time, if possible, and take the children to your aunt in Schwerin, whom you have in any case not visited for a very long time.' ‘What?' said his wife, ‘I am to go to Schwerin? Across the border with the children to my aunt in Schwerin?' And she fell speechless with terror. ‘Of course,' answered Kohlhaas, ‘and if possible you must go at once, so that the steps I intend to take in my cause are not impeded by any secondary considerations.' ‘Oh! I understand you!' she cried. ‘Now you need nothing but weapons and horses; the rest can be taken by anyone who wants it!' And so saying she turned away, threw herself into an armchair and wept. Kohlhaas asked in perplexity: ‘Dearest Lisbeth, what are you doing? God has blessed me with a wife, children and possessions: am I today, for the first time, to wish it were otherwise?' He sat down beside her affectionately, and she at these words blushed and embraced him. ‘Tell me,' he said, stroking the
curls back from her brow, ‘what am I to do? Am I to abandon my case? Am I to go to Tronka Castle and beg the Junker to return my horses, then mount, and ride them home to you?' ‘Yes, yes, yes!' Lisbeth wanted to say but did not dare; amid her tears she shook her head, hugged him closely and kissed his breast passionately again and again. ‘Well, then!' cried Kohlhaas, ‘if you feel that I must get justice if I am to go on practising my trade, then grant me the freedom I need in order to get it!' Thereupon he stood up, and told the groom who had come to say the sorrel was ready that the bays were to be harnessed the next day to take his wife to Schwerin. Lisbeth said that an idea had occurred to her. She rose to her feet, wiped the tears from her eyes, and asked her husband, who had sat down at a desk, whether he would give her the petition and let her, instead of him, go to Berlin and hand it to the Elector. Touched for more than one reason by this suggestion, Kohlhaas drew her down on his lap and said: ‘Dearest wife, that is simply not possible! The Elector is heavily guarded and anyone approaching him is subjected to all sorts of unpleasantness.' Lisbeth replied that in very many cases such access was easier for a woman than for a man. ‘Give me the petition,' she repeated, ‘and if all you want is to be sure that it is in his hands, I will vouch for that: he shall get it!' Kohlhaas, who had ample evidence both of her courage and of her intelligence, asked how she planned to set about the task. Looking down in embarrassment, she replied that in the old days, when the castellan of the Electoral palace had held an appointment in Schwerin, he had courted her, and that he was now married, of course, with several children, but that he would not have forgotten her entirely; in short, that he was simply to leave it to her to take advantage of these and certain other circumstances which were too complex to describe. Kohlhaas kissed her joyfully, said that he accepted her proposal, and pointed out that she needed merely to stay with the castellan's wife
in order to have access to the Elector in the palace itself. He gave her the petition, had the bays harnessed up, and sent her off, well wrapped up, with Sternbald, his trusty groom.

But of all the fruitless steps he had taken to further his cause, this journey was the most disastrous of all. For only a few days later Sternbald returned to the farm, slowly leading the carriage, in which his mistress lay prostrate, suffering from a dangerous contusion on the chest. Paling, Kohlhaas went up to the vehicle but could get no coherent account of what had caused the accident. According to the groom the castellan had not been at home, so they were forced to stay at an inn near the palace. The next morning Lisbeth had left the inn and instructed the groom to stay behind with the horses; she had not returned until evening, and was then in her present condition. It seemed that she had thrust herself forward too boldly towards the Elector, and through no fault of his, a rough and over-zealous member of his bodyguard had struck her a blow on the chest with the shaft of his lance. At least, that was what the people stated who brought her back to the hostelry towards nightfall in a state of unconsciousness: she was unable to say much herself on account of the blood welling up in her mouth. A courtier had taken the petition from her afterwards. Sternbald said he had wanted to mount a horse immediately and take his master the news of this unhappy event, but despite the objections of the surgeon who had been called, she had insisted on being brought back to her husband at Kohlhaasenbrück without sending any word of warning. She had been utterly worn out by the journey and Kohlhaas put her to bed, where she survived for a few more days, painfully struggling to draw breath. They tried vainly to restore her to consciousness in order to get some details of what had occurred. She lay there with a fixed, moribund stare and made no reply. Only very shortly before her death did her reason return. A minister of the Lutheran
faith (which at that time was just beginning to flourish and which, following her husband's example, she had embraced) was standing beside her bed, reading a chapter from the Bible in loud pompous tones, when suddenly she looked up at him darkly, took the Bible out of his hand as if there were no need to read to her from it, and kept turning the pages as if she were searching for something. Then she turned to Kohlhaas, who was sitting on her bed, and pointed with her finger at the verse: ‘Forgive your enemies; do good also unto them that hate you'; whereupon, pressing his hand, she gazed at him with deep emotion and expired. Kohlhaas thought to himself: ‘May God never forgive me as I forgive the Junker!' Weeping profusely, he kissed her, closed her eyes and left the room. He took the hundred gold florins which the magistrate had already paid over for the stables in Dresden and ordered such a funeral as befitted a princess rather than his wife: an oak coffin banded with metal, silk cushions with gold and silver tassels and a grave eight ells deep lined with trimmed stones and mortar. He supervised the work personally from beside the grave, carrying his youngest child in his arms. On the day of the burial the corpse, as white as snow, was laid out in a hall which he had hung with black drapes. The pastor had just delivered a moving address from beside her bier when the Elector's reply to the petition which the dead woman had taken to him was delivered to Kohlhaas: it commanded him to fetch the horses from Tronka Castle and, upon pain of imprisonment, to make no further submissions concerning this matter. Kohlhaas put the letter in his pocket and ordered the coffin to be placed in the carriage. As soon as the grave mound had been raised, the cross planted on it, and the funeral guests dismissed, he threw himself down one last time by his wife's deserted bed, then immediately set about the work of his vengeance. He sat down and drew up an edict in which, ‘by virtue of the authority inborn in him', he ordered Junker Wenzel von Tronka, within three days
of sight of the document, to bring back to Kohlhaasenbrück the two black horses he had taken from him and worked to death on his fields, and fatten them in person in Kohlhaas's stables. He sent this edict by a mounted messenger whom he instructed to return to Kohlhaasenbrück immediately upon delivering it. When the three days had passed and the horses had not appeared, he summoned Herse, told him of the order he had issued to the Junker about fattening them, and asked him two questions: firstly, would he ride with him to Tronka Castle and fetch the Junker out, and would he secondly, when they had brought him back to Kohlhaasenbrück, take a whip to him in the stables if he should be behindhand in executing the terms of the edict? Herse had no sooner understood his master than he exultantly cried: ‘Sir, this very day!' Tossing his cap in the air, he vowed he would have a scourge with ten knots made ready to teach the Junker how to curry a horse. Kohlhaas then sold his house, and packed his children off in a carriage across the border; at nightfall he gathered together his seven loyal grooms, armed them, gave them mounts, and set off for Tronka Castle.