This incident, though the horse trader was hardly to blame for it, nevertheless aroused, even among the more moderate and well-intentioned folk, a dark mood that did not bode well for the outcome of his case. His comportment with regard to the state was deemed altogether unacceptable, and behind closed doors and in the marketplace growing public opinion maintained that it would be better to do him an outright injustice and once again suppress the entire matter than to do the right thing by him in what was, after all, such an inconsequential matter, and thereby vindicate acts of violence, just to satisfy his pigheaded obstinacy. Alas for poor Kohlhaas, it was felt that the Lord High Chancellor himself would have to support and promote this position out of a heightened sense of justice, and despite the hatred for the von Tronka family it would surely arouse.
It was highly unlikely that the horses now cared for by the horse skinner of Dresden could ever be restored to the healthy condition they enjoyed when they emerged from the stable in Kohlhaasenbrück; but supposing that it were possible, through attentive and sustained care, to nurse the poor beasts back to health, under the present circumstances the shame that would consequently fall on the Junker’s kin was so great that, given their standing as one of the most respected and noblest families in the region, it seemed far less costly and more expedient to instead propose a monetary compensation. Nevertheless, in response to a letter addressed to the Lord High Chancellor, drafted several days later by Count Kallheim, president of the State Chancellery, on behalf of the Lord Chamberlain – who was too indisposed by ill health to do so himself – in which the Count proposed just that, the Chancellor sent word to Kohlhaas admonishing him not to scorn such an offer if it were made; whereas in a short and noncommittal reply to the Count, he asked henceforth to be spared further private appeals in this matter, and enjoined the Lord Chamberlain to directly address the horse trader, whom he described as a very reasonable and modest man. Heeding the Lord High Chancellor’s advice, the horse trader, whose will had indeed been broken by the incident at the marketplace, and who was ready and willing to forgive and put the entire matter behind him, merely waited for an opening offer on the part of the Junker or his next of kin to come to an agreement; but the proud von Tronkas could not bring themselves to do just that; embittered by the Lord High Chancellor’s written reply, they showed it to the Prince Elector, who visited the wounded Lord Chamberlain in his sick bed on the morning of the following day. With a feeble and stirring voice, the effect of which was enhanced by his sorry state, the Chamberlain asked the Prince if, after having risked his life just to settle this matter as he saw fit, a gentleman of his standing should be expected to likewise risk having his honor dragged through the mud by begging forgiveness and seeking reconciliation of a man who had brought every conceivable insult and disgrace upon him and his family. After reading the Chancellor’s letter, a bit taken aback, the Prince asked Count Kallheim: “Supposing the horses could not be restored to their former condition, is the court not empowered, without any further consultation with Kohlhaas, to act as if they were dead and simply call for the horse trader’s indemnification for their cash value?” The Count replied: “Most gracious Sire, they are already dead, from a legal standpoint, since they no longer have any value, and will surely be physically dead before they ever make it from the horse skinner’s stall to the Lords’ stables.” Whereupon, after pocketing the letter, the Prince assured Sir Kunz that he would have a word with the Lord High Chancellor; greatly relieved, the Chamberlain raised himself half upright and grasped His Lordship’s outstretched hand with profound gratitude; and after the Prince urged the wounded man to take good care of himself, wishing him a speedy betterment, he rose from his chair in a most dignified manner and left the room.
This is how matters stood in Dresden when another serious storm broke in Lützen, which the crafty von Tronkas were shrewd enough to turn to poor Kohlhaas’ disadvantage. Namely, a certain Johann Nagelschmidt, one of the men the horse trader had brought together and subsequently, following the Prince Elector’s amnesty, disbanded, had taken it upon himself a few weeks thereafter to regather a band of that shiftless rabble at the Bohemian border to recommence the rowdy business Kohlhaas had begun. In part to intimidate the armed guard hot on his heels, in part by a tried and true ruse to inveigle the locals to join in his villainy, this churlish lout dubbed himself Kohlhaas’ lieutenant; with a tactical adeptness learned from his erstwhile commander, he spread the word that the amnesty allegedly granted to many of the men who had peacefully returned to their homes was not being respected, indeed that Kohlhaas himself had been shamelessly betrayed, arrested and put under armed guard upon his arrival in Dresden; consequently, on placards that bore a striking resemblance to those that Kohlhaas had disseminated, Nagelschmidt portrayed his murderous rabble as an honorbound army of God assembled to enforce the Prince Elector’s precious amnesty; all of which, needless to say, had nothing whatsoever to do with Godliness or any loyalty to Kohlhaas, about whom they didn’t give a hoot, but rather, under the guise of noble purpose, to pursue their burning and plundering with all the more impunity and ease. As soon as word of Nagelschmidt’s mischief reached Dresden, the von Tronkas could hardly contain their glee about this turn of events that put their cause in a whole new light. With sidelong disgruntled “I-told-you so” looks, they reminded whomever they spoke with of the amnesty that had been granted, despite their dire and repeated warnings, as though it had been the state’s misguided intention to thereby give the go-ahead to rogues of every description inclined to follow in the horse trader’s footsteps; and not content to merely lend credence to Nagelschmidt’s supposed purpose of having taken up arms to protect and defend his wronged commander, they went so far as to maintain with certainty that this entire business was nothing but a ruse instigated by Kohlhaas to intimidate the authorities and, true to his pigheaded ways, to push through and expedite his lawsuit. Indeed, the Cupbearer, Lord Hinz, went so far as to imply to the huntsmen and courtiers gathered round the Prince Elector in his sitting room after dinner that the dissolution of Kohlhaas’ band of thieves in Lützen was nothing but a cunning bluff; and poking fun at the Lord High Chancellor’s lofty sense of justice, he cited a drolly assembled set of circumstances as proof that the bulk of the band still lurked in the forests awaiting a signal from the horse trader to break out anew with fire and sword. Sorely displeased at this turn of events that threatened to put an insidious stain on his Lord’s reputation, Prince Christiern von Meissen immediately rode out to the latter’s castle; and seeing through the von Tronkas’ patent scheme of sabotaging Kohlhaas’ legal case, if possible, by linking him to these new trespasses, he begged the Lord Chancellor’s leave to immediately schedule a hearing concerning the horse trader’s case. Led by a bailiff, Kohlhaas caused something of a stir when he appeared in court with his two little sons, Heinrich and Leopold, in his arms; for just the day before his faithful man Sternbald had brought them back to him from Mecklenburg where they had been staying with relatives, and prompted by a train of thought that would be too long to elaborate here, when, believing that the bailiff had come to arrest their father and showering him with childish tears, the boys leapt into his arms, he decided to take them along to the hearing. Seeing the children seated beside their father, the Prince gave them a kindly look, and after graciously inquiring after their ages and names, he told Kohlhaas what Nagelschmidt, his former confederate, had been up to in the valleys of the Erzgebirge; and handing him Nagelschmidt’s so-called mandates, he bid him testify against the latter, and say what he had to say in his own defense. Stunned as he was by these scandalous and perfidious documents, the horse trader, nevertheless, had little trouble convincing a man as honest and upstanding as Prince von Meissen of the groundlessness beyond the shadow of a doubt of false accusations imputing his involvement. Not only did Kohlhaas give convincing testimony on his own behalf, affirming that, as matters stood, given the steady progress of his legal case, he needed no third party to help bring it to jud
gment; but several letters he brought with him and which he presented to the Prince even confirmed the unlikelihood that Nagelschmidt would be in the slightest well disposed toward him and, therefore, inclined to help his cause, since, in light of rapes and other brazen villainies perpetrated by the lout, Kohlhaas had wanted to have him strung up before dissolving his band; such that only the Elector’s decree of amnesty that abrogated his order had saved him from the gallows, and the two had parted as mortal enemies the very next day. On the Prince’s recommendation, Kohlhaas sat himself down and drafted a letter to Nagelschmidt in which he declared the latter’s allegation that he had taken up arms to enforce the terms of the broken amnesty a scandalous and despicable lie; he confirmed, furthermore, that upon his arrival in Dresden he had neither been arrested nor put under guard, and also that his legal case was moving forward as he wished; and finally, he issued a warning that the burning, looting and killing perpetrated by Nagelschmidt and his ragtag band of hooligans subsequent to the issuance of the amnesty in the Erzgebirge would bring down upon their heads the fierce retribution of the law. To the letter Kohlhaas attached several excerpts of the court record of criminal proceedings which he had already brought against the knave at the castle at Lützen in the matter of the aforementioned atrocities, the horse trader’s intention being to enlighten the public as to the reprehensible character of a scoundrel already condemned to hang, and who, as already mentioned, was only saved from the gallows by the Elector’s amnesty. Pursuant to this writing, the Prince reassured the horse trader concerning the suspicion of guilt which, given the current circumstances, the court was compelled to voice at this hearing; he assured him that as long as he, Kohlhaas, remained in Dresden, the amnesty granted him would in no way be revoked; he offered the two boys his hand to shake, while presenting them with fruit from his table, bid Kohlhaas farewell and sent him on his way. The Lord High Chancellor, who likewise recognized the danger that threatened the horse trader, did his best to bring his case to a speedy conclusion before any further incidents further muddled matters; but this precisely was the express purpose of the wily von Tronkas, and instead of tacitly acknowledging their guilt, as they had done before, restricting their opposition to an appeal for leniency, they now began to categorically deny their guilt in crafty and cunning misstatements. At times they maintained that Kohlhaas’ nags had been detained at Tronkenburg Castle on the arbitrary orders of the overseer and the estate manager, of which the Junker was not at all, or insufficiently, informed; at other times they swore that the animals had already been sick with an acute and dangerous cough at the time of their arrival, and called to witness individuals whom they bribed; and after having these spurious arguments shot full of holes following extensive investigations and interrogations, they even cited a princely edict, wherein, in view of an outbreak of hoof-and-mouth disease, the introduction of horses from Brandenburg into Saxony was expressly forbidden: this as crystal clear justification, not only for the Junker’s authorization, but for his obligation to detain the horses Kohlhaas had brought across the border.
Kohlhaas, who had in the meantime reacquired his homestead in Kohlhaasenbrück from the gracious magistrate in exchange for a modest compensation for damages incurred, wished, so it seems, to absent himself from Dresden for a few days and ride home to conclude this transaction; a decision, which, no doubt, had less to do with said business per se, as pressing as it was, given the need to lay in a store of winter wheat, but was rather driven more by a desire to weigh his options in light of the curious and dubious goings on – in addition to which other motives may well have come into play, motives which we will leave to every reader with a beating heart in his breast to divine. Consequently, leaving behind the guard who had been assigned to protect him, he went straight to the Lord High Chancellor, with the magistrate’s letters in hand, to inform him of his intention of leaving town, if, as it seemed, his presence was not required at court, promising to return promptly following the eight to twelve days it would take him to wrap up his business in Brandenburg. Peering down at the ground with a vexed and quizzical look, the Chancellor replied: “Good God, man, you must know that your presence is more necessary now than ever before to testify and defend yourself against the malicious and devious moves of your opponents in a thousand unforeseeable maneuvers.” But since Kohlhaas referred him to his barrister who, he assured him, was well informed of his case, and with a quiet insistence held to his request, promising to restrict his absence to eight days, the Chancellor replied after a brief pause: “I trust you will solicit a passport from Prince Christiern von Meissen.” Grasping full well what the Chancellor was driving at, yet nevertheless stubborn in his resolve, Kohlhaas sat himself down then and there and wrote to the Prince of Meissen, in his capacity as commander of the castle guards, requesting an eight day pass to Kohlhaasenbrück and back, without giving any reason for the trip. In response to this letter he received an official resolution signed by the captain of the castle guard, Baron Siegfried von Wenk, to wit: “Your request for travel papers to Kohlhaasenbrück will be passed onto his Serene Highness the Elector, pending whose approval, as soon as it is received, you will be sent the necessary papers.” Upon Kohlhaas’ written inquiry to his lawyer, in which he informed him that the resolution was signed by a certain Baron Siegfried von Wenk, and not by Prince Christiern von Meissen, to whom he had addressed his request, the latter replied that the Prince had left for his country estate three days before, and in his absence all governmental business was to be handled by the captain of the castle guard Baron Siegfried von Wenk, a cousin of the aforementioned gentleman of the same name. Kohlhaas, whose heart beat with a restive flutter, waited a few more days for the Prince’s reply to his request which seemed to have such an astonishingly hard time reaching its addressee; but a week went by and then a few more days, during which the Prince’s decision was not forthcoming, nor was the speedy judgment he’d been promised at court. Consequently, on the twelfth day, regardless of the State’s attitude toward him, whatever it might be, he sat himself down and drafted another pressing appeal for the requested travel papers. But picture his distress when, come nightfall the following day, with still no reply from the Prince, musing on his situation, particularly in light of the amnesty Doctor Luther had procured for him, he cast a thoughtful look out his back window onto the annex to his house and could not find the guard Prince von Meissen had assigned to watch over him upon his arrival in town. Thomas, the old attendant whom he called to and asked what to make of all this, replied with a sigh: “Sir, things are not all as they should be; at nightfall, the armed guards, more of whom there are today than usual, circled the house; two are stationed with shield and spear at the front entrance to the street; two at the back gate leading to the garden; and two more are lying in a heap of straw in the entrance hall, and say that they’re going to sleep there.” Kohlhaas, who went white in the face, turned and replied: “It’s just as well, as long as they’re here; fetch them some light so that they can see.” After having opened the front window a crack, under the guise of emptying out a pot of water, and confirming for himself the truth of the situation as the old man had described it – for the guard had just been changed in silence, a measure not heretofore deemed necessary – he lay down in bed, though hardly desirous of sleep, firm in his resolve for the following day. For nothing angered him more about this government that he had dealt with in good faith than the sham appearance of justice, while, in fact, they broke the promise of amnesty they’d made him; and if he were indeed a prisoner, of which there was no more doubt, he wanted to force them to declare it openly and outright. To that end, at daybreak the next day, he had his man Sternbald harness his horses and ready the rig, declaring his intention to drive out to Lockewitz to visit the magistrate, an old acquaintance whom he had run into in Dresden a few days ago and who had invited him to drop by one day with his children. Unsure of what to do, given all the commotion in the house, the armed guards secretly sent a man into town, whereupon,
in a matter of minutes, an officer along with several bailiffs appeared, and pretending to have business in the house across the street, went in. Well aware of these maneuvers, and awaiting their completion while pretending to be oblivious to them, Kohlhaas, who was busy dressing his boys, and who had deliberately left the wagon waiting longer than necessary in front of his house, promptly stepped outside; and informing the bewildered guards stationed in front of his door that they did not need to follow him, he lifted his sons into the carriage and kissed and comforted his crying little girls, who, according to his instructions, were to stay behind with the daughter of the attendant. No sooner did he himself climb into the wagon than the officer and his men came storming out of the house across the street and asked him where he was going. Kohlhaas replied: “I would like to drive out to visit a friend, the magistrate at Lockewitz, whom I happened to run into a few days ago and who invited me and my boys to pay him a visit.” To which the officer replied that, in that case, he would have to wait a few minutes for a couple of his mounted guards to prepare to accompany him, on orders of the Prince of Meissen. Smiling down from the rig, Kohlhaas asked: “Do you think I won’t be safe in the home of a friend who invited me to come dine with him?” The officer responded in a jovial and pleasant manner, that the danger was indeed not acute; to which he added that the guards would be no bother at all. To which Kohlhaas, in turn, responded with a grave expression: “Upon my arrival in Dresden, the Prince of Meissen gave me leave to avail myself or dispense with the guards as I saw fit.” And since the officer evinced surprise at this, and the whole time he was standing there, beating around the bush with carefully selected phrases, the horse trader recalled the circumstances that first led to the stationing of the guards in his house. The officer assured him that he was sworn to protect and assure his safety from harm, on the express orders of the captain of the castle guard, Baron von Wenk, in his current capacity as chief of police; and bid him, should the accompaniment of the guards not be to his liking, to come down to headquarters himself to correct the regrettable error that had surely been made. Giving the officer a telling look, resolved to test out the truth, come what may, Kohlhaas replied: “That’s just what I intend to do!” And with a fast-beating heart he climbed down from the wagon, bid the attendant bring the children back into the house, while his man Sternbald took the reins, and proceeded with the officer and his men to the station house. It so happened that the captain of the castle guard, Baron von Wenk, was in the process of interrogating some of Nagelschmidt’s men who had been captured the night before in the area around Leipzig, and the troopers in the Baron’s entourage were busy eliciting the desired information at the very moment when Kohlhaas entered the room along with the men guarding him. As soon as the Baron set eyes on the horse trader, he approached him, and while the troopers suddenly went silent, halting their interrogation, the Baron asked what he wanted, and when Kohlhaas respectfully related his intention of having lunch with the magistrate in Lockewitz, and expressed his desire to be allowed to leave behind the guards whose presence he did not deem necessary, the Baron went red in the face, and straining to modulate his tone, replied that he would do better to sit tight in his house and postpone his luncheon engagement with the Lockewitz magistrate. And cutting the conversation short, he turned to the officer and said: “You have my orders concerning this man, stick to them; he may not leave town except in the company of six mounted guards.” To which Kohlhaas retorted: “Am I a prisoner then? And am I to understand that the promise of amnesty publicly accorded me is now null and void?” Whereupon the Baron, his face flushed a bright red, turned and strode right up to him, looked him in the eye and sputtered: “Yes! Yes! Yes!” then turned his back, left him standing there and returned to his interrogation of Nagelschmidt’s men. Hereupon Kohlhaas left the room, and while fathoming that by the steps he had taken he had rendered all the more difficult the one option still open to him, namely escape, he nevertheless was glad at what he’d done, since for his part he now viewed himself as henceforth freed from the terms of the amnesty. Once home, he had the horses unharnessed, and accompanied by the officer in charge returned to his room, deeply shaken and dejected, and while the latter assured him in a manner that revolted Kohlhaas that all this was surely based on a misunderstanding that would soon be resolved, with a furtive wink from their superior the guards promptly sealed off all exits from the house into the yard; whereby the officer assured him that he would still be free to come and go through the main door.
Selected Prose of Heinrich Von Kleist Page 19
