In the Year '13: A Tale of Mecklenburg LifeReuter, Fritz
General
In the Year '13: A Tale of Mecklenburg Life
Reuter, Fritz
Mecklenburg (Germany : Region) -- Fiction
My uncle Herse had, of course, had the blue Rathsherr uniform with red
and gold collar made, as soon as he had become Rathsherr; and, as he
was a fine, tall man he was very fond of putting it on, in order to
command proper respect, whenever an opportunity presented itself, such
as, for example, when the fire-engines were to be tried, or when the
cows were first driven to pasture in the spring, or foreign troops were
quartered in the town. Then, too, when my father was sitting in his
grey coat at the court table writing till his fingers ached, Rathsherr
Herse would march up and down in front of the table, keeping up the
official pomp and dignity by the splendour of his appearance, and it
pleased him mightily when a Frenchman by mistake addressed him as
"Monsieur le Maire." My father had nothing to say against this, for
there was generally a good deal of disputing to be done, and he gave
this over, with the pomp and dignity, to the Rathsherr, taking the real
business upon himself. In this way, they had divided the work fairly
between them, and what with Rathsherr Susemihl, who on days when the
court was sitting performed the onerous duty of assessor, and what with
the zeal of Dohmstreich the Recorder, and the exertions of Luth the
Town Messenger, and the firemen who every month took out their engines
to try them, and Panner Hirsch, who used to drive the boys out of the
peas-fields, I should like to know where you could have found a town or
parish in better trim than my native town of Stemhagen. And all because
my uncle Herse was fond of wearing his uniform!
When my uncle Herse reached home, he looked in his clothes-closet for
his grey cloak,--for it was still pouring with rain,--and he caught
sight of his uniform. "Ah," thought he, "now, to-day will be a good
opportunity for me to put it on; and, who knows, perhaps it may be of
use in this enterprise." So he put it on, and also the fine cocked hat
that we boys used afterwards to make a boat of and sail on old
Nahmaker's pond. At this time it was in its best days, and, as the
Rathsherr stepped out at the door, he drew the cape of his cloak over
it so that it should not get wet; and then he looked like a French
General when he reconnoitres the enemy's post by night. "Well," he
said, "no one will know me now."
He went across the market-place, and then by a little roundabout way
across the timber yard, where Farmer Nahmaker was looking after his
horses, which the French had taken out of the stable and were now
driving away.
"Good morning, Herr Rathsherr," said the farmer, "what times these
are!"
"Hush!" said my uncle and went on.
Behind the timber-yard barns, Swerdfeger, the joiner, met him.
"Good morning, Herr Rathsherr."
"Hold your tongue!" said my uncle angrily, and went round outside the
Schlossgarden.
"Good morning, Herr Rathsherr," said the son of old Harloff the actor.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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