CHAPTER XVII. THE PLOT DISCOVERED.
“Horses directly—four horses! We have no time for
delay,” said Lackland, as we drove up to the post-house
at Wolfenbüttel.
“Alas, Sir!” said the landlord, “I am afraid you must
be put to a little inconvenience—the horses are all gone
out, and it may be three hours before any arrive.”
“We have nothing for it then,” said I, to Lackland,
“but to go into the house quietly, and wait. I am not
sorry myself, for I had an indifferent dinner, and I see
no reason why you and I, who are not lovers, should not
have our supper and a bottle of Rhenish.”
“None in the world, my dear fellow; but these false
postillions must take care to smuggle themselves into the
room, and change their dresses. It would seem a little
extraordinary to the landlord if the gentlemen and ladies
were found supping with the postillions who brought
them.”
An idle pair of boys was discovered, who engaged for
a gratuity to take our horses back to the last post-town
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Trump and Pappenheim then slipped into the house
and having exchanged their postillion's dress for their
usual habiliments, which they had brought with them,
joined the rest of us in a private parlour of the inn. Lackhand
engaged the very first set of horses that should come
in, and in the mean time ordered supper.
“How delightful it is!” said Ida. What a romantic
adventure! I never enjoyed myself more. I think I
should like to be run away with every day. How funny
Madame Meerschaum looked, tied to old Popp. What
would papa say?”
Judith Potiphar looked superbly in her masquerade.
Her dress, which was fanciful, and which would have
created astonishment in any other quarter of the world,
hardly attracted notice here. The habits of the German
students, and particularly their dress, are to this day so
grotesque, that any masking habiliments, however bizarre
or fanciful, would be hardly so likely to be commented
upon, as would an ordinary and common place array.
Judith had been accordingly left at liberty to decorate
herself in the most becoming manner, and aided by a
rich wardrobe and a tolerable taste in costume, she had
succeeded admirably.
“How do I look in this pretty dress?” said she, addressing
her lover.
“Divinely! By the way, dearest Judith, do you know
that in that cap and waistcoat you are so like my great-grandfather,”
answered Trump.
“Oh, what a compliment! those horrid grandfathers
of yours,” said she despondingly.
“My dearest, I mean a beautiful picture by Hans Holbein,
which hangs in the castle at Toggenburg, representing
my great ancestor at the age of seventeen, in a walking-dress.”
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“Very well,” said Judith, “but did you see how fierce
I looked when the carriage was attacked? I swore twice
at the robbers. Did you hear me swear? How did I
look swearing?”
“How could I possibly see you, when I was being
knocked down in my character of postillion? But here
comes the landlord and the supper after him, I suppose.”
The supper-table was laid, and when operations commenced,
it was found that the events of the evening had
served to sharpen the appetites of all. Even the ladies
were prevailed upon to eat with more good-will than
might be thought becoming on so interesting an occasion.
When we had half finished our repast, the landlord
came in. He observed that there were a couple of strangers
who had stopped there for the night. All his parlours
were engaged but that one and as we only intended
to stop for fresh horses, he must beg us to allow the
stranger gentlemen to share our room.
We had nothing for it but to be civil, and Trump, who
was very good natured just then, and thought no harm,
desired the landlord to invite the gentlemen in, and help
finish our supper with us.
The landlord accordingly departed with this polite
request, and presently after the door was again opened.
Trump, who was letting off a bottle of Champagne at
the moment, accidentally held the cork in the direction
of the door As our expected guests entered, it flew from
the bottle like a shot, and hit one of the strangers full on
the nose.
“Holy father Abraham!” exclaimed the wounded
party. “What a concussion!—the bridge of my nose is
fractured!”
It was too late to retreat—the whole truth stood
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revealed, and our confusion may easily be conceived,
beholding, in the two strangers, the Jew Potiphar and
Mr. Steinmann, the uncle of Ida Poodleberg, and the very
person she was going to Brunswick to visit.
I shall not attempt to detail the scenes which occurred.
Of course the disguise of Judith was easily discovered by
her crafty father; and Ida could not fail to be at once
recognized by her relation. Of course, the ladies were
each separately seized by their respective legal proprietors,
and the crest-fallen lovers, together with their respectable
coadjutors Lackland and myself returned to Göttingen.
The presence of Potiphar and Steinmann, so inopportunely
at that time and place, was purely accidental.
Steinmann, who was a man of low extraction, and who
had amassed a considerable sum of money on about the
same plan, and with about as few scruples, as Potiphar,
engaged with the Jew in various speculations. I have
already hinted at the contraband nature of some of these
transactions, and of his connections with our worthy ally,
Mr. Skamp. The nature of such mercantile proceedings
necessarily required much secresy, and it was on an expedition
of peculiar urgency and secresy that Potiphar
had clandestinely left his home to meet his partner at
Wolfenbüttel, on the very night of his daughter's elopement.
Although the details of this particular transaction, as
well as of several others, were subsequently revealed to
me, I do not think it worth while to fatigue the reader
with a recital of them. All that is necessary for him to
know at present I have already mentioned. The concurrence
of the two events was one of those annoying
coincidences which are perfectly natural, and therefore
not worthy further detailing upon.
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Miss Ida was, of course, taken carefully off to Brunswick,
and the Jew and his “backsliding daughter” returned
to Göttingen.
Motley, John Lothrop, 1814-1877 [1839], Morton's hope, or, The memoirs of a provincial, volume 2 (Harper & Brothers, New York) [word count] [eaf284v2].
