Part 2 (1/2)

While we were walking out, I had asked him the usual questions.

Had any mail arrived? Had anybody called at the office?

'n.o.body, sir,' Knutzen said.

Yet, clearly someone had been there. On the desk lay a book. It was a slim volume in a pale, expensive pig-skin binding. I picked it up and read the t.i.tle.

A MOST REMARKABLE PHENOMENON.

OF SPONTANEOUS CREATION.

4.

'THE COURT OF Lotingen is finally in session.'

That accentuated adverb was not a part of the ritual announcement. And perhaps Knutzen's short temper was justified that day. As a rule, there are no more than five or six casual onlookers when the district a.s.sizes are called on the last Friday of every month in the Pietist meeting-house on Fromborkstra.s.se. The cases to be tried are generally matters of the dullest sort, petty theft, domestic wrangling, drunkenness, disturbing the peace.

'Procurator Stiffeniis presiding!' Knutzen added.

The eyes of at least a hundred people turned in my direction as I made my way out from the minister's vestibule, crossed the hall, and took my seat behind the raised altar-table, which had been cleared for the occasion and covered with a crimson damask drape. The eager excitement of the throng crushed together in the narrow pews-many of them seeing me in my judge's toga and black cap for the very first time-and the grumbling of those less fortunate who had come too late to claim a seat and found themselves obliged to stand at the back of the hall, was the true measure of the civic importance of the case.

'Silence in court!'

Knutzen had to shout, calling for order several times again before the proceedings could commence with any sort of reasonable dignity.

On the right-hand side of the bench stood the plaintiff. Wearing a three-quarter-length coat of dark blue wool with a double row of bra.s.s b.u.t.tons despite the persistent summer heat, studded leather sea-boots, his three-cornered nautical hat tucked beneath his arm, his face as dark, brown and wrinkled as a fried walnut, Fritz Keillerhaus looked every inch what he proudly claimed to be: a s.h.i.+p's captain, who was used to ruling a crew of ruffians, alone and unaided in the pursuit of behemoths. On the other side, Augustus Gaffenburger, the owner of the Lotingen slaughterhouse, and the defendant in the case. They wore matching theatrical expressions of anger and impatience on their faces.

I cleared my throat, then read out the deposition which had given rise to the dispute.

'On the 20th of July, in this, the year 1808, after making repeated complaints-in the first instance, directly to the accused; in the second place, to the civic authorities of the town-I, Fritz Keillerhaus, captain (retired), do hereby solemnly swear and affirm that no action was ever taken by either party to correct the wrong that I have suffered. Indeed, the nuisance has grown steadily worse. Therefore, and most reluctantly, I feel obliged by honour to sue for the payment of substantial damages incurred as a result of the continuing a.s.sault upon my property . . .'

'By his cows!' Captain Keillerhaus burst out impulsively.

'We know the nature of your grievance, sir,' I answered briefly. 'We are here to settle the matter. The essence of a fair trial is that after your complaints have been fully stated, the accused should be given the opportunity to refute them if he can. Allow me to finish, and we will get on with business!'

Captain Keillerhaus looked down. For one instant, I thought he might be going to spit. He did not. Which was fortunate. It is an offence to expectorate in the presence of His Majesty's magistrate in the performance of his duties, and even more so when the court makes s.h.i.+ft in a consecrated chapel for want of any better a.s.sembly-room. I would have been obliged to fine him for it.

'. . . continuing a.s.sault upon my property,' I resumed, 'damages which have been estimated in the region of five hundred thalers.'

I turned to Captain Keillerhaus again. 'Do you stand by your statement, sir?'

'Of course I do!' he snapped. 'I'd not have made it otherwise.'

'Very well,' I said, deciding to ignore the rudeness of his reply, which had caused t.i.tters from some of the women and knowing smiles and laughter from many of the men who were present in the room. I turned to Gaffenburger. 'What have you to say, sir? How do you respond to the charge brought by Captain Keillerhaus?'

'Captain Keillerhaus is looking for trouble,' he said, 'and hopes to make a profit by causing it. He seems to be convinced that I am rich.'

Loud laughter came from the public gallery.

Gaffenburger's slaughterhouse was one of the largest business enterprises in Lotingen. The defendant's grandfather had set up in a small way sixty years before. At that time, most people would have considered it a public utility of the first importance. The present owner's father had enlarged the main building and constructed a network of holding-pens where the restless animals could be calmed down and watered before the fatal moment arrived when they would go to meet the executioner's knife. Augustus Gaffenburger had inherited the business from his father a decade before, and nothing much had changed for a while.

Then the French had arrived.

After the pacification of Prussia, the French garrison in Lotingen numbered anywhere between one and three thousand men-our port and estuary were the gateway to the northern plain and the Berlin road to the south-so there was now an unending flow of foreign soldiers pa.s.sing through. There was a constant demand for fresh meat as a consequence, and the French were paying for it. Gaffenburger's business had tripled in the course of the occupation, and if, as many people suspected, Napoleon was intent on invading Russia when the next campaign season came around, the necessity to slaughter even more cows and sheep, and feed up the French for the fight, was likely to make him a very rich man indeed.

Knutzen was obliged to insist on silence again before I could speak.

'Captain Keillerhaus,' I continued, 'tell us, if you would, what the substance of this complaint is.'

The Captain opened his mouth and a sound came out. 'Shhh . . .' He stopped, looked at the wooden altar-table behind which I was sitting, thought for an instant, then changed his mind. 'Droppings, sir.'

'What manner of droppings?'

'You know as well as I do!' he protested. 'How many men and women have fouled their precious boots in recent weeks? Shoes do not come cheap. Every time you walk out on the street it's an obstacle course to avoid stepping into the shhh . . . animal droppings. Of every shape and size, and all of them smelling like the Devil's own. I have counted them, sir . . .'

General laughter greeted this announcement.

'Silence in court!' Knutzen thundered.

The trial proceeded in this manner for an hour or so.

Having heard all the evidence, I donned my cap and began to read out the sentence which I had decided on the evening before. I was well aware of what I was doing, and I knew the risk that I was taking. The French authorities would be offended, but something had to be done, and I had determined to do it. A copy of my report would be submitted to them. For this reason, I made a particular point of citing a renowned French scientist to ill.u.s.trate and justify my arguments. Could they ignore French logic?

'As reported by J. N. Halle in his Proces-verbal de la visite faite le long des deux rives de la riviere Seine, le 14 fevrier, 1790,' I began, 'and employing Monsieur Halle's specific method of statistical a.n.a.lysis, we can say that the town of Lotingen, like Paris itself, is subject to the acc.u.mulation of rubbish and organic refuse to an alarming degree.'

I looked around.

There was a widespread nodding of heads.

No one could deny the truth of what I said, not even the French.

'It may be a.s.sumed,' I went on, 'that this is the norm in any town in Prussia at the present time.

'In addition, Lotingen is subject to the daily transportation ”on the hoof” of beasts from the countryside on their way to the slaughterhouse. According to the Gaffenburger abattoir records, upwards of fifteen hundred sheep and cattle are butchered there in the course of a normal working week. No precise information is available regarding the disposal of the usual remains, though butchers, tanners, soap-manufacturers, perfume-mixers, horn-carvers, b.u.t.ton-makers, and the like, account for the general bulk of the comestible and marketable commodities which result from the killing of animals. Much else, in the way of blood, brain, intestines, inedible membranes, et cetera, finds its way, by one means or another, into the River Nogat and then, with the help of the estuary flow, into the open sea. Nature deals, we may say, with the matter that Man rejects . . .'

I paused, and looked around. All eyes were turned in my direction. I was hoping that the inhabitants of the town would be shocked by my findings, and from the looks on their faces I was not disappointed.

'But there is an additional nuisance,' I went on with particular emphasis, 'which Nature does not carry off by its own processes. I am speaking of the faecal matter which the sheep and the cattle deposit on our streets as they make their way to the Gaffenburger slaughterhouse pens. By means of statistical calculation, I have established that in excess of fourteen pounds' weight of untreated dung are deposited on each ten-yard stretch of every road leading into town every morning, where it lies in a deplorable state of nauseous decomposition for the next twenty-four hours, when the process is repeated. The pestering flies and noxious worms which are spontaneously born of this acc.u.mulating effluvia are a general nuisance, but, more importantly, are a serious threat to the health of every man, woman and child.

'No person in the town would deny the myriads of flies this summer.'

Again, these remarks were intended for the French.