# The Pocket Magazine (Robins)/Volume 1/April 1827/The Pie

Translation of "Die Pastete" from Der Sammler (1811).
THE PIE.
FROM THE GERMAN OF FR. LAUN.
Mr. Heftelmeyer was the court tailor, and had a due sense of his importance. No person, who would pretend to be well dressed, could think of wearing a coat that did not proceed from the gallery of Mr. Heftelmeyer; and all the attempts of his rivals to attain the singular elegance of his cut failed most miserably. But he was perhaps more, and certainly more justly, renowned for the beauty of his daughter Amelia, than for his tailoring accomplishments, transcendant as they were. All the flatteries which were addressed to her were disregarded; for she had vowed her affections to the son of a celebrated preacher, Mr. Seeheim; and although that reverend personage had expressed his disapprobation of his son’s marrying Amelia, she was satisfied with the young man’s assurances that nothing could ever change the affection he entertained for her.
Mr. Heftelmeyer could not understand why the preacher should object to this marriage, because he thought himself inferior to no one in importance; and, moreover, he inhabited the first floor of the hotel, while Mr. Seeheim lived in the second. His wife said she was sure it was not the preacher, but Madame Seeheim, whose pride opposed the union. The real truth was, that the whole affair was one of foolish vanity on the part of the parson. He was afraid that his relations, who were distinguished persons, would not countenance his son if he should marry a tailor’s daughter. Maurice could not understand this, and resolved, although he was an obedient son, that as soon as he could establish himself in any way of living independent of his father, he would make Amelia his wife.
In the meantime, there was anything but a neighbourly feeling between the two families. One day Mr. Heftelmeyer wondered that his wife would eat no dinner, and at length extorted from her a confession, that ​she had set her mind on a pie which she had seen carried to Madame Seeheim, and in so ostentatious a manner that she had no doubt it was done purposely to mortify her. Amelia ventured to doubt this, and received a reproof for her pains. Mr. Heftelmeyer, like a good husband, consoled his wife with a promise that she should have such a pie as would make their neighbour’s pie blush for very shame.
The court pastry-cook was an artist not less distinguished in his line than the court tailor, and quite as proud of his productions. To this important personage Mr. Heftelmeyer applied, and ordered a pie for the following Sunday, enjoining the pastry-cook, at the same time, to put upon the top of it, by way of ornament, a letter S finely gilded; which was meant by the gallant tailor to be a compliment to his spouse, whose baptismal name was Sophia. The pastry-cook in vain represented that such a decoration was by no means in good taste—it was Mr. Heftelmeyer’s taste; and as he had to pay for the pie, and to eat it afterwards, he had surely a right to follow his own vagaries. The pastry-cook saw that a man might make good coats, yet know nothing of the true principles of taste; so he shrugged up his shoulders, and set about making the pie.
Sunday came, and the pie was brought home—nothing could be better timed, for Madame Heftelmeyer had been put to bed just six days before; and this proof of attention on the part of her husband, was, he thought, sure to be taken in good part. He enjoined silence to all his household, and intended to make his present a surprise to his wife. He had it placed on a table in the anti-chamber, and left the door open, in order that Madame Seeheim might be sure to see it as she passed down stairs. Unluckily the good lady did not go out at all, so this part of the scheme was frustrated. Mr. Seeheim, however, who was gone to church, must see it as he came home, and so the door was still left open.
Before Mr. Seeheim’s return, however, an old woman, who was in the habit of asking alms, came up ​the stairs. She entered the anti-chamber, where no person happened to be. She knocked at the inner door; but the child was crying most lustily, and prevented her knocks from being heard. The old beggar, although she had just come from the church where Mr. Seeheim had been preaching a sermon against mendicity and theft, had not profited by his exhortations. The first she was already committing, and the sight of the pie induced her to commit the other. She seized the masterpiece of pastry with the gilt S upon it, and made the best of her way down stairs. Just as she reached the bottom, she heard some one enter the passage; and thinking the best way of avoiding detection would be to turn back again, she mounted the staircase rapidly, and, passing the tailor’s door, went still further up stairs. The person whom she had heard followed her, and she saw it was Mr. Seeheim, who was all the while congratulating himself on the effect which he thought his sermon would have in diminishing the practices of beggary and theft.
The old woman felt herself already in the hands of the police, when she found that she could not get higher than the second floor, and that Mr. Seeheim was behind her. A sudden thought occurred to her, which, as it promised her safety, she did not hesitate to put in practice. Making up a demure face, she told the preacher that she had been sent with the pie as a present to him and his wife, and begged his acceptance of it with as many compliments as she could invent off hand.
‘But who is it that has sent it, my good woman?’ said the parson, perfectly dazzled by the sight of so handsome a present.
The old woman had her cue here, and said she had been expressly forbidden to tell. Mr. Seeheim believed her; and, seeing the gilded S on the pie, convinced him that it had been made for him, and nobody else. He gave the woman something for bringing the pie, and returned to her the pewter dish on which it had been sent.
​The old hussy, delighted at having got so well off, hurried down the stairs as fast as possible, and, gaining the street, got clear away.
Madame Seeheim was delighted with her husband’s handsome present. ‘One would almost believe,’ she cried, ‘that we live in times when good deeds meet with a certain and prompt reward. Yesterday you read to me your sermon against mendicity and theft, and to-day, almost as soon as you have finished preaching it, this handsome present is sent to you.’
Mr. Seeheim tried in vain to guess who it could be that had sent him this pie. He fixed upon and rejected various personages, and at last ended by declaring that he could not satisfactorily attribute this compliment to any one of his acquaintance. While he was occupied with these agreeable reflections, a scene of a very different nature was acting in the floor below. As soon as the loss of the pie was discovered, a noise and confusion, which may easily be imagined, had ensued. Each person accused the other of inattention and negligence, but the tailor internally blamed himself for the ostentation with which he had displayed the pie; and but for which the accident would not have happened. He enjoined his maid servant, under threats of immediate dismissal, not to say a word of the matter to any one, in order that he might at least avoid the scoffs of the preacher and his wife, who, he concluded, would be delighted to hear of his misfortune.
The inmates of the second floor, in the meantime, had tried the contents of the pie, which they found excellent. Madame Seeheim had just finished dinner, when she said to her husband, ‘I can’t imagine what has happened below; but there is a great noise in our neighbour’s rooms, I hope no accident has happened to the poor woman who is confined.’
‘I should indeed be very sorry,’ said her husband; ‘for, although I don’t want our families to be united, they are very honest people, and I have a great regard for them. They have, upon many occasions, been very ​civil to us; and as I should not be sorry to make the first advances for a reconciliation, suppose we send down some of the pie to the lying-in lady.’
Madame Seeheim readily accorded with her husband’s proposition; and, as she also knew that Mrs. Heftelmeyer’s name was Sophia, she sent that part of the pie on which the gilt S was placed.
While the servant carried this peace-offering down stairs, the worthy pastor was felicitating himself and his spouse upon what they had done. ‘There would not,’ he said, ‘be half so many quarrels in the world, nor would they last half as long, if people would be willing to accommodate their differences. I am sure we shall not have cause to repent this.’
Alas! how differently did the events turn out from what the parson had predicted. The tailor had no sooner set his eyes upon the dish with the pie in it, than he rushed by the servant, without hearing her message, and ran up stairs to his neighbour’s room, which he entered very abruptly.
‘How is this, sir,’ he cried; ‘do you mean to insult me by this treatment?’
‘Is it possible you can imagine that I mean to do so?’ said the pastor, mildly.
‘How can I think otherwise,’ said the angry tailor; ‘and how can I guess what has induced a man of your character and years to play so wanton a school-boy’s trick?’
‘I really don’t understand you,’ replied Mr. Seeheim; ‘but as your behaviour and language is very offensive, I beg it may cease. If this is the return you make to an act of politeness and good will, I shall take care not to repeat it.’
‘Politeness and good will, indeed!’ cried the angry tailor; ‘you shall see, sir, what the magistrate will say to such politeness’—and he bounced out of the chamber.
Mr. Seeheim could only think that his neighbour had gone mad; and, as he saw him go out of doors soon after, he expressed a very sincere hope that he would ​come to no harm. In the course of a short time afterwards, Mr. Herbst, a lawyer, entered.
‘Your neighbour, the tailor, has been with me just now,’ he cried, ‘and has been consulting me with a view to taking legal proceedings against you; and I am come for the purpose of seeing whether I can arrange matters amicably between you.’
‘How is it possible to arrange matters amicably, or otherwise, with a man who is decidedly out of his senses?’
‘Well, indeed, I have perceived no signs of insanity,’ said the lawyer; ‘and, on the contrary, I must confess that the complaint he makes against you has very much surprised me. My friendship for you makes me say that it would give me great pain if the trick you have played him should be made public.’
‘Why, really, my dear Herbst,’ said the pastor, ‘you puzzle me as much as my neighbour has done. All the notions I have hitherto entertained of justice and decency must have been mistaken. You think seriously that what has passed between Mr. Heftelmeyer and me will furnish sufficient grounds for a formal complaint?’
‘Certainly; how can I think otherwise? Either what you have done was in jest, which, under the circumstances of disagreement which subsist between you and Mr. Heftelmeyer, would be looked upon as a very unwise and unjustifiable liberty, or else it is a downright theft.’
‘A theft—’
‘Don’t be angry—I know you are incapable of such an act; and, besides, your subsequent conduct shows—’
‘Do give me leave.—I will prove to you, in two words, that Heftelmeyer is unquestionably mad, and that he has represented things to you most absurdly false. This is the fact. All this disturbance arises from a contemptible piece of a pie, which I sent as a mark of civility to his wife, who is lying-in; and out of this, by some means or other, you make a theft, and an impropriety of behaviour.’
​‘Mr. Seeheim! Madame Seeheim!’ cried the tailor, who at this moment appeared at the door with a most mortified and contrite air, ‘I beg your pardon a thousand times. I beseech you not to mind anything that Mr. Herbst may say. whole matter is a mistake, and I come before you covered with shame at having requited your kind intentions so ungratefully.’
This speech was as inexplicable as any part of the business; and the pastor and the lawyer looked at one another, as much as to say there was no doubt now that the poor fellow was really demented.
Matters were soon explained. It appeared that the police had made a general perquisition, at a moment when it was least expected, among all the suspected persons in the city. The old woman, by whose ingenuity the pie with the gilt S had found its way to Mr. Seeheim’s apartments, had been taken, and the pewter dish, on which Mr. Heftelmeyer’s name was inscribed, being found in her possession, had led to inquiries, the result of which, with her own confession, cleared up the whole of the mystery.
Mr. Seeheim laughed heartily at the adventure, and readily forgave his neighbour’s impetuosity. The lawyer seized the favourable opportunity for bringing about a firm reconciliation between the parties; and three months after the adventure of the pie, Maurice and Amelia (notwithstanding Mr. Seeheim’s great relations) were happily married.
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