Chapter X: Part 10

The quietest, most serene of men must despair when there is no appealing to human reason. But Madam _shall_ be convinced. He counts again the serried syllogisms on trembling fingers, with flashing eyes and tremulous lips, with a voice half suppressed by rage; every word is accentuated as if it were to conjure up spirits and wake the dead. Arguments are applied like thumb-screws, the entire demonstration is held up menacingly like a pistol with trigger drawn; she is accused of reason, and in the next moment it is demanded of her, as one demands the evidence of his five senses from a person suspicious of insanity. Madam is asked to declare, brief and plain, whether she had understood; she is not to say what she will do or not do; the matter under discussion and its fulfilment is to remain secondary; the man wants naught but the satisfaction of an acknowledgment that he is right, that his better-half possesses and respects human reason. All material interest is to be set aside; her ladyship shall have quite her own way; it is only demanded that there be a declaration in the interest of truth, of logic, of human dignity; but of this the fair sufferer in the cause of Reason is not capable, it is asking too much of her feminine nature, it breaks her heart. She feels herself ill-treated; in her excitement she has heard nothing but words, and like a tragedy-queen, she has been occupied only with her grief. She comprehends naught but her boundless misery, and the axiomatic barbarity of the genus man. And the tears she has long repressed burst forth, washing away demonstrations, syllogisms, and all; _that is a woman’s logic_. Nature will not be forced, and least of all woman-nature. Dosed with argumentation and logic, it loses appetite, fulness, wit, complexion, grace, amiability, and vivacity. A platonic friend of the ladies is, as a rule, an unmanly creature; that is, quite as unreasonable and weakly constructed as the female to whom he feels sympathetically drawn. Manly differences and manly reconciliations are quite out of the question in so unnatural a relation. Especially is there one case which calls for commiseration--viz., when a genuine man is called upon to be the dependant, the counsellor, and the gallant friend of a vain old hag abandoned of all graces; when, for instance, a son-in-law is condemned to manage the affairs of madam his mother-in-law. Either the lady is ungently set to rights, or else his unbounded respect for old age brings the son-in-law to an untimely grave. With the most uncongenial male one can discuss a question, and there is a possibility of arriving at an understanding or compromise; with every man some manœuvre will catch, but never with a woman who thinks her interest and the authority of her wilfulness endangered. In this desperate case she is destitute of reason and character, without method and consistency, without understanding and common justice, an enemy of all business principles and all promptness, ay, even without conscience and pity.

She would like to make a bargain but not risk anything; yes, she will risk but not lose anything; yes, she will lose but it must not cost her anything. All old ladies are parsimonious; they have a passion for playing cards, but there is always the one condition that their cavalier, with dutiful politeness, lets them win his money. Dull are all old ladies, and hard to entertain if they cannot indulge in weather-worn flirtations, or if they do not perceive themselves to be the objects of devotion and attention. Ignorant of affairs are all ladies, the old and the young; but the old never to their disadvantage where money plays a part. Suspicious are they all by unalterable right, and curious because they are suspicious, if for no other reason. In some cases they are compassionate--_i.e._, in cases of illness, of which they have more innate knowledge and power of subtle diagnosis than an experienced physician gets to his dying day; but toward their creditors they are worse than barbaric, they persecute them without sense or reason.

Women are always mixing up the most insignificant things with the most important; the details with the principal points, the person, and the cause.

Neither an old barrister nor a young lawyer can bring them to see the _punctum juris_, for they have as little sense of right and justice as a Hottentot, or an Englishman making a bargain.

Of two evils women cannot choose the lesser until the greater is hard upon them.

They want to build a large house, for instance, but are unwilling to lay a deep foundation; it is to have three storeys, but without the inconvenience of stairs, and there must be a cellar in each storey; else what is the use of having an architect for your lover, or indulgent husband, or friend? They want to go a-travelling, but at the same time things must be more comfortable and cheaper than at home; there is to be no luggage-waggon, but of course they must have twelve trunks and a half, and by dint of much coaxing they will spare you the half. Their goal is toward the north, but they wish to drive in a south-westerly direction, because it blows into the carriage from the other side.

A woman has leased her farm, and is afterwards indignant at the good harvest which she might have had instead of her tenant. At last she has sold the estate, and has the money safe in her pocket, but she is quite taken by surprise at the thought of moving and giving up the old homestead. A woman is always greatly disconcerted to hear that she cannot sell things and keep them at the same time.

_Bogumil Golz_ (1801-1870).

_A CHRISTMAS TALE._

IT is a most charming thing to compose fairy-tales at Christmas-time. But there are difficulties to contend with, take my word for it, dear reader. I am an honest sort of fellow, who never makes a murderer’s den of his heart, as the proverb says. So I will confess that I have a strong aversion to telling any particularly preposterous lies to the good people who may chance to read this, by relating wonderful, supernatural tales, and calling forth an impression as if I had elves to black my boots every day of my life. Ah no! sooner than do that I will give up the whole secret as to how the following story came to me, and at best I cannot swear that it is a pretty one. I said to myself, “Good friend, you must cultivate a certain mood; conjure up the breath of the woodlands about you, and all the rest will follow.” This was not so very difficult. I bought a little fir-tree, and set it up among the folios of the oaken table in my study.

It was a nice little tree, and I pictured to myself the spot in the forest where it came from: a snow-covered opening, enclosed by tall dark pines, the edges thickly set with various young evergreens which must needs be thinned out. I smelled of the tree until my nose burned under its prickly needles. Ah, how sweetly aromatic! Like shades out of the lap of eternity, the Christmas-eves of long ago rose up before me, with many sweet memories interesting only to myself, with hosts of fairy-tales which Grimm and Ludwig Bechstein have long since put into charming books. But soon I perceived that the breath of the fir-tree would not suffice for my purpose, and that my mood required to be worked upon by means of other aids. I thereupon pulled down the blinds, although it was noon, and lit my large lamp, thinking of a well-known Vienna novelist, who is in the habit of putting himself into the bloodthirsty and terrible train of thought which serves his purpose by means of a piece of black cloth and four burning tapers, upon which he gazes in the pauses between his work. My large lamp sings, moreover, which is a quality that cannot be prized too highly, for oil-lamps do not as a general thing feel called upon to yield sweet music. As the lamp burned and hummed, I took great pains to start up a rousing fire. It roared and sputtered with a will, for the wood was somewhat damp. But this was all the better, for a good, noisy fire plays a great part in literary difficulties. Hereupon I made myself some tea in my little tea-urn, which puffs and spits like a furious cat, and lit my cigar. The scene now comprised--

A fragrant fir-tree.
A burning and singing lamp.
A roaring and sputtering fire.
A puffing and spitting tea-urn.
A glowing and smoking cigar.
A meditating poet.

I will not deny the fact that at this point I addressed some words of stern exhortation to myself.

“Carl Pfründner,” I said, “if you don’t catch hold of a brilliant idea now, you never will. Such a comfortable state as you are in would inspire a chimney-sweep to write poetry. Suppose you get up something about an “Enchanted Sparrow,” or a “Bewitched Harlequin,” or a “Noodle in Luck””? As I was still pondering, my eye-lids grew heavy, and I fell asleep. I scorn to make use of the threadbare artifice of telling you that a brilliant thought came to me in my sleep. On the contrary, my nap was dreamless, and I awoke only strengthened in my dearth of ideas. The fir-tree was as fragrant as ever, the lamp and the fire still burned, and all the other aids to my imagination were still there. I now lit a second lamp, placing it upon the antique desk, and gazed thoughtfully into the hollow space between the drawers of the upper part, which can be shut off by a little sliding door. Thousands of times before had my eyes rested on that very spot, as if all possible subjects were contained therein, and my pen had but to choose before transferring them to paper. But never before had I looked with such particular interest at the small carved bar running across the partition.

This bar is removed about a hand’s-breadth from the back of the ancient desk, which came down to me from the last century. I had always taken it to be nothing but an ornament to hide the rough board at the back. This time I suppose I held my head a little lower than usual, for I suddenly beheld a bolt behind the carved bar, which, when pushed back, fitted exactly into a groove cut into the upper edge of the bar. It was this circumstance which drew my attention to the said bar. I pushed the bolt back and forth, but it was back so far in the dark that I could not see how it influenced the bar. A couple of matches, used with great caution near the rotten wood, only showed me that the position of the bar remained unchanged. While I was pondering the object of the bolt, I made a second discovery. Far back behind the bar there was a narrow slit in the wood, like those which one sees on children’s earthen savings-banks. This was the more curious as the edges of the slit, as I approached it with a candle, appeared to be whetted off as if, in times past, they had frequently come in contact with hard objects. The resemblance to the slit of a savings-bank tempted me to drop in a coin. Of course I sacrificed only a kreuzer to this experiment, pushing it slowly through the hole, and then letting it drop.

Heavens! what was that? The kreuzer fell first upon wood, judging by the sound, then it seemed to roll down some distance, and fell with a metallic sound. There was no doubt then that the desk contained a secret drawer, the existence of which I had never even suspected; and over and above this, it was evident that this secret drawer was designed especially to harbour coins, as the opening was not suited to paper-money or documents. The metallic ring gave good reason to suppose that the kreuzer had not fallen into an empty wooden drawer, but had joined the society of other coins filling the secret partition up to a certain height.

I beg the reader to put himself in my position. Here I have a desk dating from the last century, my rightful property, and containing a secret drawer, which harbours, in all probability, a treasure of gold coins. I had often wondered at the tremendous weight of the old desk, and sometimes the motion of writing at it seemed to call forth a softly ringing sound. And now in this prosaic age my hand was destined to come upon a hoarded treasure, a treasure of gold and mayhap some other rare valuables! I trembled with excitement, and would have knocked down any one who in this supreme moment had asked me to think of that confounded fairy tale, not to mention writing it. My one thought was how to open the secret drawer.

At first I tested the carved bar. It was immovable. I threw in another kreuzer, and, aided by the sense of hearing, tried to locate the secret drawer. Plainly I heard the metallic ring once more. It seemed to come from behind the carved bar, but the latter would not budge.

I will not tire the reader, as I did myself, with my labours of research. For two hours I worked in the sweat of my brow, taking the old desk to pieces, so far as that was possible, without coming any nearer to the solution of the mystery. Furious at last, I ran out to get a hatchet, and swung it with might to crush all obstacles, when once more my eyes fell upon the left-hand set of drawers that I had put upon the floor during my search, and I laid the axe aside. Both of the drawers showed grooves along the sides, which were evidently there for some purpose, probably in order that they might be fastened from the side, frustrating any attempt to draw them out. Mastering my excitement, I put the drawers back in place, and saw now that the carved bar exactly corresponded to the position of the grooves. I tried to push it to the left, a thing I had of course not thought of before--it moved, and fitted as snugly as need be. Now, treasure, your last hour is come; that’s what I call a Christmas present worth having! Two seconds later the drawers were out, I pushed the carved bar around further, and behold, two small, dust-stained drawers were revealed. I put out my trembling hand----

* * * * *

I would say here that there must have been infamous rascals in the past century, who, not content with wantonly causing great excitement to honest people of these modern times, steal away their time, which they might have spent in writing a tolerable fairy-tale. Is there any one that can tell me why in the world one of those ancient fellows should have put the key of his street-door into a secret drawer? I wish it were the key to paradise which he had forgotten! The vicious old sinner might roast in purgatory so long as I lived, for of course I left the rusty key, together with my two kreuzers in the secret drawer, adding my curse.

Every sympathetic Christian soul will understand that after this heavy disappointment I was not in the mood to spin out the graceful fairy-tale I promised. Indeed the holidays were quite spoiled for me that year!

_Eduard Pötzl._

_THE CASE OF MINCKWITZ._

IN the course of the past month I have been called upon to bear the most acute sorrow, dear friend, of which a fine-strung soul like mine is capable. Indeed, my friend, terrible things have occurred! I am _misunderstood_! And misunderstood by whom? You will scarce believe me when I tell you, but it is even so: misunderstood by Professor Johannes Minckwitz,[8] of Leipsic, the great epic poet and literary connoisseur, for whom I feel the deepest reverence and the most tender affection.

Hear the sad news. One morning as I was innocently turning the leaves of my “Neuhochdeutschen Parnass,”[9] my thoughts naturally enough wandering somewhat, my faithful maid-of-all-work stepped over the threshold of my door with weeping eyes.

“What in the world has happened to you?” I asked in great consternation. “Has your lover proved faithless, Thrine?”

“I shall have to leave this place, sir,” sobbed the honest creature.

“I don’t understand you, Thrine; express yourself more explicitly.”

“You are dishonoured! And sooner will I starve than serve a dishonoured master, for folks do say that ‘a servant is no better than his master,’ and I am a respectable woman. Here is the paper, you’d better read and see for yourself!” Thrine sobbed bitterly, and handed me a number of the Leipsic local paper, containing an article heavily marked with a red pencil, and thereby recommending itself specially to my attention.

No sooner had I glanced over the first lines of the terrible article than I grew dizzy, and therewith began to tremble convulsively. Thrine fainted away. Picture the scene to yourself, dear friend. Without raged the storm. Ah, the situation was dramatic. From the paper I gathered that Professor Johannes Minckwitz, in just indignation over the last of my harmless letters, had sued the editor of the _Salon_ for misuse of his name, and for literary forgery, and had entrusted Dr. Coccius, a lawyer in Leipsic, with the impeachment.

“Thrine,” I began, after an effective pause, “I begin to understand that we must part! You knew me in happy days of yore, do not forget me now when sorrow is breaking in upon me. One service I would ask of you before parting, it is the last. Do me the favour to accept the “Neuhochdeutschen Parnass” as a token of remembrance from me. You always need paper to clean the windows, I know. Fare-thee-well, Thrine!”

I was left alone with my anguish. Dishonoured, I cried, dishonoured! Misunderstood, indicted! How different was it, oh _Kleinstädter_, when you glided innocently through the pages of the _Salon_ in the company of better wits than Minckwitz! Johannes turns from me, and

“Wo ich ihn nicht gab,
Ist mir das Grab.”

So “The Death of a Youthful Hero” did not flow from the pen of the great poet! Never was I more surprised than over this discovery. I am to stand before the jury; I shall be condemned to dishonourable penalties--in a word, like the knapsack of the lieutenant, I am _perdu_.

The _Kleinstädter_ before the jury? Since I have heard that in the “Lawyer Hamlet” the jury are brought upon the stage to do nothing at all, I have a very clear impression of this horrible situation. In this “Lawyer Hamlet,” which, by the way, has been very scantily advertised (indeed scarce thirty papers devoted more than five columns to a detailed account of the piece), there is a certain Baron von Sonne who defends all poor people, and takes this opportunity of speechifying on various topics. This Baron von Sonne is the man for me; I shall turn to him in my extremity. And as I need not fear that the unknown author of “Lawyer Hamlet” will impeach me for misuse of his name--a guilt which he himself has been careful to avoid--I will herewith give the last act of the play, that is to say, the last act as it would have read if the accused had been the _Kleinstädter_ instead of Stella.

Here goes then--

LAWYER HAMLET.

FOURTH ACT.

(_The court-room. At the left the benches of the jury. In the middle a table for the judge. At the right two small tables for the Crown solicitor and for the defendant. To the front a bench for the accused. As the curtain rises the judges are seen to enter. The jurymen take the seats appointed. The Kleinstädter, with his hands and feet securely fettered, is dragged into the room by gens d’armes. The defendant, Lawyer Hamlet, exchanges some words with the accused. The court solicitor breathes revenge._)

FIRST AND LAST SCENE.

_Chairman Lehmann._ I request the audience to remain quiet; at the first signs of applause or displeasure all persons occupying the gallery will be turned out. The accused will rise from his seat. (_The Kleinstädter rises, his chains clash, the audience shudders._) What is your name? (_The Kleinstädter looks perplexed, and does not reply._) Do you hear what I say? I asked you what your name is?

_The Accused_ (_greatly embarrassed_). Oh, Mr. Chairman----

_Chairman._ Well now, go ahead! What is your name?

_The Accused._ My name’s _Lehmann_ too.

_Chairman._ You are accused of having published a poem in the Salon under the name of our honoured and esteemed Professor Johannes Minckwitz, and so to have passed off your own production for his. What have you to say for yourself?

_Accused._ Nix.[10]

_Lawyer Hamlet._ Gentlemen of the jury, I beg that you will note this “nix”; it is of the greatest importance.

_Chairman._ I must request the defendant not to interrupt the proceedings. Prisoner, no doubt you are aware of the fact that it is culpable to assign to Professor Minckwitz the name of poet--that is, of course I mean poet of verses which he did not make.

_Accused._ I did not know it, Mr. Chairman; I am innocent.

_Lawyer Hamlet._ Gentlemen of the jury, I beg that you will note these words; they are of the utmost importance to the following transactions.

_Chairman._ I wish to ask whether the accused has ever read the poems of Professor Minckwitz.

_The Accused_ (_in violent excitement_). Never, Mr. Chairman, never! My record is spotless.

_Chairman._ Why did you not read the poems?

_The Accused._ All my efforts to obtain the volume were fruitless. I called upon three of my friends who possess a well-equipped library; two of them threatened to impeach me for libel, the third kicked me down stairs.

_Chairman._ You may sit down. (_To the jury._) A number of witnesses have been summoned before the court whose names the _Kleinstädter_ is also charged with having forged. It seems indeed that forgery of names has been systematically indulged in by the prisoner. (_To the bailiff._) Bid the witnesses enter.

(_General tumult. Chairman’s bell._)

_Chairman_ (_to first witness_). What is your name?

_Witness._ Dr. Max Hirsch.

_Chairman._ Not related to the accused? Not in his service?

_Witness._ No.

_Chairman._ In the _Kleinstädter’s_ second letter a speech is quoted which purports to have been delivered by you in Parliament, beginning, “In England ... Sheffield ... partnership ... etc.” Is that correct?

_Witness._ No. (_Sits down._)

_Chairman._ Second witness: His Majesty the Emperor of Siam. In his fourth letter the _Kleinstädter_ relates how your most serene Highness said to your Highness’ servant among other things, “Ra-phra, how could my predecessor condemn a man of your integrity?” Is that true?

_Witness._ Never a word of it, by Jove. (_Sits down._)

_Chairman._ Third witness: His Excellency the Imperial Chancellor Freiherr von Beust.

_Lawyer Hamlet._ I protest against the examination of this witness. Mr. Chairman and Judges, without venturing to impute motives not strictly impersonal to the witness, I feel it my duty to call attention to the fact that the relations between the accused and the witness are too close to assure an unbiassed testimony. Both are countrymen, both are great men; in the name of my client I move that this witness should not be cross-examined.

(_The judges put their heads together. After some time the Chairman
announces that the court rejects the arguments of the defence as
irrelevant, and demands the cross-examination of the witness._)

_Chairman._ Freiherr von Beust! Not related to the accused?

_Witness._ No.

_Chairman._ Not in his service?

_Witness._ No.

_Chairman._ In his fifth letter the _Kleinstädter_ quoted a long telegram with the signature of your Excellency, which your Excellency was said to have addressed to the diplomatic representatives at the _Journalistentag_. Will your Excellency have the kindness to inform us as to the precise facts?

_Witness._ Well, now, good friend, I’m afraid I’ll not be able to help you. I have sent a good many telegrams in my day.

_Chairman._ Thank you. (_Witness leaves the stand. Chairman addresses the jury._) Provided the gentlemen of the jury have no objections to offer, I will cross-examine the other witnesses all together. Fourth, fifth, and sixth witnesses: Victor Hugo, public writer on the Isle of Guernsey; Richard Wagner, musician _in spe_, and just now in Switzerland; and third, the man who wrote the prize novel! Gentlemen! in the letters of the _Kleinstädter_ he quotes, or pretends to quote, from your writings; from you, Victor Hugo, a chapter from an unprinted novel about Barbara Ubryk, entitled, “_La nonne qui ne rit pas--mais pas du tout_.” The chapter to be headed, “Naxos, nix, nox, nux,” and beginning, “Night. Deep night, gloomy, dark. Upon the ground rotten straw. Husks and stems without fruit. In a word, straw.” From you, Mr. Wagner, he quoted verses from _Rheingold_--

“Winselnde Winde
Wagalaweia!
Oh Eselinde,
Oh Eseleia!”

From you, prize-crowned poet, the novel, _The Bloody Tragedy at the Churchyard_. Are these quotations authentic--are you the authors of the same?

_Witnesses_ (_in concert_). No. (_They sit down._)

_Chairman._ Has the accused anything to say for himself?

_The Accused._ Nix.

_Chairman._ The list of witnesses is exhausted; the representative of the plaintiff, the Crown Solicitor, has the floor.

_Crown Solicitor._ Never, gentlemen of the jury, did I fulfil the serious and difficult function of my office with a more quiet conscience or a lighter heart. There is not the faintest doubt stirring within me, no shadow of uneasiness falls upon me; the guilt of the accused is clear as day! We have here before us a hardened villain, a sinner of the deepest dye. What has occurred? A well-known magazine brings out a poem under the name of “Minckwitz.” The poem is not by Minckwitz; the forgery is evident. Taken alone, the fact of choosing this form of criticism would not be criminal; but, gentlemen, when this misuse of a writer’s name has the result of lowering him in public opinion it is decidedly culpable. And here this is the case. If Minckwitz were a poet of distinction, criticism would do him no harm; but as the _Kleinstädter’s_ criticism is just in all points, it _does_ harm Herr Professor Minckwitz, and lowers him in public opinion. The defendant might perhaps say that there is no penal law in the world which forbids criticism of a poet, and that the satire in question did not attack Minckwitz the man, but Minckwitz the poet. Do not permit yourself to be influenced by such sophistry. It is impossible to attack the _poet_ Minckwitz, because there is no such person; whoever attacks Minckwitz attacks the man. I would be the last to restrain the freedom of speech. I admit the value and the necessity of criticism. But the chosen subject must be worthy of criticism. If Minckwitz takes pleasure in tripping up the great ones of literature with the utmost nonchalance in his “Neuhochdeutschen Parnass,” there is no reason why he should not indulge himself; but to criticise Minckwitz in his quality of poet is quite another matter; such a gross misuse of the function of criticism should be interfered with by a court of justice in the interest of the public.

There is another argument which the defence will doubtless bring, to which I should like to reply right here. You will be told, gentlemen of the jury, that the degradation of an author in public opinion can be effective only if the verses published in the _Salon_, under the name of Minckwitz, are poorer than his authentic ones, and that this is decidedly not the case. Well, it strikes me that the contrary is true! It is just because the verses in the _Salon_--as I must gladly admit--are much better than any Minckwitz verses; it is for this very reason that public opinion is unfavourably influenced. For, gentlemen, when Minckwitz brings his epos before the public, all the world will say, “The verses in the _Salon_ were much more amusing,” and it seems to me this will not have the effect of heightening the author’s reputation. I have done, gentlemen of the jury. I believe I have proved to your satisfaction that the accused is guilty of the crime with which he was charged, and in consideration of the frequent repetition of literary forgery, as shown by the witnesses, I move that sentence be pronounced for the most severe penalty of the law--viz., confinement in intellectual pursuits to the works of Professor Minckwitz.

(_Sensation. Chairman’s bell._)

_Chairman._ The defendant has the floor.

_Lawyer Hamlet._ Gentlemen of the jury! We do not come before you with witnesses from the most distant confines of this globe, we do not come with ringing words; no, we are simple, harmless, plain, and true. We need no witnesses; the facts speak for us. Gentlemen of the jury, cast a glance upon the accused, look well at his stolid face, his fixed eyes, his enervated lips; and this innocent creature you would declare guilty of the heinous crime charged to him? Never, if I can help it! The representative of the Crown has told you that literary forgery in a legal sense is only possible where public reputation is endangered. I admit that in a merely human sense the name of Minckwitz was forged, but certainly not in the sense of the law. It strikes me that Professor Minckwitz would do well to get down on his knees and thank the _Kleinstädter_ for occupying himself so minutely with his small person; by means of the article in question Professor Minckwitz is not only not lowered in public opinion, on the contrary he is given more honour than he deserves. Granting, however, that the _Kleinstädter_ could be convicted of forgery, would this be sufficient cause to pronounce sentence upon him? No, gentlemen of the jury, a thousand times no! I asked you just now to note my client’s physiognomy; I repeat my request. In these flaccid muscles, in these dim eyeballs, lurks idiocy. Far be it from us to avenge where we should pity. Yes, gentlemen, this _Kleinstädter_ is an idiot, his physiognomy shows it, and still more evident does it become when you look back upon his conduct during these proceedings--when you remember the imbecility of that perpetual “nix,” and, most of all, by the deed of which he stands accused. There might be some sense in misusing the name of Goethe, Schiller, Heine, Geibel, Heyse, Lenau; I can understand that, though I would not condone it; but to misuse the name of Minckwitz as a poet, that, gentlemen of the jury, cannot be accounted for otherwise than by presupposing complete paralysis of the intellectual functions on the part of the accused. My client is a poor, irresponsible creature; his mental condition annuls his penalty. Gentlemen of the jury, I appeal to your heart. You all have children, rosy-cheeked, blooming, happy; imagine what would be your grief if one of your children should suddenly lose his reason; would you punish that child? No, you would not do so, you could not do it, and you will prove it now by fully acquitting my unfortunate client!

(_Sensation and weeping. Bell._)

_Chairman._ Prisoner, is there anything you have to say for yourself?

_The Accused._ Nix.

_Chairman_ (_recapitulates the proceedings and closes_). There are these questions then to be submitted to your judgment--

First: Is the accused guilty of having with malice aforethought forged the name of Minckwitz in such manner as to thereby injure Professor Minckwitz’s public reputation?

Second: Is the accused sane?

(_The jury retire. After a short time they return, and their
foreman declares in a strong voice that the jury answered both
questions unanimously in the affirmative. Great excitement. The
court solicitor repeats his proposition; the defendant does the
same. After a half-hour’s debate the bell of the Chairman is
heard._)

_Chairman._ Considering that the accused has been convicted of the penal offence with which he had been charged, considering further that the mental condition of the accused gives cause for leniency, the Court sentences the accused to the penalty of finding Minckwitz’s poetry excellent reading.

_Paul Lindau._

_STUDENTS’ SONGS._

OLD ASSYRIAN-JONAH.

IN the Black Whale at Ascalon
A man drank day by day,
Till, stiff as any broom-handle
Upon the floor he lay.

In the Black Whale at Ascalon
The landlord said: “I say,
He’s drinking of my date-juice wine
Much more than he can pay!”

In the Black Whale at Ascalon
The waiters brought the bill,
In arrow-heads on six broad tiles,
To him who thus did swill.

In the Black Whale at Ascalon
The guest cried out: “O woe!
I spent in the Lamb at Nineveh
My money long ago!”

In the Black Whale at Ascalon
The clock struck half-past four,
When the Nubian porter he did pitch
The stranger from the door.

In the Black Whale at Ascalon
No prophet hath renown;
And he who there would drink in peace
Must pay his money down.

_Joseph Victor Scheffel._

HEINZ VON STEIN.

Out rode from his wild, dark castle,
The terrible Heinz von Stein:
He came to the door of a tavern
And gazed at the swinging sign.

He sat himself down at a table,
And growled for a bottle of wine;
Up came, with a flask and a corkscrew,
A maiden of beauty divine.

Then, seized with a deep love-longing,
He uttered, “Oh, damosell mine,
Suppose you just give a few kisses
To the valorous Rotter von Stein.”

But she answered, “The kissing business
Is entirely out of my line;
And I certainly will not begin it
On a countenance ugly as thine.”

Oh, then the bold knight was angry,
And he cursed both coarse and fine;
And asked: “How much is the swindle
For your sour and nasty wine?”

And fiercely he rode to the castle,
And sat himself down to dine;
And this is the terrible legend
Of the terrible Heinz von Stein.

BRIGAND SONG.

_Air_--Von Weber’s “Dernière Pensée.”

’G giebt kein schönres Leben
Als das Rauberleben
In dem düstern, düstern Wald.

THERE’S no life is nobbier
Than to be a robbier
In the gloomy, gloomy, gloomy wood.
Always blood a-drinkin’,
Killin’ folks like winkin’,
Little hinfants murderin’ all we could.

Comes a carriage glidin’,
Or a feller ridin’,
Or a tinker travellin’ with his cram,
Then each jovial rover
Holloas out, “Shell over!
For your life we do not care a d--n!”

A FARTHING AND A SIXPENCE.

A FARTHING and a sixpence,
And both of them were mine;
The farthing went for water,
And the sixpence went for wine.

The landlord and his daughter
Cry, both of them, “Oh woe!”
The landlord when I’m coming,
And the daughter when I go.

My shoes are all in pieces,
My boots are torn, d’ye see;
And yonder, on the hedges,
The birds are singing free.

And if there were no taverns,
I’d never wish to roam;
And no bung-hole in the barrel,
Then I couldn’t drink at home.

_Count Albert von Schlippenbach._

THE TEUTOBURGER BATTLE.

WHEN the Romans, rashly roving,
Into Germany were roving,
First of all--to flourish, partial--
Rode ’mid trumps the great field-martial,
Sir Quintilius Varus.

But in the Teutoburgian forest
How the north wind blew and chor-rused;
Ravens flying through the air,
And there was a perfume there
As of blood and corpses.

All at once, in sock and buskins,
Out came rushing the Cheruskins
Howling, “Gott and Vaterland!”
They went in with sword in hand
Against the Roman legions.

Ah, it was an awful slaughter,
And the cohorts ran like water;
But of all the foe that day
The horsemen only got away,
Because they were on horseback!

O Quintilius! wretched general,
Knowest thou not that such our men are all?
In a swamp he fell--how shocking!
Lost two boots, a left-hand stocking,
And, besides, was smothered.

Then, with his temper growing wusser,
Said to Centurion Titiusser,
“Pull your sword out--never mind,
And bore me through with it behind,
Since the game is busted.”

Scaevolo, of law a student,
Fine young fellow--but imprudent
As a youth of tender years,
Served among the volunteers--
He was also captured.

E’en his hoped-for death was baffled,
For ere they got him to the scaffold
He was stabbed quite unaware,
And nailed fast _en derrière_
To his Corpus Juris.

When this forest fight was over,
Herman rubbed his hands in clover;
And to do the thing up right,
The Cheruscian did invite
To a first-rate breakfast.

But in Rome the wretched varmints
Went to purchase mourning garments;
Just as they had tapped a puncheon,
And Augustus sat at luncheon,
Came the mournful story.

And the tidings so provoked him,
That a peacock leg half choked him,
And he cried--beyond control--
“Varus, Varus! d--n your soul!
Redde legiones!”

His German slave, Hans Schmidt be-christened,
Who in the corner stood and listened,
Remarked, “Der Teufel take me wenn
He efer kits dose droops acain,
For teat men ish not lifin.”

Now, in honour of the story,
A monument they’ll raise for glory.
As for pedestal--they’ve done it;
But who’ll pay for a statue on it
Heaven alone can tell us.

_J. V. Scheffel._

THE LAST PAIR OF BREECHES.

_Air_--“’Tis the last Rose of Summer.”

’Tis my la-a-st pair of bre-e-eches
Le-e-ft sa-a-dly a-lone;
Ah--and she too with her riches,
With another hence has gone.

Oh, they seemed in one piece knitted,
Such a pair is seldom matched;
Winter buckskin, how they fitted!
Large plaid pattern, never patched!

Strutting proudly as a turkey,
With those breeks I first sailed in;
In my pocket to the door-key
Rang such lots of lovely tin.

Ah, we fall as we have risen--
Soon no specie showed its face;
And the Heidelberg town-prison
Is a dark and silent place.

Soon I pawned all things worth pawning,--
Dress-coat, frock, and mantle light.
You too, now, ere morrow’s dawning,
My last trousers, good--good-night!

Day of trial, with what sorrow
Do I feel thy pain at last;
Nothing earthly bides the morrow,
And the pledge-laws travel fast.

All must go, though strictly hoarded,
Oh, last trousers, last of mine!
Elkan Levi, gloomy, sordid,
Old clo’,--take them, they are thine!

Boots!--of all my friends the truest,
Come and prop my suffering head;
But one pint, and that of newest,
May’st thou bring--enough is said!

Then abed, from this sad hour,
I’ll not rise, though all should ring,
Till a heavy golden shower
Through the roof comes pattering.

Then begone, for we must sever;
Greet thy fellows in their cell.
Ah! my legs already shiver;
My last breeches,--fare ye well!

_J. V. Scheffel._

ENDERLE VON KETSCH.

[This ballad is founded on an incident narrated in the description of the Palatinate by Merian (1645), where, speaking of the village Ketsch, he tells us that “The Counte Palatine Otto Heinrich, afterwards Kurfürst, sailed in the yeere 1530 to the Holie Lande and to Jerusalem. Returning thence, hee came over the greate open sea, where a shipp from Norwaie mett him, and from it there came this cry: ‘Flye, flye, for ye fatt Enderle von Ketsch cometh!’ Now the Counte Palatine and his Chancellor Mückenhäuser knew a godless wretche of this name who dwelt at Ketsch, and therefore whenn they returned home they inquired of ye fatt Enderle and of the tyme of his deathe, and observed that itt agreed with the tyme whenn they did heare the crye upon ye sea, as whilom a professor of Heidelberg hath narrated in divers wrytings which hee left behinde.”]

_Chorus._

“AWAY--along! Away--along!
With trembling, your jaws on the stretch.
Away--along! We sing the song
Of Enderle von Ketsch!”

_Solo._

Old Heinrich, the Pfalzgrave of Rhine--oh!
Spoke out of a morning, “Rem blem!
I’m tired of the sour Hock wine--oh!
I’m off for Jerusalem.

“Far lovelier, neater, and nicer
Are the maids there who give you the cup;
Oh, Chancellor! oh, Mückenhäuser,
Five thousand gold ducats pack up.”

And as before Joppa they anchored,
The Chancellor held up his hand:
“Now drain to the dregs your last tankard,
For the ducats are come to an end.”

Old Heinrich said, “Well, and no wonder;
Rem blem! what remains to be seen!
We’ll paddle for Cyprus out yonder,
And make a small raise on the Queen.”

But just as the galley was dancing
By Cyprus, in beautiful night,
A storm o’er the billows came prancing,
With thunder and flashes of light.

In a ghastly wild glare, by the landing,
A black ship came rushing along;
There a ghost in his shirt-sleeves was standing,
And howling a horrible song.

_Chorus._

“Away--along! Away--along!
With trembling, your jaws on the stretch.
Away--along! I sing the song
Of Enderle von Ketsch!”

_Solo._

The thunder grew calmer and wiser,
Like oil lay the water below;
But oh, the old brave Mückenhäuser
The Chancellor felt sorrow and woe.

The Pfalzgrave stood up by the rudder,
And gazed on the billowy foam;
“Rem blem! all my soul’s in a shudder,
Oh, Cyprus--I travel for home!

“God spare me such terrible menace--
I’m wiser through trial and pain;
Back, back on our course to old Venice--
I’ll never borrow money again.

“And he who ’mid heathens at table
His cash to the devil has slammed,
Let him hook it in peace while he’s able,--
It sounds like all hell and be damned!”

_J. V. Scheffel._

GOD AND THE LOVER.

THEN full of longing hieing,
Straight I sought the Father, sighing:
_O may I, may I, may I,
May I love the girl?_
“You blackguard!” he outswore,
“If you want your back beat sore,
Then you may love the girl.”

Then full of longing hieing,
Straight I sought the good Priest, sighing:
_O may I, may I, may I,
May I love the girl?_
“My dear son, by my soul,
If you seek for Hell’s deep hole,
Then you may love the girl.”

Then full of longing hieing,
Straight I sought the Lord God, sighing:
_O may I, may I, may I,
May I love the girl?_
“My boy,” laughed he, “go take her:
Why the devil did I make her?--
Faith, you may love the girl!”

_Old German._

_UNINTENTIONAL WITTICISMS OF THE ABSENT-MINDED GERMAN PROFESSOR._

IN the day of Achilles the Greeks had no books except Homer.

A panic seized the Persians at Marathon, and crying, “Lord Jesus, there are the Athenasians,” they rushed for the sea.

Alexander would undoubtedly have subjugated the whole of Asia, but he will soon die.

Alexander was poisoned twenty-one years before his death.

The death of Alexander was felt by all Asia, but not until after his death.

Demetrius was the son of his father, and had an army of 100,000 Reichsthalers.

Charilaus was born very young.

This is a common incident in Roman history, which, however, does not occur often.

Servius came to Rome and was born there.

At the battle of Cannæ the Roman army consisted of 30,000 men, 20,000 were made prisoners, 40,000 fell, and 120,000 escaped.

If Cæsar had not crossed the Rubicon there is no knowing where he would have gone.

Brutus and Cassius murdered Cæsar in a manner very detrimental to his health.

His brother, whom he had caused to be murdered, he at last proscribed.

Varus was the only Roman general who succeeded in being conquered by the Germans.

Gallus was murdered in the presence of the populace, and he met the same fate once more at the hands of an assassin.

Julianus first killed himself, then his father, and then himself.

Tacitus says the ancient Germans were as tall as our Gardes du Corps.

The Cimbers and Teutons are descended from each other.

Alfons was two years old when he was born.

So did King Alfons surrender the eastern part of his career.

Returning from Spain, the roads were so poor that it was necessary to take eight waggons to one horse.

Richard III. murdered all his successors.

After the execution of Mary Stuart, Elizabeth appeared in Parliament, in one hand a handkerchief, in the other a tear.

It is unnecessary to say anything about Newton except that he died.

Danton was not executed until he had cut his own throat.

To be sure Marat was murdered, but he died first of a disease so virulent as to rob him of life.

Maximilian I. had hopes of seeing the throne upon his head.

After the battle of Leipsic there were a large number of horses that had lost three or four or more legs running about without a master.

Gustavus Adolphus, King of Sweden, lived until shortly before his death.

Stanislaus was not yet in existence when his father was born.

Suwarow marched at so rapid a pace with his army that neither the infantry, nor cavalry, nor artillery could keep up with him.

The Polish army was beaten by Suwarow because it ran away and fled.

A bitter war ensued on page 94.

The earth like all bodies has parallel circles, which intersect, and this is mathematical geography.

He drew his sword and shot him.

Gotha is not much farther from Erfurt than Erfurt is from Gotha.

I am unable to give you the titles of books about Africa just now. I have them in my head, but not on paper.

Among the most excellent products of Egypt the climate must be counted.

The sources of the Nile are much farther south than where Bruce discovered them.

The eye-sight of the Hottentots is so well developed that they can hear the tramp of a horse at an incredible distance.

The walls of Babylon were so broad that four waggons could go on top of each other.

North America consists of a great number of large and small islands, very few of which are surrounded by water.

When Humboldt ascended Mount Chimborazo he found the air so thin that he could not read without glasses.

There is so much coal-smoke in London that even when the sun does not shine you cannot see the sky.

There would be far less leather produced by the English if they tanned only their own hides.

There are many propositions in mathematics that can only be proved by beginning over again.

The theory of parallel lines explains itself, for it tends toward infinity.

_Professor_: “That impertinent fellow, Sustorf, must be reported.” _Pupil_: “Herr Professor, his name is not Sustorf; it is Thomas.” Professor: “Well, then, we will not report him.”

It must strike four soon, for it struck a quarter-to half-an-hour ago.

I see a great many pupils who are absent.

If any of you would like to read up this subject, you will find something to the point in a book the title of which I have forgotten. It is in the forty-second chapter.

_THE INCARCERATION OF THE HERR PROFESSOR._

WHEN he got to the hall before the door of the schoolroom, the Herr Director heard a tremendous uproar. Forty boyish voices were shouting “Encore,” and “Da capo!”

Professor Samuel Heinzerling began to frown.

Now there was a lull in the wild chorus, and a clear, penetrating voice was heard in a tone of absurd magniloquence--

“That will do faw to-day, Heppenheimer. It ith vewy evident you’ve come to clath unprepared. I’m vewy much put out by thuch conduct. Thit down!”

Thundering applause.

The professor seemed turned to a stone.

By all the gods of Greece, that was his voice, his manner, and no mistake. To be sure, there was an exaggeration of caricature, but the likeness was so evident that none but a connoisseur would be able to distinguish the slight shade of difference. It was little short of sacrilege. To think that one of his pupils should have the audacity to ridicule him, the sovereign authority over all school matters; him, the author of “A Latin Grammar for use in schools, specially adapted to the higher classes;” him, the renowned follower of Kant, from the hallowed heights of his own platform! _Proh pudor! Honos sit auribus!_ This was a prank such as none but the soul of the arch-rogue Wilhelm Rumpf could bring forth.

“Will you take a pathage, Möwicke,” the voice of the godless pupil continued. “What, you are indithpothed? Deaw me, when I heaw young men of your age thay they are indithpothed that lookth ill, it lookth vewy ill indeed. Knebel, put down in the clath-book: Möwicke, being called upon to tranthlate, wath indithpothed.”

The professor was unable to control his temper longer.

With a sudden movement he opened the door, and stepped in among the startled boys.

His intuition had been correct.

It was indeed Wilhelm Rumpf, the greatest good-for-nothing the class could boast of, who had committed the unpardonable offence against the majesty of his person. For four weeks only this lad had been one of Samuel Heinzerling’s pupils, and already there was no scamp in class from first to last who did not own his superiority. His collar drawn up high in front, an immense pair of paper spectacles upon his nose, in his left hand a book, in his right the traditional tiny lead-pencil, there he stood upon the platform, just about to commit himself further when the indignant professor crossed the threshold.

“Wumpf!” said Samuel with dignity, “Wumpf! you will go to the _cawcer_[11] faw two dayth. Knebel, put down in the clath-book: Wumpf, condemned to two dayth in the _cawcer_ faw childith and unworthy conduct. Heppenheimer, call the _pedell_!”

“Why, Herr Professor,--I did not--I only----” stammered Rumpf, putting the paper spectacles in his pocket, and walking back to his seat.

“Not another word!”

“I thought----”

“Be thtill, I tell you!”

“But won’t you permit me----”

“Knebel, put down: Wumpf hath one day added to the owiginal penalty faw obthtinathy. I am tiwed of fighting it out with you. You ought to be athamed to the vewy depth of your thoul!”

“_Andiatur et altera pars_, Herr Professor. This is a precept to which you have always called our attention!”

“Vewy good! You thall not thay that I am untrue to my printhipleth. What have you to thay faw yourthelf?”

“I can only assure you, sir, that it was not my intention to do anything disrespectful. I was only exercising myself in the art of mimicry.”

“It would have been better to exerthithe yourthelf in Latin thtyle and in Greek compothition.”

“I do that also, Herr Professor. But aside from those branches of knowledge, art also has her privileges.”

“Thertainly, I have never denied that. Do you pretend to call your nonthenthe, art? It ith an art that you will never be able to live on.”

“There’s no knowing, Herr Professor!”

“Be thtill, I tell you! If you go on at this wate you will be shipwecked soonaw or lataw in life. Knipke, go and see why Heppenheimer doeth not come back with the _pedell_.”

“Oh, just this once, Herr Professor,” whispered Rumpf coaxingly. “You might let me off just this once.”

“No indeed! You go to _cawcer_. But we will not let thith dithagreeable affair intewupt our work. Hutzler, begin the wepetition.”

“Herr Professor, I was ill when we translated this. Here is my certificate.”

“Indeed! So you were ill, ath uthual. Do you know, Hutzler, it stwikes me that you are oftener ill than well.”

“Unfortunately, Herr Professor, my delicate constitution----”

“Delicate? Eh, delicate? You don’t thay tho, Hutzler! I with every man under the sun were ath delicate ath you are. Lathy, that’s what you are, but not delicate----”

“Lazy? When I have a high fever you don’t expect me to----”

“I know all that! Dare thay you dwank too much beer. You twanthlate, Gildemeister.”

“Absent!” cried a number of voices at once.

Samuel shook his head sadly.

“Doeth nobody know what ith the matter with Gildemeister?”

“He has a cold!” replied one of the lads.

“Cold! When I wath hith age I never had a cold. But why don’t Knipke and Heppenheimer come back? Schwarz, you go and thee if you can’t find them, but mind you come wight back!”

Schwarz went, and returned after ten minutes with the _pedell_ and the others.

“Herr Inaddler was occupied with papering his wall,” said Heppenheimer in a respectful tone; “he had to change his coat.”

“Ah, indeed! And doeth it take you half-an-hour to do that? Inaddlaw, theemth to me you are beginning to neglect your offith!”

“I beg your pardon, Herr Professor; the young gentleman came to my door just two minutes ago.”

“Oh!” cried three indignant voices.

“Well, it theemth witheth to let thith matter wetht! Here, take Wumpf to the _cawcer_. Wumpf, you will behave yourself and not be continually calling the _pedell_ ath you did the latht time you were there. Inaddlaw, don’t let anything induthe you to let him come out into the hall.”

“Very good, Herr Professor.”

Wilhelm Rumpf bit his lip, turned to go, and disappeared with Inaddler in the dim twilight of the hall.

“What is it you did, Herr Rumpf?” asked the _pedell_ sympathetically, as they were passing upstairs.

“Nothing.”

“Oh, but, begging your pardon, you must have done _something_?”

“I only did what the professor does all the time.”

“You don’t say so! How is that?”

“Well, you just listen to me. Don’t you thee, dear Inaddlaw, this fellow Wumpf is a pawfect scapegwace, and there ith no penalty severe enough faw him.”