Chapter XI: Part 11

“Good gracious!” stammered the _pedell_, clasping his hands above his head. “To think that such things are possible! It’s positively uncanny, Herr Rumpf, that it is! Heaven knows if I didn’t see you right here before me with my own eyes I’d swear that it’s the Herr Professor in person whose voice I hear this minute. You’ll make your fortune with such a gift as that some day, sir. Why, once when I was drinking my beer over at Lotze’s there was a magician who’d imitate anything you wanted him to, twittering birds and neighing horses, barking dogs and ranting priests. But it didn’t come up to your performance!”

“Yeth, yeth, dear Inaddlaw! I dare thay you’re wight!” replied Rumpf, still continuing in the voice and tone of the professor.

“You don’t mean to say you kept this thing up in his presence? Well, I must say, Herr Rumpf, there’s a time for everything. No wonder the Herr Professor was very much put out.”

“Now weally! Do you think tho?”

“I shall have to ask you to stop this now. You see, it’s not compatible with the dignity of my office. Will you please walk into this room?”

“Thertainly----”

“Herr Rumpf, I shall tell the Herr Professor that your punishment is altogether too lenient.”

“What bithiness ith that of yours, you abthurd old fellow? I can do what I pleathe.”

“That you cannot do.”

“You will thee that I can. I can talk ath it thuits me, and whoever doeth not like it can thtop up hith ears.”

“You wait and see.”

“Wait for what?”

“I shall inform the Herr Professor.”

“Give him my compliments.”

Inaddler turned the key and slowly walked away.

* * * * *

Inaddler, having done what was incumbent upon him, devoted himself lustily to his interrupted occupation. He dipped his brush into the tremendous pot of paste and supplied strip after strip of wall paper with the faintly fragrant liquid.

Wilhelm Rumpf sat yawning upon the seat of his prison, and assured himself in a soliloquy that he was heartily sick of the gymnasium and of the uncalled-for restrictions of school life.

Herr Samuel Heinzerling scratched his head, pushed his large round-eyed spectacles up high on his nose and shook his pedagogical head three or four times.

“A mithewable boy, thith fellow Wumpf,” he murmured, “but I half believe I could win him by gentler methodth more weadily than I can by severity. I will make one more attempt to appeal to hith conscienthe. It ith a pity to let him go on like thith. He ith one of my motht gifted pupilth!”

He touched the bell.

After two minutes Annie appeared, Inaddler’s daughter. She was evidently about to go out, for a tiny hat surmounted by feathers was perched jauntily upon her curly head.

“What can I do for you, Herr Professor?” she asked with a dainty curtsey.

“Where is your father?” whispered Samuel, with a remarkably pure pronunciation for him.

“He is papering. Is there anything you wish him to do, Herr Professor?”

“Ah, he ith papawing. Well, then, I will not dithturb him. It ith of no consequenth, Annie; I dare thay the key is on the _cawcer_?”

“I will run and ask, Herr Professor.”

She ran down the stairs like a deer, and was back in a few seconds.

“Yes, sir; the keys are on the hall door as well as on the cell. Is there anything else?”

“No; I thank you.”

Annie turned to go, while Samuel looked after her with a smile. He passed his hand once or twice over his closely-shaved chin, then he took his hat from the table and ascended the stairs to the _carcer_.

Wilhelm Rumpf was greatly surprised when after so short a time of imprisonment the door turned on its hinges. His astonishment reached its climax when he recognised Professor Samuel Heinzerling.

“Well, Wumpf?” said that philosopher with dignity.

“What do you wish, Herr Professor?” responded the pupil in a tone of resolute obstinacy.

“I have come to athk if you are not beginning to thee that thuch puerilenetheth are out of plathe altogether in a gymnathium, and that----”

“I am not at all aware of having done----”

“What, Wumpf? I did not expect to find you tho thtubborn! I wish you would put yourthelf in my plathe. I am sure you would be much more thevere with thith unmanageable Wilhelm Wumpf than I have been, eh?”

“Herr Professor----”

“Surely thuch childish conduct ith not what one would expect of a young man of good family. You’d betht be on your guard, for the next time I catch you in a thcwape I shall expel you!”

“Expel me?”

“Yes, Wumpf, expel you. So you would do well to turn over a new leaf, and let your dithgratheful nonthenthe go. I wepeat it, put yourself in my place!”

Wilhelm Rumpf lowered his head. He felt that his expulsion was only a matter of time. Suddenly a diabolical thought took possession of his brain.

“If I must get expelled,” he said to himself, “it shall be with flying colours.”

He smiled like the villainous hero of a sensational novel after some dark deed, and said in a tone of simulated humility--

“You say, sir, I should put myself in your place?”

“Yes, Wumpf, that ith what I thay.”

“Well then, seeing you will have it so,--I wish you much pleasure!”

And with a single bound he was outside the door, turned the key, and left the poor professor to his deplorable fate.

“Wumpf! what ith thith you are up to? I’ll exthpel you thith vewy day! Open the door at onthe! At onthe, I thay!”

“I give you two hours’ _cawcer_,” replied Rumpf with dignity. “You told me to put mythelf in your plathe!”

“Wumpf! you will thee what will happen! Open the door; I inthitht upon it!”

“You have no wight to talk to me in that tone. Jutht at pwethent _I_ am the Herr Profeththor! You are merely the pupil Wilhelm Wumpf. Be thtill! I will not bwook oppothition!”

“Dear Wumpf! I will fawgive you thith onthe. Pleathe open the door like a good fellow. Your penalty shall be a vewy slight one. I give you my word faw it, you shall not be exthpelled. Do you hear what I thay?”

Dear Rumpf did not hear. He had crept stealthily along the hall and was now hastening downstairs to complete his escape.

As he was passing the _pedell’s_ door a tempting idea took possession of him.

He put his eye to the keyhole. Inaddler was standing upon a ladder, his back to the door, and was just attempting to put a heavily-pasted strip of paper in place. Wilhelm Rumpf just lifted the latch, and called out with the purest Heinzerling accent of which he was capable--

“I am going now, Inaddlaw. Keep an eye on that fellow Wumpf. The lad is cawying on at a gweat wate. He ith thtill keeping up hith impertinent nonthenthe. You keep wight on with your work. All I want to thay ith that you are not to open the door faw him on any conthideration. The fellow ith quite capable of knocking you down and wunning away. Do you hear what I thay, Inaddlaw?”

“Very good, Herr Professor. Excuse me for not getting down----”

“Thtay wight where you are, I thay, and finish your papawing. Good mawning.”

“Your servant, Herr Professor.”

Wilhelm Rumpf went upstairs again, and once more entered the hallowed precincts of the _carcer_. Samuel Heinzerling was raging terribly. Now he seemed to have discovered the bell, for just as Rumpf sought refuge behind an enormous linen chest belonging to the Inaddler family, it resounded shrilly through the hall like the yell of indignant demons.

“Help!” moaned the professor. “Help! Inaddlaw; you will lothe your plathe thith very day, if you don’t come up thith minute! Help! Fire! fire! Murder! Wobbers! Help!”

The _pedell_, recalled to his duty by the uninterrupted sound of the bell, left his private occupation and put in an appearance before the door of the prison. Deceitful Wilhelm Rumpf crept deeper into his hiding-place. Samuel Heinzerling, utterly exhausted from calling and crying, threw himself down upon his seat. His bosom was palpitating; his nostrils worked like a pair of good bellows.

“Herr Rumpf,” said Inaddler, giving a warning knock on the door, “look out, I’m making a note of all your doings!”

“The Lord be praithed that you are here, Inaddlaw! Open the door, I thay! Thith mithewable thcoundwel hath locked me in. Thuch conduct ith unheard of!”

“Let me tell you, Herr Rumpf, you’d better stop your joking. You may be quite sure I’ll tell the Herr Professor how you called him a miserable scoundrel!”

“Have you lotht your wits, Inaddlaw?” shouted Samuel in a tone of supreme indignation. “The devil! don’t you hear me thay how Wumpf, the knave, hath locked me in here when I came to thee him, and talk like a father to him! I thay, don’t keep me waiting! Open the door at onthe!”

“You must take me to be very stupid, Herr Rumpf. The professor was at my door this moment, and has my word for it that I won’t let you out. And now I advise you to behave yourself, and stop ringing that bell, else I’ll take it down, sure as fate!”

“Inaddlaw, I’ll thee to it that you are thent to gaol for depriving me of my freedom!”

“Now just you listen to me, will you? It’s positively childish this everlasting imitating of the Herr Professor. There is no denying that the professor lisps a bit, and pronounces his r’s in a funny way, but never so long as I knew him was he guilty of such a silly twaddle as you are indulging in. And now then, for the last time, all I can say is, be quiet, and conduct yourself like a gentleman----”

“But I wepeat to you, upon my honour, that confounded scoundwel turned the key behind me, before I knew what he wath about! Inaddlaw! Knave, ass! You must know me! Have the goodneth to considaw!”

“What? You call me an ass? You call me a knave? I’d have you to know it’s a question who is the greatest ass or the greatest knave, you or I! Well I never in all my born days! The impudence! A green boy like you calling an honest old man an ass! You are an ass yourself! Do you understand! But you’ll get your deserts!”

“You are an ass and a fool!” moaned Heinzerling in despair. “So you wefuse to open the door?”

“I’d never think of doing such a thing.”

“Good, vewy good!” groaned the philosopher with a dying voice. “Vewy good! I’ll stay wight here in the _cawcer_ then! Do you hear, Inaddlaw? Wight here in the _cawcer_!”

“I am glad to hear you are beginning to come around to common sense. And now I hope you’ll let me alone. I’ve no more time to listen to your farce!”

“Inaddlaw!” cried Samuel, getting enraged once more. “Hour by hour I’ll thit here, do you understand? Hour by hour. Like a thcamp of a thchoolboy I’ll bear the dithgwace of it! Do you hear me, Inaddlaw?”

“I’m going now. You’d better do your translation.”

“Holy heavens, I’m lothing my weason! Am I cwathy? Man, won’t you look through the keyhole. Then at leatht you might thee----”

“You don’t catch me. I haven’t forgotten how you blew in my eyes the other day!”

“Well, then, go to the devil by all meanths. There’s no wawing with such pawverse thtupidity. Just wait till I come out of thith. You won’t have thith plathe of _pedell_ much longer, I’ll pwomithe you that!”

Inaddler felt his way downstairs in a very ill humour. This lad Rumpf was surely the most impertinent fellow he had ever come across. An ass did he call him? Thunder and lightning! Ever since the decease of Mrs. Inaddler the like had not occurred to him----!

These miserable schoolboys!

Meanwhile Samuel Heinzerling passed up and down his cell with long steps. His whole appearance bore a certain resemblance to an African lion condemned to imprisonment by human sagacity without losing thereby any of the original pride and strength of his noble nature. His hands crossed on his back, his head with its grey mane inclined wofully toward one shoulder, his lips tightly shut--so he walked back and forth, back and forth, the darkest and most misanthropic thoughts in his bosom.

Suddenly a broad smile flitted across his features.

“Most abthurd thith ith!” he muttered to himself. “Weally, though thith ith a very disagweeable affair for me to be in, there ith no denying the humour of the thituation----”

He stood still.

“Ith there weally any dithgwace in being outwitted by a thchoolboy? Go to, Thamuel! Did not a thelebrated king hold the ladder faw a thief to thteal his watch? Wath not even Pwince Bithmarck locked in by wuthless hands? Not to name a hundred other cases. And thtill hithtory treath thith king with rethpect. And thtill Bithmarck hath lotht none of hith reputation ath the betht diplomatitht in Europe. No, no, Thamuel! Your dignity ath thchool-mathter, ath thitizen, ath philothopher, need not thuffer by thith mortifying thituation. Retht assured, Thamuel----”

He continued his walk in a self-satisfied mood; but soon he interrupted himself anew.

“But thothe boyth!” he stammered, turning pale. “When thothe boyth hear how I wath impwithoned at the _cawcer_! Fearful thought! I might ath well give up my authowity ath a teacher at onthe. And they _will_ hear it. There ith no help faw it! Ye godth, ye godth, why do ye thmite me thus?”

“Herr Professor,” whispered a familiar voice at the door of the cell, “you are not yet dishonoured. Your authority is as unassailable as ever----”

“Wumpf!” muttered Samuel; “you godleth fellow you! Open that door, I thay, thith minute! Conthider your earth boxed! Conthider yourthelf expelled!”

“Herr Professor, I’ve come to save you! Do not insult me!”

“To thave me? What impertinenthe! Open the door, or I’ll----”

“Will you hear me speak, Herr Professor? I assure you all will end well.”

Samuel considered.

“Vewy well,” he said at last; “I’ll condethend to hear you. Thpeak----”

“I only wanted to show you that my art is not quite without practical import. Forgive me if in doing so I have seemingly left out of consideration the very high esteem and respect in which I am happily conscious of always having held you!”

“You are a wogue, Wumpf!”

“Herr Professor! suppose you dispense me from the _carcer_ penalty, withdraw your threat regarding expulsion, and permit me to guard the most complete silence over what has passed!”

“It would never do, Wumpf. You mutht hold out your time----”

“Yes? Well, then, good-bye to you, Herr Professor! Don’t ring the bell too often!”

“Wumpf! hear what I thay to you! Wumpf!”

“Well----?”

“You are in many wespects an extwaawdinawy lad, Wumpf; and tho I am quite willing to make an extheption in your favour,--open the door!”

“Will you dispense me from _carcer_?”

“Yeth.”

“Do you intend to expel me?”

“No, in the devil’th name.”

“Give me your word of honour, Herr Professor!”

“Wumpf, how dare you?”

“Your word of honour, Herr Professor!”

“Vewy good, you have it!”

“Jupiter Ultor is witness.”

“What?”

“I call upon the gods for witnesses.”

“Open the door, I thay!”

“Presently, Herr Professor. You are sure you bear me no grudge?”

“No, no, no! _Will_ you open that door?”

“You give me full absolution?”

“Yes, under the condition that you tell nobody a word of your guilty conduct. I have told you that I take you to be an extwaawdinawy lad, Wumpf----”

“Thank you for your good opinion. My word of honour then that so long as you are in your present position at the town gymnasium no word shall pass my lips!”

With that he turned the key and opened the door.

Like the king in Uhland’s ballad did Samuel Heinzerling step out into the pure air of heaven. He took a deep breath; then, brushing his hair from his brow as if trying to remember something, he said--

“Wumpf, I can take a joke ath well ath any man; but I wish you would do me the favour not to mimic me in future. You--you weally do it too well!”

“Your wish is my law!”

“Vewy good! And now you’d betht hathten down to the clath-woom. It’th not yet a quarter to--you’ll be just in time!”

“But how can I do that, Herr Professor? They all know that you have given me three days!”

“Vewy good! I’ll go with you.”

They quickly walked downstairs.

“Inaddlaw!” called the professor into the basement door.

The _pedell_ appeared at once and officiously asked what was his behest.

“I have dithpenthed Wumpf fwom his penalty faw sevewal weasons,” said Samuel.

“Ah! that is what you came back for. Well, all I wish to say is that Herr Rumpf was not at all quiet in his cell. It’s none of my business, I suppose, but he shouted and swore like a good ’un----”

“Well, never mind, Inaddlaw; I have thpecial motiveth faw dealing leniently with him thith time. You may wemove the key to the _cawcer_.”

_Ernest Eckstein._

_OUR WAR-CORRESPONDENT._

THE natural and justifiable mistrust which the reading public brings to bear upon published reports from military headquarters has caused us to send our extra special correspondent, Herr Wippchen, whose presence has already graced several official festivities at the porter brewery, as well as two general assemblies of the architects’ club, to be an eye-witness upon the field occupied just now by the oriental question.

No sooner was our intention made public than four managers of the most renowned life insurance companies applied to us, declaring their willingness to insure the life of our Wippchen against all the dangers of war upon the most reasonable conditions.

Yesterday, at eleven o’clock in the forenoon, Herr Wippchen set out on his journey, favoured by the most glorious weather. In the evening we had his first report from Bernau,[12] which we here publish:--

BERNAU, _May 3, 1877_.

After travelling for two hours I arrived here, and in this friendly little town I found rooms far from the deafening noise of the railway, where I can devote myself with leisure to my task. It is my purpose to give you a battle of some dimensions every day. Certain it is that the position of Bernau is decidedly favourable to my enterprise, for not only is it possible to take the train for the battle-field twice a day, but also to write to Berlin much more frequently.

On the train it was the opinion of many that the die had fallen, and that the temple of Janus would not be sheathed again for weeks to come. Indeed, at the “Kaiserhof,” the night before we left, we were quite unanimous about that.

I am sorry to say that I am not supplied with the necessary maps. The geography I had when I went to school is rather old, and the map of Turkey is partly torn out.

It was a capital idea to send me here. There is no denying the fact that a war-correspondent should not be constantly seen in the streets of the town where his reports are printed.

The most important thing to-day seems to me to be the fact that this oriental war is not the first in history. There is no denying that there have been several others, none of which have ended with the annihilation of Russia or Turkey. Both arose again like Aphrodite out of the ashes.

To be sure, Russia says the beard of the prophet must be shaved from the earth, because Turkey persecutes and torments Christianity. But how if Turkey should suddenly turn and say that in Russia too the Christians sigh under the bed of Procrustes, and that the lash of civilisation must be applied to the Russians! What then?

And as for England, there is no denying that England will never look on and permit the aggrandisement of Russia from without. But with all its Armada it will never be able to hinder its aggrandisement within.

Where is Ariadne’s thread to guide us out of the Scylla of this Augean stable?

I enclose my first letter from the battle-field, and at the same time I would ask you to send me a couple of those new gold 5-mark pieces, which the inhabitants of Bernau are curious to see.

LEOWA, _April 24_.

Rosy-fingered Eos had but just struck five when I arose from the naked earth and betook myself to the Pruth to see the Russian troops cross it. There is no denying that there may have been about 13,000 men; Tschetschentians, Svanetians, Zaporopian Kossaks, Lesghians, mostly adults, were all marching towards Glatz. They sang a song which I should like to call “The Watch on the Pruth.” When General Strobelew saw me he declared me to be a spy, and condemned me to the knout for life. At that, of course, I turned my back upon him; but even as I did it, I lay upon the bench, and two Kossaks raised the knout of Damocles above me to execute the stroke of death, when the general declared I should be let off this once with a black eye. One of the Kossaks proceeded to strike me one, and the general shook my hand heartily, assuring me that soon no Christian should sigh at the hands of the Turk. I saluted him by laying two fingers of my right hand upon my injured eye, and the general turned to continue his way.

The Roumanians who had hastened to the spot to witness the passage of the Pruth cursed with ringing hurrahs, and waved their hats with clenched fists.

I hastened to Kars, where there is a skirmish going on.

BATUM, _April 26_.

The Russians and Turks had pitched into each other near Batum. I stood upon a pile of corpses where I had a good view. The Turks struck to the right and left with such vehemence that all their crooked swords were soon fully straightened out. The Russians did not wait to be told twice, and knew no mercy. The thunder of the cannons was terrible. Boom! boom! only a good deal louder. Ill-luck would have it that I came to stand right between a Russian and a Turk, and they both shot at me at the same moment. I stooped down quickly, and both fell down lifeless, each having been pierced by the other’s ball. It was a marvellous escape. The scythe of Charon spared me by a miracle, as it were.

For hours the battle raged. Finally it was left undecided. The Russians, as well as the Turks, were victorious. Exhausted with hardships, and with the display of courage, I at last fell asleep upon a drum, and did not awake until a Russian beat the retreat upon me. _C’est la guerre!_

Soon there will be more or less more.

TO HERR WIPPCHEN AT BERNAU.

Since the 3rd you have not sent us a single skirmish, for we presume you do not expect us to look upon your request for a further remittance, with which we unfortunately complied, in the light of a war report. You seem to take the oriental complication as an opportunity to live in the country at our expense. Do you think this is acting like our own correspondent? If so, you mistake. If we do not receive one of the bloodiest battles by return post, we shall look about for another war-correspondent. It was only yesterday that one of the profession offered his services, declaring his readiness to furnish us with war at 5-pfennige a line. We wish to bring this to your notice, saluting you in the firm expectation of a desperate conflict.

Yours cordially,

THE EDITOR.

PARIS, _May 14, 1878_.

Here I sit in my cosy _pro doma_, which I have rented with my hard-earned savings on the bulwarks of the temple (_Boulevard du Temple_). It was so hot at the exhibition that it seemed as if Helios had poured out all the tropics upon it, and when at last I turned to leave I found that all the cabs were filled with weary visitors.

The soirée at Minister Waddington’s was a very brilliant affair. The entire aristocracy and plebeocracy of Paris was present. Especially the Prince of Wales. He looks for all the world exactly like his mother. When I was presented to him, he at once got entangled in a lengthy toast. It is well known that the prince is a connoisseur in delicately done slices of bread. He closed with the words, “In this sense I seize the empty glass and fill it to the alliance between Germany and England.” I answered with, “God save the Queen,” in which I joined with fervour. I then added, “In this toast every German will join so long as he calls his soul his own upon this terrestrial globe.”

“To be, or not to be,” replied the prince, and thereupon he toasted on the alliance between England and the terrestrial globe. I recommended the prince to the favour of heaven, whereupon he toasted the alliance between England and heaven. He then joined other groups, and toasted every one of them. Presently he left the soirée, not without having favoured the footman in the ante-chamber, who helped him on with his overcoat, with a toast. When he was in his carriage, he was overheard to pronounce several toasts to the Paris vehicles, the driver, the moon and stars, and the institution of street-gas.

No wonder the prince is very popular in Paris society!

Yesterday His Serenity the Shah left. A few hours before his departure I saw him at the exhibition standing before a piece of soap (_savon_). “How much is this letter-weight?” he inquired, and thereupon bought it.

_Julius Stettenheim._

_SCHNORPS’ SWALLOW-TAIL._

HE played the bass viol in the orchestra of the theatre.

The bass viol had come to be the hereditary instrument for all the male members of the Schnorps family, who were invariably musical, and I remember an anecdote from the life of Aegidius Schnorps, the grandfather of my hero, which well deserves to be handed down to posterity.

Of course Aegidius played the hereditary instrument. But he did not play it at the Royal Theatre; he had not yet arrived at such distinction. Instead of that he was a member of a rather obscure band which used to gather its laurels at country dances on Sundays and special holidays. The leader was supposed to furnish the bass viol, but the Schnorpses had always had their own instrument, and prided themselves not a little upon this family possession. Although the peasants were not at all particular about any involuntary variations that might perchance find their way into the tune, for ’tis easy to pipe to those that want to dance, it so happened that one day Father Aegidius produced tones of such singular impurity that the leader, whose week-day occupation was that of an honest shoemaker, called out, greatly enraged, “Confound you, Aegedi, why don’t you play right?” “Hold your tongue, shoemaker!” replied the indignant Schnorps. “I can play as I please; this bass belongs to me.”

Ah yes, they were always very self-sufficient, were the Schnorpses, and had little respect for the rest of the world. They were always trying to force their square heads through thick and thin.

After Aegidius came Sebastian Schnorps, who of course also devoted himself to the grumbling bass, and who was gathered unto his fathers in the very midst of his professional activity, inasmuch as he and his instrument fell down together from a high ladder, by means of which he had intended to reach a place in a barn which should furnish him the necessary acoustic conditions for evolving seraphic tones, and properly affecting the crowd of dancing peasants beneath him.

Peace be unto his ashes!

After him came Gottlieb Schnorps, the man who is to occupy our attention to-day. It were really needless to say that the hereditary proclivity had come down to him, if it were not incumbent upon me to do justice to him by mentioning the fact that he was a musician of a better sort than his ancestors. He had worked his way up from a country fiddler, had studied a little, and though in his general manner and bearing he had remained true to the family traditions of the Schnorpses, he had struck out a new path in going to see something of the world, and one day he came back with the contract of a court engagement in his pocket, and with a wife whom the dear God must have created for his special convenience, so well were her characteristics adapted to his.

* * * * *

They arranged their life as they thought best. Either he quarrelled with his wife or she with him, or both of them with the children, or the latter among each other--between times the bass viol grumbled, for Schnorps was always hard at work developing his musical faculties--in short, their home life was a lively one.

If Schnorps had only been a little neater in his personal appearance!--but in this respect he did little honour to the Royal Orchestra. His shabbiness had grown proverbial. He had a special predilection for an enormous cravat to conceal the doubtful purity of his linen from the eyes of the curious. His coat was seldom brushed, and the lower part of his coat-sleeves shone like a mirror.

The pride of his heart was a dress-coat, which he donned only on extraordinary occasions. He had brought himself to purchase this piece of wearing apparel only by dint of the rigorous etiquette of the Royal Theatre, which authoritatively demanded the use of a dress-coat on certain days. It never occurred to him to have a new one, and he wandered from junk-shop to junk-shop until he found a specimen at Solomon Hoffa’s, which he purchased for one thaler and some odd groschens, and which he thereafter wore to the horror of all respectable people, and to the annoyance of the entire orchestra.

It was really too shabbily old-fashioned. In fact, it was a disgrace to the corporation. The collar was of such goodly size as to almost completely hide the square head of Schnorps; the sleeves were so tight that Gottlieb could only with difficulty properly belabour his bass viol, and the broad tails stood out like the arms of a windmill from the lank legs of the wearer.

One morning he received a formidable-looking square letter, with the well-known official green seal, in which he was notified in the politest of language, but with all possible decision, that when taking part in the orchestra in future he was to appear in a coat which was more in harmony with the dignity of a Royal Theatre, and less likely to excite the risibility of the audience.

This left no room for doubt, it was certainly plain enough. Schnorps raged--talked about tyranny, interference with personal freedom, scolded his wife, and flogged all the young Schnorpses; but there was no help for it--the acquisition of a new coat loomed upon the horizon as an inexorable necessity.

And now occurred what had never occurred before. For several days in succession the townspeople saw the bass violinist Schnorps and his spouse walk about from one clothing shop to another. In each one they entered into lengthy negotiations, only to pass on after a time grumbling and scolding about the outrageous prices, until at last the firm of J. M. Lindenfeld had the good fortune to come to terms with Herr and Frau Schnorps about a new and handsome swallow-tail coat.

* * * * *

“I’ll tell you what, Sally,” said the bass violinist one day to his better-half; “though I’ve been forced by pure tyranny to spend a sinful lot of money on that new dress-coat, there’s no earthly reason why I shouldn’t get all the good I can out of the old one. I wish you’d just send for old Peter and tell him to make Michel a jacket out of it; it will last the boy many a year.”

Old Peter was a tailor whose chief art lay in mending and patching up old garments, and Michel was the eldest sprout and heir pretendent to the bass viol of the Schnorpses.

The tailor came, made a very close and conscientious examination of the old swallow-tail by the aid of a pair of enormous horn spectacles, and finally declared, with great decision, that the article in question had had its day, and that there was not the slightest possibility of renovating it.

This was a terrible shock for Schnorps, for Peter’s judgment was considered quite incontrovertible, and when there was anything to be made out of an old garment he did it. This he had proved time and time again in the wardrobe of the Schnorpses. So there was nothing for it but to stow away the old dress-coat among other venerable relics, and it might have stayed there to this day if Frau Sally Schnorps had not hit upon a brilliant plan.

Hoods were quite the fashion just then, and why not make a hood out of a dress-coat? It might be trimmed with a quantity of ribbons and laces to conceal the shabbiness of the cloth, which latter could still further be improved upon by being turned. She was very proud of this idea, and forthwith called upon a deaf old seamstress, who often worked for her, and who was quite noted for her stupidity, but aside from that was a poor, unassuming woman who patiently worked for her living without expecting any generous remuneration. This last quality had served to gain her the good will of Frau Schnorps, into the mysteries of whose housekeeping she was thoroughly initiated.

She came and found the wife of the bass violinist at the door, about to go out, while Schnorps was rehearsing for the opera. In brief words Frau Sally explained to her that in the big wardrobe upstairs there was a dress-coat of her husband’s which was quite worth the trouble of making over, and which she wished to be metamorphosed into a hood for herself.

“Very well, very well, I’ll see to it all right, Frau Schnorps,” replied the old woman; and while Frau Sally Schnorps went to market, her mind quite at rest, she entered the house where the youngest of the Schnorpses, who had been left to guard the domestic hearth, handed over the dress-coat, which she thereupon took home to “make over.” And she did it. When she came back, after a day or two, the old dress-coat had become a new head-covering, which, to be sure, was rather heavily decorated with lace and various trimmings, but for this very reason exactly suited the taste of Madam Schnorps. It is true, her husband said, that now you could see that the dress-coat had really not been so bad, and that the money which went for the new one might have been put to some better use, but there was no use crying over spilt milk, the tyrannical intendant had decreed that it should be so, and he philosophically added--

“For every evil under the sun
There is a remedy or there’s none.
If there is one, try and find it,
If there isn’t, never mind it.”

When autumn came the wife of the musician walked forth proudly in her new hood, and about the same time her husband received an invitation to spend the evening at the house of an old general, who was a great lover of music, and famous for his bachelor’s suppers, which added a great attraction to his musical evenings. The old gentleman had a high opinion of Gottlieb Schnorps as a musician, and would have liked to ask him long ago, but he had never been able to bring himself to do so on account of Schnorps’s shabbiness, and the bass violinist was indebted for this invitation chiefly to his new coat.

Schnorps was highly elated to receive it, and his mouth watered at the thought of all the culinary delights which would await him after the music.

When the auspicious day came he devoted an unusual amount of care and attention to his toilet. Although it was only Thursday, he permitted himself the luxury of a clean shirt, bought himself--and this was the rarest of extravagances--a pair of white cotton gloves, even went so far as to brush his black trousers with a certain amount of energy, a thing he never did on ordinary occasions, so as not to wear out the cloth.

“Get my dress-coat out, Sally,” he said in the evening, and she went upstairs in obedience to his behest.

Now it was that something horrible occurred!

As Schnorps’s spouse opened the door of the wardrobe and put her hand in behind all the ancestral garments, she screamed aloud, for there, like a ghost of bygone days, the old swallow-tail grinned at her in the full glory of its invulnerable perfection. She turned it about again and again, and thought she was losing her reason--there was not a particle of doubt of it, it was undeniably the same coat which she had fondly believed she had been wearing on her head in the elaborated and decorative shape of a new hood. In wild excitement she turned the contents of the wardrobe topsy-turvy; trousers and coats were flung about to the right and to the left, but there was no vestige to be seen of the new dress-coat, and with convincing force the certainty came to her that the stupid old seamstress had cut up the new garment instead of the old to manufacture her head-gear therefrom.

So that was the reason it looked so well! Ah, now everything was clear.

“If Schnorps gets wind of this he’ll murder me,” sighed Frau Sally, and so much was certain, this affair must be hushed up for the time being.

But how was she to accomplish this?

She glanced out of the window at the neighbouring house, and a saving idea flitted through her mind. Stealthily she crept downstairs and out at the back door, and hastily entering the house across the way she poured out the sad tale of her misfortunes into the sympathetic ear of her neighbour, imploring her to help her out of her difficulties by lending her the dress-coat of her husband just for this one night.

The good-natured woman was easily won, and an hour later Schnorps, happily unconscious of the state of affairs, and attired in his neighbour’s dress-coat, was on his way to the general, the servant of the latter walking behind him and dragging along his heavy bass viol.

The coat was somewhat tight, which fact caused its wearer to remark, as he was putting it on, that he was really growing stout in spite of his moderate way of living.

Poor innocent Schnorps!

The musical performance had passed off greatly to the satisfaction of the old general, and the ensuing excellent supper was no less to the satisfaction of his guests. The bass violinist indulged himself most freely in the good things set before him, and manifested a degree of steady perseverance as if he had fasted for a fortnight to fitly prepare himself for this special feast. He left nothing undone, plateful after plateful vanished, one glass of delicious wine after another disappeared in the bottomless pit of his eating apparatus, and whenever he thought himself unobserved he helped himself freely to generous handfuls of sweets, depositing them in the voluminous pockets of his dress-coat.

Ah, he was a kind father, when he had nothing to lose thereby, and he was quite willing to be a bringer of dainties to his dear ones at home.

The guests remained until very late, and of course Schnorps was the last to go. It was somewhere near two in the morning when he reeled home in a condition which really put every well-intentioned cab-driver under the moral obligation of turning out for him.

Arrived at the door of his house, he indulged in some profoundly philosophical reflections about the preposterous size of keys, and the smallness of the corresponding keyholes--so profound, in fact, that he sat for a long, long time upon the stone-steps, his head buried in his hands, and his eyes closed, until at dawn a cool breath of air roused him from his meditations, so that he rose shivering and passed into the house.

After several hours of refreshing sleep he awoke in no very enviable condition. He looked about him with wondering eyes, and suddenly he opened them to abnormal width as if to pierce the object upon which they fell.

It was the new swallow-tail. Merciful heavens, how it looked! During his _siesta_ on the door-steps he had sat upon the cream-filled candies he had in his pocket, and the mixture of chocolate, sugar, and fruit had formed into a sticky crust on the tails of his coat which was truly horrible to behold.

The bass violinist jumped out of bed at a single bound, and examined the luckless coat, which in the very flower of its youth had been called upon to endure such hardships.

“When my old woman sees that, there’ll be a row,” he muttered, passing his hand desperately through his bristling locks. He seized a brush and began to belabour the swallow-tail with an amount of energy such as he had never before displayed; but although his perseverance was rewarded by the disappearance of some of the smaller stains, the large blurs which had been caused by the crushed chocolate-drops would yield to no amount of brushing, the less so as they were still moist, and by rubbing acquired a more formidable appearance.

Meanwhile he heard his wife beginning to stir in her room, and poor terrified Schnorps, who at times quaked in his shoes before his fair spouse, puzzled his head to find some remedy for his trouble. Suddenly it occurred to him that years ago he had bought a bottle of benzine which he knew must be somewhere in his room.

He found a dozen bottles on top of the wardrobe, but how was he to know which was the one he wanted? He rummaged until he discovered one at the sight of which the certainty dawned within his dizzy brain that this was it. He spread out the unfortunate coat upon the table, poured a generous supply of the liquid supposed to be benzine upon it, and was about to rub it in with his handkerchief when a horrible sight appeared before him.

Wherever a drop of the fluid had fallen, the cloth turned red; and before the perplexed violinist could find an explanation for this remarkable metamorphosis, there appeared upon the coat an infinite number of large and small holes which sealed its doom for now and eternity.

It so happened that instead of benzine, Schnorps had laid hold of a bottle of sulphuric acid, which he had once used to clean the screws of his instrument.

When he realised what had happened, he certainly expected to go mad, and he weakly fell back in his chair, gazing fixedly upon his murdered swallow-tail. His head whirled--the new coat--his wife--the 15 thalers--the intendant--sulphuric acid--all was swallowed up in one wild eddy, and it was some time before he regained any self-possession.

Ye saints! it would never do to have his wife get hold of this! The first thing to do was to remove the article in question. Hastily he dressed himself, slipped on his felt slippers, hid the dress-coat beneath his dressing-gown, and stealthily crept upstairs, where he hid it, with many misgivings, in the utmost depths of the old wardrobe.

It was high time, for when he came back his better-half appeared upon the scene. Never had she inspired him with such terror as at this moment, and yet never since the days of their honeymoon had he bidden her good-morning as tenderly as he did to-day. She too was unusually amiable, a fact which only weighed the more upon his guilty conscience.

“Well, did you have a pleasant evening?” she asked.

“Oh yes, very nice--yes--quite nice!” he replied, in an embarrassed tone of voice.

“Oh, indeed!” she said, glancing about her as if she were looking for something, which caused poor Schnorps to tremble again.

“What are you looking for, dear?”

She gazed at him in surprise. Dear? He had only called her so once before, and that was when he asked her if she would have him.

“Nothing--that is--where’s your new coat?”

“The coat,” he answered, shaking in his shoes; “what do you want it for?”

“I should like to put it away,” she said very gently.

“You needn’t do that. I put it where it belongs.”

“Where it belongs?” she asked in great excitement.

“Why yes,” replied Schnorps; “upstairs in the wardrobe.”

“Ah, so,” she remarked, greatly relieved--“in the wardrobe! Yes, yes! Well, come and have your breakfast, Gottlieb; I am coming down in a minute.”

With these words she walked out, and now it was Schnorps’ turn to take a deep breath of relief.

He finished dressing and gradually became more tranquil--but it was the tranquillity that precedes a mighty storm.

The reader can readily imagine what followed.

After a pause of ten minutes, the shrill voice of Frau Sally rang through the house in a manner which made all the inmates start and tremble. Intending to return the borrowed coat to its rightful possessor, she had discovered the catastrophe, and raged like a lunatic.

At first Schnorps tried to defend himself and to comfort her, but when he began to understand all the details and complications of the hapless tale,--when he heard that he had ruined his neighbour’s coat, and that his own had long ago gone to perdition by means of his wife’s thoughtlessness and the old seamstress’s stupidity, then his wrath knew no bounds.

It was really too much. To have to pay for _two_ new dress-coats, and to have none! it was death to him, it would bring him to an untimely grave.

I will cast the mantle of Christian charity over the ensuing scene; but to this day the neighbours talk about the row that took place at the house of the Schnorpses after the general’s party.

_Fritz Brentano._

_THE MAN OF ORDER._

SO far as I am concerned, I must confess that I am not greatly interested either in painted Empresses, or in Cardinals, or in Pashas. My attention was riveted upon a lank, lean man, who must have been of unusual length when he was standing up, a man with white hair and a grey beard, round blue glasses before his eyes, beneath them a nose shaped like a potato, and a thin-lipped mouth drawn down at the corners in a sardonic smile. On his head there was a straw hat, the brim of which was of a width such as I had never before met with. This person sat upon a camp-stool, holding with his left hand a parasol lined with green over the afore-mentioned straw hat, and with his right hand guiding a small telescope screwed to a stick, which was fastened in the ground. There is no need to say that the ruler and guider of this telescope was reconnoitring the châlet across the way. What pleased me best was the fussiness, the apparatus, and the intensity of research which served the man’s curiosity. Surely this was the last of the Mohicans, one of the last original characters which are disappearing more and more out of the insipid level of our most modern mediocrity and uniformity. Who was the man? The dear old village of Ragaz has, by no means to the delight of everybody, grown into a “fashionable” resort, and one meets queer enough figures there every summer. But one like the man with a telescope and camp-stool, who had improvised an observatory on the spur of the moment, is an exotic plant, even in the Ragaz of to-day, and is well worth the trouble of observation.

What a pity, I thought, that Amadeus Hoffmann is no more among the living, or Edgar Poe. For either of them this fellow would have been a find.

Gradually the spectators dispersed, as neither the empress, who had been turned out of her empire, nor the cardinal, who had taken the hint that he was superfluous, condescended to show themselves, and as it was getting rather dull to gaze upon the red fez of the pasha, which was just visible above the railing of the verandah at the right. At last there were only two left: the telescope man, who continued his observations, and my worthy self observing the obdurate observer.

Finally, we both accomplished our purpose--he in seeing Madonna Eugenia and the Prince-Cardinal leave the house in quick succession, I in being a witness to the geometrical correctness with which the discoverer took down his observatory.

His motions were as measured as if he felt it incumbent upon him to keep time to the music of the spheres. His very manner of getting up showed a man who never puts one foot before the other without having incontestably assured himself where he was about to tread. When his long bony figure had drawn itself out to its full length his first object was to see clearly. For this purpose he cautiously removed his spectacles from his potato-shaped nose and wiped the large, round blue glasses emphatically with a piece of soft leather he produced out of his right vest-pocket. Having put back the piece of leather and the spectacles to their original place, he commenced the work of packing up, without haste and without delay. At first the telescope was unscrewed, reduced to its smallest dimensions, wiped on all sides with a large red silk handkerchief, and enclosed in a leather case, out of which he had carefully blown the dust, and which he now laid down gently upon the camp-stool. Hereupon he pulled out the stick which had served as a holder for his telescope until now, but which, upon nearer acquaintance, proved to be a perfect miracle, a very encyclopædia of a stick, so to say. It was evidently the pride and joy of its happy possessor. There could be no doubt of that from the satisfaction with which he touched the various springs of the complicated apparatus to display the countless metamorphoses which made the stick appear in turn as a common cane, as an umbrella, as a hoe, as a geological hammer, as a pocket-dagger, as a candle-snuffer, as a reading-desk, as a corkscrew, as a cup, as a chisel, as an inkstand, and as various other things. At last I should really not have been surprised if this Chinese puzzle had suddenly put on the garb of a speaker in Parliament.

The man could read open admiration, the most unselfish of human sympathy, from my countenance, and consequently felt impelled to say, as he pointed to his stick, having reduced it to its most primitive form: “It is the result of five years of theoretic studies and three years of practical constructive experiments. Ay, sir, with genius and order one can accomplish some pretty good things upon this disorderly earth.”

With that he leaned his miraculous staff carefully against a tree, buckled his telescope-case to a broad strap which hung across his right shoulder like a bandoleer, took up his camp-stool, devoted himself assiduously to reducing it to infinitesimal dimensions, and buckled the object, which in its present shape no person would ever have suspected of being a chair, to his strap. He then took up his encyclopædic stick, lightly pricked the ground with the point, and remarked, in the full consciousness of work well done: “All’s in order! Cardinal, Pasha, Ex-empress, all done up in good order.”

“Heilige Ordnung, segensreiche,” I began, quoting Schiller.