THE COWARDS' RACE.
The warning sounded loud and threatening in Mr. Kretschmer's
ears--"The Russians are coming!" A cold chill ran through him, and
he could not prevent an involuntary shudder. But he tried to rouse
himself from this despondency, and laughed at himself for this
credulous fear.
"This Pfannenstiel is a fool, and I would he a greater one if I
believed his nonsense," said he. "No, no, my information is warranted
and authentic. The king has had a sharp skirmish with the Russians
near Reitwan, and driven them back, and then proceeded quietly to
Meissen. Thus there is no ground for anxiety, and I can safely let off
my bomb-shells against the Russians."
Mr. Kretschmer felt his courage return and his heart grow warm.
"Now I see the whole game," cried he, laughing. "Pfannenstiel wishes
the _Vossian Gazette_ to take notice of him. He wants to be talked
about, and wishes the newspapers to spread his reputation. For that
reason he stationed himself right under my window, for that reason he
cast such significant looks at me, for that reason he addressed the
crowd and poured forth his nonsense right here. Yes, that's it! He
wishes to prove to me how great his power is over this people
which believes in him, even when he utters the most incredible and
unheard-of things. Well, we can help the man," continued he,
laughing, as he stepped to his desk. "The desired article for the
'Miscellaneous' is found, and I think that the prophetic linen-weaver,
Pfannenstiel, is well worth more than the four children at a birth and
the miserable stork's nest of yesterday's _Spener's Journal_. Let's
write it off quickly."
Kretschmer began to write most industriously, when he was suddenly
interrupted by a violent knocking at the door. It opened, and a
stately old gentleman entered, with well-powdered wig and long queue.
"Mr. Krause, my worthy colleague!" exclaimed Kretschmer, jumping
up and hastening toward the old man. But Mr. Krause had no word of
greeting. He sank sighing into a chair.
"Do you know the news?" asked he, in a whining tone, folding his
trembling hands, and looking at Kretschmer timidly, as he stood before
him.
"Know what?" demanded the latter in reply, feeling his heart sink.
"The Russians are coming!" sighed Mr. Krause.
"That is a silly tale," cried Kretschmer peevishly, with an impatient
gesture.
"Would to God it were!" groaned Krause; "but the news is, alas, but
too true, and it can no longer be doubted!"
"Man of misfortune," cried Mr. Kretschmer, "who told you so?"
"Pfannenstiel."
"Pfannenstiel?" repeated Kretschmer, laughing heartily; "oh, yes!
Pfannenstiel prophesied it just now in the streets, under my window.
Now don't distress yourself, dearest friend and colleague. That was
only a clumsy trick of the scoundrel to get me to write an article
about him in the _Vossian Gazette_. I have already gratified his
wish."
"You are mistaken," said Krause, mournfully. "I sent Pfannenstiel
into the streets, to quiet the people, and to admonish them to behave
peaceably and soberly, even if the Russians should come."
"Oh! you believe in all these dreams of Pfannenstiel?"
"I believe in the truth, and in what I know!" exclaimed Krause
emphatically. "Pfannenstiel has for a long time been my agent, and
for a considerable stipend, paid every month, informs me of all that
happens, is talked and thought of in the town. He is a very useful
man, peculiarly suited to this service."
"The approach of the Russians is then town-talk, and nothing more?"
asked Kretschmer, who was still anxious to throw doubt on the bad
news.
"No, it is a fact," said Krause seriously. "Pfannenstiel is, as you
know, not only a prophet, but also a quack doctor, and his herbs and
decoctions are certainly often of astonishing efficacy. He always
gathers the plants for his mixtures himself, and roams about in search
of them in the neighborhood of Berlin for days together. Last evening
he was outside the town, on one of these tramps, intending to pass
the night sleeping under a tree. He was awoke by the sound of
troops marching, and as he looked carefully around, he could plainly
distinguish in the bright moonlight the uniforms of the Russian army.
It was a long column of many thousand men. They halted not far from
the place where Pfannenstiel lay, and he crept carefully nearer. He
then ascertained from their conversation that this was only a small
division of the army, which had advanced by forced marches from
Frankfort, and was commanded by General Tottleben."
"By Tottleben!" cried Kretschmer in dismay.
"Yes, by Tottleben," whimpered Krause, and they both looked in silence
on the ground. "Yes, his vengeance will be terrible," said Krause,
after a long and anxious pause. "Have you not heard," continued he in
whisper--"have you not heard the sad story of what occurred last year
in Erlangen? The editor of the _Erlangen Gazette_ admitted into his
columns an article abusive of our great king. A Prussian officer came
in person to Erlangen to call the editor to account. And what do you
think he did? He caused the unfortunate and pitiable journalist to be
beaten with cudgels, and then gave him a receipt for the bastinado he
had gotten."
"Horrible!" cried Mr. Kretschmer, wringing his hands.
Mr. Krause continued: "When a refined Prussian, officer can behave
in this way, what have we to expect from these rough, uncivilized
enemies, the Russians? Oh! they will murder us, for we, too, have
ventured to write boldly and energetically against them."
"Yes, you particularly," said Mr. Kretschmer quickly. "Do you
recollect the famous article in your paper, in which you called
General Tottleben a notorious adventurer, who had deserted to the
enemy after having enjoyed the unmerited favor of our king? This was,
certainly, rather strong; it might even be called indiscreet."
"Not as indiscreet as your 'Earnest and Confidential Country Talk,'"
cried Krause sharply.
"I never avowed myself the author of that pamphlet," said Kretschmer
quickly.
"But every one knows that you are, and you never denied it," replied
Krause maliciously. "This 'Country Talk' is more than indiscreet,
it is foolhardy. In it you nicknamed Maria Theresa, Aunt Tilla; the
Elector of Saxony, Brother Osten; the Empress of Russia, Cousin Lizzy;
and our king, Neighbor Flink. And don't you remember what words
you put into Cousin Lizzie's mouth, and how you made neighbor Flink
ridicule her? Ah, I am afraid you will pay dearly for this" piece of
boldness."
"It is not quite so bad as your calling Tottleben a notorious
adventurer; for the princes are not here, but Tottleben is before the
gates of Berlin, and will revenge himself."
"I am afraid our prospects are equally bad, and for that reason I have
come to you, that we might consult together as to what we had best do,
to avert this threatening blow from our heads."
"You are right," said Kretschmer, drawing nearer to his brother
editor. "Let us consider. Above all things, no exciting calls, no
appeals to the people to perform deeds of heroic valor. Berlin is too
weak for defence; why, then, should we irritate the enemy by useless
opposition?"
"You, too, are right," said Krause thoughtfully; "let us rather advise
the citizens of Berlin to be quiet; let us wheel boldly round, and
speak in our journals with respect and deference of our worthy enemy."
"Besides which, it would be well to consult with some of the principal
men who have an influence on the people. For example, let us go to
Gotzkowsky," said Kretschmer.
"Gotzkowsky gives a great holiday to his workmen to-day."
"So much the better, for then he can immediately use his influence on
his workmen. Come, let us go at once to Gotzkowsky, this Croesus of
Berlin, who bought for our king three hundred thousand dollars' worth
of pictures in Italy, without having been paid for them up to this
day, and yet is able to take a contract for commissary stores to the
amount of eight millions. Let us go to him; and, hark ye! it would be
as well to take Pfannenstiel with us to back us."
"Yes," said Krause, raising himself quickly by the arm of his younger
friend, "let us go to Gotzkowsky with Pfannenstiel, and preach
mildness and submission to him and his workmen."
They both prepared to go. Suddenly Kretschmer stopped as if struck by
lightning, and sank down on a chair stunned. "My article, my article!"
moaned he. "I am a lost man!"
"What article do you mean, my dearest friend?"
"The leading article in tomorrow's paper," whimpered Kretschmer.
"Oh, it was a beautiful article, full of inspiration, but it is not
suitable to the times or the circumstances. I wrote it under the
erroneous impression that our armies had gained a victory, and in it I
spoke with great contempt of the incendiary enemy."
"My God, what rashness!" exclaimed Krause, clasping his hands in
despair.
Kretschmer flew from his stool, and grasped his hat. "My article! I
must have my article back. The printer must give it up to me. Wait for
me in the street. I come either with my article or not at all."
Bidding Krause a hasty farewell, he hurried out.
* * * * *