It was March. On the twenty-fourth of February the Republic had been
proclaimed in France. The grand event spread its effect in concentric
circles over the whole of the civilized earth. Berlin too had been
excited, and a feverish agitation had prevailed for a few days in all
circles of society--a kind of confusion, of nervous trembling, such as
befalls men when they are suddenly roused from deep sleep by a dazzling
light, and do not know exactly where to find their head; and at the
same time they feel a secret horror of the night in which they have so
long slept an unnatural sleep--a confused idea that, after all, the
golden light of the sun is a very precious thing; a hopeful expectant
stretching and moving in all their limbs, so that the watchmen, who
have kept and guarded the gigantic sleeper in his dreams, become
anxious to begin to converse with each other. "We will have to put him
in iron chains," they whisper, "or he may actually rise; and then, woe
unto us!"
There was a lively time one fine bright evening at the "Booths," the
principal resort of respectable citizens, who were in the habit of
amusing themselves here on Sunday afternoons with wife and child by
enjoying a mixture of music, beer, and sausages; but any one who had at
all followed the events of the last days in the great city might have
doubted for a moment whether this was a political meeting or a popular
entertainment. Perhaps it meant both. Work, that strict task-master,
had been cheated out of an hour only; and the simple fact that such
masses were here assembled, which no police constable would readily
dare interrupt or trouble, aroused in the assembled crowds a sense of
exuberant self-respect, a very unusual festive excitement. Then the
blue sky of early spring looked so lovely; the slender, leafless
branches and twigs of the trees in the park were so clearly defined
against the clear background, and the evening sun was shining warm and
hopeful down upon the thousands who crowded the vast open space between
the coffee-houses and the river on one side, and the park on the other
side. The pressure was especially great near the wooden stand on the
edge of the park, which was ordinarily occupied by a band, but from
whence to-day a very novel kind of music was heard--a music which was
so strange to the people, and perhaps on that account far more
attractive than all the waltzes of Lanner or Strauss. Further off,
towards the coffee-houses, where the speakers could no longer be heard
distinctly, people seemed to be merrier. Here the waiters could
scarcely hurry up as many glasses of the favorite white beer as thirsty
gullets were clamoring for. Itinerant venders offered rolls and
sausages, half-grown boys praised their cigars with gosling voices, and
even jugglers and acrobats played their tricks.
Two men were slowly making their way arm in arm through the heaving
crowd. Their appearance was signally different from that of the mass of
the people, which consisted mainly of men, especially young men, of the
lower classes. One of the two was very tall and thin; his gray eyes
looked so keen and bright from under the heavy brows, and around the
well-shaped straight nose there was so much life and meaning, that one
could very easily supply the lower part of the face, which was
completely covered with a close black beard. His carriage was careless,
like that of a man who is too busy with his thoughts to lay much stress
upon external forms; and his clothes, which were made after the last
fashion, and of the very best material, hung so easily and comfortably
on his spare form that one could easily see the owner believed in the
doctrine that clothes were made for men, and not men for clothes. The
appearance of his companion was perhaps even more striking. He was
nearly a head shorter than his tall friend, but much broader in the
shoulders. And yet he stooped like a man who has spent half of his life
in reading books. His large well-shaped brow, and his deep, meek,
dreamy eyes, also bespoke the scholar, the thinker. His hair, which he
wore rather long, was already nearly gray, and so were the bushy
eyebrows, and the beard, which flowed in abundant masses from cheeks,
lips, and chin, down to his waist. He glanced restlessly at the crowd,
and communicated his observations to his companion with a passionate
energy, which characterized his whole manner; the other simply smiling,
nodded his head, or replied in a few short words to the point.
"Well, how do you like it?" asked the man of the broad shoulders.
"Not so badly," replied the tall one.
"But do you think this people will ever dare venture upon a
revolution?"
"Why not?"
"Look at these stupid faces, listen to these miserable jokes with
which they try to drown their instinct of the grave nature of the
situation, and the painful feeling of their own insignificance. See how
the people, at the very hour when they hear liberty and justice
eloquently discussed, still have time and relish for _panem et
circenses_, and you see enough to smother the last spark of hope that
these men will ever talk of freedom, much less fight for it."
"You are still a pessimist, Berger! and in spite of the golden sunlight
which at last shines once more after so many dark years of your life."
"It is this very sunlight which fills my heart with such impatience.
During the gray winter days we think it quite natural that the trees
raise their bare branches to the sky; but when the first balmy air of
spring plays around us, and the sky is blue once more, we long to see
the green ocean of leaves twittering and rustling in the breeze; and
above all, when the winter has been so long and so hard that it has
taken all our strength from us, and we have no right to hope to live
into summer!"
"The dead travel fast! You have seen that in Paris."
"At that moment a man approached them who had for some time looked at
the two gentlemen as if he did not quite trust his own eyes, and said
to Berger,
"Is this really you, professor?"
"Why, see there! my old friend!" replied Berger, letting go Oldenburg's
arm, and offering his hand to the new-comer. "How did you get here?"
"Alas!" said the man, "that is a sad story. If you will come with me a
little way--I would rather speak to you alone."
"Excuse me a moment," said Berger to Oldenburg, and went aside with the
man.
Oldenburg looked at the latter not without astonishment. His was a
powerful body, with a broad, well-developed chest and long arms, while
the head appeared not less massive. In the coarse, bloated features one
might read, by the side of much good-nature, and jovial humor also, not
a little cunning, but of a perfectly harmless nature. To judge by his
appearance the man was not exactly well-to-do. His gray felt hat had
evidently seen many a stormy day before it had been reduced to its
forlorn condition. The black velvet coat, very shabby and covered with
rusty-looking frogs, had evidently seen better days; so also the large
linen trousers, the color of which was not easily distinguished, and
the boots, which began to burst in a threatening manner. A red-silk
handkerchief, boldly twisted around the sunburnt, muscular neck,
completed the expression of reduced artistic merit which the whole
person bore in all its features.
Berger spoke a few minutes earnestly with the man; then they went a
little further aside, and Oldenburg's sharp eye saw how Berger pulled
out his purse and pressed a few pieces of money in the hands of the
stranger. Then they separated; the man disappeared in the crowd, the
professor came back.
"Who was that strange person?"
"A man of whom I have often spoken to you: Director Caspar Schmenckel,
of Vienna."
"Ah!" exclaimed Oldenburg; "why did you not tell me so at once. I
should like to make the acquaintance of a man with whom Czika has lived
so long."
"He will call upon us in a few days. The poor man is in despair since
Xenobia and Czika have left him; he has met with nothing but
misfortune. First, his clown died; then his first artist ran away; and
the others he has been compelled to dismiss on account of chronic want
of money. Now he lounges about in all the inns of the city, and gives
performances on his own account."
"We must take care of him," said Oldenburg. "He has treated Czika well,
and I am under obligations to him. Besides, he seems to be a good
fellow. But let us go home. The thing here comes to nothing, as I
expected, at least for to-day."
As the two friends were leaving, a young man had just gone up on the
stand and demanded to speak. He was of a coarse, thick-set figure, but
the handsome, well-shaved face was full of life and cleverness; and as
he now took off his hat, brushed his long light hair from his white,
well-shaped forehead, he looked more like a precocious boy who has put
on spectacles for fun, than like a man who has a right to address
thousands. If the finely-cut features had something aristocratic, his
more than modest costume placed him far from the privileged classes.
His voice was peculiarly high and sharp and clear, and when he became
more animated it sounded somewhat like the clang of a trumpet, so that
it could be heard all over the large square to the furthest corner.
"Gentlemen," he said, and a smile of irony played around his lips,
"what would you say of a man who has a pointed arrow in his quiver, and
the strongest bow to shoot that arrow; and who, nevertheless, is
good-natured enough to send the sharp arrow, not by means of the strong
bow, but with his feeble hand? Well, gentlemen, we are exactly like
that foolish man. The arrow in the quiver is the petition with the nine
articles, as we modestly call the just demands of a nation; the
deputation chosen from among us, which is to present the address
to-morrow to the king, is the feeble hand. How far will it send the
arrow? To the threshold of the king's palace--no further! I tell you,
gentlemen, the feeble hand of the deputation will in vain knock at the
gate. His majesty will be graciously pleased to refuse accepting our
petition, and the deputation will return without having accomplished
anything."
When the orator had finished the phrase, raising his voice very high, a
murmur passed through the assembly not unlike a violent gust of wind
that sweeps over the sea. A few cried "bravo!" among them the gentleman
in the shabby velvet coat, who had pushed his way close to the
platform, and who had listened to the speaker with great delight, which
he tried to express by nods, grunts, and more violent applause. The
majority, however, was evidently opposed to energetic measures. For one
who cried bravo, there were a hundred who shook their heads and
whispered their misgivings.
The young man was not intimidated by these signs of dissatisfaction. He
repeated with great emphasis,
"The deputation will return without having accomplished anything! And
it serves us right. Why do we use the hand, when the bow lies idle in
the grasp, close by us? Do you want to know who the bow is? We are the
bow; I mean the whole assembly. If we went four, five, or six thousand,
as many as we are here, in close phalanx, and carried the petition, our
speaker ahead, up to the palace, I should like to see the gates that
would not open, the menials who would refuse to admit us, the
chamberlain who would dare to say: Gentlemen, his majesty is at tea,
and cannot see you."
"Bravo! bravo!" cried, the gentleman in the velvet coat, and clapping
his hands furiously. But the crowd was not at all pleased with this
humorous way of treating so serious a matter. They hissed and whistled
and cried from all sides. It was only with great difficulty that the
president, a man in a broad-brimmed hat and with a long beard, who
looked somewhat like an author, could restore peace by repeatedly
knocking with his cane on the table. The orator, quite unconcerned,
gathered the whole strength of his clear voice, and trumpeted down upon
the assembly:
"I have not offered the resolution to proceed in a body to the palace
because I expected it to be adopted, but simply in order to show you
what manner of men you are. Pioneers of freedom, my predecessor called
you. Yes, indeed! Freedom will be much benefited by you, if you are not
even now able to rouse yourself from the sleepy confidence in which you
have rested these thirty years----"
Whatever else the young man said could not be heard, for the last words
had brought down the storm which had been brewing for some time. "Down
with him!" cried those who stood nearest; "Knock him down!" those at a
distance.
It is not improbable that the last threat would have been carried out
by the insulted men if the powerful man in the velvet coat had not
embraced the orator enthusiastically as soon as he came down from the
platform, declaring himself thus openly his friend and protector. No
one seemed to desire engaging in a fight with a man of such herculean
build; at least they allowed the two to leave the assembly unmolested,
in spite of the striking minority in which they had found themselves.
The new friends turned into one of the avenues which lead near the
stand from the open space of the "Booths" into the park. As soon as
they were alone the man in the velvet coat once more shook hands with
the young man of the light hair, and said, with great cordiality,
"I am exceedingly delighted to make the acquaintance of such a capital
fellow."
"So am I! So am I!" replied the young man, examining his admirer with a
quick, sharp glance from his blue eyes, and pushing his spectacles with
his finger higher up on his nose in order to be the better able to do
so. "With whom have I the honor?"
The gentleman in the velvet coat stepped back, threw his chest out,
lifted his much-tried hat, and said,
"I am Director Caspar Schmenckel, from Vienna."
"Ah," replied the other, lightly; "glad to make your acquaintance. My
name is Timm, Albert Timm."
"You are not an artist?" said Mr. Schmenckel, confidentially.
"How so?" asked Mr. Timm, evasively.
Director Schmenckel imitated the gesture of one who throws a very heavy
object with both hands straight up in the air, in order to let it fall
again upon the neck.
"Aha!" said Mr. Timm, who quickly understood in which region of the
fine arts the director had been gathering his laurels; "pardon me that
I was not personally acquainted with a man of your distinction; but I
have only been here a few days."
"Well, I thought so," replied Mr. Schmenckel, as they proceeded arm in
arm. "You are a noble fellow; very different from these poor creatures
hereabouts. You speak as you think; as you feel in your heart. Caspar
Schmenckel likes such fellows, and if he can be of any service to you
say the word and it's done."
"Much obliged, director. Delighted to have the honor of your
acquaintance. I presume you are performing here in the capital with
your troupe?"
"Performing?--Hem! hem!" said Mr. Schmenckel, clearing his throat. "To
tell the truth, you do not see Director Schmenckel just now _in
floribus_, I have been compelled by many reasons to disband my old
troupe, and I am just now engaged in forming a new one--a task which
has its difficulties, as you may imagine. In the meantime----"
"You are living in private?"
"In a certain way, yes; that is to say, I perform from time to time
before a few friends; but, you know, only to keep my hand in, that is
all."
"Of course."
"Thus I am in a certain way engaged to perform to-night in a very noble
locality, where I meet the very best society; and if you will do me the
honor----"
"You are very kind."
"You will find very nice people there; perfectly free and easy; all of
them democrats to the core, although they drink prodigiously little
water, I should think. Ha, ha, ha! I have been a daily guest at the
'Dismal Hole' ever since the winter began, and yet I have never liked
it so well as since we have gotten a new landlady. She has been there
about a week."
"Indeed!"
"I shall be proud to make you acquainted with her. Mrs. Rose Pape is a
model of a woman."
"What did you say?" suddenly asked Mr. Timm, with great animation.
"I said Mrs. Rose Pape is a capital woman."
"Did you not say she had taken the business quite lately?"
"Yes; for she used to be a midwife. The French revolution has made her
an innkeeper."
"That is original."
"Isn't it? But then Mrs. Rose is an original, too. She has a wonderful
knack for business; and when the trouble commenced in Paris, she said:
'Now golden days are coming for beer-houses with female waiters!' The
next day she had rented the 'Dismal Hole.'"
"I am exceedingly anxious to make the acquaintance of the excellent
lady."
During this conversation the friends had followed little frequented
paths in the park, and were now near the magnificent gate which leads
on this side straight from the park into the city. The crowd at the
Booths must have dissolved immediately after they had left it, for the
head of an immense procession coming from that direction had just
reached the gate. Here they met the crowd that were still coming from
the city into the park. It could not be avoided; the crowds met and
filled the narrow passages of the great gate immediately before the
guard-house, where a company of soldiers was standing with arms
grounded. The people gazed and wondered at the unusual sight. Others
pushed their way up to see what was the matter. In an instant
the guard-house was surrounded by hundreds of men standing in a
semi-circle, which was steadily growing smaller and smaller. The
captain in command of the company, a tall officer with a savage
expression in his sharply-marked features, cast furious glances at the
multitude, but did not deign to say a word. It was easy to see what was
going on in his soul. Suddenly he gave an order with an angrily-shrill
voice: "Attention! Eyes right! Shoulder arms! Attention! Load!"
The ramrods rattled, and in an instant the order was obeyed.
It had been intended as a warning merely for the crowd; but, as it will
happen in such cases, it produced exactly the opposite effect to what
had been intended. Those who stood nearest could not move back, and
those behind had only become more curious to know what the noise of the
ramrods meant. A fatal encounter between the soldiers and the people
seemed unavoidable.
Just then a tall man pushed his way between the idlers and walked up to
the captain.
"Allow me to say a word to you."
"What do you want?"
"My name is Oldenburg. I have the honor to address Count Grieben?"
The officer touched his helmet to salute. "Glad to see you again,
baron, after so many years. Come in time; shall be compelled to fire
upon the rabble."
"It was to prevent that that I begged leave to introduce myself. You
have a simple and infallible means to induce these people to move on,
and thus to prevent an irreparable calamity."
"What is that?"
"Let your men retire into the guard-house."
"What are you thinking of! to make such a concession to the rabble?
Besides, it is against orders."
"Then at least call upon the people to go home."
"I have no desire to open negotiations with the _crapule_."
"Will you permit me to do so?"
"As you like," replied the officer, leaving Oldenburg with cold
politeness.
Oldenburg advanced a few steps towards the close semi-circle and said,
speaking as loud as he could,
"Gentlemen, you are in some danger if you remain standing here. Many of
you have been in the army, and know that the soldier has to obey
orders, and no questions allowed. Don't, therefore, force your
fellow-citizens, who are here under arms, to turn against you. Let us
avail ourselves of our right to go where we choose to go. It is a bore
to remain standing so long on the same spot."
"He is right," said a square-shouldered citizen from the head of the
crowd. "I will begin to scramble off!"
The people laughed. And as the shrill voice of a cigar-dealer began to
sing, "Move slowly, slowly, good Austrians, now!" the dense crowd
gradually got into motion, especially as at that moment cries and other
noises arose in a different direction and attracted the curious among
them.
Some distance higher up the Lindens--for Unter den Linden is the name
of the superb street which leads from the gate to the palace--a
collision had taken place between the people and one of the numerous
patrols which had been marching up and down for some hours between the
palace and the gate. Unfortunately there had been no Oldenburg here to
interfere and prevent the mischief. The commander of the patrol--a
second detachment was marching on a level on the opposite side of the
street--was an officer of gigantic stature, whose dark, threatening
mien announced the firm determination to punish the slightest
resistance instantly and without mercy. Everybody had so timidly given
way before him, as he marched down at the head of his men, that he
seemed to be justified in smiling contemptuously whenever such an event
occurred. But now he came to a place where a narrow but much frequented
side street opened upon the Lindens. This passage was crammed full of
people, who wanted to see what was going on in the main street. From
the Lindens others came who wished to go down that passage. Thus an
immense mass of people had been crowded together here, and the
confusion, great as it was, became still more awkward, when the patrol
marched straight down upon them.
"Make way!" ordered the officer, marching into the crowd without
looking right or left.
Those who stood nearest gave way to the side, but others pressed back
upon them. A short confusion arose, during which the officer was cut
off from his men.
"Make way!" repeated the officer, in still harsher tones.
"Make way yourself!" cried a young man in the crowd.
He had no sooner uttered the words than the officer rushed upon him,
seized him by the collar and tossed him, by a slight effort of his
powerful arm, into the midst of his men, saying:
"Arrest the rascal!"
The soldiers seized the young man, who tried in vain to free himself.
"Knock the dog down if he resists!" cried the officer.
Who knows but the soldiers would have done his bidding if at that
moment Mr. Schmenckel had not suddenly appeared before the officer,
crying out:
"Let the man go, your excellency, or ten thousand----"
The officer of the Life Guards and the man of the people stood a few
moments opposite each other, both of them men of gigantic size,
surprisingly alike in their tall figure, their full chest and ample
shoulders, with long, muscular arms; yes, as they stared at each other
with fierce passion, there was some resemblance even in the massive,
coarse features.
But it was only a moment during which they stood thus; at the next
moment the officer had hit the man with all his strength upon his chest
in order to gain room to draw his sword. But he might as well have
tried to move a rock from its place as the man in the velvet-coat. The
blow sounded dull on the broad chest--that was all; but at the same
time the man extended his powerful arms, seized the officer around the
waist, lifted him sheer from the ground, and threw him with such
violence against the soldiers, who had their hands full in holding the
young man, that officer, men, and prisoner all rolled together in a
heap.
"Hurrah!" cried the delighted crowd, admiring the display of physical
strength. "Hurrah! At them! Down with the soldiers!"
Mr. Schmenckel probably did not expect much assistance from the courage
of the crowd. He drew the prisoner with one great effort from out of
the confused heap of men, and before the officer could regain his feet
both had disappeared in the crowd, who readily opened to let them pass.
It was high time, for the two detachments had been able in the meantime
to break through the crowd and to unite their forces.
The officer started up and ordered with a voice shrieking with rage:
"Left Wheel! Forward! Charge bayonets!"
"Hurrah! hurrah!" cried the soldiers, pressing with lowered bayonets
into the crowd. The people scattered, crying and howling.