Lieutenant Merckel was far from being pleased at the course events had
taken on the day of the funeral. He called the Schrandeners poltroons
and old women, and declared they were unworthy ever to have worn the
king's uniform.
When some one ventured to ask why he had not shown himself in it to the
procession, and had left the mob leaderless at a critical moment, he
replied that that was a different matter altogether: he was an officer,
and as such bound only to draw his sword in the service of the king.
The Schrandeners, not accustomed to logical argument, accepted the
explanation, and promised to retrieve their reputation the next time
the opportunity offered itself. But this did not satisfy Felix Merckel.
"Father," he said, late one evening when the old landlord was counting
the cash taken during the day, "I can't bear to think that scoundrelly
cur holds the rank of Royal Prussian officer as I do. I am ashamed to
have served with him. Our army doesn't want to be associated with
people like him. It drags the cockade through the gutter, not to speak
of the sword-knot. I know what I'll do; I'll call him out and shoot
him."
He stretched his legs on the settle, twisting his cavalry moustache
with a bland smile. The old man let fall, in horrified dismay, a
handful of silver that he was counting, and the coins rolled away into
the cracks of the floor.
"Felixchen," he said, "you really mustn't drink so much of that
Wacholder brandy. It's good enough for customers, but you, Felixchen,
shall have a bottle of light wine to-morrow, and perhaps some of them
will follow your example, and so it won't cost me anything."
"Father, you are mistaken," Felix answered. "It's my outraged sense of
honour that gives me no peace. I am a German lad, father, and a brave
officer. I can't stand the stain on my calling any longer."
"Felixchen," said the old man, "go to bed, my son, and you'll get over
it."
"Father," replied his son, "I am sorry to have to say it, but you have
no conception of what honour is."
"Felixchen," went on the old man, ignoring the taunt, "you haven't
enough occupation. If you would only look after the bottles--of course
the barmaid is there for the purpose--but it would do you good. It
would distract your thoughts. Or you might go out shooting sometimes."
"Where?"
"Lord bless my soul! there are the woods and forest of Schranden.
Whether the hares devour each other, or you annex your share of them,
is all the same."
"That won't do for me, father. I am an officer, and don't wish to be
caught poaching."
"Good gracious, Felixchen, how you talk! Do you forget that I am
magistrate here. I am not likely to sentence you to the gallows.
But do as you like, my boy. Of course you _might_ go oftener to the
parsonage. The old pastor enjoys a game of chess; there's nothing to be
gained by chess, I know, but some people seem to like it, and then
there's--Helene."
"Ah, Helene!" said Felix, stroking his chin and looking flattered.
The old man examined the artificial fly in the centre of his amber
heart.
"I have a strong notion that she would be a good match if the pastor
consented, and she liked you."
"Why shouldn't she like me?" asked Felix.
"Well, there might be some one else who----"
Felix smiled sceptically.
"Or do you mean that she has already set her heart on you?"
Felix shrugged his shoulders.
"You see, Felixchen, that would be a great piece of good fortune for
us. People are constantly carping at the way in which they think I
acquired my bit of money--without the smallest ground of course. If
only the pastor gave you his daughter as wife, it would stop their
mouths once for all. A man like Pastor Goetz has great weight and
influence. Well then, as I said, it's worth while your hanging about
there a little. Court her, and a fellow like you is sure----"
"Dear father, spare me your advice, if you please," interrupted his
son. "Whether Helene becomes my wife or not, is my own affair. I have
not yet made up my mind. She has a pretty enough little phiz, but she
is too thin. She might be fattened up with advantage. Then there's
something old-maidish about her, something sharp and prudish that I
don't quite fancy. For instance, if you put your arm round her waist
she says, 'Ah, dear Herr Lieutenant, how you frightened me!' and
wriggles away. And if you squeeze her arm, by Jokus, she screams out
directly, 'Oh, dear Herr Lieutenant, don't do that, I've got such a
delicate skin.' Of course that's all airs and affectation, and perhaps
if a man caught hold of her firmly and didn't give in, she'd allow
herself to be kissed at last; but as I say, I have not made up my mind,
so don't build too much on it."
The old landlord, who with deft hand was rolling up his sovereigns in
paper, looked proudly across at this magnificent son of his. Then he
became anxious again.
"And you won't think any more about the duel, eh, Felixchen? That's all
nonsense.... You wouldn't go and risk your life so recklessly as that."
Felix threw back his chest. "In affairs of honour, father, please don't
interfere, for you know nothing about them. Directly I can find a
respectable second----"
"What is that, Felixchen?"
"Why, the man who'll take the challenge."
"Where--to Boleslav?"
"Of course."
"To the island?"
"To the island."
"But, Felixchen, what are you thinking about? No Christian dare set
foot on the island. It swarms with wolf-traps, bombs, and other deadly
instruments. Look at Hackelberg; he was caught in one, and limps to
this day--but never mention it. It mustn't come out that Hackelberg was
ever on the island. Do you see?... As I was saying, you wouldn't get
any one to go on such a dangerous errand--or to come in contact with
such a man as that. No, my boy, think no more about it There's nothing
to be gained by it."
"But I _will_ challenge him all the same to meet me here," growled
Felix.
The old man contemplated him with the greatest concern for a few
moments, then rose, filled a liqueur-glass with peppermint-schnaps, and
brought it over to him.
"Drink it up, Felixchen," he said, "it'll soothe you." Felix obeyed.
"Leave the matter in the hands of your good, honest old father. Trust
him to find in the night some other means of satisfying your so-called
sense of honour. Good-night, Felixchen."
"The good, honest old father" had not promised more than he was able to
perform.
The next morning, when he met his son at the breakfast table, he asked
in an accent of benevolent sympathy--
"Well, Felixchen, have you slept off all those silly notions?"
Felix grew angry. "I told you, father, that on that subject you
were----"
"Totally ignorant! Very good, my boy. But I want to be clear on one
point. Is it with the Baron von Schranden that you propose to fight a
duel, or with Lieutenant Baumgart?"
Felix did not answer at once. A suspicion of what his father was darkly
hinting, dawned on him.
"Don't deal in subterfuges, father," he said. "I am an upright, simple
soldier, and don't understand them."
"But, Felix, you needn't be so headstrong. I mean well. As the Baron
von Schranden never was an officer, there is no reason why you should
concern yourself about him; and as Lieutenant Baumgart has proved a
swindler, and assumed a false name, he is equally beneath your notice."
"That is true," said Felix, spreading honey on his bread and butter.
"As a matter of fact, I oughtn't to do him the honour of challenging
him."
Then a new idea seemed to occur to Felix. "If only," he added fiercely,
"he could be stopped from entitling himself lieutenant. That's what
offends my sense of honour more than anything."
His old father seemed prepared with an answer to this remark.
"Why should he go on calling himself lieutenant?" he asked, grinning
and whistling under his breath. "Only because his superior officers are
kept in ignorance of the deception he has practised. If they had an
inkling of it, they'd be down on him fast enough."
Felix understood. "You mean we ought----" he began.
"Of course we ought."
But Felix's hypersensitive sense of honour again felt itself outraged.
"Remember that I am an officer, father," he exclaimed indignantly.
"Your proposal is in the highest degree insulting."
The host shrugged his shoulders. "Very well; if you don't wish it,
leave it alone," he said.
Then the honourable young man saw a way of escape.
"If only it could be done without a signature," he meditated aloud.
"That difficulty is easily overcome," responded the old man. "I have a
scheme in my head. Let me draw it up. All you've got to do will be to
sign your name with the others at the foot. Then it will be only one of
many."
On the afternoon of the same day, the parish crier, Hoffmann, invited
all the country's defenders in the village to assemble at the Black
Eagle. It was the merest matter of form, a tribute to the importance of
the business to be discussed, for they were certain to have turned up
there of their own accord sooner or later without an invitation. The
tables were soon full (Schranden had sent a contingent of thirty
warriors to the War of Liberty); and when Herr Merckel saw glasses
emptying to right and left of him, he stepped behind the bar, and
exchanging glances with his son, rubbed his hands with satisfaction,
and began the following harangue:--
"Dear fellow-burghers, I desire to speak a few words to you. You are
all brave soldiers, and have fought in many a bloody battle for your
Fatherland in its dire extremity. You must have often been thirsty in
those days, and have longed for even a few drops of dirty ditch-water.
It's only to your credit, then, that after the heat and burden of the
war, you turn into the Black Eagle occasionally, for a good draught of
pale ale. You have earned it honestly with the sweat of your brow. Your
health, soldiers!"
He flourished the mug that he kept specially for occasions like the
present, and then raised it to his mouth, holding it there till he had
assured himself that no glass had been put down unemptied. Then making
a sign to the barmaid, he wiped his lips energetically, and continued--
"I, as your Mayor and magistrate, could not accompany you to the seat
of war, being obliged to remain and look after the wants of those who
stayed at home." A murmur of approval came from the audience. "But I am
a patriot like you; my warm heart beats true for the honour of the
Fatherland, just as your hearts do, brave soldiers! Fill up, Amalie,
you slow-coach! Herr Weichert is nearly expiring for thirst." Herr
Weichert protested, but in vain; his glass was snatched out of his
hand. "And my bosom swells with pride when I look at my son, a gallant,
upright soldier, whom the confidence of his comrades and the favour of
his king promoted to the rank of officer. I speak for you all, I know,
when I call three cheers for the joy of the village, the dutiful son,
the good comrade, the brave soldier, and honourable officer, Lieutenant
Merckel--Hip, hip, hurrah!"
The Schrandeners joined enthusiastically in the cheering, and Herr
Merckel observed with satisfaction that several glasses had again
become empty. To give Amalie time to fill up, he made an effective
little pause, in which, in speechless emotion, he fell on his son's
breast: then he resumed the thread of his discourse.
"All the more painful is it, therefore, to see that the disgrace you,
by your glorious deeds of arms, did your best to remove from our
beloved and highly favoured village, now rests on it again, through the
presence here of the son of the man who wrought it such dire mischief.
On the site of the fire he is now living with his father's mistress.
I'll not enter into details, but you know, my children, what that
implies."
There was a significant laugh, which changed gradually into a sullen
muttering.
"Yes, and what's more, this immoral outlaw belongs to our glorious
army. Under a false name he enlisted in its ranks, and raised himself
to the position of officer. By lying, and cheating, and devilish craft,
he succeeded in obtaining what you brave, honest fellows (with the
exception of my son, of course) could not attain to. Will you tolerate
this, you noble Schrandeners? Will you, I say, let a rascally cheat,
the son of a traitor, continue to look down on you as his inferiors?
Was it for this that his gracious Majesty made you free men?
"The moment was a favourable one for drinking his gracious Majesty's
health, and Amalie, in obedience to a signal, began the filling-up
process anew. Herr Merckel already felt he had cause to congratulate
himself on the result of his stirring oration.
"No, brave Schrandeners," he went on, "such a scandal must not be
tolerated! The army must be purged of this black spot; otherwise you
will be ashamed, instead of proud, of calling yourselves Prussian
soldiers."
"Kill him! kill him!" cried several voices at once.
"No, dear friends," he replied, with his unctuous smirk. "You mustn't
always be talking of killing. I, as your Mayor, cannot countenance
that," shaking a warning fat forefinger at them; "but I can give you
wiser counsel. The authorities, naturally, have no suspicion of who it
is has been masquerading as Lieutenant Baumgart; last spring no one had
time to inquire into birth certificates and such-like details. But now
there will be leisure to investigate the case of a Prussian officer
passing under an assumed name. And the case presses for attention. Do
you remember the story Johann Radtke related in this very room, the day
he came over from Heide, when none of us had the slightest idea of what
a savage kind of animal his celebrated hero, Lieutenant Baumgart,
really was?
"He was interrupted by a laugh of pent-up hate and fury. It proceeded
from his son Felix.
"He is said to have tramped home from France entirely alone, like a
wandering journeyman. He had been wounded and taken prisoner, and all
the rest of it. But mark my words, that signifies more than you think.
It means that he didn't get his discharge--that he sneaked out of the
service like a thief in the night, in the same straightforward manner
as he entered it. And do you know what that is in good plain Prussian?
_Deserting_! It means he is a deserter."
A cry of jubilation arose, which Herr Merckel greeted with profound
approval, for, according to his ripe experience, shouting rendered the
throat dry. He let the applause therefore exhaust itself, and then went
on.
"It is our sacred duty, as genuine patriots and intrepid soldiers, to
open the eyes of his Highness the Commander-General to this young man's
true character. We owe it to our King, our Fatherland, above all, to
ourselves. We'll get him cashiered out of our brave army, degraded and
ruined. What is done to him afterwards, whether he is shot or cast into
prison, is a matter of indifference to us. We are not responsible for
him."
At the mere suggestion of such a vengeance the Schrandeners were beside
themselves, and almost howled with rage.
Herr Merckel drew a sheet of paper from his breast-pocket.
"I have drawn up a little statement, in which I have respectfully
lodged a complaint to a Deputy-General of high standing and noble
birth. If you'll allow me, dear friends----"
He was in the act of unfolding the sheet when a still happier thought
occurred to him.
"I could lay the document before you at once and ask you to sign it,
but then it would be my composition, and not yours," he went on,
beaming; "and I want every word well weighed and considered, and
altered if needful. I therefore propose that a committee of five
comrades be elected from amongst you, who shall withdraw with me and my
son into the best parlour, where we can hold a quiet consultation over
the wording of the address, while the rest of you remain here."
Then he gave the names of those he considered worthiest of filling this
delicate office. They were five young men whom he knew to be lavish
spendthrifts, and whom he expected to acquit themselves honourably in
more senses than one. Half in envy, half in malice, his choice was
agreed to.
The elected looked rather glum; then they knew what they had been let
in for, but at the same time they were too flattered by the invitation
to decline it.
Herr Merckel, with the air of solemnity he always considered due to any
occasion on which the best parlour was brought into requisition, flung
open the door, over which was inscribed the alluring caution, fraught
with so much significance--"_Only Wine drunk here_."
With a somewhat nervous air the chosen committee entered the sanctum of
gentility, awkwardly twirling their caps in their hands. The last to go
in was the son of the house. At the door, Herr Merckel turned and
called out in a loud impressive voice--
"Amalie, bring two bottles of Muscat for me and the Herr Lieutenant!"
Muscat was a wine made at home, from rum, sugar, cinnamon, currant
juice, and a judicious quantity of water, and was sold to the
Schrandeners for a thaler the bottle. Herr Merckel ordered two bottles,
to demonstrate to his customers that he did not expect any of them to
go shares in a bottle.
There was now a profound silence in the taproom. Its occupants gazed
with serious excited faces at the closed door and then at each other.
Neither did any sound proceed from the reception room, where a dumb
pitched battle was going on between the host and his guests. It was
doubtful at one time who would come off victor. But a few minutes after
the barmaid had hurried up from the cellar with the two freshly filled
bottles, Herr Merckel tore open the door again, and shouted
triumphantly--
"Amalie, five bottles more of Muscat!"
Tongues were loosened. The tension was over. As was generally the case,
the customers had been mastered by the landlord. And soon the dull
monotonous sound of reading aloud reached the ears of the listeners in
the tap-room.
* * * * *
Herr Merckel, senior, when he retired to rest, felt that his day had
not been wasted.
His son had abandoned his dangerous project; the fate of the last of
the Schrandens had been sealed; and in the cash-box, beyond the usual
takings, was a surplus of eight thalers and twenty-five silver
groschens.
"Thus I have killed three birds with one stone!" he mused, with a
self-satisfied grin, and, folding his hands, fell into a gentle
slumber.