“QUO FATA VOCANT.”
A shudder convulsed the Syndic’s frame as he uttered the terrible
word; while Niklaus, pressing his hand to his forehead, turned towards
Dasipodius. “Tell us yourself, Professor,” he said, “something about
these same calculations. Maybe then we shall come to know what we are
talking about.”
“They are chiefly the Horologe measurements,” replied Dasipodius.
“Chiefly,” echoed Hackernagel, with his head as much on one side as an
inquisitive magpie, and blinking his pink eyelids. “Chiefly, and the
rest?”
“I have in hand other works,” answered the mathematician, “which the
present question in no way concerns.”
“Oh, excuse me, that is quite a mistake. If you have no right to be
making the Horologe, the question at once suggests itself, have you a
right to do anything at all? To be anything at all? Oh, I assure you,
I have grave doubts. It appears to me that it very seriously disputes
your claim to every privilege. I am led at once to ask, what is your
right to free citizenship? Your right to come, your right to go?
Are you, in short, a responsible individual, have you a right to—to
breathe, as it were, to exist, to—to—to——”
“And all this,” asked Dasipodius with something of a smile, “because I
am blind, Master Hackernagel?”
“Have a care, sir,” yapped the Syndic; “do not permit contumacy to
aggravate the peril of your position here. Keep to the point, and
explain what may be the nature of these documents.”
“I am writing a book, for instance.”
“Oh ho!” laughed Tobias. “So you write books as well as make clocks.
Really one must be permitted to say you are vastly clever for a blind
man, Professor; but admitting, for the sake of argument, that you can
do these things, ought you, I ask once more, to be permitted to do
them? For the dignity’s sake of our city, gentlemen and good friends,
I think not. At least so far as this important work of the Horologe is
concerned. I believe on this head there will not be two opinions.”
But to the orator’s amazement, there appeared to be countless ones, and
their holders asserted them so vigorously, that more than ten minutes
passed before order could be restored. Still the multitude entertained
an exalted opinion of Syndic Hackernagel. He had a knack of stroking
them the right way, and they always regarded his sense of justice as
unassailable. Perceiving, therefore, that he had more to say, they at
last subsided into silence, and the Syndic proceeded to remind them
that the Horologe was their own property, to be paid for out of their
own contributed public monies; and for a blind man to be receiving
these, was simply to be allowing themselves to be hoodwinked and
defrauded in the most barefaced manner.
“Master Dasipodius,” interposed the Burgomaster, “hasn’t seen a batzen
of his money yet.”
“No, nor ever will SEE it,” said the Syndic, convulsively chuckling at
his own exquisite wit. “Eh, Master Dasipodius? And yet I’ll dare swear
you count on being paid.”
“Most assuredly,” assented Dasipodius.
“You hear!” cried Hackernagel, turning on his auditors, “and all this
in the very teeth of such men as—well, let us say Master Otto von
Steinbach, grandson, ever so many times removed, of the great Erwin
himself! Oh! it is too much! Shade of our mighty fellow-citizen!”
ejaculated Tobias, clasping his fat fingers aloft, “how wouldst thou
have blushed to behold this day! To think we should be brought to see
kinsman of thine set aside for—whom—what? Gentlemen! gentlemen! I could
weep,” and his voice grew thick with emotion, as he stretched his arms
towards the blushing Otto, “when I remember how you elected that man
instead of Otto von Steinbach here.”
Then as half a hundred voices shouted, “Long live Otto von Steinbach!”
Otto felt that truly life was worth living.
“But,” concluded Tobias, “who shall dare say it is too late? Who shall
pronounce the error irretrievable? Master Dasipodius cannot stand
there, and deny that the question has been discussed before you—I defy
you to do so, Professor,” challenged Tobias.
“You give yourself unnecessary trouble, Syndic.”
“No. How can he indeed? Discussed, I repeat, before you, in a free,
fair and becoming spirit, and without prejudice; and we may stay here
all night——”
“Ay, ay, that may we,” said Councillor Klausewitz, rising with
alacrity; “and the conference then is ended?”
“Nay—by your good leave, the premisses have as yet only been laid down;
the conclusion——”
“That’s what I say,” hopefully said Klausewitz.
“And you are right, Councillor Klausewitz, the conclusion must be
arrived at before we separate.”
The unfortunate Job sat down again, while Tobias lifted his voice and
proceeded, in a lengthy oration, to remind his hearers that a solemn
duty lay before them. That much as it grieved him to say it, he felt
he had no choice but to urge them to cancel their suffrages in favour
of Conrad Dasipodius. Originally, the question had not been simply and
solely one of technical capability, but one also of the measure of
personal consideration the candidate might enjoy; and while it was true
(and Tobias conceded the awkward truth with a grace all his own) that
the Guild of Clockmakers had voted unanimously in favour of Dasipodius,
it ought to be borne in mind that he was a member of their company; and
it was but poor frail human nature to rejoice in reflected honours,
but individuals taking a more extended view of the matter, had been
(as he, Tobias Hackernagel, was in a position, from his own personal
knowledge, to say) much at variance in their opinion of the Professor
Dasipodius. There was a something about him some people did not like;
a reserve, stand-off deportment, which had given considerable offence
in some quarters he—Tobias—knew intimately. A resenting of enquiry into
his mode of conducting the work—and—but why harp on that string, was
not the mystery explained now? Small wonder he had refused to enter
into details with the troops of visitors who had honoured his studio.
Small wonder that with courtesy which barely concealed his restiveness,
he had dismissed them with the assurance that his labour would best be
known by its fruits. A mere gloss to the vulgar axiom that the proof
of the pudding was in the eating; while all the city could bear witness
to the frank, confiding charm of his young friend, Otto von Steinbach’s
bearing. There you found no pride, no reserve, no concealment—why?
because he had nothing to conceal. On that head, however, he, Tobias,
would say no more. What need? the two men stood before them, every
line of their features, every gesture significant of their contrasted
individuality. It was not for him, Tobias Hackernagel, to influence
their decision by a feather’s weight. He had simply to recommend a
collecting of voters’ suffrages a second time, the true wishes of
Strassburg in regard to the Horologe being thereby ascertainable. In
the meantime the work itself must be suspended; and should the result
of the voting go against Dasipodius, there appeared but the one course
for him to adopt, of gracefully retiring from the field. “I believe
you will see the force of my conclusion, Professor? Exactly, I was
convinced you would do so,” continued the Syndic, as Dasipodius opened
his lips to reply. “Here we have then the case in a nutshell; and as
before, my friends, the three former candidates seek your suffrages;
ostensibly three: Otto von Steinbach, Isaac Habrecht——”
“What!” thundered a stentorian voice from the crowd, somewhere in the
rear of the mathematician, who turned his head and said, “Hold your
peace, Isaac, for pity’s sake!” and Habrecht subsided stormily.
“Isaac Habrecht, and Conrad Dasipodius. Virtually, however, as I
flatter myself I have made clear, only two; the two first mentioned,
since by all nature’s laws, the third has been proved physically
incompetent for the task. Yet incontestable and satisfactory as these
evidences are, let the formalities be duly observed. I am the last to
wish to see appearances shorn of their rights. Vote as your consciences
prompt you, always bearing in mind the moral question at issue, and
the doubtful and mysterious elements enshrouding the very existence of
the man who has this day been summoned to speak for himself, and the
astonishingly, astoundingly little he has had to say.”
Syndic Hackernagel then passed on to observe that he had fully expected
other witnesses to have come forward and substantiated the charges of
sorcery and of magic-mongering against the accused; but the world had
fallen upon evil days, and zeal appeared to be at her last gasp. In
default of those who should have presented themselves, he had, however,
done his poor best, he said, to make his own convictions clear, and
that his reward would be in finding that his few observations had not
fallen upon deaf ears.
“No, no,” shouted some of his auditors.
“I rejoice,” smiled Tobias, “that there are still to be found in
Strassburg ten, peradventure, righteously inclined. Yet I repeat, my
friends, that is a grievous falling off. Fifty years ago the voices
against the sin of witchcraft would have gone up from this vast hall,
like the voice of one man. What do I say? Forty, nay even thirty
since, by the evidence obtained from my own personal exertions, aided
by the valuable cooperation of my young friend here, Master Otto von
Steinbach, we should have been able to have brought this person to the
stake, or at least into mortal fear of it. Now, I cannot hide from
myself that a certain amount of sympathy has been evinced on his behalf
throughout this day’s proceedings, and that markedly in quarters,”
and Tobias glanced towards the dais, “where one would have hoped for
something very different. Some present had possibly been inclined to
leniency, by the fact of the presence of the books of the reformed
faith which had been found in the Professor Dasipodius’ possession,
but that was a perilous misleading, since, as a set-off against these,
were the popish and heathen works enumerated. Now what shall we say,”
continued the Syndic, “of a man who looks—Heaven save the mark!—of a
blind man who looks at all sides of a question?”
“I do think you have treated the subject quite exhaustively,” said Job,
“good Master Tobias; you have said everything that can be said.”
“I think so,” smiled Tobias; “I flatter myself so. I have now,
therefore, simply to remind you, my friends and fellow-citizens, that
the matter lies in your hands; and three days hence the result of your
collected opinions will be duly proclaimed from the Cathedral steps.
For all this world’s filthy lucre I would not prejudice your decision,
but it appears to me that one man alone claims universal consideration;
for bear in mind, in regard to the second candidate, that the familiar
spirit is but one degree less evil than its master.”
And with a sidelong glance in Isaac Habrecht’s direction, Syndic
Hackernagel gathered up his notes, and folding his robes toga-wise
about him, waited for the Burgomaster to intimate that the proceedings
were ended.
“And now we can go, Burgomaster?” whispered Councillor Klausewitz,
rising briskly to his feet. “Yes?”
But Niklaus did not stir. Job’s countenance fell, and he sank back with
a groan, seeking sympathy in the faces of his colleagues, but they were
all turned attently, expectant of what the Burgomaster might have to
say; and Job, with an inward prayer that this threatened new harangue
might not last above a quarter of an hour, assumed the virtue he had
not, and looked the picture of interested attention.
“Syndic Hackernagel spoke the truth,” said the Burgomaster, rising and
addressing the assemblage, “when he said that a solemn duty lies before
you. See that you fulfil it like reasonable men, and may Heaven help
you.”
“Amen!” assented Councillor Job, with brightening eyes, as Niklaus sat
down again. “Can we go now, Burgomaster?”
“Ay, let us go,” replied Niklaus; “I long to breathe fresh air. And so
too, I’ll warrant, does Master Dasipodius there,” he added, looking
sadly at the pale wearied face of the mathematician. “One may play
the fool too long.” And having received a brief formal dismissal, the
conclave broke up, while the crowd began to hustle and struggle to gain
the doors in time for witnessing the departure of the chief actors in
the scene.
“We had best leave by the little side door, Master,” said Habrecht,
coming close up beside Dasipodius, where he stood alone.
“Nay, Isaac,” said Dasipodius, starting from the reverie into which he
seemed fallen, “what have I to do with little side doors? Lend me an
arm, and let me go out as I came in.”
And so, leaning on Isaac’s strong arm, the blind man descended the
Chancellery steps, where a deafening uproar greeted his appearance.
Some in the crowd rushed forward to seize his hands, uttering fervent
expressions of loyalty, and sympathy and respectful admiration. Others
set up a hideous caterwauling, intermingled with elegant reference to
Mother Barepenny, and flung showers of half-frozen slush and rotten
eggs, and other missiles, whistling about his head; but these, thanks
to Habrecht’s quick eye and stout stick, fell everywhere but on the
object of attack. Moreover, the mob being so utterly divided against
itself, soon found distraction, in favour of mutual fisticuffing and
belabouring, so that it is problematical of how many broken heads that
day’s work might have been productive, had not a sudden beating of
drums and flourish of trumpets half drowned the uproar, and stricken
the combatants temporarily motionless with expectation. It is true the
drums had a cracked, rattling sound, as if their skins had seen some
service, and even known the pain of a pike-thrust, and the trumpet-call
was a tuneless screech; but being something fresh, it won its meed of
attention. Nearer and nearer came on the hideous discord, and Isaac,
hastening on Dasipodius, perceived that it heralded a procession of
some two-score men, and about as many women, stepping out in solemn
triumph, bearing aloft banners improvised of paper and coloured rag,
and shouting in more or less harmony with the musical accompaniment,
the name of Otto von Steinbach. Perched high in their midst sat the
object of this ovation, clinging for dear life to the arms of a
faded velvet and tarnished gilt chair, which was hoisted on to the
shoulders of several men, among whom the faces of one or two of the
mathematician’s disaffected pupils were distinguishable. Proud and
pale Otto looked; proud, because who in such a position could feel
otherwise? and pale, because frightened was a mild term to express his
sensations. The enthusiasm of those who carried him rendered his seat
appallingly unsteady, and sent him jolting and shifting from side to
side, like a handful of corn in a horse’s nosebag; and the mingled pain
and ecstasy his countenance expressed, coupled with his efforts to bow
and smile acknowledgment of the honours thrust upon him, presented a
curious and instructive study.
So the procession, increasing as it went, passed the foot of the
Chancellery steps, shouting: “Long live Otto von Steinbach! Down with
the Blind Sorcerer! Long live Otto von Steinbach, our Horologe maker!”
“Every dog has his day,” grunted Isaac.
“What is it all about, Isaac?” asked Dasipodius.
“Nothing,” answered Habrecht. “Come away, Master.”
“Have they chaired Otto von Steinbach?”
“Ay, Heaven help them.”
And then Dasipodius and Habrecht made their way unmolested through the
deserted streets, for all the world had run after Otto von Steinbach.