HOW EXTREMES MEET.
Never did figure of speech so deplorably insult noble brute as this of
Bruno Wolkenberg’s. A more wretchedly abject specimen of the creature
man than Tobias Hackernagel looked at this moment, is not conceivable.
For once his civic bravery seemed to fail in its power of lending him
even meretricious magnificence, and Syndic Hackernagel’s coat did not
make Syndic Hackernagel, but hung about his sloping shoulders in flabby
dust-whitened folds, a thing to be joyfully wriggled out of, had time
and place permitted. But to-day as ever, Tobias Hackernagel is the
martyr, not to say the sport of circumstance and of public attention.
An effective situation! one such as is generally the very apex of his
ambition, to be standing the focus of every eye in that semicircle of
municipal magnates and citizens all pranked in their best, and flanked
with buff-jerkined halberdiers and a good round dozen of drummers and
of trumpeters in gold and scarlet, set in a rapidly widening framework
of native population, which, laying aside file and hammer, has turned
out all eyes and ears to learn what yonder little ferret-eyed fellow,
with the nose angular and wooden of aspect as any carven nutcracker
monstrosity that ever left tyro’s chisel, may be having to say. For
clearly he is to be spokesman, this pigmy personage, looking specially
pigmy by comparison with the stately figure of Dasipodius, in whose
presence he now stands, and with the burly form of Burgomaster von
Steinbach beside him. Yet, is it from diffidence, or why does he
evince such earnest desire to escape the distinction thrust upon him,
and hangs back almost as persistently as his companions insist on his
stepping forward, going the length even of combining to prod him well
to the front with their pikes and other available weapons, among which
Burgomaster von Steinbach’s stick does conspicuous service. Clearly to
a man these excellently marshalled, resolute-looking representatives
of Strassburg’s all sorts and conditions are not to be contravened in
their most obvious intention, that Syndic Tobias Hackernagel shall do
what he is there to do with all convenient speed.
Patiently expectant meanwhile, Dasipodius stands leaning against the
oak, whose spreading boughs mellow the mid-day glare into a gracious
light, transfiguring his pale calm features with almost unearthly
effulgence, and streaking with golden his waves of dusky hair.
Patience, whatsoever other qualities they may possess or lack, is the
special grace of men physically afflicted, and it well becomes him now,
mingled as it is with the shade of saddened perplexity, that neither of
that trio of trusty friends, within whispering distance of him, are at
any pains to unriddle for him anything that is passing around.
A deafening and prolonged trumpet blare, echoing to the valley’s
heights and depths, startles him from his speculations. Then, as at
last that spends itself, there falls a silence, broken only by the
buz-chirp-twee of the myriad insect creatures footing it about the
sward, till Niklaus von Steinbach bursts forth with a stentorian “Well!
Master Hackernagel?”
Syndic Hackernagel’s jaw starts open, much as if string were its
motive power. The movement is, however, productive of nothing beyond a
fearsome elongation of his hatchet face, and a silence intenser than
the first prevails.
“Well, I say, Master Hackernagel,” reiterates von Steinbach, “we are
waiting your very good pleasure,” and he glances peremptorily from
the Syndic’s face to the parchment his lean fingers clutch with such
convulsive restlessness, that presently it slips to the ground.
“I—I,” stammers Hackernagel, stooping to recover it, “am—must I—am I
to—speak first?”
“First and last, my friend. You have it all your own way this time. I
and these gentlemen here are but witnesses.”
“Yes, precisely—quite so—perfectly so. But—but,” and with an idiotic
contortion of his lips, only by the grossest flattery to be construed
into a smile, the Syndic blinks over his shoulder.
“Ay! ay! to be sure, Syndic, quite right,” nods Niklaus, following the
direction of his glance. “So it should be.”
And the stick signals a second trumpet blast; which bursting with
terrific force in the rear of the unprepared Syndic, sends him forward
with a distracted bound.
“But I tell you,” gasps he, turning ragefully on Niklaus, and mopping
the great heat drops beading profusely out all over his peaked
forehead, “I tell you—this is informal! Out of all ruling. There should
be some—something to lead up to—there sh—should be at least three
preliminary——”
“And so there should. Thunder and lightning! so there should. You’re
the man to understand these little things. Ho there! drums and
trumpets, ho!”
And the Burgomaster’s stick evokes a third rousing blast, which rolls
thunderously through the hills, and sends the birds flying frantically
shrieking over the dark waters.
“That’s what you mean, isn’t it?”
“No, no!” protests Hackernagel, glowering through tears of mingled
spite and discomfort at von Steinbach, and then with shuddering
apprehension at the hateful array of musical instruments. “I didn’t;
and—and let me tell you, Bur—Burgomaster——”
“O yes! O yes! O yes!” shouts the Recorder.
“Now, Master Hackernagel!” prompts Niklaus, lifting his stick with an
admonitory flourish.
“But—but——”
“Now, Master Hackernagel!”
Soft, clear, resonant as a bell, falls that voice upon the Syndic’s
ear, chasing from his face every particle of colour as entirely as it
conjures the deepest of crimson flushes to Surgeon Wolkenberg’s.
Not all the trumpets in Christendom could galvanise Tobias Hackernagel
to action as that woman’s voice does. And hardly staying fairly
to unfold his voluminous document, he reads forth from it its
heading and superscription in hurriedly confused tones. “_To the
most_—hem—_illustrious and_—hem, hem.”
“He’s picked up a cold,” parenthesised Klausewitz in sympathetic _sotto
voce_. “And no wonder neither. That confounded river mist last night
was enough to——”
“Silence!” shouts Niklaus, “for Syndic Hackernagel. To the most
illustrious and erudite—Go on, Syndic, we are all attention.”
“Hem—_Professor Dasipodius, Citizen of Strassburg, Doctor of Sciences,
and Head Mathematical Doctor of the University of the aforesaid
city, on the part of me, individually, Tobias Hackernagel, Syndic of
Strassburg, and farther, on the part of the Municipality and Citizens
of the same city—greeting_—hem——”
“Just so,” nods Burgomaster Niklaus, in such tones as a pedagogue will
use towards a refractory scholar, in whom he fancies he sees a faint
gleam of better things. Then he glances tentatively at Dasipodius,
who, lifting his cap in acknowledgment of the salutation, remains
bareheaded. “Proceed, Master Hackernagel.”
“_Whereas_,” continues Hackernagel, fumbling at his document.
“Speak up!” shouts a chorus of voices. “Pitch it higher!”
“_Whereas in the month of January last_,” valiantly pipes up the
Syndic, “_you, the most_—hem—_illustrious and_—hem, hem—_erudite
Professor Conrad Dasipodius, being at such time, and for the space of
two previous years, engaged upon the work of superintending the making
of a Horologe for the Saint Laurence Chapel on the south side of the
interior of the Cathedral Church of—of our—_hem—_Blessed Lady, in
aforenamed City of Strassburg, such high and honourable charge being
entrusted to you by general consent and suffrage of the Burgesses,
and of the Most Worshipful Guild of Clockmakers of the city, guided
in their choice of you, most erudite Professor Dasipodius, by their
estimation of_—hem—_your fitness for such devoir, wherein, as the
sages of old days did aptly observe, for the ignorant and unlearned to
intermeddle, is a thing exceeding dangerous, and that they who do so
presume are found to partake of the nature of fools._
“_Wherefore_,” hurried on Tobias, “_seeing that the Science of
Horology being a thing in itself so lofty and noble, does in a manner
partake of the Divine Wisdom, and of a consequence of Heaven itself;
and whereas, speaking under one of those divers figures or symbols
of the great and abstruse Science of Mathematics, whereto also the
knowledge of Horology doth of necessity pertain—extremes do meet—and
whereas by the wilful and ignorant, the extreme of intimate, and of
almost perfect knowledge which as aforesaid is the gift of Heaven,
and attained_—hem—_unto by_—hem, hem—_you, most illustrious and
erudite Professor Dasipodius, has been in divers times since the
world’s beginning confounded with that other and most diabolical
extreme of magic and of witchcraft, which is known to proceed out of
the filthiness of hell, and is the firstborn of the archfiend Satan
himself; and whereas the rumour that you, Professor Dasipodius, did
attain unto your high academic estate and lofty repute by aid of such
unlawful arts was sent abroad and fomented among the vulgar, even
unto the detriment of your good name, and the endangerment of your
precious life, by certain_—hem—_meddlesome persons holding office in
the municipality of this city, wherewith I, Tobias Hackernagel, do
stand officially connected; and whereas aforesaid rumour did magnify
and grow when it came to be known beyond all manner of doubting, that
Providence had deemed fit to deprive you of sight, afflicting you
with that most strange and rare form of blindness which is called of
all time Gutta Serena, and besides of modern chirurgeons Amaurosis,
and because to the careless or superficial observer, in your outward
eyes no trace of your so sorely-to-be-deplored calamity is observable,
certain persons_—hem—_by reason of their most_—hem, hem—_pitiable lack
of knowledge and wretched obliquity of vision (which doth challenge
commiseration infinitely greater than pure physical affliction) did
fondly lend credence to the most malicious and lying rumours circulated
by me, Tobias Hackernagel_—No, no, that’s not it!” shrieked Tobias
agonizedly, interrupting himself. “I’ve turned over two leaves! I have
indeed!”
“_Circulated by certain evil-minded persons_,” he went on, referring
back, “_thereby bringing about the setting aside of you, illustrious
and erudite Professor Dasipodius, and the exalting into your office and
dignities a certain_—hem—_ignorant and_—hem, hem—_incompetent-person,
thereby imitating the foolish example of the Israelites of old, who did
set up a golden calf_——”
“It’s most awfully profane. Eh, Radegund?” whispered Otto von
Steinbach, whose presence with the deputation had been officially and
pressingly requested.
“_A golden calf to worship, and seeing that it never has been, and
never will be, in the power of stocks and stones_——”
“Such long-winded twaddle, isn’t it?” parenthesised Otto again.
“_To elaborate high and lofty works, and the condition to which the
Cathedral Horologe has by such mismanagement been brought being so
deplorable, the Burgesses of our city do plainly perceive that they
have been placed grievously in error and hoodwinked by their false
guides and advisers, whose_—hem—_ignorance, not only in the Science
of Horology, but of much plain learning and common sense besides, is
curiously great, do herewith acknowledge themselves sorely repentant
of their decision which compassed your setting aside, most erudite
Professor Dasipodius; and whereas it doth behove and become those who
do err, and lead others to err, to make full and earnest confession
of their error, the Burgesses of Strassburg and all others concerned
do herewith depute and command me, Tobias Hack_—hem—_Hackernagel,
humbly to acknowledge our grievous wrong committed against you, most
illustrious and erudite Professor Conrad Dasipodius, and herewith do
entreat you to pardon the ignorance and wilfulness of the act, and
at once graciously to resume and to take up your duties laid aside,
and all such dignities and honours appertaining thereto, and to hold
yourself reinstated of the high consideration you formerly enjoyed. And
by these are unanimously and for ever cancelled those suffrages which
did unlawfully constitute one Otto von Steinbach Cathedral Horologist
in your stead. Whereto witness our hand this fifth day of June, anno
domini 1573. And hereby, as below, we do notify our full and hearty
concurrence and approval of this measure._”
Here followed the signatures of those concerned, which, his own one
safely got through with, the Syndic managed to read out in composed and
collected tones, and even with something of his wonted style.
It earns however no attention; for not an eye there, not an ear but
turns in absorbed and tense interest to Dasipodius. For the Syndic
himself, as the last word leaves his lips, and utter silence prevails,
it is an awful moment. If the mathematician should turn a deaf ear
and refuse, think of it. Ah! and Hackernagel with a shudder glances
covertly at the lake, whose calm, deadly smooth level grows fearsomely
suggestive in his practical mind of one vast duckpool. Not in all
Germany is such an excitable impulsive fellow as your Strassburger,
in whose veins, come how it may, runs a dangerous current of Gallic
blood; and now if things do not go as they desire, the Syndic feels
that his chances of returning skin-whole to the bosom of his family are
infinitesimal; and so with stranded fish-like gasps and eyes downcast,
for somehow he dare not look, as the rest are looking, into the
mathematician’s face, Tobias Hackernagel awaits the fiat.