a table. The bell rings._] Hé! who’s that now?
_Charles._ It doesn’t matter to me who it is. Any one may come who
likes—I’m not going to act in this farce any longer.
_Fournichon_ (_looks through the door_). Look out, gentlemen—it’s the
agent—Bom de Sac!
_John and Charles_ (_springing up_). That fellow! No! that will never
do! [_They sit down at the table, as before, and put on their
headdresses, but without seeing that they have taken the wrong ones,
John putting on the grey wig and cap,—Charles, the curls and round straw
hat. Bom de Sac heard speaking outside the door_:]—No, _sacré nom de
nom_! Mijnheer Meyer has lent me a hand. What are people thinking of? It
was not for nothing I was wounded eleven times in ten battles, with the
9th Regiment. They are here—I’m certain of that! [_Enters._]
_Fournichon._ Search as much as you like, sir, but remember, if you
please, that, in the presence of ladies....
_Bom de Sac._ Of course, of course! I always said, “_Honneur aux
dames_.” [_Looks at the ladies and salutes, then takes a step backward
in amazement._] _Sacré nom de guerre!_
_Fournichon._ What’s the matter?
_Bom de Sac._ Have I come to my age—not to speak of twelve wounds in
eleven battles—to let myself be fooled like this?
_Fournichon._ I don’t understand you.
_Bom de Sac._ No, perhaps not. But I understand how it is possible for
these ladies to have changed heads at a moment’s notice. Look here! [_He
takes off the wigs._] The young lady is getting grey, and the
grandmother is going backwards to her childhood. Come with me, now,
gentlemen—I arrest you both!
_Fournichon._ Your own fault, gentlemen. I wash my hands of the whole
business.
_Charles._ We have a word to say to that, John.
_John._ Certainly.
_Bom de Sac._ Gentlemen, conspiracies or plots in which more than one
person are concerned are forbidden by law. Will you come with me, or
not?
_Charles._ I suppose we shall have to.
_John._ Do you want us to come with you as we are?
_Bom de Sac._ Just as you like, gentlemen. I arrest you, and that is all
my share in the business. The rest does not concern me.
_Charles_ (_whispers to John, then continues aloud_). Just listen,
Monsieur Bom de Sac,—though we find it very unpleasant to have fallen
into your hands, we are not children, and we are quite capable of
understanding that there is nothing for it but to give in. But just let
us change our clothes first—we’ll give you our word of honour not to go
out of the door without letting you know.
_Bom de Sac._ Very good! We have been young, too, you see. Just go on,
gentlemen. If you give me your word, that is enough. [_While he goes on
talking to Fournichon, John and Charles take off their costumes and tie
Bom de Sac’s coattails to the table._] Yes, Mr Hairdresser, when I was
with the 11th, and had been wounded thirteen times in twelve battles,
then I thought to myself,—it’s quite enough, Bom de Sac, you have done
quite enough for your country; you’re growing old—and a soldier may be
too old. I was then brigadier, and understood that it was getting time
for me to make room for another. So I came home to my old mother ... I
married a young wife....
_Charles._ ... and received, in thirteen battles....
_Bom de Sac._ Ah!—are you ready, gentlemen?
_John._ At your service, my worthy sergeant of police! We are quite
ready, and now warn you that we are about to leave. [_Charles and John
go out by the door at the back of the stage, arm in arm, saying, as they
go._]—_Bon soir._
_Bom de Sac._ Wait—I’m coming with you! _[Tries to go, but finds himself
fastened to the table._] Bad luck to them! are they going to give me the
slip after all?
_Fournichon._ I see a good chance of it. Look here, Monsieur Bom de Sac,
you have, in far too many battles received more than too many wounds to
be anything like a match for these young fellows. They have been sharper
than you,—so you’ll have to acknowledge yourself beaten, and e’en let
them alone. By the time you get outside the door they will be far beyond
your reach.
_Bom de Sac._ You’re right enough there, so I shall keep the whole
matter to myself, and wish them a pleasant evening.
_Anon._
_IN THE LITTLE REPUBLIC._
It was in the smallest Republic of our Continent—Altenet—rich in mines
of zinc. It lies, like a tiny wedge, between the great German empire,
the small kingdom of Holland, and the still smaller one of Belgium.
Seldom has a stranger set foot here; few know the district even by name;
only a single encyclopædia makes mention of it; the atlases have
forgotten it,—nay, it has even been forgotten by the political world.
When the separation between Belgium and Holland took place in 1830, the
representatives of the various powers could not come to any agreement
over this little piece of ground. It was therefore resolved to declare
it “neutral territory,” till a later Congress should find a better
solution to the problem.
The old schoolmaster of the neighbouring village of Oppenaken always
asserted that the learned politicians assembled at the aforesaid
Congress had been too drunk to know what they were doing. If his
listeners looked at him incredulously, or began to laugh, he would
indignantly ask, “Don’t you believe me? Then I’ll prove it!” And then he
would fetch an atlas, open it at the map of the Netherlands, and,
following with his finger the boundary of our provinces of Limburg and
Brabant, continue—“Just look at this line here how it goes—first to the
left, then to the right—here crooked, then slanting—then again forward
for a bit, then backwards—one minute straight, and then again with a
great bend—isn’t it just like the line a tipsy man would take in
walking?”
In the year 1866 another European Congress took place; but it seemed as
though the gentlemen taking part in it had not recovered from the
effects of the drinking bout attributed to them by the Oppenaken
schoolmaster, for this time Altenet was forgotten—forgotten for good and
all.
[Illustration:
“TOO DRUNK TO KNOW WHAT THEY WERE DOING.”
]
Thus the Altenetters lived on, independent of all foreign domination.
The miners continued to extract zinc from the ground, and pile it up in
the great waggons which transported it to other countries; the peasant
ploughed his field and reaped his grain; the wind might be heard sighing
in the clumps of trees on the hill-tops, the brook rushing and murmuring
between the rocks, and the lark singing high in air—and what could you
want more?
The government of the little Republic was entirely in the hands of the
burgomaster, Willem Drikus Bloemstein, a broad-shouldered man of portly
presence, red-haired and red-bearded, fully conscious of his own
importance, and loyally supported in all his works and ways by the elect
of Altenet, who were associated with him as Councillors.
It was quite an earthly Paradise—a little Eden full of peace and
happiness! Here was no such thing as strife or hatred, for parties had
no existence, and life offered no opportunity for insult or injury on
political grounds. The taxes were not high, and there was no standing
army, so that no one thought it necessary to hold meetings in order to
discuss the advantages and disadvantages of compulsory service. The only
measure taken for the defence of the country was the weekly drill of the
rural rifle corps; and though no one was forced to take his place in its
ranks, yet every right-minded man of Altenet felt it his duty to place
himself under the orders of General Bauer—on working days an energetic
mine-superintendent.
Suddenly this happy state of things was disturbed.
A tiresome man—a German politician—had discovered the above-mentioned
negligence on the part of the statesmen of Europe, and pointed out to
the Government of his country that here was an opportunity for
gratifying its well-known love of annexation. The high and mighty
Reichstag took the hint, and resolved to proceed to a speedy settlement
of the still unsolved question of the division of Altenet.
A storm of indignation swept through the whole Republic. The head of the
State, honest Bloemstein, immediately summoned all the members of the
Council, in order to consult as to ways and means of averting the
threatened misfortune, and the summons was obeyed by every one.
They were all assembled. Klessens, the rich brewer; young Holzert, an
ugly little man, whose bow-legs were a continual challenge to any poodle
who had learned to jump through a hoop, but whose shrewdness and clear
insight into things were praised by every one; the just-mentioned Bauer,
the commander of the rifle corps; Marbaise, the landlord of the “Lump of
Zinc”; and Conrads, the wealthy farmer.
“What’s got to be done?” was the question addressed by Bloemstein to the
notables of Altenet.
“It seems to me we ought to write the Prussian a civil letter, telling
him not to trouble his head about us,” was the opinion delivered by
Klessens, after coughing and clearing his throat for some time.
“You stupid fellow!” replied Bauer, pulling in an impressive manner at
his thick moustache, “do you think the insolent dog of a Prussian will
care anything for a civil letter? No, my boy, you don’t know him yet;
_au contraire_, we ought to show him we’re not afraid.”
“Why, then! there _will_ be war!” was timidly interjected by Conrads.
“Very well then! there will be war!” The rest nodded assent.
“But that will surely be a great-to-do,—couldn’t we wait at least till
the crops are in?”
“We won’t wait a moment! I shall march with the Rifles to-morrow, right
along the Prussian border, and then the miserable wretches can see that
we’re not afraid of them!” and Bauer banged the table with his fists.
“That’s not nearly enough,” suggested Marbaise; “the custom-house
officers might forget to write to the Emperor about it, and as long as
he doesn’t know it, it all goes for nothing.”
“We ought to write to him ourselves, and not civilly,—no, indeed!—but as
impudently as we can; and you must sign the letter, Bloemstein, just as
if you were a king yourself, and put under it ‘Wullem the First,
President of the Republic of Altenet.’”
[Illustration:
“BAUER BANGED THE TABLE WITH HIS FISTS.”
]
“Wullem, Wullem! why, there are so many Wullems,” was the opinion of the
man addressed; “the Dutch one is called so, and the Prussian too.
‘Wullem!’—it’s so common.”
“But you have another name, haven’t you?” asked another Councillor.
“Yes, of course,—Drikus.”
“Very well, then,—Drikus the First. What do you think of that?”
“Well, well,” muttered Klessens. “‘Drikus the First, President of the
Republic of Altenet’; it doesn’t sound bad, not bad at all.”
“Wouldn’t it be still better to say, ‘President of the _Independent_
Republic’?” added the warlike Bauer.
“We might do that,” was the general verdict.
“But then we ought to be called Ministers,” suggested Conrads.
“Of course!” chorussed the rest.
“In that case, I suppose I shall be Minister of War?” asked Bauer.
“Certainly.”
“And I of Agriculture?” asked Conrads.
“Very good, too.”
“Marbaise for Finance.”
“And whom shall we have for Home Affairs?”
“It seems to me that wouldn’t be a bad thing for you, tailor,” put in
Bloemstein, addressing Councillor Holzert.
“I have no objection,” replied the latter; “but I’d just like to say
something too.”
“Councillor Holzert will now address the meeting.”
A sudden silence fell on the assembly; all were straining their ears to
hear what thoughts had arisen in the tailor’s shrewd brain. Speaking
slowly, and emphasising every word, he began,—
“We must have stamps made—big stamps, with your head on them,
Bloemstein; and then we’ll send a letter, with a stamp like that on it,
you understand, not to the Emperor of Prussia, but to Bismarck, because,
after all, he’s the fellow that does everything; and you must write in
that letter, just to rile him, that we are going to let all the priests
and Jesuits he has driven out come freely into our country.”
“But only on condition that they brew no beer,” interrupted the brewer,
Klessens.
The tailor made believe not to have heard this interested remark, and
ended his speech with the question, “What do you think of _that_ idea?”
“Bravo, bravo!” cried all; and “You’re a sharp lad; you’re a clever
fellow,” added the chairman of the meeting, as he passed his hand
complacently over the head whose portrait was shortly to be sent to the
Chancellor of the German Empire.
“We haven’t done yet,” continued Holzert; “we have still to find out how
we’re going to put your head on the stamps,—with a beard, with a
moustache only, or without anything at all.”
“Why, you do think of everything, tailor!” observed Marbaise.
Bauer declared that there could be no two opinions on the point—“With a
moustache, that’s quite military,” and, as he spoke, he twisted the ends
of his own.
“But I don’t think it would look very well—a red moustache,” objected
Marbaise.
“Why, what does that matter? You can’t see it in the picture,” returned
Conrads. “Bismarck has a white one.”
“I don’t quite know whether you’re right,” began Holzert again; “just
look at Napoleon,—I mean the great Napoleon,—he’s got nothing, no beard
and no moustache, and yet he sent the Prussians to the right-about, time
and again; but what do you think about it yourself, Bloemstein?”
“Well, what am I to say to you? A beard is not respectable, and I shall
have mine shaved off; then we can see if the moustache alone looks well;
and if that is not the case, I’ll have that taken off too.”
All thought this an excellent idea.
“Don’t get shaved here, though. You’d better have that done at
Aix-la-Chapelle, and then you can get yourself taken at the same time
for the stamps.”
“Among the Prussians? Never! as long as I live. I’ll never help them to
earn a cent,” thundered Bloemstein.
“In Maastricht, then,” suggested another.
“All right. I’ll have it done on Monday. Has any one anything more to
say to the meeting?”
They looked at each other, but no one broke the silence.
“No one’s got nothing, then?”
“Just wait a minute,” cried Conrads. “You ought to have a crown,
Bloemstein.”
“A crown?—that’s expensive.”
“Nonsense; have one made of brass, and well polished up, then it will
shine just as if it were gold.”
“Then we ought to have Ministers’ uniforms. I’ll make them as cheap and
as quickly as possible,” said the tailor-Minister; “and then I’ll make a
long cloak for you, Bloemstein.”
“If the gentlemen will allow, I’ve something more to say,” said
Marbaise.
“It’s Marbaise’s turn to speak.”
“We ought to forbid all Altenet girls marrying Prussians.”
“What about my Marieke, who’s courting with the Prussian doctor?” was
Bloemstein’s terrified reply. “What a set-out my daughter will make—and,
above all, my wife, when I tell them that.”
“Then you must just say that our country doesn’t permit it,” and the
whole assembly nodded in token of assent.
“Oh, Lord!” groaned the unlucky President; “it’s the hardest thing you
could ask me to do.”
“Our country! the Republic! the Independent Republic!” cried the others,
wagging their heads hither and thither, shrugging up their shoulders,
and holding out their hands with all their fingers extended in air.
[Illustration:
“BOTH WALKED ON IN SILENCE.”
]
Here the weighty deliberations came to an end; and thereupon the
President and his Ministers slowly proceeded homewards.
Holzert escorted the newly appointed ruler to his dwelling. For a
considerable time both walked on in silence. At last the tailor spoke:
“Bloemstein,” he began, “if your Marieke is not to marry the Prussian
doctor, ... in that case ... I’d like to have her. I always had a liking
for the girl; but I couldn’t say anything; ... but now I’m Minister of
the Interior, ... that sounds fine, eh? ... that’s something.... I think
perhaps it might do.”
“Why, my good fellow, I’ve nothing against you. You always were a clever
chap, and you’ve shown it again with those stamps. It would be a good
enough idea; ... but—Marieke! and then my wife!”
“But, after all, you’re the master. Why, you’re the king of everything
in the place! You must put on a bold face, and stand firm!”
“Very well, lad, I’ll try.”
With wrathful strides, his head well thrown back, and his hand resting
on the front of his ample waistcoat, Bloemstein entered his own house.
Marieke sprang to meet him, embraced him cordially, and then said,
“Father, I’ve just had a letter from Heinrich, he’s coming to dinner
with us to-morrow.”
“I’m very sorry, child; but this marriage with the Prussian doctor can’t
come to anything. I’ve another husband for you. You’re to marry my
Minister of the Interior.”
“Whom do you say I am to marry?”
“My Minister of the Interior.”
“Who’s that?”
“Mr Holzert.”
“The crooked tailor! what a joke! I didn’t know you could be so funny,
father!”
“It’s no joke; it’s quite serious, Marieke!” and he recounted all that
had taken place at the meeting.
Marieke, however, was not convinced. “I won’t have him!” she cried, and
stamped her little foot on the ground;—“and if you say I must, I’ll
never marry at all!—there! ... I’ll go and tell mother about it!”
Bloemstein did not await the arrival of his better half. Under pretext
of urgent business, the ruler of all Altenet, except his own house,
hastily escaped up the street, and did not return home till late in the
evening.
On the following day—it was Sunday—all Altenet was clean turned upside
down.
Bauer had summoned all his riflemen, as soon as high mass was over, and
they assembled in full uniform at the tavern kept by the Minister of
Finance.
In a vigorous and pithy speech,—which he had been thinking over all
night,—he explained to his troops the danger which threatened the
country.
His manly language carried his audience with him. The shout, “We’ll
conquer or die!” raised by the Minister of War, was loudly echoed by
every one; and in order still further to raise their courage, they all
added, “Another drop all round!” which was poured out by the Minister of
Finance in his shirt-sleeves, and with fingers trembling with emotion.
“And now,” yelled Bauer, “we’re going to make a military march along the
Prussian frontier, and then all that _canaille_ can see that we’re not
afraid of them. Marbaise—you with the drum, your eldest boy with the
accordeon, and the other with the trumpet in front,—you three are the
band. Then you, Ummels, with the flag; and you, Gradus, with the bird;
and then we, the people!”
However, it was a considerable time before all of them had left the
tavern and taken up their positions.
They were a peculiar-looking troop, of about a hundred and twenty men;
mostly broad-shouldered fellows, though not tall—a kind of build common
to most miners. They wore all possible costumes, of all sorts of
colours; check trousers and black coats—blue blouses, long, short, new,
or half-worn;—suits of cloth, wool or linen—here and there a hero
marching in _sabots_. The majority were armed with old-fashioned
bell-mouthed blunderbusses; some, the tallest of the lot, were provided
with double-barrelled fowling-pieces, which at once branded them as
poachers.
[Illustration:
“CAUSED THEM TO GO THROUGH ALL POSSIBLE MANŒUVRES.”
]
All, however, had the same head-covering—a green cap, with yellow
braid,—and all had wooden pipes in their mouths. The flag matched the
caps—white and yellowish green. The place next to the flag was occupied
by the silver bird, hung round with all the gold and silver medals worn
by the Altenetters in shooting competitions.
“Look out!” cried Bauer, who, in token of his exalted position was hung
round with a string of small silver plates of different shapes and
sizes, and who, besides, showed his superior dignity by smoking, not a
pipe like the rest, but a cigar of immense length and thickness, which
had cost him two cents and a half.
All placed themselves in position.
“Right-about-face, and along the cinder path to the Prussian frontier.
Band, advance!”
They advanced, with drum beating and accordeon chirping. Just in full
view of the German officials, who had come out to ascertain the cause of
the approaching noise, Bauer called a halt. Then he caused them to go
through all possible manœuvres, shoulder arms, port arms,—but not
“present”—_that_ he would never do “for those pig-dogs of Prussians.”
These evolutions did not appear to command any particular admiration on
the part of the Germans; pitying smiles were seen to pass over their
countenances, and when at the command “Right-about-face!” half the
company turned to the left, so that the soldiers of Altenet stood facing
each other, they burst into a roar of laughter, which so aroused the
wrath of Klaos Drehmans (who had spent some years at Sittard), that he
stepped out of the ranks, and snorted defiance at the principal
custom-house clerk as follows:—
“You! do you know what _you_ are? you’re a regular nuisance!” while
another member of the Altenet militia yelled at the top of his voice,
quite at a loss for a worse epithet, “Oh! thou accursed Prussian of a
Prussian!”
It was truly a triumphal march when the Republican army returned from
this glorious campaign; the inhabitants uttered loud cries of joy,
alternating with abuse of the cowardly Prussian lot.
Bloemstein stood, proudly defiant, in the full consciousness of his
presidential dignity, on the “stoop” of his house. And when the
standard-bearer had waved his flag three times over his head in the
President’s honour, and then tossed it on high, the President smiled
very genially, and waved back a salute with his hand, blowing thick
clouds of smoke the while from his long German pipe, a proceeding which
elicited thundering “hurrahs” from assembled Altenet.
The only Altenetters who had not been able to witness this sublime
spectacle were Bloemstein’s wife and daughter; they had walked out to
meet Dr Olthausen coming from Aix-la-Chapelle, and fell in with him near
the village of Vaals.
After the usual salutations, Marieke related to her betrothed all the
changes which had taken place in the government of Altenet, and also her
father’s resolution to marry her to the Minister of the Interior. At
this part of the story the mother clenched her fists, her eyes flashed
fire, and she said, threateningly, “Just let the fellow come into our
house, and I’ll make him repent his Affairs of the Interior.”
To the great surprise of both ladies, Olthausen did not appear to be
angry; on the contrary, he began to laugh loudly, and seemed especially
diverted by the story of the postage-stamps.
“We’ll have a regular good joke out of that,” he said, still laughing;
“but I won’t come to dinner with you to-day.”
“Are you afraid of Bloemstein?” asked the mother. “Because you needn’t
be; I shall be at dinner too.”
“No, I’m not afraid of him—only of laughing more than I ought.”
“Never mind that; laugh at him as he deserves, and we’ll laugh too,
won’t we, Marieke?”
“_Nein, liebes Madamchen_,” returned the doctor, “it will be better if I
don’t come—we’ll have some dinner here.”
[Illustration:
“JUST LET THE FELLOW COME INTO OUR HOUSE.”
]
He went with the two women into the nearest eating-house in the village
and ordered dinner, also two sheets of paper and an envelope. While the
ladies were dining, he wrote a letter on one sheet, slowly and
carefully, with beautiful round letters, then dashed off another more
hastily, and enclosed both in one envelope, which he stamped and
addressed to “Herrn Oscar Olthausen, Rechtsanwalt, Berlin.” He then
directed Marieke to wait till her father was about to send away the
letters with the new Altenet stamps. “Then you must keep back the one
addressed to Bismarck, and post this in place of it; and then I assure
you that everything will come right, without you or your mother getting
into any trouble with the old gentleman.”
They remained chatting for some little time longer, and then Dr
Olthausen took his leave and returned to Aix-la-Chapelle.
Early on the following day Drikus the First set out for Limburg’s
metropolis. Arrived there, he turned his steps towards the barber’s
shop. A young shopman came to meet him, and politely relieved him of his
coat and hat.
“See here, lad,” began Bloemstein, “did you ever shave a president?”
“Why, yes, sir; only yesterday the President of the Congregation of the
Sacred Heart.”