The restaurant of the "Haute Noblesse" was a splendid specimen of
artistic decoration. The walls were frescoed with all sorts of
marvellous hunting scenes, which Fritz had gradually incorporated in
his own autobiography. Here stags were fleeing at a furious speed
before a stout young gentleman on horseback, who was levelling his
deadly aim at them; there the same stout young gentleman, with
whiskers and general appearance slightly altered, was standing behind
a big tree, firing at a hare who was coming straight toward him,
pursued by a pack of terrible hounds; again, on a third wall, the
stout young gentleman had undergone a further metamorphosis which
almost endangered his identity; he was standing at the edge of a
swamp, and a couple of ducks were making somersaults in the air, as
they fluttered with bruised wings down to where the dogs stood
expecting them; on wall number four, which contained the
_chef-d'oeuvre_ of the collection, the young Nimrod, who everywhere
bore a more or less remote resemblance to Fritz Hahn, was engaged in a
mortal combat with a wild boar, and was performing miraculous feats of
strength and prowess. The next room,--to which it was, for some
unknown reason, deemed a high privilege to be admitted,--was
ornamented with a variety of trophies of the chase, which were
intended, no doubt, as incontestable proofs of the veracity of the
frescoed narrative. There were stuffed stags' heads crowned with
enormous antlers (of a species, as a naturalist asserted, which is not
found outside of North America), heads of bears, the insides of whose
mouths were painted in the bloodiest of colors, and boars, whose
upward-pointed tusks gave evidence of incredible blood-thirstiness.
Even the old clock in the corner (a piece of furniture which every
customer took pains to assure Mr. Hahn that he envied him) had a frame
of curiously carved and intertwisted antlers, the ingenious
workmanship of which deserved all the admiration which it received.
Mr. Hahn had got it for a song at an auction somewhere in the
provinces; but the history of the clock which Fritz told omitted
mentioning this incident.
In this inner room on the 19th of April, 1864, Mr. Hahn and his son
were holding a solemn consultation. The news of the fall of Duppel,
and the consequent conquest of all Schleswig, had just been received,
and the capital was in a fever of warlike enthusiasm. That two great
nations like the Prussians and the Austrians, counting together more
than fifty millions, could conquer poor little Denmark, with its two
millions, seemed at that time a great and glorious feat, and the
conquerors have never ceased to be proud of it. Mr. Hahn, of course,
was overflowing with loyalty and patriotism, which, like all his other
sentiments, he was anxious to convert into cash. He had therefore made
arrangements for a _Siegesfest_, on a magnificent scale, which was to
take place on the second of May, when the first regiments of the
victorious army were expected in Berlin. It was the details of this
festival which he and Fritz had been plotting in the back room at the
restaurant, and they were both in a state of agreeable agitation at
the thought of the tremendous success which would, no doubt, result
from their combined efforts. It was decided that Ilka, whom by various
pretexts Mr. Hahn had managed to detain in Berlin through the whole
winter, should appear in a highly fantastic costume as Germania, and
sing "Die Wacht am Rhein" and "Heil dir im Siegeskranz," as a greeting
to the returning warriors. If the weather proved favorable, the garden
was to be brilliantly illuminated, and the likenesses of King Wilhelm,
Bismarck, and von Moltke were to appear in gas-jets, each surmounting
a triumphal arch, which was to be erected in front of the stage and at
the two entrances to the garden.
"As regards that Tyrolese wench," said Fritz, as he lighted a fresh
cigar, "are you sure we can persuade her to don the Germania costume?
She seems to have some pretty crooked notions on some points, and the
old woman, you know, is as balky as a stage horse."
"Leave that to me, Fritzchen, leave that to me," replied the father,
confidently. "I know how to manage the women. Thirty years' practice,
my dear--thirty years' practice goes for more in such matters than a
stripling like you can imagine."
This remark, for some reason, seemed to irritate Mr. Fritz
exceedingly. He thrust his hands deeply into his pockets, and began to
stalk up and down the floor with a sullen, discontented air.
"Aha! you old fox," he muttered to himself, "you have been hunting on
my preserves. But I'll catch you in your own trap, as sure as my name
is Fritz."
"The sly young rascal!" thought Mr. Hahn; "you have been sniffing in
your father's cupboard, have you?"
"Fritz, my dear," he said aloud, stretching himself with a long,
hypocritical yawn, "it is ridiculous for two fellows like you and me
to wear masks in each other's presence. We don't care a straw for the
whole _Sieges_ business, do we, Fritz, except for the dollars and
cents of it? I am deucedly sleepy, and I am going to bed."
"And so am I, father dear," responded Fritz, with a sudden outburst of
affection. "Yes, yes, father," he continued heartily, "you and I
understand each other. I am a chip of the old block, I am--he, he!"
And with the most effusive cordiality this affectionate parent and son
separated, with the avowed purpose of seeking oblivion in slumber, in
their respective apartments.
"Perhaps I have been doing the old fellow injustice, after all,"
thought Fritz, as he clasped his father's hand once more at the bottom
of the staircase.
"The young gosling hasn't ventured into such deep water as I thought,"
murmured the happy father, as he stood listening to Fritz's footsteps
re-echoing through the empty corridors.