neither the one nor the other. But as the pink glory of a passing
cloud flitted across the marble, the face appeared to smile most
benignantly, perhaps it was that the ancient goddess, the protectress
of married love and faith, declared her presence, or else that the new
Queen of Heaven felt constrained to laugh at the plight in which her
worshipper found himself.
At the same time Jole’s father was walking under the cedars of his
garden. He was lost in the contemplation of some new stones he had
acquired. One was a beauteous amethyst, upon which Luna was pictured
driving her chariot through the heavens, unaware that Cupid was
catching a ride behind her, while little love-sprites flitting about
her shouted out in Greek, “There’s a chap on behind!” A magnificent
onyx had Minerva engraved upon it, with Cupid in her lap, polishing her
breast-plate with his hand to see his image therein.
These scenes tempted the old man to write some verses about them, and
while he was choosing which to begin on, his little daughter Jole came
into the garden. He showed her his treasures and explained them to her.
She sighed deeply, and said: “Ah, if all these great Powers, Chastity,
Wisdom, and Religion, cannot war with Love, how shall I?”
These words took the old gentleman by surprise. “What is this I hear?”
he said; “has the arrow of the all-powerful Eros touched you?”
“It has pierced me,” she replied, “and if within another day I am not
in the possession of the man I love, I shall die!”
“Shall I then,” cried the old man, “take upon myself that most wretched
of parental duties--shall I go and find the chosen one, the man, and
bring him back by main force to the most precious of my possessions,
and courteously ask him to take it for his own? Here is a pretty little
woman, dear sir; I beg that you will not despise her! I should greatly
prefer to box your ears, but my daughter would die, and I must be
polite!”
“We are spared all that,” said Jole, “for if I have your permission I
hope to get him to come and ask for my hand.”
“And what if, not knowing him at all, he should prove to be a rascal
and a good-for-nothing?”
“Then you may turn him from your door! But he is a saint!”
“Go, then, and leave me alone with the Muses!” said the good old man.
Another Vitalis came up the steps that evening than had come down the
morning before, though he himself least understood the change. The
notorious monk and girl-converter did not even know the difference
between the smile of a courtesan and that of an honest woman.
As he entered the room it was richly decorated, and bore a homelike
aspect. The delicate breath of flowers filling it was quite in keeping
with a certain respectable worldliness; upon a snowy couch, the silk of
which showed not a fold, sat Jole like a meditating angel. The folds of
her dress were turbulent as a storm in a cup of milk, and though her
beautiful white arms gleamed as she crossed them over her bosom, all
those charms had an air of lawfulness which silenced the monk’s wonted
eloquence.
“You are surprised to find all this pomp and show here,” began Jole.
“Know, then, that this is my farewell to the world and to the love
which I have unfortunately conceived for you. You must help me to put
it from me as far as lies in your power, and in the manner which I
shall designate. When you speak to me in your present attire and in
your clerical function I am unmoved, for a priest cannot convince me,
who am of this world. A monk cannot cure me of love, as he knows not
the passion, and is ignorant of that of which he speaks. If, then, it
is your earnest wish to give me peace and turn my heart toward heaven,
go into yonder chamber, where worldly attire is awaiting you. Exchange
your monkish cowl for the garb of a worldly man, and then return and
partake of a small repast with me, during which you may bring all your
wits and mental force into play to turn my heart away from you and set
it toward heaven!”
Vitalis considered for a moment; then he decided to parry the devil of
this world with his own weapons, and concede to Jole’s proposal.
He betook himself into the adjoining chamber, where servants were
awaiting him with gorgeous apparel of linen and purple. No sooner had
he donned them than he appeared to be a head taller, and with a noble
bearing he walked back to Jole, who clapped her hands for joy.
A miracle occurred then and there, for no sooner did he sit in worldly
pomp by the side of this sweet woman than his immediate past seemed
wafted away out of his brain, and he quite forgot his purpose. Instead
of saying a single word he listened eagerly to Jole’s prattle, who
had seized his hand and was now telling him her true story--viz., who
she was and where she lived, and how it was her most ardent wish to
make him abandon his eccentric mode of life and ask her father for her
hand, and become a good and God-fearing husband. She said many other
marvellous things in well-set words about a happy and virtuous love,
adding with a sigh that she well knew how vain was her longing, and how
she hoped he would convince her of the folly of it all as soon as he
had refreshed himself at her table.
Thereupon Jole mingled some wine in a bowl for the silent monk, and
lovingly fed him with sweets, so that his mind wandered back to his
childhood to the time when his mother tenderly cared for the little
lad. He ate and drank, and then it seemed to him that he must needs
rest as after a time of sore distress, and thereupon his head fell
toward the side where Jole sat, and he fell asleep.
[Illustration: “THEY DROVE HIM OUT OF THE MONASTERY.”]
When he awoke he was alone. He jumped up hastily, terrified at the
sight of his gorgeous attire. He sped through the house from top to
floor to find his cowl, but there was no vestige of it to be seen,
until he noticed a small courtyard, with a heap of coal and ashes, upon
which lay a half-burned sleeve of his priestly garment.
He put his head out into the street once or twice, and drew it back as
soon as he saw any one approaching. At last he threw himself down upon
the silken couch with as negligent an air as if he had never lain upon
the hard bed of a monastery; then he jumped up, suddenly tore open the
outside door, and with dignity stepped out into the open air.
He did not look to the right nor to the left, but went straightway to
his monastery, where it so happened that all the monks together with
their prior had just decided to expel him out of their midst, because
the measure of his sins was full, and he was a disgrace to the church.
When they saw him approach in his pompous worldly attire that seemed
the last straw to break the back of their Christian charity; they
poured water on him and hooted him, and with crucifixes, brooms, forks,
and soup ladles they drove him out of the monastery.
Such infamous treatment would at another time have been the greatest
triumph of his martyrdom. Now too he laughed silently, but it was in a
different sense. Once more he walked about the wall of the town, his
red coat fluttering in the wind; a glorious breeze blew across the
glittering sea from Holy Land, but the monk’s heart was growing more
and more worldly, and involuntarily he turned his steps back to the
noisy streets of the town, sought out the house where Jole lived, and
did her will.
He now grew to be as excellent and complete a man of the world and
husband as he had been a martyr. The church, hearing the true facts
of the case, was inconsolable to have lost such a saint, and did all
within her power to win the truant back to her bosom. But Jole held him
fast, and said she thought he was well enough where he was.
_Gottfried Keller._
_MILITARY INSPECTION._
THE officers stood about the right wing of the battalion, two young
lieutenants and--yes, it was he--my friend and patron in former times,
the Premier-Lieutenant von Schwenkenberg. There was no mistaking him,
he was quite the same; the endless stretch of neck, which made the low
collar of his uniform look quite childish, the tall and lank figure
with the formidable-looking sword at the hip, which almost grazed the
ground, and was in constant collision with his heels. Now he went
to meet the sergeant a few steps. Oh, I should have known him among
thousands by his gait! He leaned forward a trifle, and swung from side
to side as he stepped.
“Be--sure--you--don’t--forget--Sergeant Möller,” said Lieutenant von
Schwenkenberg, “that--we--are--to--have--an--artillery-drill--on--the--
bastion--this--afternoon. Pick--out--the--weakest--of--the--men;
a--bit--of--exercise--will--be--just--the--thing--for--them. Lieutenant
Schwarz--will--have--the--goodness--to--take--charge--of--this matter.”
Lieutenant Schwarz was a young second-lieutenant, whom, of course,
I did not know. It was evident that he was fresh from the artillery
school. His face still retained that indescribable expression of
supreme astonishment with which young officers just entering practical
military life are wont to regard things. Everything about him was
new--his uniform, his epaulettes, his way of dressing his hair, his
beard; while Lieutenant von Schwenkenberg looked as if he had just
passed through a hazardous winter campaign.
Shyly I walked about the battalion and looked at the Captain, who was
standing by a fine horse fully equipped for battle, which one of the
soldiers was holding. The Captain’s was a short but very agile figure,
never keeping the same position for two seconds at a time. Now he went
tripping from the right side of the horse to the left, then darting
behind it for a more thorough inspection.
“The parade doesn’t agree with him,” he exclaimed, “doesn’t agree with
him at all. But there’s no help for it. Misdemeanour must be followed
up by punishment. Sergeant Möller, how often has Cæsar been to parade?
If I am not mistaken, it was eight times. I want him to come four more
times. Let’s have the dozen full, by all means. Confound him! We’ll
teach him better manners than to get up on his hind legs and caper. All
I could do to keep him from falling. Did I tell you all the details of
the story, Lieutenant von Schwenkenberg?”
“I--had--the--good--fortune--to--be--an--eye-witness,” leisurely
remarked the lieutenant.
“Ah, presence of mind, presence of mind, there’s nothing like having
presence of mind in an emergency. The deuce! the very last thing we’d
want on the battle-field would be a nag that stumbles and falls.--Keep
right on, Sergeant Möller,” he added, turning to the latter, who had
stopped calling the roll to listen to the Captain’s speech, and looked
up to his superior with unbounded reverence. “Keep right on; never mind
me. I always take this time to examine not only the battalion within
and without, but the barracks as well--yes, the barracks.” Saying these
words, he had twice pranced round about the battalion, casting many a
glance into an open door which, as the emerging smoke would indicate,
marked the entrance to the regimental kitchen.
“What is the story about the horse?” the young lieutenant asked his
superior.
The latter shrugged his shoulders gently to and fro, and then replied,
“The--horse--behaved--rather--badly,--the--Herr--Captain--thought--
best--to--chastise--him,--and when--the--horse--took--it--ill,--they--
parted company,--you--see. As--a--well-deserved--punishment--Cæsar--is--
to--come--to--parade--for--twelve--consecutive--days--saddled--and
packed with--the--full--equipment--for--battle.”
“Seems to me that is harder on the groom than it is on the horse.”
“Does--it--strike--you--so?” remarked Lieutenant von Schwenkenberg with
imperturbable tranquillity.
Now the voice of the Captain was heard again. “Lieutenant Schwarz,
will you have the goodness to look at this man of your column.” He had
ordered a man in the left wing to turn around, and was standing close
before him. “I have told you, no doubt, that it takes a practised eye;
look closely at the man, will you? Well? What is it? What do you see
that’s wrong about him?”
The young officer inspected him carefully from all sides, but he was
bound to confess, with a shrug of his shoulders, that he saw nothing
unusual.
The Captain smiled with evident satisfaction. Then he said in a
gratified tone, “Ah yes, a practised eye is not a thing to be acquired
in a day or two. Just look at the buttons on his jacket.”
“They are not polished as brightly as they might be,” the young officer
remarked timidly.
“It’s not that, Lieutenant Schwarz. Ye saints, it’s not that,” replied
the Captain, raising his left hand like a mason holding a plumb-line.
“Imagine a line drawn from the hook of his collar to the middle seam
of his trousers. Do you discover nothing? Nothing whatever? Well, my
dear Herr Lieutenant, it would really be expecting too much, altogether
too much. All that will come to you in good time, no doubt. I have
not served in the army for twenty-five years for nothing. Well now,
I’ll tell you. The fourth button counting from the top is about half
a line too far to the left. You think it is the tailor’s fault, do
you? No, sir; I never make the tailor responsible for such things in
my regiment. Saints preserve us! I always test them with a plumb-line.
Tell that fellow to unbutton his jacket, and if you don’t find a
_manœuvre de force_ at the fourth button then I’m very much mistaken.”
The cannoneer unbuttoned his jacket, and sure enough it was just as
the Captain had said. Instead of being sewed on, the fourth button was
fastened with a small stick, which set it slightly awry, and brought
its owner under the ban of the penal code.
_F. W. Hackländer_ (1816-1877).
_THE KING OF MACCAROONIA._
[Illustration: “WITH HORROR HE SEIZED THE STOCKING.”]
THE King of Maccaroonia, who was just in the prime of life, and in
fact had been there for some time past, arose one morning and sat
himself down in his night attire upon a chair by the side of his bed.
His Minister of State stood before him holding his stockings, one of
which had a large hole in the heel. Although he carefully turned the
stocking in such a way that the king should not perceive the hole,
and although it was much more in the king’s line to have an eye for
dainty boots than for well-mended stockings, the hole had not escaped
his royal penetration. With horror he seized the stocking, put his
fore-finger through the hole up to his knuckles, and then remarked with
a sigh--
“What good is there in being a king, so long as I have no queen! What
think you of the project of taking a wife?”
“That, your Majesty, is indeed a sublime idea,” replied the Minister;
“an idea which I am confident I, your humble subject, should have made
bold to conceive, had I not felt that your Majesty himself would deign
to utter it this very day.”
“Very well then!” answered the king; “but do you think it will be an
easy matter for me to find just the right kind of a wife?”
“Pooh!” said the Minister, “you’ll find a dozen!”
“Do not forget that I am very fastidious. To please me, a princess must
be beautiful and clever. And then there is another point that I would
lay special stress on. You know how fond I am of ginger-nuts. In my
whole kingdom there is not a person who knows how to bake them--that
is, to bake them as they should be baked, not too hard and not too
soft, but just nice and crisp. She must _partout_ know how to bake
ginger-nuts.”
When the Minister heard this his heart fell. But he soon recovered, and
replied: “A king like your Majesty will, without doubt, be able to find
a princess who can bake ginger-nuts.”
“Well then, we will look about us!” said the king; and that same day
he set out accompanied by his Minister on a journey to such of his
neighbours as had princesses to dispose of. But it so happened that
only three princesses were discovered whose beauty and cleverness
were sufficient to satisfy the king, and none of the three could bake
ginger-nuts.
“I am sorry to say I can’t bake ginger-nuts,” said the first princess,
in answer to the king’s question, “but I can bake delicious little
almond-cakes. Wouldn’t those do?”
“No!” replied the king, “nothing short of ginger-nuts will do!”
The second princess snapped her fingers when he asked her, and said
pettishly, “Go away with your nonsense! There is no such thing as a
princess who can bake ginger-nuts.”
But the king fared worse than this even with the third, who was, alas!
the fairest and cleverest. She gave him no opportunity to ask his
question; before he could do so, she confronted him with a query on
her part asking him if he knew how to play on the Jew’s-harp. When he
answered in the negative she rejected him, politely expressing her
regrets. She liked him well enough, she said; but she had a particular
fancy for the Jew’s-harp, and it was her firm intention to marry no man
unable to play upon that instrument.
So the king and his minister drove home again, and as he was getting
down from the carriage he said quite dejectedly, “So this was a
wild-goose chase!”
But a king must needs have a queen, and some time later he sent for
the minister once more, and informed him that he had given up finding
a wife who could bake ginger-nuts, and resolved to marry the princess
they had visited first. “It is the one who knows how to bake little
almond-cakes,” he added. “Go and ask her if she will be my wife.”
The next day the minister came back, and narrated to him how the
princess was quite out of the reach of such offers, having married the
king of the land where capers grow.
“Well, then, go to the second princess!” But this time too the minister
came home again without having accomplished his errand. The old king,
he said, regretted exceedingly that it was quite out of his power to
gratify him, his daughter having unfortunately died.
The king was very thoughtful for a while, but being quite determined
to have a queen, he ordered his minister to go once more to the third
princess, as there was no knowing but she too might have changed
her mind. And the minister yielded to his orders, although his own
inclination was quite averse to the project, and although his wife told
him it would be quite useless. The king awaited his return in some
trepidation. He was thinking of the question concerning the Jew’s-harp,
and the recollection was no agreeable one.
But the third princess received the minister very graciously, and told
him that once she had been quite determined to have only such a husband
as could play on the Jew’s-harp; but that now, after all, she had come
to the conclusion that dreams are flighty, especially the dreams of
youth. She saw now, she said, that the realisation of her wish was
quite out of the question, and as she had taken a fancy to the king she
was willing to have him.
Then the minister drove home as fast as his horses would go, and the
king embraced him, and gave him a tremendous medal to wear about his
neck. Bright flags decorated the town, garlands were hung from house
to house across the streets, and altogether the wedding was such a
splendid affair that nothing else was talked of for the next fortnight.
The king and the young queen lived in a state of bliss and rapture for
the space of an entire year. The king never thought of ginger-nuts,
and that little matter of the Jew’s-harp had quite slipped out of the
queen’s mind.
[Illustration: “WITHOUT ANOTHER WORD THEY BOTH WALKED AWAY.”]
But one morning the king got up with his wrong leg first, and
everything went wrong. It rained the whole day long; the imperial
globe fell down, and the little cross on top of it broke off; then the
court painter came and brought the new map of the kingdom, and when
the king looked at it he found that the land was painted red instead
of blue, as he had ordered it; and besides all this, the queen had a
headache.
So it happened that the couple had their first quarrel; what it was all
about they themselves did not know next morning, or if they did know
it they did not want to say. In short, the king grumbled and the queen
pouted and would always have the last word. After they had wrangled for
some time, the queen shrugged her shoulders contemptuously and said--
“It seems to me you might be silent, and stop finding fault with
everything you set your eyes on, when you yourself don’t even know how
to play on the Jew’s-harp.”
But no sooner were the words out of her mouth than the king petulantly
interrupted her with the words, “And you cannot so much as bake
ginger-nuts!”
Thereupon the queen for the first time had no repartee upon her
tongue’s end, and succumbed into silence, and without another word they
both walked away. The queen sat down in a corner of her sofa in her own
room, weeping bitterly, and thinking, “What a foolish woman I am! Where
did I have my senses? That was the silliest thing I could have done!”
The king walked up and down in his room, gleefully rubbing his hands,
and saying, “What a piece of good fortune it is that my wife doesn’t
know how to bake ginger-nuts! If she did, I should have been sadly put
to for an answer when she reproached me for being unable to play on the
Jew’s-harp!”
After he had repeated this three or four times his mood brightened
visibly. He began to whistle a favourite tune, then he went and looked
at a large likeness of the queen hanging on the wall. He got up on a
chair and took out his handkerchief to brush off a cobweb hanging down
straight over the queen’s nose, and at last he said--
“She must have been very much put out, the dear little woman! I will go
and see what she is doing!”
With that he went out into the hall, into which all the rooms opened.
But this being a day on which everything went wrong, the valet had
forgotten to light the lamps, although it was already eight o’clock,
and moreover pitch dark.
So the king put out his hands before him so as not to bump his royal
head, and cautiously felt his way along the wall. Suddenly he came upon
something. “Who is there?” he asked.
“It is I,” answered the queen.
“What are you looking for, my love?”
“I was coming to ask your forgiveness,” replied the queen, “because I
hurt your feelings.”
“You needn’t do that!” said the king, putting his arms about her neck.
“The fault was more mine than yours, and I don’t give it another
thought. But I’ll tell you one thing: two words shall be forbidden on
pain of death in our kingdom, Jew’s-harp and----”
“And ginger-nuts,” the queen interrupted him, laughing and secretly
wiping a tear from the corner of her eye; and that is the end of the
story.
_Professor Volkmann_ (1830-1891).
_THE SAD TALE OF SEVEN KISSES._
IT is quite a while ago, I think, since one day the dear God called the
angel Gabriel to him, as he often does, and said, “Thou Gabriel, go and
open the slide and look down! Methinks I hear some crying!” Gabriel
went and did as the dear God said, put his hand up to his eyes because
the sunlight dazzled him, looked all around, and finally said, “Down
there is a long green meadow; at one end sits Barbelie pasturing her
geese, at the other sits Christoph pasturing his pigs, and both of them
are weeping to melt a heart of stone.”
“Indeed!” said the dear God; “go away, you tall fellow, and let me see.”
When he had looked he found it was just as Gabriel had said.
And this was how it came that Christoph and Barbelie were weeping so
pitifully. Christoph and Barbelie loved each other dearly; one of them
took care of the geese and the other took care of the pigs, and so it
was a very suitable match, there being no disparity of rank. They made
up their minds to be married, and they thought being fond of each other
was a good enough reason. But here their employers differed from them.
So they were obliged to be content with a betrothal. Now, as it is
well to be methodical in all things, and as kissing plays an important
part in betrothals, they had come to an agreement to the effect that
seven kisses in the morning and seven kisses in the evening would be
quite the proper thing. For a while all went well, the seven kisses
being duly given and received at the appointed time. But on the morning
of the day when this story occurred it came about that, just as the
seventh kiss was coming around, Barbelie’s pet goose and Christoph’s
pet pig had a falling-out over their breakfast, threatening to end in
a serious _melée_. To settle this difficulty it was necessary for the
two to stop short of the proper number. Later, when they were sitting
lonely and far apart by the edge of the meadow, it occurred to them how
very bad a thing this was, and they both began to weep, and were still
weeping when the dear God looked down.