import. Forgive me if in doing so I have seemingly left out of
consideration the very high esteem and respect in which I am happily
conscious of always having held you!”
“You are a wogue, Wumpf!”
“Herr Professor! suppose you dispense me from the _carcer_ penalty,
withdraw your threat regarding expulsion, and permit me to guard the
most complete silence over what has passed!”
“It would never do, Wumpf. You mutht hold out your time----”
“Yes? Well, then, good-bye to you, Herr Professor! Don’t ring the bell
too often!”
“Wumpf! hear what I thay to you! Wumpf!”
“Well----?”
“You are in many wespects an extwaawdinawy lad, Wumpf; and tho I am
quite willing to make an extheption in your favour,--open the door!”
“Will you dispense me from _carcer_?”
“Yeth.”
“Do you intend to expel me?”
“No, in the devil’th name.”
“Give me your word of honour, Herr Professor!”
“Wumpf, how dare you?”
“Your word of honour, Herr Professor!”
“Vewy good, you have it!”
“Jupiter Ultor is witness.”
“What?”
“I call upon the gods for witnesses.”
“Open the door, I thay!”
“Presently, Herr Professor. You are sure you bear me no grudge?”
“No, no, no! _Will_ you open that door?”
“You give me full absolution?”
“Yes, under the condition that you tell nobody a word of your guilty
conduct. I have told you that I take you to be an extwaawdinawy lad,
Wumpf----”
“Thank you for your good opinion. My word of honour then that so long
as you are in your present position at the town gymnasium no word shall
pass my lips!”
With that he turned the key and opened the door.
Like the king in Uhland’s ballad did Samuel Heinzerling step out into
the pure air of heaven. He took a deep breath; then, brushing his hair
from his brow as if trying to remember something, he said--
“Wumpf, I can take a joke ath well ath any man; but I wish you would
do me the favour not to mimic me in future. You--you weally do it too
well!”
“Your wish is my law!”
“Vewy good! And now you’d betht hathten down to the clath-woom. It’th
not yet a quarter to--you’ll be just in time!”
“But how can I do that, Herr Professor? They all know that you have
given me three days!”
“Vewy good! I’ll go with you.”
They quickly walked downstairs.
“Inaddlaw!” called the professor into the basement door.
The _pedell_ appeared at once and officiously asked what was his behest.
“I have dithpenthed Wumpf fwom his penalty faw sevewal weasons,” said
Samuel.
“Ah! that is what you came back for. Well, all I wish to say is that
Herr Rumpf was not at all quiet in his cell. It’s none of my business,
I suppose, but he shouted and swore like a good ’un----”
“Well, never mind, Inaddlaw; I have thpecial motiveth faw dealing
leniently with him thith time. You may wemove the key to the _cawcer_.”
_Ernest Eckstein._
_OUR WAR-CORRESPONDENT._
THE natural and justifiable mistrust which the reading public brings to
bear upon published reports from military headquarters has caused us
to send our extra special correspondent, Herr Wippchen, whose presence
has already graced several official festivities at the porter brewery,
as well as two general assemblies of the architects’ club, to be an
eye-witness upon the field occupied just now by the oriental question.
No sooner was our intention made public than four managers of the
most renowned life insurance companies applied to us, declaring their
willingness to insure the life of our Wippchen against all the dangers
of war upon the most reasonable conditions.
Yesterday, at eleven o’clock in the forenoon, Herr Wippchen set out on
his journey, favoured by the most glorious weather. In the evening we
had his first report from Bernau,[12] which we here publish:--
BERNAU, _May 3, 1877_.
After travelling for two hours I arrived here, and in this friendly
little town I found rooms far from the deafening noise of the railway,
where I can devote myself with leisure to my task. It is my purpose to
give you a battle of some dimensions every day. Certain it is that the
position of Bernau is decidedly favourable to my enterprise, for not
only is it possible to take the train for the battle-field twice a day,
but also to write to Berlin much more frequently.
On the train it was the opinion of many that the die had fallen, and
that the temple of Janus would not be sheathed again for weeks to
come. Indeed, at the “Kaiserhof,” the night before we left, we were
quite unanimous about that.
I am sorry to say that I am not supplied with the necessary maps. The
geography I had when I went to school is rather old, and the map of
Turkey is partly torn out.
It was a capital idea to send me here. There is no denying the fact
that a war-correspondent should not be constantly seen in the streets
of the town where his reports are printed.
The most important thing to-day seems to me to be the fact that this
oriental war is not the first in history. There is no denying that
there have been several others, none of which have ended with the
annihilation of Russia or Turkey. Both arose again like Aphrodite out
of the ashes.
To be sure, Russia says the beard of the prophet must be shaved from
the earth, because Turkey persecutes and torments Christianity. But
how if Turkey should suddenly turn and say that in Russia too the
Christians sigh under the bed of Procrustes, and that the lash of
civilisation must be applied to the Russians! What then?
And as for England, there is no denying that England will never look on
and permit the aggrandisement of Russia from without. But with all its
Armada it will never be able to hinder its aggrandisement within.
Where is Ariadne’s thread to guide us out of the Scylla of this Augean
stable?
I enclose my first letter from the battle-field, and at the same time
I would ask you to send me a couple of those new gold 5-mark pieces,
which the inhabitants of Bernau are curious to see.
LEOWA, _April 24_.
Rosy-fingered Eos had but just struck five when I arose from the naked
earth and betook myself to the Pruth to see the Russian troops cross
it. There is no denying that there may have been about 13,000 men;
Tschetschentians, Svanetians, Zaporopian Kossaks, Lesghians, mostly
adults, were all marching towards Glatz. They sang a song which I
should like to call “The Watch on the Pruth.” When General Strobelew
saw me he declared me to be a spy, and condemned me to the knout for
life. At that, of course, I turned my back upon him; but even as I did
it, I lay upon the bench, and two Kossaks raised the knout of Damocles
above me to execute the stroke of death, when the general declared
I should be let off this once with a black eye. One of the Kossaks
proceeded to strike me one, and the general shook my hand heartily,
assuring me that soon no Christian should sigh at the hands of the
Turk. I saluted him by laying two fingers of my right hand upon my
injured eye, and the general turned to continue his way.
The Roumanians who had hastened to the spot to witness the passage
of the Pruth cursed with ringing hurrahs, and waved their hats with
clenched fists.
I hastened to Kars, where there is a skirmish going on.
BATUM, _April 26_.
The Russians and Turks had pitched into each other near Batum. I stood
upon a pile of corpses where I had a good view. The Turks struck to
the right and left with such vehemence that all their crooked swords
were soon fully straightened out. The Russians did not wait to be told
twice, and knew no mercy. The thunder of the cannons was terrible.
Boom! boom! only a good deal louder. Ill-luck would have it that I
came to stand right between a Russian and a Turk, and they both shot
at me at the same moment. I stooped down quickly, and both fell down
lifeless, each having been pierced by the other’s ball. It was a
marvellous escape. The scythe of Charon spared me by a miracle, as it
were.
For hours the battle raged. Finally it was left undecided. The
Russians, as well as the Turks, were victorious. Exhausted with
hardships, and with the display of courage, I at last fell asleep upon
a drum, and did not awake until a Russian beat the retreat upon me.
_C’est la guerre!_
Soon there will be more or less more.
TO HERR WIPPCHEN AT BERNAU.
Since the 3rd you have not sent us a single skirmish, for we presume
you do not expect us to look upon your request for a further
remittance, with which we unfortunately complied, in the light of a war
report. You seem to take the oriental complication as an opportunity to
live in the country at our expense. Do you think this is acting like
our own correspondent? If so, you mistake. If we do not receive one of
the bloodiest battles by return post, we shall look about for another
war-correspondent. It was only yesterday that one of the profession
offered his services, declaring his readiness to furnish us with war at
5-pfennige a line. We wish to bring this to your notice, saluting you
in the firm expectation of a desperate conflict.
Yours cordially,
THE EDITOR.
PARIS, _May 14, 1878_.
Here I sit in my cosy _pro doma_, which I have rented with my
hard-earned savings on the bulwarks of the temple (_Boulevard du
Temple_). It was so hot at the exhibition that it seemed as if Helios
had poured out all the tropics upon it, and when at last I turned to
leave I found that all the cabs were filled with weary visitors.
The soirée at Minister Waddington’s was a very brilliant affair. The
entire aristocracy and plebeocracy of Paris was present. Especially the
Prince of Wales. He looks for all the world exactly like his mother.
When I was presented to him, he at once got entangled in a lengthy
toast. It is well known that the prince is a connoisseur in delicately
done slices of bread. He closed with the words, “In this sense I
seize the empty glass and fill it to the alliance between Germany and
England.” I answered with, “God save the Queen,” in which I joined with
fervour. I then added, “In this toast every German will join so long as
he calls his soul his own upon this terrestrial globe.”
“To be, or not to be,” replied the prince, and thereupon he toasted on
the alliance between England and the terrestrial globe. I recommended
the prince to the favour of heaven, whereupon he toasted the alliance
between England and heaven. He then joined other groups, and toasted
every one of them. Presently he left the soirée, not without having
favoured the footman in the ante-chamber, who helped him on with his
overcoat, with a toast. When he was in his carriage, he was overheard
to pronounce several toasts to the Paris vehicles, the driver, the moon
and stars, and the institution of street-gas.
No wonder the prince is very popular in Paris society!
Yesterday His Serenity the Shah left. A few hours before his departure
I saw him at the exhibition standing before a piece of soap (_savon_).
“How much is this letter-weight?” he inquired, and thereupon bought it.
_Julius Stettenheim._
_SCHNORPS’ SWALLOW-TAIL._
HE played the bass viol in the orchestra of the theatre.
The bass viol had come to be the hereditary instrument for all the
male members of the Schnorps family, who were invariably musical,
and I remember an anecdote from the life of Aegidius Schnorps, the
grandfather of my hero, which well deserves to be handed down to
posterity.
Of course Aegidius played the hereditary instrument. But he did
not play it at the Royal Theatre; he had not yet arrived at such
distinction. Instead of that he was a member of a rather obscure band
which used to gather its laurels at country dances on Sundays and
special holidays. The leader was supposed to furnish the bass viol,
but the Schnorpses had always had their own instrument, and prided
themselves not a little upon this family possession. Although the
peasants were not at all particular about any involuntary variations
that might perchance find their way into the tune, for ’tis easy to
pipe to those that want to dance, it so happened that one day Father
Aegidius produced tones of such singular impurity that the leader,
whose week-day occupation was that of an honest shoemaker, called out,
greatly enraged, “Confound you, Aegedi, why don’t you play right?”
“Hold your tongue, shoemaker!” replied the indignant Schnorps. “I can
play as I please; this bass belongs to me.”
Ah yes, they were always very self-sufficient, were the Schnorpses, and
had little respect for the rest of the world. They were always trying
to force their square heads through thick and thin.
After Aegidius came Sebastian Schnorps, who of course also devoted
himself to the grumbling bass, and who was gathered unto his fathers
in the very midst of his professional activity, inasmuch as he and his
instrument fell down together from a high ladder, by means of which he
had intended to reach a place in a barn which should furnish him the
necessary acoustic conditions for evolving seraphic tones, and properly
affecting the crowd of dancing peasants beneath him.
Peace be unto his ashes!
After him came Gottlieb Schnorps, the man who is to occupy our
attention to-day. It were really needless to say that the hereditary
proclivity had come down to him, if it were not incumbent upon me
to do justice to him by mentioning the fact that he was a musician
of a better sort than his ancestors. He had worked his way up from
a country fiddler, had studied a little, and though in his general
manner and bearing he had remained true to the family traditions of
the Schnorpses, he had struck out a new path in going to see something
of the world, and one day he came back with the contract of a court
engagement in his pocket, and with a wife whom the dear God must have
created for his special convenience, so well were her characteristics
adapted to his.
* * * * *
They arranged their life as they thought best. Either he quarrelled
with his wife or she with him, or both of them with the children, or
the latter among each other--between times the bass viol grumbled, for
Schnorps was always hard at work developing his musical faculties--in
short, their home life was a lively one.
If Schnorps had only been a little neater in his personal
appearance!--but in this respect he did little honour to the Royal
Orchestra. His shabbiness had grown proverbial. He had a special
predilection for an enormous cravat to conceal the doubtful purity of
his linen from the eyes of the curious. His coat was seldom brushed,
and the lower part of his coat-sleeves shone like a mirror.
The pride of his heart was a dress-coat, which he donned only on
extraordinary occasions. He had brought himself to purchase this
piece of wearing apparel only by dint of the rigorous etiquette
of the Royal Theatre, which authoritatively demanded the use of a
dress-coat on certain days. It never occurred to him to have a new
one, and he wandered from junk-shop to junk-shop until he found a
specimen at Solomon Hoffa’s, which he purchased for one thaler and
some odd groschens, and which he thereafter wore to the horror of all
respectable people, and to the annoyance of the entire orchestra.
It was really too shabbily old-fashioned. In fact, it was a disgrace
to the corporation. The collar was of such goodly size as to almost
completely hide the square head of Schnorps; the sleeves were so tight
that Gottlieb could only with difficulty properly belabour his bass
viol, and the broad tails stood out like the arms of a windmill from
the lank legs of the wearer.
One morning he received a formidable-looking square letter, with
the well-known official green seal, in which he was notified in the
politest of language, but with all possible decision, that when taking
part in the orchestra in future he was to appear in a coat which was
more in harmony with the dignity of a Royal Theatre, and less likely to
excite the risibility of the audience.
This left no room for doubt, it was certainly plain enough. Schnorps
raged--talked about tyranny, interference with personal freedom,
scolded his wife, and flogged all the young Schnorpses; but there was
no help for it--the acquisition of a new coat loomed upon the horizon
as an inexorable necessity.
And now occurred what had never occurred before. For several days
in succession the townspeople saw the bass violinist Schnorps and
his spouse walk about from one clothing shop to another. In each one
they entered into lengthy negotiations, only to pass on after a time
grumbling and scolding about the outrageous prices, until at last the
firm of J. M. Lindenfeld had the good fortune to come to terms with
Herr and Frau Schnorps about a new and handsome swallow-tail coat.
* * * * *
[Illustration: “IT WAS A DISGRACE TO THE CORPORATION.”]
“I’ll tell you what, Sally,” said the bass violinist one day to his
better-half; “though I’ve been forced by pure tyranny to spend a sinful
lot of money on that new dress-coat, there’s no earthly reason why I
shouldn’t get all the good I can out of the old one. I wish you’d just
send for old Peter and tell him to make Michel a jacket out of it; it
will last the boy many a year.”
Old Peter was a tailor whose chief art lay in mending and patching up
old garments, and Michel was the eldest sprout and heir pretendent to
the bass viol of the Schnorpses.
The tailor came, made a very close and conscientious examination of the
old swallow-tail by the aid of a pair of enormous horn spectacles, and
finally declared, with great decision, that the article in question
had had its day, and that there was not the slightest possibility of
renovating it.
This was a terrible shock for Schnorps, for Peter’s judgment was
considered quite incontrovertible, and when there was anything to be
made out of an old garment he did it. This he had proved time and time
again in the wardrobe of the Schnorpses. So there was nothing for it
but to stow away the old dress-coat among other venerable relics, and
it might have stayed there to this day if Frau Sally Schnorps had not
hit upon a brilliant plan.
Hoods were quite the fashion just then, and why not make a hood out
of a dress-coat? It might be trimmed with a quantity of ribbons and
laces to conceal the shabbiness of the cloth, which latter could still
further be improved upon by being turned. She was very proud of this
idea, and forthwith called upon a deaf old seamstress, who often worked
for her, and who was quite noted for her stupidity, but aside from
that was a poor, unassuming woman who patiently worked for her living
without expecting any generous remuneration. This last quality had
served to gain her the good will of Frau Schnorps, into the mysteries
of whose housekeeping she was thoroughly initiated.
She came and found the wife of the bass violinist at the door, about
to go out, while Schnorps was rehearsing for the opera. In brief words
Frau Sally explained to her that in the big wardrobe upstairs there
was a dress-coat of her husband’s which was quite worth the trouble of
making over, and which she wished to be metamorphosed into a hood for
herself.
“Very well, very well, I’ll see to it all right, Frau Schnorps,”
replied the old woman; and while Frau Sally Schnorps went to market,
her mind quite at rest, she entered the house where the youngest of
the Schnorpses, who had been left to guard the domestic hearth, handed
over the dress-coat, which she thereupon took home to “make over.” And
she did it. When she came back, after a day or two, the old dress-coat
had become a new head-covering, which, to be sure, was rather heavily
decorated with lace and various trimmings, but for this very reason
exactly suited the taste of Madam Schnorps. It is true, her husband
said, that now you could see that the dress-coat had really not been
so bad, and that the money which went for the new one might have been
put to some better use, but there was no use crying over spilt milk,
the tyrannical intendant had decreed that it should be so, and he
philosophically added--
“For every evil under the sun
There is a remedy or there’s none.
If there is one, try and find it,
If there isn’t, never mind it.”
When autumn came the wife of the musician walked forth proudly in her
new hood, and about the same time her husband received an invitation
to spend the evening at the house of an old general, who was a great
lover of music, and famous for his bachelor’s suppers, which added a
great attraction to his musical evenings. The old gentleman had a high
opinion of Gottlieb Schnorps as a musician, and would have liked to ask
him long ago, but he had never been able to bring himself to do so on
account of Schnorps’s shabbiness, and the bass violinist was indebted
for this invitation chiefly to his new coat.
Schnorps was highly elated to receive it, and his mouth watered at the
thought of all the culinary delights which would await him after the
music.
When the auspicious day came he devoted an unusual amount of care and
attention to his toilet. Although it was only Thursday, he permitted
himself the luxury of a clean shirt, bought himself--and this was the
rarest of extravagances--a pair of white cotton gloves, even went so
far as to brush his black trousers with a certain amount of energy, a
thing he never did on ordinary occasions, so as not to wear out the
cloth.
“Get my dress-coat out, Sally,” he said in the evening, and she went
upstairs in obedience to his behest.
Now it was that something horrible occurred!
As Schnorps’s spouse opened the door of the wardrobe and put her hand
in behind all the ancestral garments, she screamed aloud, for there,
like a ghost of bygone days, the old swallow-tail grinned at her in
the full glory of its invulnerable perfection. She turned it about
again and again, and thought she was losing her reason--there was not
a particle of doubt of it, it was undeniably the same coat which she
had fondly believed she had been wearing on her head in the elaborated
and decorative shape of a new hood. In wild excitement she turned the
contents of the wardrobe topsy-turvy; trousers and coats were flung
about to the right and to the left, but there was no vestige to be seen
of the new dress-coat, and with convincing force the certainty came to
her that the stupid old seamstress had cut up the new garment instead
of the old to manufacture her head-gear therefrom.
So that was the reason it looked so well! Ah, now everything was clear.
“If Schnorps gets wind of this he’ll murder me,” sighed Frau Sally, and
so much was certain, this affair must be hushed up for the time being.
But how was she to accomplish this?
She glanced out of the window at the neighbouring house, and a saving
idea flitted through her mind. Stealthily she crept downstairs and out
at the back door, and hastily entering the house across the way she
poured out the sad tale of her misfortunes into the sympathetic ear of
her neighbour, imploring her to help her out of her difficulties by
lending her the dress-coat of her husband just for this one night.
The good-natured woman was easily won, and an hour later Schnorps,
happily unconscious of the state of affairs, and attired in his
neighbour’s dress-coat, was on his way to the general, the servant of
the latter walking behind him and dragging along his heavy bass viol.
The coat was somewhat tight, which fact caused its wearer to remark, as
he was putting it on, that he was really growing stout in spite of his
moderate way of living.
Poor innocent Schnorps!
The musical performance had passed off greatly to the satisfaction
of the old general, and the ensuing excellent supper was no less to
the satisfaction of his guests. The bass violinist indulged himself
most freely in the good things set before him, and manifested a
degree of steady perseverance as if he had fasted for a fortnight to
fitly prepare himself for this special feast. He left nothing undone,
plateful after plateful vanished, one glass of delicious wine after
another disappeared in the bottomless pit of his eating apparatus, and
whenever he thought himself unobserved he helped himself freely to
generous handfuls of sweets, depositing them in the voluminous pockets
of his dress-coat.
Ah, he was a kind father, when he had nothing to lose thereby, and he
was quite willing to be a bringer of dainties to his dear ones at home.
The guests remained until very late, and of course Schnorps was the
last to go. It was somewhere near two in the morning when he reeled
home in a condition which really put every well-intentioned cab-driver
under the moral obligation of turning out for him.