Complete Works of Stanley J Weyman

by Stanley J Weyman

  “I am from the South,” I said, opening my trenches. “And have lived so long in the land of Philistia that I am no better than a freshman. Much is strange to me though I was once in good standing. That chap who looked in just now—”

  “We sup with no Frenchmen,” the senior replied. “ The Bursch is free.” Then, with his eyes fixed on me and some doubt in them, “Placetne?”

  “Valde et maxime placet!”

  He nodded. “We blow the fire. Palm kindled it, Schill fed it, the Burschen are the bellows.”

  “But is it not extinguished?” He had lowered his voice, and I followed the example.

  “At the top. Ay, patted down, beaten down, smothered down — at the top!” He spat on the floor. “But at the bottom it burns and the Burschen blow it. And presently it will burst forth, the more furiously because it is smothered down! And then the top—”

  “Yes?”

  “The top will fall in” dryly.

  “But Prussia? With your leave, it does not seem to me that here there is much fire burning?”

  He snapped his fingers. “Out of a dead Prussia, a living Germany! The Fatherland!” He raised his mug and as at a signal all five — after the students’ free and easy custom in public places — burst into a well-known song:

  “Which is the German’s Fatherland?

  Is’t Prussian land, is’t Swabian land?

  Is’t where on Rhine the red grapes hang,

  Where o’er the Baltic sea mews clang? —

  Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no.

  This Fatherland must wider go.

  “Which is the German’s Fatherland?

  Then, name me finally that land!

  Wide as the German free tongue springs.

  And hymns to God in Heaven sings!

  That shall it be! That shall it be!

  That land, brave German,’s given to thee!”

  Long before the chorus reached its close, three-fourths of those present were on their feet, joining lustily in it. And marking their sparkling eyes, and the abandon with which they thundered the chorus:

  “Das soll es seyn, das soll es seyn.

  Das wacherer Deutschen, nenne dein!”

  I was convinced that my neighbour had made no vain boast when he said that the Burschen were blowing the fire. Indeed, I caught the infection and joined in, regardless of Perceval’s black looks and angry signals, which the cloud of smoke mercifully obscured for me. After the song, “Das Vaterland!” cried the students, waving their mugs. “Deutschen, das Vaterland!”

  The toast drunk, we sat down. “Yet Schill,” I remarked, anxious to probe the matter still further, “ the brave and unfortunate Schill—”

  The last thing I meant was to cause a fresh outbreak, but I did it. In a twinkling the Burschen were on their feet again. “Vivat Schill!” they shouted. “Hoch to Schill! Hoch! hoch!”

  But this time they were but feebly supported. Here and there a man raised his glass. For the majority the challenge was too audacious. They stared stolidly into the smoke, or glanced uneasily towards the door.

  I was a little uncomfortable myself. The thing had gone further than I had anticipated, and I could not be unconscious of Ellis’s glances. I could make a pretty good guess at his thoughts, and owned that he had some reason. All the same I could not refrain from one last attempt to get to the bottom of things. “But do you not run a risk? I speak as a Philistine. There are French in the town — a large party of them at the Golden Stag.”

  “So! They will not be there long!” they bragged. “ And they will not interfere with us. Are we not the Burschenschaft? And behind us is there not the Tugend-bund? Touch Leipzig and you prick Halle, Gottingen, Heidelberg, Fichtelstadt! The whole German land! No, the Bursch is free, and woe to those who would enslave him.”

  “But—”

  I got no further. A hand fell on my shoulder. Ellis, unable to control his feelings any longer, had risen and stepped across the passage. “For God’s sake put an end to this fooling!” he muttered, his voice trembling with anger. “Have you forgotten yourself altogether? Do you want us to be arrested? You are going the right way, man, if you do, and in our position — with our responsibility! Are you mad?”

  “I am coming,” I said. But — but one moment, Chief. Just a moment more. One moment! I want—”

  “No, by G — d, I’m off!” he retorted. “ I wash my hands of it!” And he turned on his heel, snatched up his hat, and stalked away to the door, his tall figure and magnificent fur cloak drawing all eyes upon him as he strode down the passage.

  I was vexed with myself as well as with him, for I knew that I had been imprudent. But the harm was done, and after being so frankly received, I could not break away without a word of acknowledgment. “I regret, good brothers, but I must leave you now,” I said. “I thank you for—”

  I paused, seeing that all five were looking oddly at me.

  The spokesman raised his eyebrows. “So? English?” he said in a low tone.

  It was no use to deny it. Perceval, speaking in English, had given the secret away. I nodded.

  “Ah! Then it is for you, the risk! If we had known — But there’s no one here that will speak.

  You are safe enough. But be careful, friend. If there is anything we of the Burschen can do—”

  “We go by the Elbe at five — to Magdeburg,” put in the next to him. They wore a different air now, spoke low, and with heads together, looked warily over their shoulders — for my sake I knew.

  I thanked them again. “But I am not in the danger you think,” I said, and I explained, for I saw that they took me for a spy. “ Still you are right. I must be careful, and go now — my friend will be waiting for me.” I paid and fled, as much noticed, I dare say, in my going, as Ellis had been before me. I seemed to have been in the place a long time, but I did not think that the time had been wasted — if no ill came of it.

  When I stepped out into the Market Place I found that the storm had passed. The downpour had ceased, leaving the kennels running and the wet pavement gleaming. Above, the moon was shining in a clear rain-swept sky. As I crossed the open space I was in some doubt which of two streets that opened before me was the one that led to the inn, but luckily, as I paused, a watchman with his lighted lantern and iron-shod staff came round a corner and, lifting his voice, announced to the row of peaks and gables that fringed the square that it was eleven of the clock and all well! He directed me and two minutes later I was hammering on the closed door.

  I asked the man who admitted me if the other gentleman had come in. He did not seem to understand, and “Has any one entered within the last five minutes?” I asked. “No one,” he answered. “Nor for another five.”

  He was sleepy and surly, and I fancied that there was some mistake, so I entered. As I crossed the angle of the courtyard, which was half in moonlight, half in shadow, I saw that the illumination in the Speise Saal was much lessened, though a few topers still lingered round the guttering candles. Taking my own light, I mounted the stairs, considering as I climbed how I should put the case to Ellis, for I could not hide from myself that I had jumped the ropes.

  To meddle in the conspiracies of a country to which one is accredited — or through which one passes, cloaked in the privileges of an ambassador — is against the rules of the service, and only to be forgiven when success crowns the venture. But to do so when one is in a subordinate capacity and without authority — well I felt that I should need all my finesse to placate Perceval. Yet I had learned something, and, much or little, it would inure to his credit.

  By the time, candle in hand, I had threaded my way through the passages to his door, I thought that I had the matter arranged in my mind — after all he was a sensible chap at bottom, and would see reason. I knocked. When he did not answer, I opened the door. It would not do to appear diffident or guilty.

  But, to my surprise, he was not there, and I began to think that he had not entered, and that the man at the door was right. I passed
on to my own room, and in a chair outside the door I found Kaspar sleeping sweetly. I roused him. “Where is His Excellency?”

  “I have not seen him,” Kaspar replied, standing up and blinking his eyes. “Isn’t he with you, sir?”

  “No. Are you sure he hasn’t come in?”

  “Not to my knowledge, sir.”

  “Where is Herr Klatz?”

  “I don’t think that he is in either, but I will see.”

  He went and returned. “He is not in his room.”

  “Ah!” I rejoined. “ Well, never mind him, but go downstairs and inquire if His Excellency has been seen. Make sure that he is not in the house, do you hear? He should have returned before this.”

  Kaspar hurried away on his errand. I snuffed my candle and stood, thinking. The house was very quiet, and after waiting awhile, I went back to the head of the stairs and listened. I began to feel uneasy.

  CHAPTER IV

  HIS EXCELLENCY RETURNS

  I SUPPOSE that I had made some noise, stalking to and fro, for as I stood staring down the dark silent well of the staircase and listening, a door three or four paces from me opened and a head appeared.

  For a moment the light of the candle I held glinted on a pair of bright eyes, an anxious little face, a thick tail of dark hair athwart a peignoired shoulder, and I recognized the girl whom I had seen under the gallery. Then the face was hurriedly withdrawn, the door fell to softly, I was alone. I heard Kaspar set his foot on the stairs. He came up them noisily, two at a time.

  “His Excellency has not come in,” he said.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Quite sure, sir.” And I saw that in his phlegmatic way he shared my alarm.

  ‘Then we had better go at once and see what has become of him. Come along, man. Don’t stop to get your hat.”

  We hurried down the stairs. The courtyard was in darkness, the last light in the Speise Saal had been extinguished. The man at the entrance confirmed what Kaspar had said and, his curiosity aroused, stepped out with us into the street. The little town lay quiet about us.

  The moonlight fell along the street in which we stood, but it helped us little, for it was broken into patches by the signs that projected from the houses, while here and there an outside staircase blocked the view. It was difficult to see to any distance, but we listened. “I think you had better go one way and I another,” I said to Kaspar. “ Don’t lose yourself. I’ll go towards—”

  The porter cut me short. He held up his hand. “So!” he exclaimed, “I think he comes.”

  I was relieved, for it was beginning to weigh on me that it was I who had brought Ellis to Wittenberg. “He must have taken a wrong turning,” I said, as, fifty or sixty yards away, the man whose footsteps the porter had heard, entered the street from a side lane, and emerging from a mass of shadow approached us.

  “It’s Klatz,” cried Kaspar.

  “Klatz?” I ejaculated.

  It was Klatz. He came up out of breath with the haste he had made. He recognized Kaspar, who was bare-headed, almost as quickly as we recognized him. “What is it?” he asked. “Is anything the matter?”

  “His Excellency has not come in,” I replied. “ We had better all separate and go different ways to—”

  “So!” said the porter again — he had sharp ears, that man! “He comes now.”

  I doubted. A clatter of feet, a murmur of loud voices had, indeed, broken into the street, from the direction of the Market Place, but I had little hope that Perceval was one of the group, for the party, an uproarious one, was shouting a song without the least regard for the sleep of the townsfolk. “No,” I said, “it’s not he. I fancy it’s some students that!”

  “I think he is with them,” said Klatz.

  “Oh, but, man—”

  “I think so, sir,” Kaspar agreed “ I see His Excellency now.”

  And certainly there were six in the party, and the students were but five. But I could hardly believe that the sixth was Perceval. The song they were singing, and singing with derisive gusto, and much brandishing of iron-shod sticks,

  “Ah, he who slyly the Madchen seeks,

  What risks he runs, when the little god tweaks!

  By pending pole and the distaff’s stroke

  His fire is quenched and his pate is broke!

  O fie, O fie, O fie, O fie!

  Whither away, sir, on the sly?”

  was certainly not one of his choosing, and as certainly accorded ill with his dignity. Indeed the porter sniggered. “It’s him,” he said. “Well, he’s not the first.”

  And it was Ellis. A dozen paces from us, he detached himself from his companions while they, with an elaborate salutation and a mockery of respect, marched solemnly by, still singing, with uplifted sticks:

  “O fie, O fie, O fie, O fie!

  Whither away, sir, on the sly?”

  “Good heavens, Chief,” I cried in amazement. “ Where in the world have you—”

  “Come in,” he growled, and it needed no more to prove to me that he was in a red hot rage. But not another word would he utter until we had entered the inn and climbed the stairs and he had slammed the door of his room upon us.

  Then as he turned on me, his candle in his hand, I saw that his stock was torn, his hat wet and mudstained as if it had been in the gutter, and his face discoloured. But he gave me no time to ask questions or voice my concern. Pale with passion, “ What the devil did you mean,” he snarled, “by leaving me as you did?”

  “I? But it was you, my dear Ellis, who—”

  “I’ve been next door to murdered! And might have been murdered, but for those young ruffians — insolent brutes!” He took out his handkerchief and passed it over his lips, and I saw that he was really unable to continue. I stepped to the table, found his flask, and poured out some cognac. He took it without thanking me, drank it, and sat down on his bed. A little colour came back to his face.

  “Now tell me what happened,” I said. “ If it happened through fault of mine, Ellis, I much regret it.”

  “Regret it?” he ejaculated. The cordial had heated his indignation, already at the boiling point “ Regret it? And happened? I’ll tell you what happened. I took the wrong road out of the Market Place. I was quick to see what I had done and I was turning about when a lad overtook me, asked me if I had lost my way and said he would show me a short cut to the inn. He led me down a side street till I grew suspicious. I saw we were in a kind of cul de sac with the town wall before us, and I stopped.

  “‘ I don’t believe this is right,’ I said, but before the words were out of my mouth I heard a movement, and turned, and there was a man creeping up behind me. I don’t know exactly what happened then, but I fancy I jumped for the wall. I was too late, the next moment the lad was on my back trying to pull me down, while the other sprang at me in front. I shouted and made what fight I could, but I was as good as choked, when those friends of yours came up, and the two let me go — and fled.”

  “Did they rob you?” I cried, in a panic. “They didn’t get the—’

  “No! But they tried. The tall man tore open my coat, but the clasp of the cloak was in his way, and they had not time. The others came up, d — n them!” with a fresh outburst of rage. “The brutes jeered at me, wanting to know what I was doing down there; it was a disreputable place, of course. And they would not listen when I told them, but began to sing that abominable song.”

  “Still they saved you from something more serious,” I said, seeing with wonder that the correct Ellis was more disturbed by the students’ insinuation than by the attempt to rob him. “And what they thought does not matter. The point is, was it just a guet apens by a couple of rogues who saw you astray, or a deliberate attempt by someone who knew what you had about you?”

  “I hadn’t it,” dryly. “I’d hidden it, no matter where. But if you ask me I’ve no doubt that it was that they were after.”

  “Well, I’m afraid so.”

  “And what we were brought
to Wittenberg for, thanks to you.”

  “Don’t say that,” I protested. “After all” — for I had been thinking—” it was Klatz who recommended us to go to the Rathskeller. And Klatz was out to-night, and came back out of breath two minutes before you.”

  “Klatz?”

  “Yes, Klatz. Did you see either of the men’s faces?

  Could you be sure that he was not —— —”

  Ellis did not let me finish the sentence. He was on his feet, his temper quite lost. “By G — d, Cartwright, you are mad about Klatz!” he cried. “You’ve got Klatz on the brain! How could Klatz know that I should leave the Rathskeller alone? Or that I should lose my way? How could he? Eh? But the truth is, instead of trying to inculpate Klatz, whom I trust, you ought to blame yourself. What business had you to go hobnobbing with those brutes of students? You in your position? Drinking toasts to Schill and singing seditious songs, and making yourself conspicuous? Why good G — d, man,” with growing indignation, “you might have been arrested there and then, and I too! And what a position should we have been in! It was out of reason! It was indefensible! And I am bound to tell you, it is my duty to tell you, that if you don’t know the rules of the service, by heaven, I must teach you them.”

  “Look here,” I said, “Ellis,” for I honestly thought that the villain of the play was Klatz and that my friend was wilfully blinding himself. “Suppose we talk this over in the morning when we are both a little cooler. You are upset now, and—”

  “No,” he retorted, too angry to be reasonable. “we’ll have it out now, if you please. I gave way to you this morning and I see now what a mistake it was. The effect has been to expose me to this attack, and I might very well have lost my life, or the papers, which would have been worse! And all through your d — d folly about Klatz. But what I think a good deal more of is your conduct in joining those fools this evening, when I showed you plainly that I disapproved of it! What right have we to mix ourselves up with rubbish of that kind? Is it not against every tradition, every canon, every precedent of the service?