Kitabı oku: «Arthur O'Leary: His Wanderings And Ponderings In Many Lands», sayfa 35

In a fortnight, or even less, I lay awake, conjecturing why the urchin who brought the mail from Gotha, had not arrived; – before three weeks I participated in the shock of the town, at the conduct of the Frow von Bütterwick, who raised the price of Schenkin or Schweinfleisch, I forget which – by some decimal of a farthing; and fully entered into the distressed feelings of the inhabitants, who foretold a European war, from the fact that a Prussian corporal with a pack on his shoulders, was seen passing through the town, that morning, before day-break.

When I came to think over these things, I got into a grievous state of alarm. “Another week, Arthur,” said I, “and thou art done for: Eisenach may claim thee as its own; and the Grand Duke of – , Heaven forgive me! but I forget the Potentate of the realm, – he may summon thee to his counsels, as the Hoch Wohlgeborner und Gelehrter, Herr von O’Leary; and thou may’st be found here some half century hence, with a pipe in thy mouth, and thy hands in thy side pockets, discoursing fat consonants, like any Saxon of them all. Run for it, man, run for it; away, with half a leg, if need be; out of the kingdom with all haste; and if it be not larger than its neighbours, a hop, step, and jump, ought to suffice for it.”

Will any one tell me – I’ll wager they cannot – why it is, that if you pass a week or a month, in any out-of-the-way place, and either from sulk or sickness, lead a solitary kind of humdrum life; that when you are about to take your leave, you find half the family in tears. Every man, woman, and child, thinks it incumbent on them to sport a mourning face. The host wipes his eye with the corner of the bill; the waiter blows his nose in the napkin; the chambermaid holds up her apron; and boots, with a side wipe of his blacking hand, leaves his countenance in a very fit state for the application of the polishing brush. As for yourself, the position is awkward beyond endurance.

That instant you feel sick of the whole household, from the cellar to the garret. You had perilled your soul in damning them all in turn; and now it comes out, that you are the “enfant chéri” of the establishment. What a base, blackhearted fellow you must be all the time; in short, you feel it; otherwise, why is your finger exploring so low in the recesses of your purse. Confound it, you have been very harsh and hasty with the good people, and they did their best after all.

Take up your abode at Mivart’s or the Clarendon; occupy for the six months of winter, the suite of apartments at Crillons or Meurice; engage the whole of the “Schwann” at Vienna; aye, or even the Grand Monarque, at Aix; and I’ll wager my head, you go forth at the end of it, without causing a sigh in the whole household. Don’t flatter yourself that Mivart will stand blubbering over the bill, or Meurice be half choked with his sobs. The Schwann doesn’t care a feather of his wing, and as for the Grand Monarque, you might as well expect his prototype would rise from the grave to embrace you. A civil grin, that half implies, “You’ve been well plucked here,” is the extent of parting emotion, and a tear couldn’t be had for the price of Tokay.

Well, I bid adieu to the Reuten Krantz, in a different sort of mood from what I expected. I shook the old “Rue Branch” himself heartily by the hand, and having distributed a circle of gratuities – for the sum total of which I should have probably been maltreated by a London waiter – I took my staff, and sallied forth towards Weimar, accompanied by a shower of prayers and kind wishes, that, whether sincere or not, made me feel happier the whole day after.

CHAPTER XXXIII. “ERFURT”

I narrowly escaped being sent to the guardhouse for the night, as I approached Erfurt – for seeing that it was near nine o’clock when the gates of the fortress are closed, I quickened my pace to a trot, not aware of the “règlement” which forbids any one to pass rapidly over the drawbridges of a fortification. Now, though the rule be an admirable one when applied to those heavy diligences which, with three tons of passengers, and six of luggage, come lumbering along the road, and might well be supposed to shake the foundations of any breast-work or barbican; yet, that any man of mortal mould, any mere creature of the biped class – even with two shirts and a night-cap in his pack – could do this, is more than I can conceive; and so it was, I ran, and if I did, a soldier ran after me, three more followed him, and a corporal brought up the rear, and in fact, so imposing was the whole scene, that any unprejudiced spectator, not overversed in military tactics, might have imagined that I was about to storm Erfurt, and had stolen a march upon the garrison. After all, the whole thing was pretty much like what Murat did at Vienna, and perhaps it was that which alarmed them.

I saw I had committed a fault, but what it was I couldn’t even guess, and as they all spoke together, and such precious bad German, too, (did you ever know a foreigner not complain of the abominable faults people commit in speaking their own language?) that though I cried “peccavi,” I remembered myself, and did not volunteer any confessions of iniquity, before I heard the special indictment, and it seemed I had very little chance of doing that, such was the confusion and uproar.

Now, there are two benevolent institutions in all law, and according to these, a man may plead, either “in forma pauperis,” or “in forma stultus.” I took the latter plea, and came off triumphant – my sentence was recorded as a “Dummer Englander,” and I went my way, rejoicing.

Well, “I wish them luck of it!” as we say in Ireland, who have a fancy for taking fortified towns. Here was I, inside of one, the gates closed, locked, and barred behind me, a wall of thirty feet high, and a ditch of fifty feet deep, to keep me in, and hang me if I could penetrate into the interior. I suppose I was in what is called a parallel, and I walked along, turning into a hundred little, crooked corners, and zig-zag contrivances, where an embrasure, and a cannon in it, were sure to be found. But as nothing are so like each other as stone walls, and as I never, for the life of me, could know one seventy-four pounder from another, I wandered about, very sadly puzzled to ascertain if I had not been perambulating the same little space of ground for an hour and a half. Egad! thought I, if there were no better engineers in the world than me, they might leave the gates wide open, and let the guard go to bed. Hollo, here’s some one coming along, that’s fortunate, at last – and just then, a man wrapped in a loose cloak, German fashion, passed close beside me.

“May I ask, mein Herr, which is the direction of the town, and where I can find an inn?” said I, taking off my hat, most punctiliously, for although it was almost pitch-dark, that courtesy cannot ever be omitted, and I have heard of a German, who never talked to himself, without uncovering.

“Straight forward, and then to your left, by the angle of the citadel – you can take a short cut through the covered way – ”

“Heaven forbid!” interrupted I; “where all is fair and open, my chance is bad enough – there is no need of a concealed passage, to confuse me.”

“Come with me, then,” said he, laughing, “I perceive you are a foreigner – this is somewhat longer, but I’ll see you safe to the ‘Kaiser,’ where you’ll find yourself very comfortable.”

My guide was an officer of the garrison, and seemed considerably flattered by the testimony I bore to the impregnability of the fortress; describing as we went along, for my better instruction, the various remarkable features of the place. Lord, how weary I was of casemates and embrasures, of bomb-proofs and culverins, half-moons and platforms; and as I continued, from politeness to express my surprise and wonderment, he took the more pains to expound those hidden treasures; and I verily believe he took me a mile out of my way, to point out the place, in the dark, where a large gun lay, that took a charge of one hundred and seventy livres weight. I was now fairly done up; and having sworn solemnly that the French army dare not show their noses this side of the Rhine, so long as a Corporal’s guard remained at Erfurt, I begged hard to have a peep at the “Kaiser.”

“Won’t you see the Rothen Stein?” said he.

“To-morrow, – if I survive,” said I, dropping my voice for the last words.

“Nor the Wunder Brucke? – ”

“With God’s blessing, to-morrow, I’ll visit them all; I came for the purpose.” Heaven pardon the lie, I was almost fainting.

“Be it so, then,” said he, “We must go back again now. We have come a good distance out of our road.”

With a heavy groan, I turned back; and if I did not curse Vauban and Carnot, it was because I am a good Christian, and of a most forgiving temper.

“Here we are now, this is the Kaiser,” said he, as after half an hour’s sharp walking, we stood within a huge archway, dimly lighted by a great old-fashioned lantern.

“You stop here some days, I think you said?”

“Yes, for a fortnight; or a week, at least.”

“Well, if you’ll permit me, I’ll have great pleasure in conducting you through the fortress, to-morrow and next day. You can’t see it all under two days, and even with that, you’ll have to omit the arsenals and the shot batteries.”

I expressed my most grateful acknowledgments, with an inward vow, that if I took refuge in the big mortar, I’d not be caught by my friend the next morning.

“Good night, then,” said he, with a polite bow. “Bis Morgen.” —

“Bis Morgen,” repeated I, and entered the Kaiser.

The “Romischer Kaiser” was a great place once; but now, alas! its “Diana is fallen!” Time was, when two Emperors slept beneath its roof, and the Ambassadors of Kings assembled within its walls. It was here Napoleon exercised that wonderful spell of enchantment he possessed above all other men, and so captivated the mind of the Emperor Alexander, that not even all the subsequent invasion of his empire, nor the disasters of Moscow, could eradicate the impression. The Czar alone, of his enemies, would have made terms with him in 1814; and when no other voice was raised in his favour, Alexander’s was heard, commemorating their ancient friendship, and recalling the time when they had been like brothers. Erfurt was the scene of their first friendship. Many now living, have seen Napoleon, with his arm linked within Alexander’s, as they walked along; and marked the spell-bound attention of the Czar, as he listened to the burning words, and rapid eloquence of Buonaparte, who, with a policy all his own, devoted himself completely to the young Emperor, and resolved on winning him over. They were never separate on horseback or on foot. They dined, and went to the theatre together each evening; and the flattery of this preference, so ostentatiously paraded by Napoleon, had its full effect on the ardent imagination, and chivalrous heart of the youthful Czar.

Fêtes, reviews, gala parties, and concerts, followed each other in quick succession. The corps of the “Français” was brought expressly from Paris; the ballet of the Opera also came, and nothing was omitted which could amuse the hours of Alexander, and testify the desire of his host – for such Napoleon was – to entertain him with honour. Little, then, did Napoleon dream, that the frank-hearted youth, who hung on every word he spoke, would one day prove the most obstinate of all his enemies; nor was it for many a day after, that he uttered, in the bitter venom of disappointment, when the rugged energy of the Muscovite showed an indomitable front to the strength of his armies, and was deaf to his attempted négociations, “Scrape the Russian, and you’ll come down on the Tartar.”

Alexander was indeed the worthy grandson of Catherine, and, however a feeling of personal regard for Napoleon existed through the vicissitudes of after-life, it is no less true that the dissimulation of the Russian had imposed on the Corsican; and that while Napoleon believed him all his own, the duplicity of the Muscovite had overreached him. It was in reference to that interview and its pledged good faith, Napoleon, in one of his cutting sarcasms, pronounced him, “Faux comme un Grec du Bas Empire.”

Nothing troubled the happiness of the meeting at Erfurt. It was a joyous and a splendid fête, where, amid all the blandishments of luxury and pleasure, two great kings divided the world at their will. It was Constantine and Charlemagne who partitioned the East and West between each other. The sad and sorrow-struck King of Prussia came not there as at Tilsit; nor the fair Queen of that unhappy kingdom, whose beauty and misfortunes might well have claimed the compassion of the conqueror.

Never was Napoleon’s character exhibited in a point of view less amiable than in his relations with the Queen of Prussia. If her position and her personal attractions had no influence over him, the devoted attachment of her whole nation towards her, should have had that effect. There was something unmanly in the cruelty that replied to her supplication in favour of her country, by trifling allusions to the last fashions of Paris, and the costumes of the Boulevard; and when she accepted the moss-rose from his hand, and tremblingly uttered the words – “Sire, avec Magdebourg?” – a more suitable rejection of her suit might have been found, than the abrupt “Non!” of Napoleon, as he turned his back and left her. There was something prophetic in her speech, when relating the anecdote herself to Hardenberg, she added —

“That man is too pitiless to misfortune, ever to support it himself, should it be his lot!”

But what mean all these reflections, Arthur? These be matters of history, which the world knows as well, or better than thyself. “Que diable allez-vous faire dans cette galère?” Alas! this comes of supping in the Speise Saal of the “Kaiser,” and chatting with the great round-faced Prussian in uniform, at the head of the table; he was a lieutenant of the guard at Tilsit, and also at Erfurt with despatches in 1808; he had a hundred pleasant stories of the fêtes, and the droll mistakes the body-guard of the Czar used to fall into, by ignorance of the habits and customs of civilized life. They were Bashkirs, and always bivouacked in the open street before the Emperor’s quarters, and spent the whole night through chanting a wild and savage song, which some took up, as others slept, and when day broke, the whole concluded with a dance, which, from the description I had of it, must have been something of the most uncouth and fearful that could be conceived.

Napoleon admired those fellows greatly, and more than one among them left Erfurt with the cross of the Legion at his breast.

Tired and weary, as I was, I sat up long past midnight, listening to the Prussian, who rolled out his reminiscences between huge volumes of smoke, in the most amusing fashion. And when I did retire to rest, it was to fall into a fearful dream about Bashkirs and bastions; half-moons, hot shot, and bomb-proofs, that never left me till morning broke.

“The Rittmeister von Otterstadt presents his compliments,” said the waiter, awakening me from a heavy sleep – “presents his compliments – ”

“Who?” cried I, with a shudder.

“The Rittmeister von Otterstadt, who promised to show you the fortress.”

“I’m ill, – seriously ill,” said I, “I should not be surprised if it were a fever.”

“Probably so,” echoed the immovable German, and went on with his message. “The Herr Rittmeister regrets much that he is ordered away on Court Martial duty to Entenburg, and cannot have the honour of accompanying you, before Saturday, when – ”

“With Heaven’s assistance, I shall be out of the visible horizon of Erfurt,” said I, finishing the sentence for him.

Never was there a mind so relieved as mine was by this intelligence; the horrors of that two days’ perambulations through arched passages, up and down flights of stone steps, and into caves and cells, of whose uses and objects I had not the most remote conception, had given me a night of fearful dreams, and now, I was free once more.

Long live the King of Prussia! say I, who keeps up smart discipline in his army, and I fervently trust, that Court Martial may be thoroughly digested, and maturely considered; and the odds are in my favour that I’m off before it’s over.

What is it, I wonder, that makes the inhabitants of fortified towns always so stupid? Is such the fact? – first of all, asks some one of my readers. Not a doubt of it – if you ever visited them, and passed a week or two within their walls, you would scarcely ask the question. Can curtains and bastions – fosses and half-moons, exclude intelligence as effectually as they do an enemy? are batteries as fatal to pleasure as they are to platoons? I cannot say; but what I can and will say, is, that the most melancholy days and nights I ever passed, have been in great fortresses. Where the works are old and tumbling, some little light of the world without, will creep in through the chinks and crevices, as at Antwerp and Mentz; but let them be well looked to – the fosses full – no weeds on the ramparts – the palisades painted smart green, and the sentry boxes to match, and God help you!

There must be something in the humdrum routine of military duty, that has its effect upon the inhabitants. They get up at morning, by a signal gun; and they go to bed by another; they dine by beat of drum, and the garrison gives the word of command for every hour in the twenty-four; There is no stir, no movement; a patrol, or a fatigue party, are the only things you meet, and when you prick up your ears at the roll of wheels, it turns out to be only a tumbril with a corporal’s guard!

Theatres can scarcely exist in such places; a library would die in a week; there are no soirées; no society. Billiards and beer, form the staple of officers’ pleasures, in a foreign army, and certainly they have one recommendation, they are cheap.

Now, as there was little to see in Erfurt, and still less to do, I made up my mind to start early the next day, and push forward to Weimar, a good resolution as far as it went, but then, how was the day to be passed? People dine at “one” in Germany, or, if they wish to push matters to a fashionable extreme, they say “two.” How is the interval, till dark, to be filled up – taking it for granted you have provided some occupation for that? Coffee, and smoking, will do something, but except to a German, they can’t fill up six mortal hours. Reading is out of the question after such a dinner, – riding would give you apoplexy – sleep, alone, is the resource. Sleep “that wraps a man, as in a blanket,” as honest Sancho says, and sooth to say, one is fit for little else, and so, having ordered a pen and ink to my room, as if I were about to write various letters, I closed the door, and my eyes, within five minutes after, and never awoke till the bang of a “short eighteen” struck six.

CHAPTER XXXIV. THE HERR. DIRECTOR KLUG

“Which is the way to the theatre?” said I to an urchin who stood at the inn door, in that professional attitude of waiting, your street runners, in all cities, can so well assume; for, holding a horse, and ringing a bell, are accomplishments, however little some people may deem them.

“The theatre?” echoed he, measuring me leisurely from head to foot, and not stirring from his place.

“Yes,” said I, “they told me there was one here, and that they played to-night.”

“Possibly,” with a shrug of the shoulders, was the reply, and he smoked his short pipe, as carelessly as before.

“Come then, show me the way,” said I, pulling out some kreutzers, “put up that pipe for ten minutes, and lead on.”

The jingle of the copper coin awakened his intelligence, and though he could not fathom my antipathy to the fumes of bad tobacco, he deposited the weapon in his capacious side pocket, and with a short nod, bade me follow him.

No where does nationality exhibit itself so strikingly, as in the conduct and bearing of the people who show you the way, in different cities. Your German is sententious and solemn as an elephant, he goes plodding along with his head down and his hands in his pockets, answering your questions with a sulky monosyllable, and seeming annoyed when not left to his own meditations. The Frenchman thinks, on the contrary, that he is bound to be agreeable and entertaining, he is doing the honours of La Grande Nation, and it stands him upon, that you are not to go away discontented with the politeness of “the only civilized people of Europe.” Paddy has some of this spirit too, but less on national than individual grounds; he likes conversation, and leads the way to it; beside, no one, while affecting to give information himself, can pump a stranger, like an Irishman. The Yankee plan is cross-examination outright, and no disguise about it; if he shows the way to one place, it is because you must tell him where you came from last; while John Bull, with a brief “Don’t know, I’m sure,” is equally indifferent to your road and your fortune, and has no room for any thoughts about you.

My “avant courier” was worthy of his country; if every word had cost him a molar tooth, he couldn’t have been more sparing of them, and when by chance I either did not hear or rightly understand what he did say, nothing could induce him to repeat it; and so, on we went from the more frequented part of the town, till we arrived at a quarter of narrow streets, and poor-looking houses, over the roofs of which I could from time to time, catch glimpses of the fortifications; for we were at the extreme limits of the place.

“Are you quite certain this is the way, my lad?” said I, for I began to fear lest he might have mistaken the object of my inquiry.

“Yes, yes – there it was – there was the theatre,” and so he pointed to a large building of dark stone, which closed the end of the street, and on the walls of which, various placards and announcements were posted, which, on coming nearer, I found were bills for their night’s performance, setting forth how the servants of his Majesty would perform “Den Junker in den Residentz,” and the afterpiece of “Krähwinkel.” There was a very flourishing catalogue of actors and actresses, with names as hard as the dishes in a bill of fare; and something about a “ballet,” and a “musical intermezzo.”

Come – said I to myself – this is a piece of good fortune. And so, dismissing my little foot page I turned to the door, which stood within a deep porch.

What was my amazement, however, to find it closed – I looked on every side, but there was no other entrance; besides, the printed list of places and their prices, left no doubt that this was the regular place of admission. There’s no knowing, after all, – thought I – these Germans are strange folks; perhaps they don’t open the door without knocking, and so, here goes.

“In Himmel’s namen was ist das?” screamed an angry voice, as a very undignified-looking Vrau peeped from a window of a foot square, above the door – “What do you want with that uproar there?” roared she, louder than before.

“I want to get in – a place in the boxes, or a ‘stalle’ in the ‘balcon’ – anywhere will do.”

“What for?” cried she again.

“What for! – for the play to be sure – for the ‘Junker in den Resident.’”

“He is not here at all – go your ways – or I’ll call the Polizey,” yelled she, while, banging the window, there was an end of the dialogue.

“Can I be of any service to you, mein Herr?” said a portly little fellow, without a coat, who was smoking at his door – “What is it you want?”

“I came to see a play,” said I, in amazement at the whole proceedings, “and here I find nothing but an old beldam that threatens me with the police.”

“Ah! as for the play I don’t know,” replied he, scratching his head, “but come with me over here to the ‘Fox’ and we’re sure to see the Herr Director.”

“But I’ve nothing to do with the Herr Director,” said I; “if there’s no performance I must only go back again – that’ s all.”

“Aye! but there may though,” rejoined my friend; “come along and see the Herr himself, I know him well, and he’ll tell you all about it.”

The proposition was at least novel, and as the world goes, that same is not without its advantages, and so I acceded, and followed my new guide, who, in the careless négligée of a waistcoat and breeches, waddled along before me.

The “Fox” was an old-fashioned house, of framed wood, with queer diamond-shaped panes to the windows, and a great armorial coat over the door, where a fox, in black oak, stood out conspicuously.

Scarcely had we entered the low arched door, when the fumes of schnaps and tobacco nearly suffocated me; while the merry chorus of a drinking song, proclaimed that a jolly party was assembled.

I already repented of my folly in yielding to the strange man’s proposal, and had he been near, would at once have declined any further step in the matter; but he had disappeared in the clouds, – the disc of his drab shorts was all I could perceive through the nebulae. It was confoundedly awkward, so it was. What right had I to hunt down the Herr Director, and disturb him in his lair. It was enough that there was no play; any other man would have quietly returned home again, when he saw such was the case.

While I revolved these thoughts with myself, my fat friend issued from the mist, followed by a tall, thin man, dressed in deep black, with tights and hessians of admirable fit; a pair of large, bushy whiskers bisected his face, meeting at the corners of the nose; while a sharp, and pointed chin tuft, seemed to prolong the lower part of his countenance to an immense extent.

Before the short man had well uttered his announcement of the “Herr Director,” I had launched forth into the most profuse apologies for my unwarrantable intrusion, expressing in all the German I could muster, the extent of my sorrow, and ringing the changes on my grief and my modesty, my modesty and my grief; at last I gave in, fairly floored for want of the confounded verb one must always clinch the end of a sentence with, in German.

“It was to see the play then, Monsieur came?” said the Director, inquiringly, for alas! my explanation had been none of the clearest.

“Yes,” said I, “for the play – but – ” Before I could finish the sentence, he flung himself into my arms, and cried out with enthusiasm, “Du bist mein Vater’s Sohn!”

This piece of family information, was unquestionably new to me, but I disengaged myself from my brother’s arms, curious to know the meaning of such enthusiasm.

“And so you came to see the play?” cried he, in a transport, while he threw himself into a stage attitude of great effect.

“Yes.” said I, “to see the ‘Junker,’ and ‘Krähwinkel.’”

“Ach Grott! that was fine, that was noble!”

Now, how any man’s enterprising a five-franc piece or two gulden-müntze, could, deserve such epithets, would have puzzled me at another moment; but as the dramatist said, I wasn’t going to “mind squibs after sitting over a barrel of gunpowder,” and I didn’t pay the least attention to it.

“Give me your hand!” cried he, in a rapture, “and let me call you friend.”

The Director’s mad as a March hare! thought I, and I wished myself well out of the whole adventure.

“But as there’s no play,” said I, “another night will do as well; I shall remain here for a week to come, perhaps longer – ”

But while I went on expressing the great probability of my passing a winter in Erfurt, he never paid the least attention to my observations, but seemed sunk in meditation, occasionally dropping in a stray phrase, as thus – “Die Wurtzel is sick, that is, she is at the music garden with the officers; then, Blum is drunk by this; der Ettenbaum couldn’t sing a note after his supper of schinkin. But then there’s Grundenwald, and Catinka, to be sure, and Alte Kreps – we’ll do it, we’ll do it! Come along, mien aller Liebster, and choose the best ‘loge du premier,’ take two, three, if you like it – you shall see a play.”

“What do you mean? you are surely not going to open the house for me!”

“Ain’t I though! you shall soon see – it’s the only audience I ever had in Erfurt, and I’m not going to lose it. Know, most worthy friend,” continued he with a most melodramatic tone and gesture, “that to-night is the twelfth time I have given out an announcement of a play, and yet never was able to attract – I will not say an audience – but not a row – not a ‘loge’ – not even a ‘stalle’ in the balcon. I opened, why do I say I opened? I advertised, the first night, Schiller’s Maria Stuart, you know the Maria – well, such a Madchen as we have for the part! such tenderness – such music in her voice – such grace and majesty in every movement; you shall see for yourself, Catinka is here. Then I gave out ‘Nathan der Weise,’ then the ‘Goetz,’ then ‘Lust und Liebe,’ – why do I go on? in a word I went through all our dramatic authors from Schiller, Göthe, Leasing, Werner, Grillparzer, down to Kötzebue, whose two pieces I advertised for this evening – ”

“But – pardon my interruption – did you always keep the doors closed, as I found them?”

“Not at first,” responded he, solemnly; “the doors were open, and a system of telegraphs established between the bureau for payment and the orchestra, by which the footlights were to be illuminated on the arrival of the first visiter; but the bassoon and the drum, the clarinette and the oboe, stood like cannoneers, match in hand, from half-past six till eight, and never came the word ‘fire!’ But here we are.”

With these words he produced from his pocket a massive key, with which he unlocked the door, and led me forward by the arm into a dark passage, followed by our coatless friend, whom he addressed as “Herr Stauf,” desiring him to come in also. While the Herr Director was waiting for a light, which the Vrau seemed in no hurry to bring, he continued his recital. “When I perceived matters were thus, I vowed two vows, solemnly, and before the whole corps, ballet, chorus, and all; first, that I would give twelve representations – I mean announcements of representation – from twelve separate dramatists, before I left Erfurt; and, secondly, that for a single spectator, I would open the house, and have a play acted. One part of my oath is already accomplished; your appearance calls on me for the other. This over, I shall leave Erfurt for ever; and if,” continued he, “the fates ever discover me again within the walls of a fortified town – unless I be sent there in handcuffs, and with a peloton of dragoons – may I never cork my eyebrows while I live!”