CHAPTER XIII.

THE REVERSE OF THE MEDAL.

After a troubled night's rest JenA' rose and, telling his servant that he should not return until late in the evening, betook himself to the Plankenhorst residence, thinking thus to avoid all possibility of meeting his brother A-dAśn, who, he feared, might try to persuade him to return home to their mother.

"Welcome, comrade!" cried Fritz Goldner, chairman of the standing committee, as JenA' entered the drawing-room; "we were just speaking of you. Do you know that our cause is in great danger?"

JenA' had known that from the beginning.

"We must step into the breach," continued the chairman. "The reactionary party is bent on compromising us and bringing disgrace on our patriotism by stirring up the dregs of the people to the most outrageous excesses. The false friends of liberty are inciting the mob to acts of violence and riot against the manufacturing and property-holding classes. Last night the custom-house was burnt and property destroyed in the outlying villages. To-day the rioters are expected to attack the factories and the religious houses within the city limits, and our duty will be to confront them and turn their misguided zeal into proper channels. We have not a moment to lose, but must hasten to meet this movement and rescue our flag from the dishonour with which our false friends are striving to stain it. Let us oppose our breasts to the flood and dam its course with our bodies."

Poor JenA'! To offer his own person as a check to the fury of the mob, and to stand as a target between two fires--that of the rioters on one side, and of the soldiery on the other--was hardly to his liking. But he made haste to assure his friend Fritz of his hearty acquiescence in the plan proposed, and bade him go on ahead; he himself would run home and get his sword and pistols and then follow in a cab. Before Alfonsine he could not betray how little stomach he had for the undertaking.

Gaining the street, he hailed the first empty cab he saw, and hired it for the day, directing the coachman to drive around whithersoever he chose, without halting, except at noon at some outlying inn, and late in the evening at his lodging.

His friends and co-workers in the cause of freedom did not wait for him, but marshalled their forces and pushed forward to check the fury of mob violence that was now gaining fearful headway.

The Granichstadt distillery was a mass of smoking ruins. The machinery had been wrecked, the brandy casks rolled into the street and their heads knocked in, whereupon their contents had rushed out over the pavement in a stream that soon caught fire. This blazing Phlegethon, pouring through the streets, had been the salvation of the St. Bridget Convent; for as long as the fiery stream barred the way in that direction, the mob could not offer the nunnery any violence. Yet the rioters were taking measures to overcome this obstacle, and were bringing sand, mud, ashes,--anything that would serve to make a road through the burning flood. At the entrance to the convent, however, a squadron of hussars had been posted early in the morning; its commander was Captain Richard Baradlay.

It was nearly a year since he had changed his quarters and moved out of the city into the barracks in the suburbs. His purpose in making the change had been to devote himself entirely to the duties of his calling. He was no longer seen idling in the town, he attended no balls, paid court to no ladies, but lived wholly with his men, contenting himself with their society, and became one of the most industrious of officers. He had learned from JenA' that Edith was at a boarding-school, to which her aunt had sent her the day after he had asked her hand in marriage; and with this information he was content. The young girl was doubtless well cared for, and at the proper time he would go and take her away. So why disturb her meanwhile?

In the last few days Captain Baradlay had received six successive and mutually contradictory orders, all relating to the maintenance of order, and each signed by a different hand and valid only until its writer's deposition from office. Finally, the young commander found himself left entirely to his own discretion. He was all night in the saddle, leading his troop hither and thither, but utterly unable to subdue a mob that broke out in one quarter after another and always melted away at his approach, to muster again immediately afterward in another part of the town.

At length the light of the burning distillery had led him in that direction. After drawing up his men across the street and before the entrance to the convent, he was calmly watching the mob's advance, when suddenly a strangely clad figure approached him. A black coat faced with red, black, and gilt, a sash of the same colours, a straight sword with an iron hilt, a broad-brimmed hat adorned with a black ostrich feather,--these were the accoutrements of the stranger, who wore a thin beard and mustache, and was of a bold and spirited bearing, though evidently not of military training. Hastening up to Richard, the newcomer greeted him heartily.

"Good day, comrade!" he cried. "Hurrah for the constitution and public order!"

Richard offered no objection to this sentiment, and the young gallant next extended his hand, which the hussar officer did not refuse.

"I am Fritz Goldner," he explained, without further ceremony, "an officer in the second battalion of the Aula."

"What news do you bring?"

"I heard that a mob was collected here and was likely to bring dishonour on our cause, and so I came to quiet the storm."

The other surveyed him doubtfully. "What, you alone?" he asked. "Heavens and earth, man! I have been doing my best for three days, at the head of my squadron, to put down the mob, and it is growing stronger every minute."

The young hero of the Aula threw up his head proudly. "Yes, I alone will quell the disturbance," he declared.

"I leave you a free hand, comrade," returned Richard; "but I cannot abandon my position, as it would be no easy matter recovering it again."

"Very well, then," assented the other; "you stay here as a passive onlooker. But first may I ask your name?"

"Richard Baradlay."

"Ah, glad to meet you. Your brother and I are good friends."

"My brother JenA'?"

"Yes, he is attached to our headquarters at the Plankenhorsts'."

"Headquarters at the Plankenhorsts'?" repeated Richard, in surprise.

"Yes, indeed. Didn't you know about it? Both of the ladies are most zealous friends of the cause, and they give us the happiest advice and suggestions."

By this time Richard had dismounted and thrown his horse's bridle to old Paul. "So the Plankenhorst ladies are still in the city, are they?" he asked, as he proceeded with Fritz toward the entrance of the convent. "And you say they are friends of the revolutionists. Do you know these women?"

"It is one of our chief concerns to know them," was the reply. "Their past is not unknown to us, but now they declare themselves unconditionally on our side. Nothing catches fire like a woman's heart at the cry of freedom. But our confidence in them is a guarded one. We, too, have our secret police, and all their movements are carefully watched. Should they attempt to open communication with their former friends, we should learn the fact at once and the two ladies would be summarily dealt with. Oh, I assure you, our forces are well organised."

"I haven't a doubt of it. And is my brother JenA' one of your number?"

"One of the foremost. He holds the rank of second lieutenant."

Richard shook his head incredulously.

The mob was meanwhile gradually making a path for itself through the flames of burning brandy, and as the intrepid Fritz caught sight of one form after another through the blue-green fire, he became more and more aware of the magnitude of the task before him. Distinguished from the rabble about him was one man, no less ragged and dirty than his fellows, but of colossal size and brandishing above his head a six-foot iron bar as if it had been a wooden wand. He was pushing his way forward in a sort of blind frenzy. Seeing the hussars, however, drawn up in formidable array, he paused for his comrades to join him, when he raised aloft his powerful weapon and, pointing to the building before them, shouted, in a hoarse, brutal voice: "Into the fire with the nuns!" A bloodthirsty howl answered him from behind.

But suddenly the shrill notes of a bugle were heard above the howling of the mob. It was a signal to the horsemen to hold themselves in readiness for action, and it dampened the ardour of the rioters.

"For heaven's sake," exclaimed Fritz, "don't give the order to attack. We must avoid bloodshed. I will try to make these fellows listen to me."

"Speak, then, in God's name! I will stay at your side," said Richard, as he lighted a cigar and waited for his companion to try the effect of his eloquence on the unruly mob before them.

The convent steps served Fritz as a platform. Addressing his hearers as "brothers," he spoke to them about freedom and the constitution and civic duties, about the schemes of the reactionaries, about their common fatherland and emperor and the glorious days they had just witnessed. Now and then a hoarse outcry from his auditors forced him to pause, and more than once his remarks were punctuated by a flying potato or bit of tile hurled at his head. Richard, too, was hit twice by these missiles.

"Comrade," cried the hussar officer, "I have had quite enough of these potatoes. Wind up your speech as soon as you can and let me try my hand. I shall find a way to make them listen, I promise you!"

"It is a difficult situation," returned Fritz, wiping his brow. "The people have no love for the religious houses; but these nuns are women, and toward women even the revolutionist is chivalrous."

"So I see," rejoined the other dryly, glancing up at the windows of the building, many of which had been shattered by missiles. Fortunately for the inmates, the cells were protected by inner shutters, which were all securely closed.

The rioters now began to pelt the hussars, whose horses were becoming more and more restless. As Fritz opened his mouth to continue his speech, the man with the iron bar began to harangue also, and the people could understand neither of them.

At that moment there appeared from the opposite direction an odd-looking, long-legged student, with three enormous ostrich plumes waving in his hat and a prominent red nose dominating his thin, smooth-shaven face. A tricoloured sash crossed his breast, while a slender parade-sword, girt high up under his arm to prevent his stumbling over it, hung at his side. With a quick step and a light spring, the young man was presently at the side of Richard and Fritz.

"God keep you, comrades!" he cried in greeting. "Calm your fears, for here I am,--Hugo Mausmann, first lieutenant in the second legion. You are hard pressed just now, I can well believe. Friend Fritz is a famous orator, but only in the tragic vein. Tragedy is his forte. But a public speaker must know his audience. Here a Hans Sachs is called for rather than a Schiller. Only make your hearers laugh, and you have carried your point. Just let me give these folks a few of my rhymes, and you shall see them open their eyes, and then their mouths, and all burst out laughing; after that you can do what you will with them."

"All right, comrade," returned Richard; "go ahead and make them laugh, or I shall have to try my hand at making them cry."

Hugo Mausmann stepped forward and made a comical gesture, indicating his desire to be heard. Deliberately drawing out his snuff-box, he tapped it with his finger, and proceeded to take a pinch, an action which struck the spectators as so novel, under the circumstances, that they became silent to a man and thus permitted the speaker to begin his inexhaustible flow of doggerel. With frequent use of such rhyming catchwords as, "in freedom's cause I beg you pause;" "your country's fame, your own good name;" "our banner bright, our heart's delight;" "we're brothers all, to stand or fall,"--he poured out his jingling verse, concluding in a highly dramatic manner by embracing the hussar officer at his side, in sign of the good-fellowship which he described as uniting all classes in the brotherhood of freedom.

"Comrade, you haven't made them laugh yet," said Richard.

Hugo continued his rhymed address, but the people would listen no longer. "Down with the friend of the priests!" sounded from all sides. "Into the fire with the nuns!" And the shower of missiles came thick and fast. An egg hit the speaker on the nose, and filled his mouth and eyes with its contents.

"Give us a rhyme for that, brother!" shouted the successful marksman, and all laughed now in good earnest; but it was the brutal laugh of malice and ridicule at another's discomfiture.

Richard threw his cigar away and sprang down the steps. Fritz intercepted him, and insisted on being heard.

"Brother," he cried, "do nothing rash. Avoid the shedding of blood--not that I fear bloodshed in itself, but the hatred that is sure to grow out of it. We must not hate one another. Your sword must not drink our people's blood. A peaceful issue is still possible."

"What, then, do you advise?"

"Go and speak to the prioress, and persuade her to leave the building with all her nuns; they have no costly possessions to carry with them, and you can soon clear the house. Then we will admit the leaders of the mob and show them that there is no booty to be had, and no nuns there to burn. We will write on the outer doors: 'This is state property,'--as it really is,--and no further injury will be done to the building. Mausmann and I will keep back the mob while you do your errand. By that time the rest of our party will be here, and we will go among the people and make them listen to reason, and cease from violence."

Richard pressed the other's hand. "You are a brave fellow," he exclaimed, "and I will do as you say. Only keep the 'brothers' amused while I go and talk with the 'sisters.'"

With an added respect for these two young men who were bravely trying to gain their ends by peaceful means, Richard returned to the entrance of the convent, and knocked at the door. The cautious door-keeper was at length persuaded to open to him. The captain of hussars felt somewhat ill at ease in playing any other rA'le before the helpless nuns than that of their defender at the head of his cavalry; he consoled himself, however, with the thought that a nun was after all not the same as other women, but a sort of sexless creature who was not to be treated according to the conventional rules of society.

He found the passages all deserted, the nuns being assembled in the refectory. Pausing on the threshold of this room, the young officer beheld a scene that could not fail to move him deeply. In the middle of the room lay a dying sister, while about her were grouped her companions, ministering to her wants and seeking to comfort her. In the group one face caught his eye and held him spellbound.

It was Edith. This, then, was where her aunt had placed her to await her marriage. She stretched out her hands to her lover in despairing appeal, as the bloodthirsty howls of the infuriated mob fell on her ears. With wrath in his bosom the young man ran down the stairs, and out of the door. As he sprang into his saddle he thought he saw a shutter of one of the upper windows pushed partly open. Perhaps Edith was looking out, and watching him.

"Well, if she is looking, she shall see that her lover is a man," he said to himself.

"Clear out of here, you dirty rascals!" were his words to the mob. Insolent laughter and mocking shouts were the answer he received.

The officer's sword flashed over his head, the bugle gave the signal to charge, and Richard dashed forward into the very heart of the raging mob, straight toward the giant form of its leader. The latter brandished his iron weapon and made it whistle through the air. At that moment Richard seemed to hear a scream from the window above; then the six-foot iron bar came down toward his head with a hiss as it cleft the air.

All honour to the Al-Bohacen sword that was raised to meet the blow; and all honour to the arm and hand that received the brunt of its force on the sword-hilt. There was a clash and a shower of sparks, but the Damascus blade stood the test and suffered not a nick or a scratch. Before the giant could lift his weapon again he found himself lying under the horse's hoofs. Five minutes later the square was empty.