CHAPTER XLVI.
HOW EXTREMES MEET.
Never did figure of speech so deplorably insult noble brute as this of Bruno Wolkenberg’s. A more wretchedly abject specimen of the creature man than Tobias Hackernagel looked at this moment, is not conceivable. For once his civic bravery seemed to fail in its power of lending him even meretricious magnificence, and Syndic Hackernagel’s coat did not make Syndic Hackernagel, but hung about his sloping shoulders in flabby dust-whitened folds, a thing to be joyfully wriggled out of, had time and place permitted. But to-day as ever, Tobias Hackernagel is the martyr, not to say the sport of circumstance and of public attention. An effective situation! one such as is generally the very apex of his ambition, to be standing the focus of every eye in that semicircle of municipal magnates and citizens all pranked in their best, and flanked with buff-jerkined halberdiers and a good round dozen of drummers and of trumpeters in gold and scarlet, set in a rapidly widening framework of native population, which, laying aside file and hammer, has turned out all eyes and ears to learn what yonder little ferret-eyed fellow, with the nose angular and wooden of aspect as any carven nutcracker monstrosity that ever left tyro’s chisel, may be having to say. For clearly he is to be spokesman, this pigmy personage, looking specially pigmy by comparison with the stately figure of Dasipodius, in whose presence he now stands, and with the burly form of Burgomaster von Steinbach beside him. Yet, is it from diffidence, or why does he evince such earnest desire to escape the distinction thrust upon him, and hangs back almost as persistently as his companions insist on his stepping forward, going the length even of combining to prod him well to the front with their pikes and other available weapons, among which Burgomaster von Steinbach’s stick does conspicuous service. Clearly to a man these excellently marshalled, resolute-looking representatives of Strassburg’s all sorts and conditions are not to be contravened in their most obvious intention, that Syndic Tobias Hackernagel shall do what he is there to do with all convenient speed.
Patiently expectant meanwhile, Dasipodius stands leaning against the oak, whose spreading boughs mellow the mid-day glare into a gracious light, transfiguring his pale calm features with almost unearthly effulgence, and streaking with golden his waves of dusky hair.
Patience, whatsoever other qualities they may possess or lack, is the special grace of men physically afflicted, and it well becomes him now, mingled as it is with the shade of saddened perplexity, that neither of that trio of trusty friends, within whispering distance of him, are at any pains to unriddle for him anything that is passing around.
A deafening and prolonged trumpet blare, echoing to the valley’s heights and depths, startles him from his speculations. Then, as at last that spends itself, there falls a silence, broken only by the buz-chirp-twee of the myriad insect creatures footing it about the sward, till Niklaus von Steinbach bursts forth with a stentorian “Well! Master Hackernagel?”
Syndic Hackernagel’s jaw starts open, much as if string were its motive power. The movement is, however, productive of nothing beyond a fearsome elongation of his hatchet face, and a silence intenser than the first prevails.
“Well, I say, Master Hackernagel,” reiterates von Steinbach, “we are waiting your very good pleasure,” and he glances peremptorily from the Syndic’s face to the parchment his lean fingers clutch with such convulsive restlessness, that presently it slips to the ground.
“I—I,” stammers Hackernagel, stooping to recover it, “am—must I—am I to—speak first?”
“First and last, my friend. You have it all your own way this time. I and these gentlemen here are but witnesses.”
“Yes, precisely—quite so—perfectly so. But—but,” and with an idiotic contortion of his lips, only by the grossest flattery to be construed into a smile, the Syndic blinks over his shoulder.
“Ay! ay! to be sure, Syndic, quite right,” nods Niklaus, following the direction of his glance. “So it should be.”
And the stick signals a second trumpet blast; which bursting with terrific force in the rear of the unprepared Syndic, sends him forward with a distracted bound.
“But I tell you,” gasps he, turning ragefully on Niklaus, and mopping the great heat drops beading profusely out all over his peaked forehead, “I tell you—this is informal! Out of all ruling. There should be some—something to lead up to—there sh—should be at least three preliminary——”
“And so there should. Thunder and lightning! so there should. You’re the man to understand these little things. Ho there! drums and trumpets, ho!”
And the Burgomaster’s stick evokes a third rousing blast, which rolls thunderously through the hills, and sends the birds flying frantically shrieking over the dark waters.
“That’s what you mean, isn’t it?”
“No, no!” protests Hackernagel, glowering through tears of mingled spite and discomfort at von Steinbach, and then with shuddering apprehension at the hateful array of musical instruments. “I didn’t; and—and let me tell you, Bur—Burgomaster——”
“O yes! O yes! O yes!” shouts the Recorder.
“Now, Master Hackernagel!” prompts Niklaus, lifting his stick with an admonitory flourish.
“But—but——”
“Now, Master Hackernagel!”
Soft, clear, resonant as a bell, falls that voice upon the Syndic’s ear, chasing from his face every particle of colour as entirely as it conjures the deepest of crimson flushes to Surgeon Wolkenberg’s.
Not all the trumpets in Christendom could galvanise Tobias Hackernagel to action as that woman’s voice does. And hardly staying fairly to unfold his voluminous document, he reads forth from it its heading and superscription in hurriedly confused tones. “To the most—hem—illustrious and—hem, hem.”
“He’s picked up a cold,” parenthesised Klausewitz in sympathetic sotto voce. “And no wonder neither. That confounded river mist last night was enough to——”
“Silence!” shouts Niklaus, “for Syndic Hackernagel. To the most illustrious and erudite—Go on, Syndic, we are all attention.”
“Hem—Professor Dasipodius, Citizen of Strassburg, Doctor of Sciences, and Head Mathematical Doctor of the University of the aforesaid city, on the part of me, individually, Tobias Hackernagel, Syndic of Strassburg, and farther, on the part of the Municipality and Citizens of the same city—greeting—hem——”
“Just so,” nods Burgomaster Niklaus, in such tones as a pedagogue will use towards a refractory scholar, in whom he fancies he sees a faint gleam of better things. Then he glances tentatively at Dasipodius, who, lifting his cap in acknowledgment of the salutation, remains bareheaded. “Proceed, Master Hackernagel.”
“Whereas,” continues Hackernagel, fumbling at his document.
“Speak up!” shouts a chorus of voices. “Pitch it higher!”
“Whereas in the month of January last,” valiantly pipes up the Syndic, “you, the most—hem—illustrious and—hem, hem—erudite Professor Conrad Dasipodius, being at such time, and for the space of two previous years, engaged upon the work of superintending the making of a Horologe for the Saint Laurence Chapel on the south side of the interior of the Cathedral Church of—of our—hem—Blessed Lady, in aforenamed City of Strassburg, such high and honourable charge being entrusted to you by general consent and suffrage of the Burgesses, and of the Most Worshipful Guild of Clockmakers of the city, guided in their choice of you, most erudite Professor Dasipodius, by their estimation of—hem—your fitness for such devoir, wherein, as the sages of old days did aptly observe, for the ignorant and unlearned to intermeddle, is a thing exceeding dangerous, and that they who do so presume are found to partake of the nature of fools.
“Wherefore,” hurried on Tobias, “seeing that the Science of Horology being a thing in itself so lofty and noble, does in a manner partake of the Divine Wisdom, and of a consequence of Heaven itself; and whereas, speaking under one of those divers figures or symbols of the great and abstruse Science of Mathematics, whereto also the knowledge of Horology doth of necessity pertain—extremes do meet—and whereas by the wilful and ignorant, the extreme of intimate, and of almost perfect knowledge which as aforesaid is the gift of Heaven, and attained—hem—unto by—hem, hem—you, most illustrious and erudite Professor Dasipodius, has been in divers times since the world’s beginning confounded with that other and most diabolical extreme of magic and of witchcraft, which is known to proceed out of the filthiness of hell, and is the firstborn of the archfiend Satan himself; and whereas the rumour that you, Professor Dasipodius, did attain unto your high academic estate and lofty repute by aid of such unlawful arts was sent abroad and fomented among the vulgar, even unto the detriment of your good name, and the endangerment of your precious life, by certain—hem—meddlesome persons holding office in the municipality of this city, wherewith I, Tobias Hackernagel, do stand officially connected; and whereas aforesaid rumour did magnify and grow when it came to be known beyond all manner of doubting, that Providence had deemed fit to deprive you of sight, afflicting you with that most strange and rare form of blindness which is called of all time Gutta Serena, and besides of modern chirurgeons Amaurosis, and because to the careless or superficial observer, in your outward eyes no trace of your so sorely-to-be-deplored calamity is observable, certain persons—hem—by reason of their most—hem, hem—pitiable lack of knowledge and wretched obliquity of vision (which doth challenge commiseration infinitely greater than pure physical affliction) did fondly lend credence to the most malicious and lying rumours circulated by me, Tobias Hackernagel—No, no, that’s not it!” shrieked Tobias agonizedly, interrupting himself. “I’ve turned over two leaves! I have indeed!”
“Circulated by certain evil-minded persons,” he went on, referring back, “thereby bringing about the setting aside of you, illustrious and erudite Professor Dasipodius, and the exalting into your office and dignities a certain—hem—ignorant and—hem, hem—incompetent-person, thereby imitating the foolish example of the Israelites of old, who did set up a golden calf——”
“It’s most awfully profane. Eh, Radegund?” whispered Otto von Steinbach, whose presence with the deputation had been officially and pressingly requested.
“A golden calf to worship, and seeing that it never has been, and never will be, in the power of stocks and stones——”
“Such long-winded twaddle, isn’t it?” parenthesised Otto again.
“To elaborate high and lofty works, and the condition to which the Cathedral Horologe has by such mismanagement been brought being so deplorable, the Burgesses of our city do plainly perceive that they have been placed grievously in error and hoodwinked by their false guides and advisers, whose—hem—ignorance, not only in the Science of Horology, but of much plain learning and common sense besides, is curiously great, do herewith acknowledge themselves sorely repentant of their decision which compassed your setting aside, most erudite Professor Dasipodius; and whereas it doth behove and become those who do err, and lead others to err, to make full and earnest confession of their error, the Burgesses of Strassburg and all others concerned do herewith depute and command me, Tobias Hack—hem—Hackernagel, humbly to acknowledge our grievous wrong committed against you, most illustrious and erudite Professor Conrad Dasipodius, and herewith do entreat you to pardon the ignorance and wilfulness of the act, and at once graciously to resume and to take up your duties laid aside, and all such dignities and honours appertaining thereto, and to hold yourself reinstated of the high consideration you formerly enjoyed. And by these are unanimously and for ever cancelled those suffrages which did unlawfully constitute one Otto von Steinbach Cathedral Horologist in your stead. Whereto witness our hand this fifth day of June, anno domini 1573. And hereby, as below, we do notify our full and hearty concurrence and approval of this measure.”
Here followed the signatures of those concerned, which, his own one safely got through with, the Syndic managed to read out in composed and collected tones, and even with something of his wonted style.
It earns however no attention; for not an eye there, not an ear but turns in absorbed and tense interest to Dasipodius. For the Syndic himself, as the last word leaves his lips, and utter silence prevails, it is an awful moment. If the mathematician should turn a deaf ear and refuse, think of it. Ah! and Hackernagel with a shudder glances covertly at the lake, whose calm, deadly smooth level grows fearsomely suggestive in his practical mind of one vast duckpool. Not in all Germany is such an excitable impulsive fellow as your Strassburger, in whose veins, come how it may, runs a dangerous current of Gallic blood; and now if things do not go as they desire, the Syndic feels that his chances of returning skin-whole to the bosom of his family are infinitesimal; and so with stranded fish-like gasps and eyes downcast, for somehow he dare not look, as the rest are looking, into the mathematician’s face, Tobias Hackernagel awaits the fiat.