Gustav Freytag

Preparing for Publication

BOLZ, Editor; MÜLLER, BELLMAUS, and KÄMPE, Assistants.

Bolz. Well, Müller, what about the proofs for the evening edition? Have I seen them all?

Mül. Not quite-all except this (handing proof), for the "Miscellaneous" column.

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Bolz. Let's see it. (Reads.) Garments Stolen from Clothes-Line." "Birth of Triplets." "Concert." Concert." "Lodge Meeting." "Theatrical Performance"— quite so, quite so!" Invention of a New Locomotive." The Great Sea-Serpent"- Confound him, dishing up that old sea-serpent of his again! I'd like to see the beast served up as a jelly, and himself obliged to eat it cold!-Bellmaus, you fiend, what's the meaning of this?

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Bell. Why, what's the matter? What are you so excited about?

Bolz (very solemnly). Ah, Bellmaus, when we conferred the honor upon you of entrusting you with the manufacture of bric-a-brac for this newspaper, our intention was not that the great serpent should wind itself everlastingly through our columns. By the way, how the deuce did you come to stick that old yarn in again?

Bell. Oh, it just happened to fill up six lines that were wanting.

Bolz. An excuse, to be sure, but not the best. You must invent your own stories, my dear chap. What are you a

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journalist for? Make up some "Voluntary Contribution," such as General Considerations upon Human Existence," or "Dogs on the Public Highways." As an alternative, you might select a blood-curdling tale, perhaps “Murder in the First Degree from Sheer Politeness," or else, "Six Sleeping Children Slain by a Stoat," or something of the kind. There are so many things which happen all the time, and so many more which don't, that the most conscientious journalist need never be at a loss for news.

Bell. All right! Give me the proof; I'll change it at once. (Goes to table, cuts out piece from a newspaper, and

pastes it on proof.)

Bolz. That's the way, my boy! I'm glad to see you are improving.

Käm. What do you want me to supply for to-morrow? Bolz. Hanged if I know! I might possibly induce some one to write the leading article. However, you had better be ready with something, in case of an emergency.

Käm. Very well; but what?

Bolz. Oh, you can write about emigration to Australia. That subject won't call forth disapproval from anybody.

Käm. Agreed! And am I to speak for, or against, emigration to Australia?

Bolz (enthusiastically). Against-by all means, against! All willing hands we want in our own country. Describe Australia as a terrible place; paint it in its true colors, you know, but as black as possible. Say how the kangaroo, rolling itself up into a ball, flies at the colonist's head with irresistible ferocity, while the duckbill tweaks at his calves from behind; how the gold-digger is compelled to stand up to his neck in salt water all through the winter, while he never gets a drop to drink for three months in the summer;

how the emigrant, if he survives these horrors, at last is eaten up by the thievish natives. Make it all very graphic, and at the end give the latest quotations of Australian wool from the Times. You'll find the necessary books in the library." The Journalists."

Viktor von Scheffel

Temporal Power

“WHERE were we insulted in the person of our servant?" asked the duchess.

"Out upon the fields, by the circle of rocks. They caught him, dragged him to the grave of the Huns, and would have slain him."

"In the very center of our domain!" The voice of the duchess rang out. "That is too much! Where is our chamberlain? Sir Spazzo, you will ride!"

"We will ride!" said the chamberlain grimly.

"And this very day you will demand tribute, fine, and apology from the Abbot of Reichenau. The temporal power shall not be interfered with by monkish insolence!"

"Not be interfered with by monkish insolence!" repeated Sir Spazzo, waxing still more wroth.

No pleasanter commission could have come to him. He stroked his beard. "We will ride, Sir Abbot!" he said, and went to equip himself.

He did not take his velvet doublet, nor his embroidered cloak. He put on a shabby leather jerkin, buckled on his greaves and heavy spurs, with which he had ridden to battle, and tested the clank of his tread. An iron cap with three large feathers he set upon his head, and girt his great sword about his middle.

Thus he came into the courtyard.

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Consider me a moment, oh, lovely Praxedis!" he said to

the duchess's Greek maid. What kind of face have I to-day?"

"A most insolent one, Sir Chamberlain," answered the girl.

66 Good! cried Sir Spazzo, and sprang upon his horse. He rode out of the gate with a flying of sparks, filled by the joyous thought that, for once, insolence and duty were identical.

He practised manners on the way. A fallen fir-tree blocked his path. "Out of the way, monkish clod!" The clod did not move. Sir Spazzo drew his sword. "Forward, Falada!" The horse jumped the tree. Sir Spazzo made the twigs fly with his sword.

An hour and a half and he was at the convent gate. Sir Spazzo swung down from his horse.

Across the court he came to the inner door. The gong was sounding for the midday meal. Swiftly one of the friars crossed the yard. Sir Spazzo grasped the monk's habit, and that not gently.

"Call me down the abbot!" he commanded.

The monk, surprised, glanced at the stranger's shabby apparel. "It is meal-time. If you are invited, but—”

A fist flew into the brother's face; the brother flew to the ground, and the sunlight shone upon his tonsure.

The abbot had heard that his men had laid violent hands upon the duchess's serf. He heard the tumult in the cloister court, saw pious Brother Yvo gyrating in the sun, and drew conclusions. "Happy is he," sings Vergil," who understands the hidden causes of things." Abbot Wazmann discerned these causes. He had seen the nodding plumes of Spazzo's head-gear from afar.

"Call down the abbot!"