The London Magazine/1820–1829/Series 1/Volume 7/June/Mr. Schnackenberger; or, Two Masters for One Dog

by Friedrich August Schulze

For other English-language translations of this work, see Zwei Herren für einen Hund.

Mr. Schnackenberger;
OR,
TWO MASTERS FOR ONE DOG.

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FROM THE GERMAN.

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(Concluded from the last Number.)

CHAPTER XIII.

In which Good Luck and Bad Luck are distributed in equal proportions.

The good luck seemed to have anticipated Mr. Schnackenberger’s nearest wishes. For on reaching the Double-barreled Gun, whither he arrived without further disturbance than that of the general gazing to which he was exposed by the fragment of a coat which survived from the late engagement, a billet was put into his hands of the following tenour: “Come and explain this evening, if you can explain, your astonishing neglect of this morning’s appointment. I shall be at the theatre; and shall do what I can to dismiss my attendants.”

But bad luck came also—in the person of a lawyer. The lawyer stated that he called on the part of the landlady of the Golden Sow, to put the question for the last time in civil terms, “whether Mr. Schnackenberger were prepared to fulfil those just expectations which he had raised in her heart; or whether she must be compelled to pursue her claims by due course of law.”

Mr. Schnackenberger was beginning to launch out with great fury upon the shameless and barefaced impudence of such expectations: but the attorney interrupted him; and observed with provoking coolness, “that there was no occasion for any warmth—no occasion in the world; that certainly Mrs. Sweetbread could not have framed these expectations wholly out of the air: something (and he grinned sarcastically), something, it must be supposed, had passed: now, for instance, this wedding-shirt of the late Mr. Sweetbread---she would hardly, I think, have resigned this to your use, Mr. Schnackenberger, unless some engagements had preceded either in the shape of words or of actions. However, said he, this is no part of my business; what remains for me to do on this occasion is to present her account; and let me add, that I am instructed to say that, if you come to a proper understanding with her on the first point, no further notice will be taken of this last part of my client’s demand.

The unfortunate Mr. Schnackenberger considered the case most ruefully and in awful perturbation. He perspired exceedingly. However, at length---“Come, I don’t care,” said he, “I know what I’ll do:” and then sitting down, he drew up a paper, which he presented to Mr. Attorney; at the same time, explaining to him that, rather than be exposed in a court of justice as a supposed lover of Mrs. Sweetbread’s, he was content to pay the monstrous charges of her bill without applying to a magistrate for his revision: but upon this condition only, that Mrs. Sweetbread should for herself, heirs, and assigns, execute a general release with regard to Mr. Jeremiah Schnackenberger’s body, according to the form here drawn up by himself, and should engage on no pretence whatever to set up any claim to him in times to come.

The attorney took his leave for the purpose of laying this release before his client: but the landlord of the Double-barreled Gun, to whom in confidence Mr. Jeremiah disclosed his perilous situation, shook his head, and said, that if the other party signed the release on the conditions offered, it would be fortunate: as in that case, Mr. Schnackenberger would come off on much easier terms than twenty-three other gentlemen had done, who had all turned into the Golden Sow on different occasions, but not one of whom had ever got clear of the Golden Sow without an expensive contest at law. “God bless my soul!” said Mr. Schnacken- berger, who now “funked”^[1] enormously; “if that’s the case, she might well have so much spare room to offer me: 23 gentlemen! God bless my soul!

At this instant, a servant brought back the shoes and clothes of Mr. Schnackenberger’s own manufacture, which had been pulled off and left at the hotel of the princess. The student gave up the pumps and the borrowed coat to the astonished servant, with an assurance that he would wait on her highness and make his personal excuses to her, on account of “a little accident” which had that morning befallen the coat. He then dispatched his own coat to a quarter where something or other might be done to fit it for this sublunary world.

CHAPTER XIV.

In what way Mr. Jeremiah supplies the want of his Coat.

The play-hour was arrived; and yet no coat was forthcoming from the tailor: on the contrary, the tailor himself was gone to the play. The landlord of the Double-barreled Gun, who would readily have lent one, was off upon a rural excursion, and not expected at home before the next morning; and the waiter, whose assistance would not have been disdained in such a pressing emergency, was of so spare and meagre a habit, that, in spite of furious exertions on the part of Mr. Schnackenberger, John’s coat would not let itself be entered upon by this new tenant. In this exigency, John bethought him of an old clothesman in the neighbourhood. There he made inquiries. But he, alas! was out on his summer rounds with his whole magazine of clothes; no one article being left with his wife, except a great box-coat, such as is technically called a “dreadnought,” for which it was presumed that no demand could possibly arise at this season of the year.

On this report being made, to the great astonishment of the waiter, Mr. Jeremiah said, “Well, then, let us have the dreadnought. If the Fates ordain that I should go to the play in the dog-days appareled in a dreadnought, let not me vainly think of resisting their decrees.”

“But,” said the waiter, shrugging his shoulders, “the people ———”

“The what?” said Mr. Schnackenberger: “the people—was it you said; the people? Pray how many people do you reckon to a man? No, Sir, do as I bid you; just bring me the dreadnought and a round hat.”

The waiter obeyed: and, although the dreadnought was by one good ell too short, yet Mr. Jeremiah exulted in his strange apparel, because he flattered himself that in such a disguise he could preserve a strict incognito; with a view to which he also left Juno behind, recommending her to the vigilant attentions of the waiter.

CHAPTER XV.

Which contains a Play within a Play.

All the world was astonished, when from the door of the Double-barreled Gun a man stepped forth on the hottest day in August, arrayed as for a Siberian winter in a dreadnought, guarded with furs, and a hat pressed down, so as almost to cover his face. The train of curious persons who attended his motions naturally grew larger at every step.

Whosoever had hitherto doubted whether this man were mad—doubted no longer when he was seen to enter the theatre; where in the lightest summer-clothing the heat was scarcely supportable.

Within the theatre, the attention of all people was directed so undividedly upon himself, that even Mr. Schnackenberger began to opine that he had undertaken something extraordinary: so much the more, thought he, will it be prudent to hide my face, that I may not again compromise my dignity in the presence of her Highness. But this concealment of his face raised the strongest suspicions against him. Throughout the whole house—pit—boxes—and galleries—there was but one subject of conversation; viz. the man in the dreadnought; and, whilst in all other parts the house was crowded to excess, upon his bench no soul would sit: and he created as much superfluity of room as he had found at the Golden Sow. At length the manager waited upon him, and requested that he would either retire from the theatre, or that he would explain what could have induced him to make his appearance in a costume which had spread alarm and anxiety through the public mind; and which was likely to do a serious injury to the receipts of the night.

At this moment several children began to cry—taking him for black^[2] Robert. The consequence was, that, as they could not be pacified, the first scene was mere dumb show to the audience; and some giddy young people set up a loud “off, off, Dreadnought!” which cry was instantly seconded by the public. Nevertheless, as the Princess at that instant entered her box, Mr. Schnackenberger, however hard pressed, thought it became him to maintain his post to the last extremity. This extremity forthwith appeared in the shape of three armed soldiers, who, on behalf of the police, took him into custody. Possibly Mr. Jeremiah might have shown himself less tractable to the requests of these superannuated antiquities—but for two considerations; first, that an opportunity might thus offer of exchanging his dreadnought for a less impressive costume; and, secondly, that in case of his declining to accompany them, he saw signs abroad that a generous and enlightened public did very probably purpose to kick him out; a conjecture which was considerably strengthened by the universal applause which attended his exit at quick time.

Mr. Schnackenberger was escorted by an immense retinue of old street-padders and youthful mudlarks to the city goal. His own view of the case was, that the public had been guilty of a row, and ought to be arrested. But the old Mayor, who was half-deaf, comprehended not a syllable of what he said: all his remonstrances about “pressing business” went for nothing: and, when he made a show of escaping upon seeing the gloomy hole into which he was now handed, his worship threatened him with drawing out the city guard.

From one of this respectable body, who brought him straw to lie upon, and the wretched prison allowance of food, he learned that his examination could not take place that day nor even the next; for the next was a holiday, on which Mr. Mayor never did any business. On receiving this dolorous information, Mr. Schnackenberger’s first impulse was to knock down his informant and run away: but a moment’s consideration satisfied him—that, though he might by this means escape from his cell, he could have no chance of forcing the prison gates.

CHAPTER XVI.

In what way Mr. Jeremiah escapes; and what he finds in the street.

A most beautiful moonlight began at this juncture to throw its beams in the prison, when Mr. Schnackenberger, starting up from his sleepless couch, for pure rage, seized upon the iron bars of his window, and shook them with a fervent prayer, that instead of bars it had pleased God to put Mr. Mayor within his grasp. To his infinite astonishment, the bars were more obedient to his wrath than could have been expected. One shake more, and like a row of carious teeth they were all in Mr. Schnackenberger’s hand.

It may be supposed that Mr. Schnackenberger lost no time in using his good fortune; indeed, a very slight jump would suffice to place him at liberty. Accordingly, when the sentinel had retired to a little distance, he flung his dreadnought out of the window—leaped upon it—and stood without injury on the outside of the prison.

“Who goes there?” cried the alarmed sentinel, coyly approaching the spot from which the noise issued.

“Nobody,” said the fugitive: and by way of answer to the challenge—“Speak, or I must fire”—which tremulously issued from the lips of the city hero, Mr. Schnackenberger, gathering up his dreadnought to his breast, said in a hollow voice, “Fellow, thou art a dead man.”

Straitway the armed man fell upon his knees before him, and cried out--“ah! gracious Sir! have mercy upon me. I am a poor wig-maker; and a bad trade it is; and I petitioned his worship, and have done for this many a year, to be taken into the city guard; and yesterday I passed”---

“Passed what?”

“Passed my examination, your honour:—his worship put me through the manual exercise: and I was ’triculated into the corps. It would be a sad thing, your honour, to lose my life the very next day after I was ’triculated.”

“Well,” said Mr. Jeremiah, who with much ado forbore laughing immoderately, “For this once I shall spare your life: but then remember—not a word, no sound or syllable.”

“Not one, your honour, I vow to heaven.”

“And down upon the spot deliver me your coat, side arms, and hat.”

But the martial wig-maker protested that, being already ill of a cold, he should, without all doubt, perish if he were to keep guard in his shirt-sleeves.

“Well, in that case, this dreadnought will be a capital article: allow me to prescribe it—it’s an excellent sudorific.”

Necessity has no law: and so, to save his life, the city hero, after some little struggle, submitted to this unusual exchange.

“Very good!” said Mr. Schnackenberger, as the warrior in the dreadnought, after mounting his round hat, again shouldered his musket:—“Now, good night;” and so saying, he hastened off to the residence of the Mayor.

CHAPTER XVII.

Mr. Jeremiah’s Night Interview with the Mayor upon State Affairs.

“Saints in heaven! is this the messenger of the last day?” Screamed out a female voice, as the door-bell rang out a furious alarum—peal upon peal---under that able performer, Mr. Jeremiah Schnackenberger. She hastened to open the door; but, when she beheld a soldier in the state uniform, she assured him it was all over with him; for his worship was gone to bed; and, when that was the case, he never allowed of any disturbance without making an example.

“Aye, but I come upon state-business.”

“No matter,” said the old woman, “it’s all one: when his worship sleeps, business must sleep: that’s the law, I’ll assure you, and has been any time since I can think on. He always commits, at the least.”

“Very likely; but I must speak to him.”

“Well, then, take the consequences on yourself,” said she: “recollect, you’re a state soldier; you’ll be brought to a court-martial; you’ll be shot.

“Ah! well: that’s my concern.”

“Mighty well,” said the old woman: “one may as well speak to the wind. However, I’ll get out the way: I’ll not come near the hurricane. And don’t you say, I didn’t warn you.”

So saying, she let him up to her master’s bed-room door, and then trotted off as fast and as far as she could.

At this moment Mr. Mayor, already wakened and discomposed by the violent tintinnabulation, rushed out: “What!” said he, “am I awake? Is it a guardsman that has this audacity?”

“No guardsman, Mr. Mayor,” said our hero; in whose face his worship was vainly poring with the lamp to spell out the features of some one amongst the twelve members of the state-guard; “no guardsman, but a gentleman that was apprehended last night at the theatre.”

“Ah!” said the Mayor trembling in every limb, “a prisoner, and escaped? And perhaps has murdered the guard?---What would you have of me---me, a poor, helpless, unfortunate man?”

And, at every word he spoke, he continued to step back towards a bell that lay upon the table.

“Basta,” said Mr. Schnackenberger, taking the bell out of his hands. “Mr. Mayor, I’m just the man in the dreadnought. And I’ve a question to ask you, Mr. Mayor; and I thought it was rather long to wait until morning; so I took the liberty of coming for an answer to-night; and I’d think myself particularly obliged to you for it now:---Upon what authority do you conceive yourself entitled to commit me, an innocent man, and without a hearing, to an abominable hole of a dungeon? I have not murdered the guard, Mr. Mayor: but I troubled him for his regimental coat, that I might gain admittance to your worship: and I left him the dreadnought in exchange.

“The dreadnought?” said the Mayor. “Aye: now this very dreadnought it was, Sir, that compelled me (making a low bow) to issue my warrant for your apprehension.” And it then came out, that in a list of stolen goods recently lodged with the magistrates a dreadnought was particularly noticed: and Mr. Mayor having seen a man enter the theatre in an article answering to the description, and easily identified by a black cross embroidered upon the back, was obliged by his duty to have him arrested; more especially as the wearer had increased the suspicion against himself by concealing his face.

This explanation naturally reconciled Mr. Schnackenberger to the arrest: and as to the filthy dungeon, that admitted of a still simpler apology, as it seemed that the town afforded no better.

“Why then, Mr. Mayor,—as things stand, it seems to me that in the point of honour I ought to be satisfied: and in that case I still consider myself your prisoner, and shall take up my quarters for this night in your respectable mansion.”

“But no!” thought Mr. Mayor: “better let a rogue escape, than keep a man within my doors that may commit a murder on my body.” So he assured Mr. Schnackenberger—that he had accounted in the most satisfactory manner for being found in possession of the dreadnought; took down the name of the old clothesman from whom it was hired; and lighting down his now discharged prisoner, he declared, with a rueful attempt at smiling, that it gave him the liveliest gratification on so disagreeable an occasion to have made so very agreeable an acquaintance.

CHAPTER XVIII.

Misery acquaints Mr. Schnackenberger with strange bed-fellows.

When Mr. Schnackenberger returned home from his persecutions, he found the door of the Double-barreled Gun standing wide open: and, as he had observed a light in his own room, he walked right up stairs without disturbing the sleeping waiter. But to his great astonishment, two gigantic fellows were posted outside the door; who, upon his affirming that he must be allowed to enter his own room, seemed in some foreign and unintelligible language to support the negative of that proposition. Without further scruple or regard to their menacing gestures, he pressed forwards to the chamber door; but immediately after felt himself laid hold of by the two fellows—one at his legs, the other at his head—and, spite of his most indignant protests, carried down stairs into the yard. There he was tumbled into a little depôt for certain four-footed animals—with whose golden representative he had so recently formed an acquaintance no less intimate;—and, the height of the building not allowing of his standing upright, he was disposed to look back with sorrow to the paradise lost of his station upon the back of the quiet animal whom he had ridden on the preceding day. Even the dungeon appeared an elysium in comparison with his present lodgings, where he felt the truth of the proverb brought home to him—that it is better to be alone than in bad company.

Unfortunately, the door being fastened on the outside, there remained nothing else for him to do than to draw people to the spot by a vehement howling. But the swine being disturbed by this unusual outcry, and a general uproar taking place among the inhabitants of the stye, Mr. Schnackenberger’s single voice, suffocated by rage, was overpowered by the swinish accompaniment. Some little attention was, however, drawn to the noise amongst those who slept near to the yard: but on the waiter’s assuring them that it was “only a great pig who would soon be quiet,” that the key could not be found, and no lock-smith was in the way at that time of night; the remonstrants were obliged to betake themselves to the same remedy of patience which by this time seemed to Mr. Jeremiah also the sole remedy left to himself.

CHAPTER XIX.

Whose end reconciles our Hero with its beginning.

Mr. Schnackenberger’s howling had (as the waiter predicted) gradually died away, and he was grimly meditating on his own miseries, to which he had now lost all hope of seeing an end before day-light, when the sudden rattling of a key at the yard door awakened flattering hopes in his breast. It proved to be the waiter, who came to make a gaol delivery—and on letting him out said, “I am commissioned by the gentlemen to secure your silence;” at the same time putting into his hand a piece of gold.

“The d——l take your gold!” said Mr. Schnackenberger: “is this the practice at your house–first to abuse your guests, and then have the audacity to offer them money?”

“Lord protect us!” said the waiter, now examining his face, “is it you? but who would ever have looked for you in such a dress as this? The gentlemen took you for one of the police. Lord! to think what a trouble you’ll have had!”

And it now came out, that a party of foreigners had pitched upon Mr. Jeremiah’s room as a convenient one for playing at hazard and some other forbidden games; and to prevent all disturbance from the police, had posted their servants, who spoke not a word of German, as sentinels at the door.

“But how came you to let my room for such a purpose?”

“Because we never expected to see you to-night; we had heard that the gentleman in the dreadnought had been taken up at the theatre, and committed. But the gentlemen are all gone now; and the room’s quite at your service.”

Mr. Schnackenberger, however, who had lost the first part of the night’s sleep from suffering, was destined to lose the second from pleasure: for the waiter now put into his hands the following billet: “No doubt you must have waited for me to no purpose in the passages of the theatre: but alas! our firmest resolutions we have it not always in our power to execute; and on this occasion, I found it quite impossible consistently with decorum to separate myself from my attendants. Will you therefore attend the hunt to-morrow morning? there I hope a better opportunity will offer.”

It added to his happiness on this occasion that the Princess had manifestly not detected him as the man in the dreadnought.

CHAPTER XX.

In which Mr. Schnackenberger acts upon the ambitious feelings of a man in office for an amiable purpose.

Next morning, when the Provost-marshal came to fetch back the appointments of the military wig-maker, it struck our good-natured student that he had very probably brought the poor fellow into an unpleasant scrape. He felt, therefore, called upon as a gentleman, to wait upon the Mayor, and do his best to beg him off. In fact, he arrived just in time: for all the arrangements were complete for demonstrating to the poor wig-maker, by an à posteriori line of argument, the importance of valour in his new employment.

Mr. Schnackenberger entreated the Mayor to be lenient: courage, he said, was not every man’s business: as a wig-maker, the prisoner could have had little practice in that virtue: the best of wigs were often made by cowards: “and even as a soldier,” said he, “it’s odds if there should be such another alarm for the next hundred years.” But all in vain: his judge was too much incensed: “Such a scandalous dereliction of duty!” said he; “No, no: I must make an example of him.”

Hereupon, Mr. Jeremiah observed, that wig-makers were not the only people who sometimes failed in the point of courage: “Nay,” said he, “I have known even mayors who by no means shone in that department of duty: and in particular, I am acquainted with some who would look exceedingly blue, aye d——lish blue indeed, if a student whom I have the honour to know should take it into his head to bring before the public a little incident in which they figured, embellished with wood-cuts, representing a retreat by forced marches towards a bell in the back-ground.”

Mr. Mayor changed colour; and pausing a little to think, at length he said—“Sir, you are in the right; every man has his weak moments. But it would be unhandsome to expose them to the scoffs of the public.”

“Why, yes, upon certain conditions.”

“Which conditions I comply with,” said his worship; and forthwith he commuted the punishment for a reprimand and a short confinement.

On these terms Mr. Schnackenberger assured him of his entire silence with respect to all that had passed.

CHAPTER XXI.

In which the Hopes of two Lovers are wrecked at once.

“Beg your pardon, Sir, are you Mr. Schnackenberger?” said a young man to our hero, as he was riding out of the city gate.

“Yes, Sir, I’m the man; what would you have with me?” and, at the same time looking earnestly at him, he remembered his face amongst the footmen on the birth-night.

“At the Forester’s house—about eleven o’clock,” whispered the man mysteriously.

“Very good,” said Mr. Schnackenberger, nodding significantly; and forthwith, upon the wings of rapturous anticipation, he flew to the place of rendezvous.

On riding into the Forester’s court-yard, among several other open carriages, he observed one lined with celestial blue, which, with a strange grossness of taste, exhibited upon the cushions a medley of hams, sausages, &c. On entering the house, he was at no loss to discover the owner of the carriage; for in a window-seat of the bar sate the landlady of the Golden Sow, no longer in widow’s weeds, but arrayed in colours brighter than a bed of tulips.

Mr. Schnackenberger was congratulating himself on his quarrel with her, which he flattered himself must preclude all amicable intercourse, when she saw him, and to his horror approached with a smiling countenance. Some overtures towards reconciliation he saw were in the wind: but, as these could not be listened to except on one condition, he determined to meet her with a test question: accordingly, as she drew near, simpering and languishing,

“Have you executed?” said he abruptly, “Have you executed?”

“Have I what?” said Mrs. Sweetbread.

“Executed? Have you executed the release?”

“Oh! you bad man! But come now: I know——”

At this moment, however, up came some acquaintances of Mrs. Sweetbread’s, who had ridden out to see the hunt; and, whilst her attention was for one moment drawn off to them, Mr. Schnackenberger slipped unobserved into a parlour: it was now half-past ten by the Forester’s clock; and he resolved to wait here until the time fixed by the Princess. Whilst sitting in this situation, he heard in an adjoining room (separated only by a slight partition) his own name often repeated: the voice was that of Mr. Von Pilsen; loud laughter followed every sentence; and on attending more closely, Mr. Schnackenberger perceived that he was just terminating an account of his own adventures at the Golden Sow, and of his consequent embroilment with the amorous landlady. All this, however, our student would have borne with equanimity. But next followed a disclosure which mortified his vanity in the uttermost degree. A few words sufficed to unfold to him that Mr. Von Pilsen, in concert with the waiter of the Double-barreled Gun and that young female attendant of the Princess, whose kitten had been persecuted by Juno, had framed the whole plot, and had written the letters which Mr. Schnackenberger had ascribed to her Highness. He had scarce patience to hear out the remainder. In some way or other, Von Pilsen had so far mistaken our hero, as to pronounce him “chicken-hearted:” and upon this ground, he invited his whole audience to an evening party at the public rooms of the Double-barreled Gun—where he promised to play off Mr. Schnackenberger as a glorious exhibition for this night only.

Furious with wrath, and moreover anxious to escape before Von Pilsen and his party should see him, and know that this last forgery no less than the others had succeeded in duping him into a punctual observance of the appointment, Mr. Schnackenberger rushed out of the room, seized his horse’s bridle—and was just on the point of mounting, when up came his female tormentor, Mrs. Sweetbread.

“Come, come, now,” said she, smiling in her most amiable manner; “we were both under a mistake yesterday morning: and both of us were too hasty. The booby of a lad took you to the Gun, when you wanted nothing but the Sow: you were a little ‘fresh,’ and didn’t know it; and I thought you did it on purpose. But I know better now. And here I am to fetch you back to the Sow: so come along: and we’ll forget and forgive on both sides.”

So saying, she would have taken his arm most lovingly: but Mr. Schnackenberger stoutly refused. He had nothing to do with her but to pay his bill; he wanted nothing of her but his back-sword, which he had left at the Sow; and he made a motion towards his stirrup. But Mrs. Sweetbread laid her hand upon his arm, and asked him tenderly—if her person were then so utterly disgusting to him that, upon thus meeting him again by his own appointment, he had at once forgotten all his proposals?

“Proposals! what proposals?” shrieked the persecuted student; “Appointment! what appointment?”

“Oh you base, low-lived villain! don’t you go for to deny it, now: didn’t you offer to be reconciled? didn’t you bid me to come here, that we might settle all quietly in the forest? Aye, and we will settle it: and nothing shall ever part us more; nothing in the world; for what God has joined——

“Drunken old witch!” interrupted Mr. Jeremiah, now sufficiently admonished by the brandy fumes which assailed him as to the proximate cause of Mrs. Sweetbread’s boldness; “seek lovers elsewhere.” And hastily turning round to shake her off, he perceived to his horror that an immense crowd had by this time assembled behind them. In the rear, and standing upon the steps of the Forester’s house, stood Von Pilsen and his party, convulsed with laughter; immediately below them was the whole body of the hunters, who had called here for refreshment—upon whose faces struggled a mixed expression of merriment and wonder: and at the head of the whole company stood a party of butchers and butchers’ boys returning from the hunt, whose fierce looks and gestures made it evident that they sympathized with the wrongs of Mrs. Sweetbread, the relict of a man who had done honour to their body—and were prepared to avenge them in any way she might choose. She, mean time, whose whole mighty love was converted into mighty hatred by the opprobrious words and fierce repulse of Mr. Schnackenberger, called heaven and earth, and all present, to witness her wrongs; protested that he had himself appointed the meeting at the Forest-house; and in confirmation drew forth a letter.

At sight of the letter, a rattling peal of laughter from Mr. Von Pilsen left no room to doubt, in our student’s mind, from whose witty manufactory it issued; and a rattling peal of wrath from the butchers’ boys left no room to doubt in any body’s mind what would be its consequences. The letter was, in fact, pretty much what Mrs. Sweetbread alleged: it contained a large and unlimited offer of Mr. Schnackenberger’s large and unlimited person; professed an ardour of passion which could brook no delay; and entreated her to grant him an interview for the final arrangement of all preliminaries at the Forest-house.

Whilst this letter was reading, Mr. Schnackenberger perceived that there was no time to be lost: no Juno, unfortunately, was present, no “deus ex machinâ” to turn the scale of battle, which would obviously be too unequal, and in any result (considering the quality of the assailants) not very glorious. So, watching his opportunity, he vaulted into his saddle, and shot off like an arrow. Up went the roar of laughter from Von Pilsen and the hunters: up went the roar of fury from the butchers and their boys: in the twinkling of an eye all were giving chase; showers of stones sang through the trees; threats of vengeance were in his ears; butchers’ dogs were at his horse’s heels; butchers’ curses were on the wind; a widow’s cries hung upon his flight. The hunters joined in the pursuit; a second chase was before them; Mr. Pilsen had furnished them a second game. Again did Mr. Schnackenberger perspire exceedingly; once again did Mr. Schnackenberger “funk” enormously; yet, once again did Mr. Schnackenberger shiver at the remembrance of the Golden Sow, and groan at the name of Sweetbread. He retained, however, presence of mind enough to work away at his spurs incessantly; nor ever once turned his head until he reached the city gates, which he entered at the pas de charge, thanking heaven that he was better mounted than on his first arrival at B——.

CHAPTER XXII.

It never rains but it pours.

Rapidly as Mr. Schnackenberger drove through the gates, he was arrested by the voice of the warder, who cited him to instant attendance at the town-hall. Within the memory of man, this was the first time that any business had been transacted on a holiday; an extraordinary sitting was now being held; and the prisoner under examination was——Juno. “Oh! heaven and its mercies! when will my afflictions cease?” said the exhausted student; “when shall I have a respite?” Respite there could be none at present; for the case was urgent; and, unless Juno could find good bail, she was certain of being committed on three very serious charges of, 1. trespass; 2. assault and battery; 3. stealing in a dwelling-house. The case was briefly this: Juno had opened so detestable an overture of howling on her master’s departure for the forest, that the people at the Double-barreled Gun, out of mere consideration for the city of B——, had found it necessary to set her at liberty; whereupon, as if the devil drove her, forthwith the brute had gone off in search of her old young enemy the kitten, at the hotel of the princess. She beat up the kitten’s quarters again; and again she drove in the enemy pell-mell into her camp in the kitchen. The young mistress of the kitten, out of her wits at seeing her darling’s danger, had set down a pail of milk, in which she was washing a Brussels’ veil and a quantity of Mechlin lace belonging to the princess—and hurried her kitten into a closet. In a moment she returned, and found—milk, Brussels’ veil, Mechlin lace, vanished—evaporated into Juno’s throat, “abiit—evasit—excessit—erupit!” only the milk-pail, upon some punctilio of delicacy in Juno, was still there; and Juno herself stood by, complacently licking her milky lips, and expressing a lively satisfaction with the texture of Flanders’ manufactures. The princess, vexed at these outrages on her establishment, sent a message to the town-council, desiring that banishment for life might be inflicted on a dog of such revolutionary principles, whose presence (as she understood) had raised a general consternation throughout the city of B——.

Mr. Mayor, however, had not forgotten the threatened report of a certain retreat to a bell, illustrated by wood cuts; and, therefore, after assuring her highness of his readiness to serve her, he added, that measures would be adopted to prevent similar aggressions—but that unhappily, from peculiar circumstances connected with this case, no further severities could be inflicted. Meantime, while this note was writing, Juno had contrived to liberate herself from arrest.

Scarce had she been absent three minutes, when in rushed to the town-council the eternal enemy of the mayor—Mr. Deputy Recorder. The large goose’s liver, the largest, perhaps, that for some centuries had been bred and born in B——, and which was destined this very night to have solemnized the anniversary of Mrs. Deputy Recorder’s birth; this liver, and no other, had been piratically attacked, boarded, and captured, in the very sanctuary of the kitchen, “by that flibustier (said he) that buccaneer—that Paul Jones of a Juno.” Dashing the tears from his eyes, Mr. Deputy Recorder went on to perorate; “I ask,” said he, “whether such a Kentucky marauder ought not to be outlawed by all nations, and put to the ban of civilized Europe? If not”—and then Mr. Deputy paused for effect, and struck the table with his fist—“if not, and such principles of jacobinism and French philosophy are to be tolerated; then, I say, there is an end to social order and religion: Sansculotterie, Septemberising, and red night-caps, will flourish over once happy Europe; and the last and best of kings, and our most shining lights, will follow into the same bottomless abyss, which has already swallowed up (and his voice faltered)—my liver.”

“Lights and liver!” said Mr. Schnackenberger; “I suppose you mean liver and lights; but, lord! Mr. Recorder, what a bilious view you take of the case! Your liver weighs too much in this matter; and where that happens, a man’s judgment is sure to be jaundiced.”

However, the council thought otherwise: Mr. Deputy’s speech had produced a deep impression; and, upon his motion, they adjudged that, in twelve hours, Juno should be conducted to the frontiers of the city lands, and there solemnly outlawed: after which it should be free to all citizens of B—— to pursue her with fire and sword; and even before that period, if she were met without a responsible guide. Mr. Schnackenberger pleaded earnestly for an extension of the armistice: but then arose, for the second time, with Catonic severity of aspect, Mr. Deputy Recorder; he urged so powerfully the necessity of uncompromising principle in these dangerous times, insisted so cogently on the false humanity of misplaced lenity, and wound up the whole by such a pathetic array of the crimes committed by Juno—of the sausages she had robbed, the rabbits she had strangled, the porcelain she had fractured, the raspberry-vinegar she had spilt, the mutton she had devoted to chops (“her own ‘chops,’ remember,” said Mr. Schnackenberger), the Brussels’ veil, and the Mechlin lace, which she had swallowed, the domestic harmony which she had disturbed, the laws of the land which she had insulted and outraged, the peace of mind which she had invaded, and, finally,” (said he) “as if all this were not enough, the liver—the goose’s liver—my liver—my unoffending liver—(“and lights,” said Mr. Schnackenberger) “which she has burglariously and inhumanly immolated to her brutal propensities:” on all this Mr. Deputy executed such a bravura, and the sins of Juno chased each other so rapidly, and assumed so scarlet a hue, that the council instantly negatived her master’s proposition; the single dissentient voice being that of Mr. Mayor, who, with tears in his eyes, conjured Mr. Schnackenberger not to confound the innocent with the guilty.

CHAPTER XXIII.

In which Misfortune empties her last Vial upon the Head of Mr. Schnackenberger.

Exhausted by the misfortunes of the day, towards evening Mr. Jeremiah was reposing at his length, and smoking in the window-seat of his room. Solemn clouds of smoke expressed the gloomy vapours which rested on his brain. The hours of Juno’s life, it seemed to him, were numbered; every soul in B—— was her sworn foe—bipeds and quadrupeds, men, women, dogs, cats, children, kittens, deputy-recorders, rabbits, cooks, legs of mutton, to say nothing of goose-livers, sausages, haunches of venison, and “quilts.”—If he were to take country-lodgings for her, and to send her out of B——, what awaited her there? Whither could she go, but some butcher—some butter-woman—some rough-rider or other had a private account to settle with her?—“Unhappy creature!” ejaculated the student, “torment of my life!”

At this moment Mr. Schnackenberger’s anxious ruminations were further enforced by the appearance of the town-crier under his window: inert as the town-council were in giving effect to their own resolutions, on this occasion it was clear that they viewed the matter as no joke; and were bent on rigorously following up their sentence. For the crier proclaimed the decree by beat of drum; explained the provisos of the twelve hours’ truce, and enjoined all good citizens, and worthy patriots, at the expiration of that period, to put the public enemy to the sword, where-ever she should be found, and even to rise en masse, if that should be necessary, for the extermination of the national robber—as they valued their own private welfare, or the honour and dignity of the state.

“English fiend!” said Mr. Schnackenberger, “will nothing reclaim thee? Now that I am rid of my German plague, must I be martyred by my English plague?” For be it mentioned that, on our hero’s return from the council, he had received some little comfort in his afflictions from hearing that Mrs. Sweetbread had, upon her return to B——, testified her satisfaction with the zealous leader of the butchers’ boys, by forthwith bestowing upon him her widowed hand and heart, together with the Sow and its appurtenances. “English fiend!” resumed Mr. Schnackenberger, “most edacious and audacious of quadrupeds! can nothing be done for thee? Is it impossible to save thy life?” And again he stopped to ruminate. For her metaphysics it was hopeless to cure; but could nothing be done for her physics? At the university of X——— she had lived two years next door neighbour to the Professor of Moral Philosophy, and had besides attended many of his lectures without any sort of benefit to her morals, which still continued of the very worst description. “But could no course of medical treatment,” thought her master, “correct her inextinguishable voracity? Could not her pulse be lowered? Might not her appetite, or her courage, be tamed? Would a course of tonics be of service to her? Suppose I were to take her to England to try the effect of her native air; would any of the great English surgeons or physicians be able to prescribe for her effectually? Would opium cure her? Yet there was a case of bulimy at Thoulouse, where the French surgeons caught the patient and saturated him with opium; but it was of no use; for he ate^[3] as many children after it as before. Would Mr. Abernethy, with his blue pill and his Rufus pill, be of any service to her? Or the acid bath—or the sulphate of zinc—or the white oxyd of bismuth?—or soda water? For, perhaps, her liver may be affected. But, lord! what talk I of her liver? Her liver’s as sound as mine. It’s her disposition that’s in fault; it’s her moral principles that are relaxed; and something must be done to brace them. Let me consider.”

At this moment a cry of “murder, murder!” drew the student’s eyes to the street below him; and there, to afflict his heart, stood his graceless Juno, having just upset the servant of a cook’s shop, in the very act of rifling her basket; the sound of the drum was yet ringing through the street; the crowd collected to hear it had not yet withdrawn from the spot; and in this way was Juno expressing her reverence for the proclamation of the town-council of B——.

“Fiend of perdition!” said Mr. Schnackenberger, flinging his darling pipe at her head, in the anguish of his wrath, and hastening down to seize her. On arriving below, however, there lay his beautiful sea-foam pipe in fragments upon the stones; but Juno had vanished—to reappear no more in B——.

CHAPTER XXIV.

And set you down that in Aleppo once—Othello.

The first thing Mr. Schnackenberger did was to draw his purse-strings, and indemnify the cook-maid. The next thing Mr. Schnackenberger did was to go into the public-room of the Gun, call for a common pipe, and seat himself growling in a corner.—Of all possible privileges conferred by the laws, the very least desirable is that of being created game: Juno was now invested with that “painful pre-eminence;” she was solemnly proclaimed game: and all qualified persons, i. e. every man, woman, and child, were legally authorised to sink—burn—or destroy her. “Now then,” said Mr. Schnackenberger to himself, “if such an event should happen—if any kind soul should blow out the frail light of Juno’s life, in what way am I to answer the matter to her purchaser, Mr. Fabian Sebastian?” Such were the thoughts which fumed away from the anxious mind of Mr. Schnackenberger in surging volumes of smoke.

Together with the usual evening visitors of the public-rooms at the Gun, were present also Mr. Von Pilsen, and his party. Inflamed with wine and insolence, Mr. Von Pilsen began by advancing the following proposition: That in this sublunary world there are marvellous fools. “Upon this hint” he spake: and “improving” his text into a large commentary, he passed in review various sketches from the life of Mr. Schnackenberger in B——, not forgetting the hunting scene; and every where threw in such rich embellishments and artist-like touches, that at last the room rang with laughter.

Mr. Jeremiah alone sat moodily in his corner, and moved no muscle of his face; so that even those, who were previously unacquainted with the circumstances, easily divined at whose expense Mr. Von Pilsen’s witty performance proceeded.

At length Von Pilsen rose and said, “Gentlemen, you think, perhaps, that I am this day in the best of all possible humours. Quite the contrary, I assure you: pure fiction—mere counterfeit mirth—put on to disguise my private vexation; for vexed I am, and will be, that I can find nobody on whom to exercise my right arm. Ah! what a heavenly fate were mine, if any man would take it into his head to affront me; or if any other man would take it into his head to think that I had affronted him, and would come hither to demand satisfaction!” So saying, he planted himself in a chair in the very middle of the saloon; and ever and anon leered at Mr. Schnackenberger in so singular a manner, that no one could fail to see at whom his shafts were pointed.

Still it seemed as if our hero had neither ears nor eyes. For he continued doggedly to work away at his “cloud-compelling” pipe (νεφεληγερετα Σχνακενβεργερ), without ever looking at his challenger.

When at length he rose, every body supposed that probably he had had badgering enough by this time, and meant to decamp quietly. All present were making wry faces, in order to check their bursting laughter, until Mr. Schnackenberger were clear of the room; that done, each prepared to give free vent to his mirth and high compliments to Mr. Von Pilsen, upon the fine style in which he had “done execution upon Cawdor.” Decamping, however, entered not into Mr. Schnackenberger’s military plans; he rather meant to encamp over against Von Pilsen’s position: calmly, therefore, with a leisurely motion, and gradu militari, did he advance towards his witty antagonist. The latter looked somewhat paler than usual: but, as this was no time for retreating, and he saw the necessity of conducting the play with spirit to its denouement,—he started up, and exclaimed: “Ah! here is the very man I was wishing for! framed after my very heart’s longing. Come, dear friend, embrace me: let us have a fraternal hug.”

“Basta!” cried Mr. Jeremiah, attaching his shoulder, and squeezing him, with a right hand of “high pressure,” down into his chair—“This is a very good story, Mr. Von Pilsen, that you have told us: and pity it were that so good a story should want a proper termination. In future, therefore, my Pilsen,

When you shall these unhappy deeds relate,

be sure you do not forget the little sequel which I shall furnish: tell it to the end, my Pilsen:

And set you down that in Aleppo once—”

Here the whole company began to quake with the laughter of anticipation———

“And set you down that in Aleppo once—

when a fribble—a coxcomb—a puppy dared to traduce a student from the university of X——

I took the circumcised dog by the nose,
And smote him thus———”

at the same time breaking his pipe calmly on the very prominent nose of Mr. Von Pilsen.

Inextinguishable laughter followed from all present: Mr. Von Pilsen quitted the room forthwith: and next morning was sought for in vain in B———.

CHAPTER XXV.

Which contains a Duel—and a Death.

Scarcely had Mr. Schnackenberger withdrawn to his apartment, when a pair of “field-pieces” were heard clattering up stairs—such and so mighty as, among all people that on earth do dwell, no mortal wore, himself only except, and the student, Mr. Fabian Sebastian. Little had he thought under his evening canopy of smoke, that Nemesis was treading so closely upon his heels.

“Sir, my brother,” began Mr. Student Fabian, “the time is up: and here am I, to claim my rights. Where is the dog? The money is ready: deliver the article: and payment shall be made.”

Mr. Schnackenberger shrugged his shoulders.

“Nay, my brother, no jesting (if you please) on such serious occasions: I demand my article.”

“What, if the article have vanished?”

“Vanished!” said Mr. Fabian; “why then we must fight, until it comes back again.—Sir, my brother, you have acted nefariously enough in absconding with goods that you had sold: would you proceed to yet greater depths in nefariousness, by now withholding from me my own article?”

So saying, Mr. Fabian paid down the purchase money in hard gold upon the table. “Come, now, be easy,” said Mr. Schnackenberger, “and hear me.”

“Be easy, do you say? That will I not: but hear I will, and with all my heart, provided it be nothing unhearable—nor any thing in question of my right to the article: else, you know, come knocks.” “Knocks!” said Jeremiah: “and since when, I should be glad to know, has the Schnackenberger been in the habit of taking knocks without knocking again, and paying a pretty large per centage?”

“Ah! very likely. That’s your concern. As to me, I speak only for myself and for my article.” Hereupon Mr. Schnackenberger made him acquainted with the circumstances, which were so unpalatable to the purchaser of “the article,” that he challenged Mr. Schnackenberger to single combat there and then.

“Come,” said Mr. Fabian; “but first put up the purchase money: for I, at least, will practise nothing that is nefarious.”

Mr. Schnackenberger did so; redeemed his sword from Mrs. Sweetbread by settling her bill; buckled it on; and attended Mr. Fabian to the neighbouring forest.

Being arrived at a spot suitable to their purpose, and their swords drawn, Mr. Schnackenberger said—“Upon my word it’s a shocking thing that we must fight upon this argument: not but it’s just what I have long expected. Junonian quarrels I have had, in my time, 747; and a Junonian duel is nothing more than I have foreseen for this last week. Yet, after all, brother, I give you my honour that the brute is not worth a duel: for, fools as we have been in our rivalship about her, between ourselves she is a mere agent of the fiend, and minister of perdition, to him who is so unhappy as to call her his.”

“Like enough, my brother; have’nt a doubt you’re in the right, for you know her best: still it would be nefarious in a high degree if our blades were to part without crossing each other. We must tilt a bit: Sir, my brother, we must tilt. So lunge away at me; and never fear but I’ll lunge as fast as you.”

So said—so done: but scarce had Mr. Sebastian pushed his first ‘carte over the arm,’ which was well parried by his antagonist, when, with a loud outcry, in rushed Juno; and, without troubling herself about the drawn swords, she drove right at the pit of Mr. Sebastian’s stomach, knocked the breath out of his body, the sword out of his hand, and himself upon his back.

“Ah! my goddess, my Juno!” cried Mr. Schnackenberger; “Nec vox hominem sonat, oh Dea certe!” “Nec vox hominem sonat?” said Mr. Fabian, rising: “Faith, you’re right there; for I never heard a voice more like a brute’s in my life.”

“Down then, down Juno,” said Mr. Schnackenberger, as Juno was preparing for a second campaign against Mr. Fabian’s stomach: Mr. Fabian, on his part, held out his hand to his brother student—saying, “all quarrels are now ended.” Mr. Jeremiah accepted his hand cordially. Mr. Fabian offered to resign “the article,” however agitating to his feelings. Mr. Jeremiah, though no less agitated, protested he should not. “I will, by all that’s magnanimous,” said Mr. Fabian. “By the memory of Curtius, or whatever else is most sacred in self-sacrifice, you shall not,” said Mr. Jeremiah. “Hear me, thou light of day,” said Mr. Fabian, kneeling. “Hear me,” interrupted Mr. Jeremiah, kneeling also: yes, the Schnackenberger knelt, but carefully and by circumstantial degrees; for he was big and heavy as a rhinoceros, and afraid of capsizing, and perspired freely. Mr. Fabian kneeled like a dactyle: Mr. Jeremiah kneeled like a spondee, or rather like a molossus. Juno, meantime, whose feelings were less affected, did not kneel at all; but, like a tribrach, amused herself with chacing a hare which just then crossed one of the forest ridings. A moment after was heard the report of a fowling-piece. Bitter presentiment of the truth caused the kneeling duelists to turn their heads at the same instant. Alas! the subject of their high-wrought contest was no more: English Juno lay stretched in her blood! Up started the “dactyle;” up started the “spondee;” out flew their swords; curses, dactylic and spondaic, began to roll; and the gemini of the university of X., side by side, strode after the Junonicide, who proved to be a forester. The forester wisely retreated, before the storm, into his cottage; from an upper window of which he read to the two coroners, in this inquest after blood, a section of the forest-laws, which so fully justified what he had done—that, like the reading of the English riot act, it dispersed the gemini, both dactylic and spondaic, who now held it advisable to pursue the matter no further.

“Sir, my brother,” said Mr. Fabian, embracing his friend over the corpse of Juno, “see what comes of our imitating Kotzebue’s plays! Nothing but our nefarious magnanimity was the cause of Juno’s untimely end. For had we, instead of kneeling (which by the way seemed to ‘punish’ you a good deal), had we, I say, vested the property in one or other of us, she, instead of diverting her ennui by hunting, would have been trotting home by the side of her master—and the article would have been still living.”

CHAPTER XXVI.

The Funeral Games.

“Now then,” said Mr. Schnackenberger, entering the Double-barreled Gun with his friend,—“Now, waiter, let us have Rhenish and Champagne, and all other good things with which your Gun is charged: fire off both barrels upon us: Come, you dog, make ready—present; for we solemnize a funeral to-day:” and, at the same time, he flung down the purchase-money of Juno upon the table. The waiter hastened to obey his orders.

The longer the two masters of Juno drank together, the more did they convince themselves that her death was a real blessing to herself, who had thus obviously escaped a life of severe cudgeling, which her voracity would have entailed upon her: “yes,” they both exclaimed; “a blessing to herself—to her friends in particular—and to the public in general.”

To conclude, the price of Juno was honourably drunk up to the last farthing, in celebration of her obsequies at this one sitting.

Ὡς ὁιγ᾽ ἀμφιεπον ταφον Ἑκτορος ἱπποδαμοιο.

END OF “MR. SCHNACKENBERGER.”

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1. If any reader should happen not to be acquainted with this word, which, however, is fine old English, and classical at Eton, &c.—the nearest synonyme which I remember at this moment is Expavesco.
2. In the original Knecht Rupert. The allusion is to an old Christmas usage of North Germany: a person comes in disguise, in the character of an ambassador from heaven, with presents for all the young children who are reported to him as good and obedient: but those, who are naughty, he threatens and admonishes. See Coleridge’s Friend, vol. 2, p. 322.
3. This man, whose case I have read in some French Medical Memoirs, was a desperate fellow: he cared no more for an ounce of opium, than for a stone of beef, or half a bushel of potatoes: all three would not have made him a breakfast. As to children, he denied in the most tranquil manner that he ate them. “’Pon my honour,” he sometimes said, “between ourselves, I never do eat children.” However, it was generally agreed, that he was pædophagous, or infantivorous. Some said that he first drowned them; whence I sometimes call him the pædobaptist. Certain it is, that wherever he appeared, a sudden scarcity of children prevailed.—Note of the Translator.