Part 5 (2/2)

CHAPTER VI.

THE COWARDS' RACE.

The warning sounded loud and threatening in Mr. Kretschmer's ears--”The Russians are coming!” A cold chill ran through him, and he could not prevent an involuntary shudder. But he tried to rouse himself from this despondency, and laughed at himself for this credulous fear.

”This Pfannenstiel is a fool, and I would he a greater one if I believed his nonsense,” said he. ”No, no, my information is warranted and authentic. The king has had a sharp skirmish with the Russians near Reitwan, and driven them back, and then proceeded quietly to Meissen. Thus there is no ground for anxiety, and I can safely let off my bomb-sh.e.l.ls against the Russians.”

Mr. Kretschmer felt his courage return and his heart grow warm.

”Now I see the whole game,” cried he, laughing. ”Pfannenstiel wishes the _Vossian Gazette_ to take notice of him. He wants to be talked about, and wishes the newspapers to spread his reputation. For that reason he stationed himself right under my window, for that reason he cast such significant looks at me, for that reason he addressed the crowd and poured forth his nonsense right here. Yes, that's it! He wishes to prove to me how great his power is over this people which believes in him, even when he utters the most incredible and unheard-of things. Well, we can help the man,” continued he, laughing, as he stepped to his desk. ”The desired article for the 'Miscellaneous' is found, and I think that the prophetic linen-weaver, Pfannenstiel, is well worth more than the four children at a birth and the miserable stork's nest of yesterday's _Spener's Journal_. Let's write it off quickly.”

Kretschmer began to write most industriously, when he was suddenly interrupted by a violent knocking at the door. It opened, and a stately old gentleman entered, with well-powdered wig and long queue.

”Mr. Krause, my worthy colleague!” exclaimed Kretschmer, jumping up and hastening toward the old man. But Mr. Krause had no word of greeting. He sank sighing into a chair.

”Do you know the news?” asked he, in a whining tone, folding his trembling hands, and looking at Kretschmer timidly, as he stood before him.

”Know what?” demanded the latter in reply, feeling his heart sink.

”The Russians are coming!” sighed Mr. Krause.

”That is a silly tale,” cried Kretschmer peevishly, with an impatient gesture.

”Would to G.o.d it were!” groaned Krause; ”but the news is, alas, but too true, and it can no longer be doubted!”

”Man of misfortune,” cried Mr. Kretschmer, ”who told you so?”

”Pfannenstiel.”

”Pfannenstiel?” repeated Kretschmer, laughing heartily; ”oh, yes!

Pfannenstiel prophesied it just now in the streets, under my window.

Now don't distress yourself, dearest friend and colleague. That was only a clumsy trick of the scoundrel to get me to write an article about him in the _Vossian Gazette_. I have already gratified his wish.”

”You are mistaken,” said Krause, mournfully. ”I sent Pfannenstiel into the streets, to quiet the people, and to admonish them to behave peaceably and soberly, even if the Russians should come.”

”Oh! you believe in all these dreams of Pfannenstiel?”

”I believe in the truth, and in what I know!” exclaimed Krause emphatically. ”Pfannenstiel has for a long time been my agent, and for a considerable stipend, paid every month, informs me of all that happens, is talked and thought of in the town. He is a very useful man, peculiarly suited to this service.”

”The approach of the Russians is then town-talk, and nothing more?”

asked Kretschmer, who was still anxious to throw doubt on the bad news.

”No, it is a fact,” said Krause seriously. ”Pfannenstiel is, as you know, not only a prophet, but also a quack doctor, and his herbs and decoctions are certainly often of astonis.h.i.+ng efficacy. He always gathers the plants for his mixtures himself, and roams about in search of them in the neighborhood of Berlin for days together. Last evening he was outside the town, on one of these tramps, intending to pa.s.s the night sleeping under a tree. He was awoke by the sound of troops marching, and as he looked carefully around, he could plainly distinguish in the bright moonlight the uniforms of the Russian army.

It was a long column of many thousand men. They halted not far from the place where Pfannenstiel lay, and he crept carefully nearer. He then ascertained from their conversation that this was only a small division of the army, which had advanced by forced marches from Frankfort, and was commanded by General Tottleben.”

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