A few weeks later the longed-for stamps appeared. They looked neat enough. A striking likeness of Bloemstein was surrounded by a garland of intertwined spades and pickaxes—symbols of labour—and above, in good bold letters, ALTENET.
There were blue, red, and green ones—of one, two, and three groschen respectively.
“Marieke! Marieke!” cried the delighted Bloemstein. “Come here, child; I’ve something to show you. What do you think of that?”
“Oh, quite beautiful, father!”
“Really, child?”
“And will they be sent to all the kings and emperors—all in the whole world?”
“All in the whole world.”
“To Bismarck too?”
“He’s going to get one as well; but it won’t please him, I assure you, Marieke.”
“Now you’ll need to send them off at once; may I help you to put the stamps on?”
“Surely, Marieke.”
The father and daughter sat down before the table, on which lay the long row of already written letters.
“Here’s Bismarck’s!” cried the girl suddenly.
“Put double stamps on that,” said Bloemstein.
Instead of obeying this order, Marieke contrived to slip the letter into her pocket.
“Shall I take them to the post-office now, father?”
“Yes, do, child—only mind you don’t lose any, specially the one to Bismarck.”
“You needn’t be afraid,” and she skipped out of the room to fetch her hat, and perhaps also the letter she had received from herfiancé.
It was not long before an answer came from Berlin.
Bloemstein summoned his faithful councillors at once, in order to open the official document in their midst. The ministers hastened to the council-chamber, as fast as their legs could carry them. They took up positions behind their President, and stuck their heads together, trying to see with their own eyes the answer from the German Empire.
With trembling hand Bloemstein opened the missive, and in a voice quivering with emotion, he began to read, in German:—
“Verehrter Herr Präsident.
“Verehrter Herr Präsident.
“Verehrter Herr Präsident.
“In reply to your letter, I have received orders from my Emperor to declare war on your Republic, and send off an army of 150,000 men to the frontier, because—
“1. You have caused postage-stamps to be made without permission from the German Government.
“2. It is known to us that you have been taking upon yourselfto oppose your daughter’s marriage to our loyal subject, Dr Heinrich Olthausen.
“3. You want to force that charming and lovely girl to marry an objectionable, crooked tailor.
“We give you a week to comply with our conditions.
“Bismarck.”
“Bismarck.”
“Bismarck.”
“Bismarck.”
There was a moment’s painful silence. There it was, in great fat round letters—“Bismarck.” There was no possible doubt about it.
“DECLARE WAR!”
“DECLARE WAR!”
“DECLARE WAR!”
“The confounded lowSchwerenötherof a Prussian!” yelled Holzert at last, crimson with passion, and quivering on his little bow-legs. “Declare war, Bloemstein! declare war!” he went on. “Let them come, the lowcanaille!we’ll blow up the mine as soon as they get on top of it, and then there’ll be an end of them!” and suddenly turning to the Minister of War, he added, “Bauer, how many men have you?”
“HASTENED TO THE COUNCIL-CHAMBER.”
“HASTENED TO THE COUNCIL-CHAMBER.”
“HASTENED TO THE COUNCIL-CHAMBER.”
“A hundred and twenty-three, counting the band,” was the answer.
“That’s not one to a thousand,” suggested Conrads; “and besides that, we’ve got the war with Holland on our hands,—it won’t do—it won’t do! What do you think yourself, Bauer?”
“What I think? I think you’re a coward, Conrads, to talk so—a coward, do you understand? Conquer or die, that’s our cry!”
“Yes, but we can’t conquer, and dying isn’t much good. Holzert won’t get his Marieke by it if we do!”
“But in that case the Prussian pig-dog won’t have her either!” shouted Holzert, banging the table with his fists.
At this, however, Bloemstein’s paternal feelings revolted. His daughter, his pretty Marieke—dead! No, he would rather see her married to the Prussian doctor, for the Prussians were not so bad after all! Nay, they even knew how to appreciate beauty—had not Bismarck himself written that she was a “charming, lovely girl”?
Klessens also was for peace, and so was Marbaise. “Against 150,000 Prussians,” said the latter, “and a few thousand Hollanders on top of those, you, Bauer, with your hundred and twenty men——”
“A hundred and twenty-three!” interrupted the commander of the Altenet forces.
“Well, a hundred and twenty-three, if you like—but you can’t do anything with them!”
A great deal more talking and shouting took place, and at last the President determined to end the debate by putting the question to the vote.
“War!” yelled Holzert. “Peace!” “Peace!” “Peace!” muttered Conrads, Marbaise, and Klessens, in succession.
“War!” thundered Bauer; and “I’m for peace,” said the President in conclusion.
Peace was therefore resolved on by a majority of two votes.
Several months have passed. The miners are at work again; the farmer is ploughing his fields; the lark sings high in air; the Altenet postage-stamps have been destroyed; and Marieke is the happy wife of Dr Olthausen.
No answer was ever received from the rest of the kings and emperors,—it is just possible that Marieke may have forgotten to post the letters entrusted to her care.
L. H. J. Lamberts-Hurrelbrinck.
L. H. J. Lamberts-Hurrelbrinck.
L. H. J. Lamberts-Hurrelbrinck.
L. H. J. Lamberts-Hurrelbrinck.