Cyril Keval stopped talking and began opening the letters. There were a few hundred of them, but he had hardly read half a dozen when he was off once more.
“Look here, Rejzek,” he began, “it’s the same tale all the way through. Take this one for instance: From Chrudim. Dear Sir—As an old subscriber to your esteemed journal, your readers and the whole of the public who are now being harassed by unprofitable disputes”—(“He’s left out ‘will be interested,’ ” interpolated Mr. Keval)—“ ‘in the remarkable miracle performed by our local pastor, the Rev. Father Zakoupil.’ And so on. In Jicin it was the storekeeper of the Cooperative Society, and in Benesov it was the superintendent of schools. In Chotěboř it was even the widow Jirák, who keeps a tobacco shop. Have I to read all this stuff?”
Work went on again in silence for a while.
“Damn it, Rejzek,” Keval burst out again, “I say, do you know what would be a real sensation? A giant gooseberry? A lovely canard? Why, if something were to happen quite in the natural way, without any miracle about it. But I don’t think anyone would believe us. Wait a bit, I’ll try to think up something natural.”
Again there was a brief period of quiet.
“Rejzek,” cried Keval mournfully, “I simply can’t think up anything natural. When I think it over, everything is a miracle really. Whatever is, is a sort of magic.”
Just then the editor-in-chief entered.
“Who did the cuttings from the Tribune? Here’s a story in it that we haven’t got.”
“What sort of a story?” asked Mr. Rejzek.
“In the Finance and Commerce Section. An American combine has bought up the Pacific Islands and is subletting them. A tiny coral atoll costs fifty thousand dollars a year. Big demand even from the Continent of Europe. Shares have gone up to two thousand seven hundred already. G. H. Bondy interested to the extent of one hundred and twenty millions. And we haven’t got a word about it,” said the editor-in-chief angrily, and slammed the door behind him.
“Rejzek,” cried Keval, “here’s an interesting letter: ‘Dear Sir—Forgive an old patriot, who can remember the evil times of oppression and the dark days of serfdom, if he raises a plaintive voice and begs you to use your skilful pen to make known to the Czech people the grief and sore anxiety we old patriots feel …’ and so on. Farther on he says: ‘In our ancient and glorious nation we see brother egged on against brother; innumerable parties, sects, and churches struggling together like wolves and destroying each other in their mutual hatred’—(must be some very old chap; his writing is terribly shaky)—‘while our ancient enemy prowls around us like a roaring lion, filling the minds of our people with the German watchword of “Away from Rome,” and supported by those mistaken patriots who set the interests of their party before the national unity for which we yearn. And we behold with anguish and sorrow the prospect of a new battle of Lipany, where Czech ranged against Czech under the cloak of different religious watchwords, will be left lying on the bloody field. And so, alas, the words of the Scriptures about a kingdom divided against itself will be fulfilled. And there shall be piercing and felling of many, as it is written in our own glorious and authentic cycles of chivalry.’ ”
“That’s enough,” said Mr. Rejzek.
“Wait a bit; here he talks about the hypertrophy of parties and churches. It is a hereditary Czech disease, he says. ‘Of this there cannot be the slightest doubt, as Dr. Kramář used to say. And therefore, I solemnly adjure you at this twelfth hour, when great and terrible dangers confront us on every hand, to urge our people to band themselves together in a union of the whole nation for the defence of our country. If a religious bond be necessary for this union, then let us be neither Protestants nor Catholics nor Monists nor Abstainers, but let us adopt a single, Slav, powerful, and brotherly Orthodox faith, which will unite us in one great Slav family and will secure for us in these stormy times the protection of a powerful Slav ruler. Those who will not freely and wholeheartedly pay allegiance to this glorious pan-Slav ideal should be forced by Government authority, yea, and by every form of compulsion permissible in these exceptional circumstances, to abandon their partisan and sectarian interests in favour of the union of the whole nation.’ And so on. Signed ‘An Old Patriot.’ What do you say to that?”
“Nothing,” said Mr. Rejzek.
“I think that there’s something in it,” Mr. Keval began; but just then the telephone operator entered and said, “Munich on the phone. Some sort of civil or religious war broke out in Germany yesterday. Is it worth putting in the paper?”
XXIII
The Augsburg Imbroglio
By 11 p.m. the following telephonic communications had been received at the office of the People’s Journal:—
Czech Press Bureau. From Munich, 12th inst.—According to the Wolff Telegraph Agency, the demonstrations in Augsburg yesterday led to bloodshed. Seventy Protestants were killed. The demonstrations are still in progress.
Czech Press Bureau. From Berlin, 12th inst.—It is officially announced that the number of killed and wounded at Augsburg does not exceed twelve. The police are maintaining order.
Special Message. From Lugano, 12th inst.—We learn from a reliable source that the number of victims at Augsburg is over five thousand. Railway communication with the north is suspended. The Bavarian Ministry is in permanent session. The German Emperor has broken off his hunting trip and
