tell her that at the mass meeting of the philosophers Frýbort and Vavřena were elected officers.
“Then they must have officers’ sashes!” observed Miss Elis.
“I’ll make one for Frýbort!”
“And I for Mr. Vavřena. Lenka, poor girl, can’t.”
Next day (it was Sunday) the legion was to march out the first time for training. Early in the afternoon there was a little celebration in the home of Miss Elis. The landlady came with her daughter, who brought something wrapped up in paper. When she took it out, it proved to be a beautiful sash of red and white; Miss Elis took a similiar one out of the cabinet. Both the officer-philosophers stood in the middle of the room, wearing green caps with red and white bands on. They had no uniform, but shining swords were suspended at their sides on neat belts. All beamed with satisfaction and happiness.
Frýbort, smiling, stooped a little, and Márinka, blushing, raised herself on tiptoes, and hung the sash on his shoulders, tying it into a neat knot on the side. The young legionary bowed and saluted in military fashion. Just then a young student stepped into the parlor and reported that Mr. Brož sent a little package to Mr. Vavřena. The philosopher quickly reached for it; when he unwrapped it, he found a beautiful red and white sash, and a card fell from the sash. Vavřena read it hurriedly, and blushed for joy.
“Oh, I know, my gift will be refused!” exclaimed Miss Elis. “But I’ll gladly step aside. Miss Lenka — —”
“Sends me this sash.”
“I’ll put mine away.”
“But she begs you, Miss Elis, to put it on me.”
“Why, that’s understood, who else could do it.”
The officer-philosophers thanked the ladies, and with a military salute left for the meeting. The mother, the daughter, and Miss Elis stepped to the windov, and looked after the students. They marched manfully away in their decorations, proudly conscious of being soldiers.
Everything was in revolt, even the sentences of Mr. Roubínek!
That Sunday afternoon the registrar sat as usual by a table, and wrote to his colleague of Rychtemburg. At other times everything proceeded as if of itself, sentence after sentence, paragraph after paragraph, worked out nicely so that it was a joy for Mrs. Roubínek to listen. But to-day her husband could not hammer together a single decent sentence. Where should he begin, when there is so much to write about in these God-forsaken, rebellious times? On other occasions he wrote about the wind, the weather, or here and there about gossip in the office; to-day he would have to write—who would not get angry?—every where, even into his pen, rush the words “liberty, equality, country, abolition of serfdom!”
Hardly had he finished the first line, when he was interrupted. There arose a muffled din and singing outside, and then the heavy step of a multitude was heard. His wife and daughter ran to the window.
“Papa, papa, they are coming!”
The din was heard under the very window. Mr. Roubínek also got up and went to see.
In the street stood a crowd of people, and in the middle, with a measured, ringing step marched the student legion, the captain in front, on the sides the officers. All, even the private legionaries, wore green caps and were armed.
Company after company passed. Now Lotty was startled.
Here was Vavřena, an officer. Presently she heard his resonant voice commanding:
“Eyes right!” and his platoon, saluting, turned eyes right.
“Eyes right!” officer Frýbort commanded immediately after him for his friend’s sake, and his platoon also looked right.
For whom? Oh, well did Lotty note Vavřena’s glance, which was directed to the window in the hall-way, where Lenka stood. The platoons were saluting her!
Lotty bounced off from window; her father, chagrined, likewise returned to his easy chair. After a while he took up his pen again, but had the same trouble as before. Leaning his right elbow on the table, he gazed at king Herod, that is, he meditated.
That legion would not leave him alone. Patriots! Hmm! Why those guns, and those green caps? Green caps!
He leaned over, and began writing. From the black quill pen flowed out on the paper green caps! Who had ever heard the like of it? Žižka and Emperor Joseph were also patriots, and—weapons? Green caps?—Destruction!. . .
The philosophers, after the college lectures, assembled to receive military training.
Their patriotism, moreover, did not stop with songs and manifestos. The college lectures were still all German, and of the Bohemian language and literature they had not heard a single word. All felt the necessity to perfect and establish themselves in their mother tongue. But who should lecture to them in Bohemian, who should teach them?
A student conference was held over the problem, and when a decision was arrived at, Vavřena and Frýbort betook themselves, as student representatives, directly to the dean’s manse to Pater Anton Šanta, of whom it was known that he was a sincere, active patriot, and that he studied the Bohemian language and literature zealously.
The young priest was sitting in the servants hall, reading, when the clanging of swords in the corridor interrupted him; immediately after-
