The schoolmaster listened in amazement to this free and easy confession. How could his reverence say such things aloud? And in Schmielke's presence too, that heretic. It would of course be at once repeated and turned to account.
The others, however, were very much amused by the confession, and shouted and laughed loudly. Jokisch, the inspector, who had hitherto hardly opened his mouth--he had been too busy drinking--now raised his glass. "Long live our priest. We've the best in the whole kingdom. Let him live and let live."
They all clinked with the priest, and Jokisch was even so impertinent as to slap him on the shoulder as he said, "What a pity, sir, that you can't go to the ball."
"Do you think I couldn't dance, eh?" said the priest, eyeing his long boots, which resembled those of an officer in a cavalry regiment. "You needn't fear that I should be out of place there. What a pity"--he gave a little sigh--"but it would never do."
"Why not, I should like to know?" asked Schmielke, and laughed. "The youth does not know the reason why."
"Those are some fine ideas you've got," the schoolmaster blurted out. He had worked himself into such a passion that he could not restrain himself any longer. "You Germans seem to have some nice ideas of us. But, of course, you're a heretic." It sounded very venomous. "It's quite possible that your clergy do such things." "Now, now," said the priest, giving the schoolmaster a sign to be quiet. He felt annoyed that the differences of religion and nationality should have been brought up. How stupid of this Böhnke to make such a to-do. They had to live together and get on with each other. The first in the land were striving to do the same. Hiding his momentary embarrassment under a jovial laugh, the priest broke the silence that now reigned in the room by saying in a loud voice:
"I would advise you to take a glass of bitters, Böhnke, or some Glauber-salt. That would do you good."
A roar of laughter greeted this witticism.
The schoolmaster turned pale and bit his lips, for he dared not say anything; but he looked down on them all with supreme contempt. How far superior he was to them in education--even superior to the priest, who was only a peasant's son, whilst his father had been a schoolmaster. He was to have studied philology and have been master of a higher-grade school. But even with the less advanced education he had received at the seminary, he still felt himself far superior to all of them. And this he thought he could say without putting too high a value on his own capabilities.
Böhnke always kept aloof from everybody; he had no friends, he was harsh to the children, and was often bad-tempered. Rosa Tiralla was the only child to whom he spoke kindly; but she was quite different to the other children, much better bred. You could see that she had a nice mother, who was of good family. The schoolmaster took an interest in this woman. But it was not only her beauty that attracted him, he also felt that they were kindred spirits on account of her parentage. He was filled with jealousy and anger when he heard those ill-bred fellows calling her "Sophia Tiralla," plain and simple Why couldn't they say "Mrs. Tiralla"? That would have been the proper thing for them to do. The schoolmaster continued to bite his lips and stare in front of him, pale and morose.