"A forgery is impossible," retorted Struvelius, incautiously. "I myself removed the old glue that covered the text from the parchment."
"Yet you tell me that the strip is not in your possession. You will believe that it is no pleasure to me to enter the ranks against a colleague; therefore you yourself must without delay make the whole matter public. For it stands to reason the forgery must be made known."
Struvelius reflected.
"I take for granted that you speak with the best intentions," he began at last, "but I am firmly convinced that the parchment is genuine, and I must leave it to you to do what you consider your duty. If you choose to attack your colleague publicly, I shall do my best to bear it."
Having said this, Struvelius went away obdurate, but much disquieted, and matters took their evil course. Ilse saw with sorrow how severely her husband suffered from the obstinacy of his colleague. The Professor set to work and published a short statement of the affair in the classical magazine to which he contributed. He introduced the fatal passage of the monk, and forbearingly expressed his regret that the acute author of the pamphlet had thus been imposed upon by a forgery.
This decisive condemnation created a tremendous sensation in the University. Like a disturbed swarm of bees, the colleagues moved about confusedly. Struvelius had but few warm friends, but he had no opponents. It is true that in the first few days after this literary condemnation, he was considered as done for. But he himself was not of this opinion and composed a rejoinder. In this he boasted, not without self complacency, of the satisfactory confirmation of his restoration by the passage in the monk's writing, which he had undoubtedly overlooked; he treated the coincidence of the error in printing with that in his parchment as an extraordinary, but in no ways unheard of accident; and finally, he did not scruple to cast some sharp, covert hints at other scholars, who considered certain authors as their own peculiar domain, and despised a small accidental discovery, though an unprejudiced judge could not hope for a greater.
This offensive allusion to the hidden manuscript cut the Professor to the quick, but he proudly disdained to enter into any further contest before the public. The rejoinder of Struvelius was certainly unsuccessful; but it had the effect of giving courage to those members of the University who were ill-disposed toward Felix to join the side of his opponent. The thing was, at all events, doubtful, they said, and it was contrary to good fellowship to accuse a colleague openly of such a great oversight; the assailant might have left it to others to do so. But the better portion of the leading members of the University contended from the camp of the Professor against these weak ones. Some of the most distinguished, among them all those who assembled at Ilse's tea-table, determined that the affair should not drop. In fact, the quarrel was so unfavorable to Struvelius, that it was seriously represented to him that he was bound in honor to give some kind of explanation of the parchment; but he kept silent against this array of propositions as best he could.
Even the evenings in Ilse's room assumed from this circumstance a warlike character. Their most intimate friends--the Doctor, the Mineralogist, and, not last, Raschke--sat there as a council of war, consulting against the enemy. Raschke acknowledged one evening that he had just been with the obstinate opponent and had implored of him, at least to contrive that a third person should obtain a view of the parchment. Struvelius had in some measure relented and had regretted that he had promised silence, because a prospect had been held out to him of obtaining other rare manuscripts. Then Raschke had conjured him to renounce such dubious treasures and thus to buy back freedom of speech. It must clearly have been an animated discussion, for Raschke wiped his nose and eyes with a small fringed tea-napkin, which was Ilse's pride, and put it into his pocket; and when Ilse laughingly reminded him of his theft, he brought out not only the napkin, but also a silk pocket-handkerchief, which he maintained must also belong to Ilse, although it was evidently the property of some gentleman who took snuff. It was, therefore, hinted that he might have brought the handkerchief from Struvelius's room.
"Not impossible," he said, "for we were excited." The strange pocket-handkerchief lay on a chair and was looked upon by the party present with frigid and hostile feelings.