He divested himself of his gown, and dressed. Then he took his hat and the manuscript and hastened down into the street toward the post-office. Absorbed as he was in his reflections, he saw neither the extraordinary commotion reigning in the small university town, nor the sad faces of the passers-by; he only thought of his work, and not of reality.
He now entered the post-office; all the doors were open; all the employes were chatting with each other, and no one was at the desk to attend to the office business and to receive the various letters.
Hegel, therefore, had to go to the postmaster, who had not noticed him at all, but was conversing loudly and angrily with several gentlemen who were present.
“Here is a package which I want you to send to Hamburg,” said the philosopher, handing his package to the postmaster. “The stage-coach has not set out yet, I suppose?”
The postmaster stared at him wonderingly. “No,” he said, “it has not set out yet, and will not set out at all!”
It was now the philosopher’s turn to look wonderingly at the postmaster.
“It will not set out?” he asked. “Why not?”
“It is impossible, in the general confusion and excitement. There are neither horses nor men to be had to-day. Everybody is anxious and terrified.”
“But what has happened?” asked the philosopher, in a low voice.
“What? Then you do not know yet the terrible events of the day, Mr. Professor?” exclaimed the postmaster, in dismay.