“There will be no marching, my friend. The uniform now—that is a pity. Perhaps the tailor—” His eyes mocked.
“No marching?”
“An order of the Council. It seems that the city is bored by these ancient-reminders. It is for peace, and would forget wars. And processions are costly. We grow thrifty. Bands and fireworks cost money, and money, my hero, is scarce—very scarce.”
Again the group laughed.
After a time he grasped the truth. There was such an order. The cause was given as the King’s illness.
“Since when,” demanded old Adelbert angrily, “has the sound of his soldiers’ marching disturbed the King?”
“The sound of wooden legs annoys him,” observed the mocking student, lighting a cigarette. “He would hear only pleasant sounds, such as the noise of tax-money pouring into his vaults. Me—I can think of a pleasanter: the tolling of the cathedral bell, at a certain time, will be music to my ears!”
Old Adelbert stood, staring blindly ahead. At last he went out into the street, muttering. “They shame us before the people,” he said thickly.
The order of the Council had indeed been issued, a painful business over which Mettlich and the Council had pondered long. For, in the state of things, it was deemed unwise to permit any gathering of the populace en masse. Mobs lead to riots, and riots again to mobs. Five thousand armed men, veterans, but many of them in their prime, were in themselves a danger. And on these days of anniversary it had been the custom of the University to march also, a guard of honor. Sedition was rife among the students.
The order was finally issued...