



Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by the Web Archive





Transcriber's notes:
   1. Page scan source:
      http://www.archive.org/details/progressionists00bolagoog

   2. The diphthong oe is represented by [oe].





                                  THE



                            PROGRESSIONISTS,



                                  AND



                                ANGELA.



          _TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF CONRAD VON BOLANDEN_.


                           *   *   *   *   *


                               New York:
                   THE CATHOLIC PUBLICATION SOCIETY,
                            9 WARREN STREET.
                                 1873.






                           *   *   *   *   *

       Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873, by
                   THE CATHOLIC PUBLICATION SOCIETY,
    In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C.

                           *   *   *   *   *





                          THE PROGRESSIONISTS.




                               CHAPTER I.

                               THE WAGER


The balcony of the _palais_ Greifmann contains three persons who
together represent four million florins. It is not often that one sees
a group of this kind. The youthful landholder, Seraphin Gerlach, is
possessor of two millions. His is a quiet disposition; very calm, and
habitually thoughtful; innocence looks from his clear eye upon the
world; physically, he is a man of twenty-three; morally, he is a child
in purity; a profusion of rich brown hair clusters about his head; his
cheeks are ruddy, and an attractive sweetness plays round his mouth.

The third million belongs to Carl Greifmann, the oldest member of the
group, head _pro tem_. of the banking-house of the same name. This
gentlemen is tall, slender, animated; his cheeks wear no bloom; they
are pale. His carriage is easy and smooth. Some levity is visible in
his features, which are delicate, but his keen, glancing eye is
disagreeable beside Seraphin's pure soul-mirror. Greifmann's sister
Louise, not an ordinary beauty, owns the fourth million. She is seated
between the young gentlemen; the folds of her costly dress lie heaped
around her; her hands are engaged with a fan, and her eyes are sending
electric glances into Gerlach's quick depths. But these flashing beams
fail to kindle; they expire before they penetrate far into those
depths. His eyes are bright, but they refuse to gleam with intenser
fire. Strange, too, for a twofold reason; first, because glances from
the eyes of beautiful women seldom suffer young men to remain cool;
secondly, because a paternal scheme designs that Louise shall be
engaged and married to the fire-proof hero.

Millions of money are rare; and should millions strive to form an
alliance, it is in conformity with the genius of every solid banking
establishment to view this as quite a natural tendency.

For eight days Mr. Seraphin has been on a visit at the _palais_
Greifmann, but as yet he has yielded no positive evidence of intending
to join his own couple of millions with the million of Miss Louise.

Whilst Seraphin converses with the beautiful young lady, Carl Greifmann
cursorily examines a newspaper which a servant has just brought him on
a silver salver.

"Every age has its folly," suddenly exclaims the banker. "In the
seventeenth century people were busy during thirty years cutting one
another's throats for religion's sake--or rather, in deference to the
pious hero of the faith from Sweden and his fugleman Oxenstiern. In the
eighteenth century, they decorated their heads with periwigs and
pigtails, making it a matter of conjecture whether both ladies and
gentlemen were not in the act of developing themselves from monkeydom
into manhood.

"Elections are the folly of our century. See here, my good fellow, look
what is written here: In three days the municipal elections will come
off throughout the country--in eighteen days the election of delegates.
For eighteen days the whole country is to labor in election throes.
Every man twenty-one years of age, having a wife and a homestead, is to
be employed in rooting from out the soil of party councilmen, mayors,
and deputies.

"And during the period these rooters not unfrequently get at
loggerheads. Some are in favor of Streichein the miller, because
Streichein has lavishly greased their palms; others insist upon
re-electing Leimer the manufacturer, because Leimer threatens a
reduction of wages if they refuse to keep him in the honorable
position. In the heat of dispute, quite a storm of oaths and ugly
epithets, yes, and of blows too, rages, and many is the voter who
retires from the scene of action with a bloody head. The beer-shops are
the chief battle-fields for this sort of skirmishing. Here, zealous
voters swill down hogsheads of beer: brewers drive a brisk trade during
elections. But you must not think, Seraphin, that these absurd election
scenes are confined to cities. In rural districts the game is conducted
with no less interest and fury. There is a village not far away, where
a corpulent ploughman set his mind on becoming mayor. What does he, to
get the reins of village government into his great fat fist? Two days
previous to the election he butchers three fatted hogs, has several
hundred ringlets of sausage made, gets ready his pots, and pans for
cooking and roasting, and then advertises: eating and drinking _ad
libitum_ and _gratis_ for every voter willing to aid him to ascend the
mayor's throne. He obtained his object.

"Now, I put the question to you, Seraphin, is not this sort of election
jugglery far more ridiculous and disgusting than the most preposterous
periwigs of the last century?"

"Ignorance and passion may occasion the abuse of the best
institutions," answered the double millionaire. "However, if beer and
pork determine the choice of councilmen and mayors, voters have no
right to complain of misrule. It would be most disastrous to the state,
I should think, were such corrupt means to decide also the election of
the deputies of our legislative assembly."

The banker smiled.

"The self-same man[oe]uvring, only on a larger scale," replied he. Of
course, in this instance, petty jealousies disappear. Streichein the
miller and Leimer the manufacturer make concessions in the interest of
the common party. All stand shoulder to shoulder in the cause of
_progress_ against Ultramontanes and democrats, who in these days have
begun to be troublesome.

"Whilst at municipal elections office-seekers employed money and
position for furthering their personal aims, at deputy elections
_progress_ men cast their means into a common cauldron, from which the
mob are fed and made to drink in order to stimulate them with the
spirit of _progress_ for the coming election. At bottom it amounts to
the same--the stupefaction of the multitude, the rule of a minority, in
which, however, all consider themselves as having part, the folly of
the nineteenth century."

"This is an unhealthy condition of things, which gives reason to fear
the corruption of the whole body politic," remarked the landholder with
seriousness. "The seats of the legislative chamber should be filled not
through bribery and deception of the masses, nor through party passion,
but through a right appreciation of the qualifications that fit a man
for the office of deputy."

"I ask your pardon, my dear friend," interposed the banker with a
laugh. "Being reared by a mother having a rigorous faith has prompted
you to speak thus, not acquaintance with the spirit of the age. Right
appreciation! Heavens, what _naivete_! Are you not aware that
_progress_, the autocrat of our times, follows a fixed, unchanging
programme? It matters not whether Tom or Dick occupies the cushions of
the legislative hall; the main point is to wear the color of
_progress_, and for this no special qualifications are needed. I will
give you an illustration of the way in which these things work. Let us
suppose that every member is provided with a trumpet which he takes
with him to the assembly. To blow this trumpet neither skill, nor quick
perception, nor experience, nor knowledge--neither of these
qualifications is necessary. Now, we will suppose these gentlemen
assembled in the great hall where the destinies of the country are
decided; should abuses need correction, should legislation for church
or state be required, they have only to blow the trumpet of _progress_.
The trumpet's tone invariably accords with the spirit of progress, for
it has been attuned to it. Should it happen that at a final vote upon a
measure the trumpets bray loudly enough to drown the opposition of
democrats and Ultramontanes, the matter is settled, the law is passed,
the question is decided."

"Evidently you exaggerate!" said Seraphin with a shake of the head.
"Your illustration beats the enchanted horn of the fable. Do not you
think so. Miss Louise?"

"Brother's trumpet story is rather odd, 'tis true, yet I believe that
at bottom such is really the state of things."

"The instrument in question is objectionable in your opinion, my
friend, only because you still bear about you the narrow conscience of
an age long since buried. As you never spend more than two short winter
months in the city,