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Java EE 7 Development with NetBeans 8 3rd Edition
David R. Heffelfinger Digital Instant Download
Author(s): David R. Heffelfinger
ISBN(s): 9781783983520, 1783983523
Edition: 3
File Details: PDF, 22.73 MB
Year: 2015
Language: english
www.allitebooks.com
Java EE 7 Development
with NetBeans 8

Develop professional enterprise Java EE applications

quickly and easily with this popular IDE

David R. Heffelfinger

BIRMINGHAM - MUMBAI

www.allitebooks.com
Java EE 7 Development with NetBeans 8

Copyright © 2015 Packt Publishing

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval
system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior written
permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embedded in
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Every effort has been made in the preparation of this book to ensure the accuracy
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However, Packt Publishing cannot guarantee the accuracy of this information.

First published: October 2008

Second edition: June 2011

Third edition: January 2015

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ISBN 978-1-78398-352-0

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 Credits

Author Project Coordinator

David R. Heffelfinger Akash Poojary

Reviewers Proofreaders
Saurabh Chhajed Ting Baker
Halil Karaköse Simran Bhogal
Mario Pérez Madueño Samuel Redman Birch
David Salter Maria Gould
Manjeet Singh Sawhney Ameesha Green
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Acquisition Editor
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 About the Author

David R. Heffelfinger is the Chief Technology Officer (CTO) at Ensode

Technology, LLC, a software consulting firm based in the Greater Washington DC
area. He has been architecting, designing, and developing software professionally
since 1995. He has been using Java as his primary programming language since
1996. He has worked on many large-scale projects for several clients, including the
U.S. Department of Homeland Security, Freddie Mac, Fannie Mae, and the U.S.
Department of Defense. He has a master's degree in software engineering from
Southern Methodist University, Dallas, Texas. David is the editor-in-chief of Ensode.
net (http://www.ensode.net), a website on Java, Linux, and other technologies.
David is a frequent speaker at Java conferences such as JavaOne. You can follow
David on Twitter at @ensode.

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 About the Reviewers

Saurabh Chhajed is a Cloudera Certified Developer for Apache Hadoop and Sun
(Oracle) Certified Java/J2EE Programmer with 5 years of professional experience in
the enterprise application development life cycle using the latest frameworks, tools,
and design patterns. He has extensive experience of working with Agile and Scrum
methodologies and enjoys acting as an evangelist for new technologies such as NoSQL
and big data and analytics. Saurabh has helped some of the largest U.S. companies to
build their product suites from scratch. While not working, he enjoys traveling and
sharing his experiences on his blog (http://saurzcode.in).

Halil Karaköse is a freelance software architect. He graduated from Işık University

in Turkey as a computer engineer in 2005.

He has worked in the telecommunications industry for 10 years, and has worked
for Turkcell and Ericsson. In 2014, he quit his job at Ericsson to establish his own
software consultancy company, KODFARKI (http://kodfarki.com).

His primary focus is Java, Java EE, Spring, and Primefaces. He also likes to give Java
trainings. He has a keen interest in Java tools that speed up development, such as
NetBeans and IntelliJ IDEA. In his spare time, he likes running, skiing, and playing
PES.

www.allitebooks.com
Mario Pérez Madueño was born in 1975 in Turin and lives in Barcelona. He
graduated in computer engineering from the Open University of Catalonia (UOC),
Spain, in 2010. Mario is a Java SE, ME, and EE enthusiast and has been a member of
the NetBeans Community Acceptance Testing program (NetCAT) for many years.
He was also the technical reviewer of the books, Java EE 5 Development with NetBeans
6 and Building SOA-based Composite Applications Using NetBeans IDE 6, both by
Packt Publishing.

I would like to thank my wife, María, for her unconditional help and
support in all the projects I get involved in, and Martín and Matías
for giving me the strength to go ahead.

David Salter is an enterprise software developer and architect who has been
developing software professionally since 1991. His relationship with Java goes back
to the beginning, when Java 1.0 was used to write desktop applications and applets
for interactive websites. David has been developing enterprise Java applications
using both Java EE (and J2EE) and open source solutions since 2001. David wrote
the books, NetBeans IDE 8 Cookbook and Seam 2.x Web Development, both by Packt
Publishing. He has also co-authored the book, Building SOA-Based Composite
Application Using NetBeans IDE 6, Packt Publishing.

I would like to thank my family for supporting me. Special thanks

and love to my wife.

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Manjeet Singh Sawhney currently works for a large IT consultancy in
London, UK, as a Principal Consultant - Enterprise Data Architect within the
Global Enterprise Architecture Consulting practice. Previously, he worked for
global organizations in various roles, including development, technical solutions
consulting, and data management consulting. Although Manjeet has worked across
a range of programming languages, he specializes in Java. During his postgraduate
studies, he also worked as a Student Tutor for one of the top 100 universities in the
world, where he was teaching Java to undergraduate students and was involved
in marking exams and evaluating project assignments. Manjeet acquired his
professional experience by working on several mission-critical projects serving
clients in the financial services, telecommunications, manufacturing, retail, and
public sectors.

I am very thankful to my parents; my wife, Jaspal; my son, Kohinoor;

and my daughter, Prabhnoor, for their encouragement and patience,
as reviewing this book took some of my evenings and weekends
from the family.

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 Table of Contents
Preface 1
Chapter 1: Getting Started with NetBeans 7
Introduction 7
Obtaining NetBeans 9
Installing NetBeans 12
Microsoft Windows 12
Mac OS X 12
Linux 13
Other platforms 13
Installation procedure 13
Starting NetBeans for the first time 20
Configuring NetBeans for Java EE development 21
Integrating NetBeans with a third-party application server 22
Integrating NetBeans with a third-party RDBMS 25
Adding a JDBC driver to NetBeans 26
Connecting to a third-party RDBMS 27
Deploying our first application 30
NetBeans tips for effective development 33
Code completion 33
Code templates 37
Keyboard shortcuts 40
Understanding NetBeans visual cues 44
Accelerated HTML5 development support 46
Summary 51

www.allitebooks.com
Table of Contents

Chapter 2: Developing Web Applications Using

JavaServer Faces 2.2 53
Introduction to JavaServer Faces 53
Developing our first JSF application 54
Creating a new JSF project 54
Modifying our page to capture user data 60
Creating our CDI named bean 66
Implementing the confirmation page 70
Executing our application 71
JSF validation 72
Facelets templating 76
Adding the Facelets template 77
Using the template 80
Resource library contracts 85
Composite components 91
Faces flows 96
HTML5 support 102
HTML5-friendly markup 102
Pass-through attributes 106
Summary 107
Chapter 3: JSF Component Libraries 109
Using PrimeFaces components in our JSF applications 109
Using ICEfaces components in our JSF applications 116
Using RichFaces components in our JSF applications 124
Summary 130
Chapter 4: Interacting with Databases through
the Java Persistence API 131
Creating our first JPA entity 132
Adding persistent fields to our entity 141
Creating a data access object 142
Automated generation of JPA entities 149
Named queries and JPQL 157
Bean Validation 159
Entity relationships 159
Generating JSF applications from JPA entities 167
Summary 174
Chapter 5: Implementing the Business Tier with Session Beans 175
Introducing session beans 176
Creating a session bean in NetBeans 176

[ ii ]
 Table of Contents

Accessing the bean from a client 188

Executing the client 191
Session bean transaction management 191
Implementing aspect-oriented programming with interceptors 193
Implementing the Interceptor class 194
Decorating the EJB with the @Interceptors annotations 196
The EJB Timer service 197
Generating session beans from JPA entities 200
Summary 205
Chapter 6: Contexts and Dependency Injection 207
Introduction to CDI 207
Qualifiers 214
Stereotypes 219
Interceptor binding types 222
Custom scopes 227
Summary 229
Chapter 7: Messaging with JMS and Message-driven Beans 231
Introduction to JMS 231
Creating JMS resources from NetBeans 232
Implementing a JMS message producer 238
Consuming JMS messages with message-driven beans 245
Seeing our messaging application in action 250
Summary 251
Chapter 8: Java API for JSON Processing 253
The JSON-P object model API 253
Generating JSON data with the JSON-P object model API 254
Our example in action 256
Parsing JSON data with the JSON-P object model API 260
The JSON-P streaming API 264
Generating JSON data with the JSON-P streaming API 265
Parsing JSON data with the JSON-P streaming API 267
Summary 269
Chapter 9: Java API for WebSocket 271
Examining the WebSocket code using samples included
with NetBeans 271
The sample Echo application in action 273
Examining the generated Java code 274
Examining the generated JavaScript code 275

[ iii ]
Table of Contents

Building our own WebSocket applications 277

Developing the user interface 280
Developing the WebSocket server endpoint 282
Implementing WebSocket functionality on the client 285
Summary 289
Chapter 10: RESTful Web Services with JAX-RS 291
Generating a RESTful web service from an existing database 292
Analyzing the generated code 294
Testing our RESTful web service 299
Generating RESTful Java client code 306
Generating RESTful JavaScript clients for our
RESTful web services 313
Summary 317
Chapter 11: SOAP Web Services with JAX-WS 319
Introduction to web services 319
Creating a simple web service 320
Testing our web service 326
Developing a client for our web service 328
Exposing EJBs as web services 333
Implementing new web services as EJBs 333
Exposing existing EJBs as web services 336
Creating a web service from an existing WSDL 339
Summary 342
Index 343

[ iv ]
 Preface
Java EE 7, the latest version of the Java EE specification, adds several new features
to simplify enterprise application development. New versions of existing Java EE
APIs have been included in this latest version of Java EE. JSF 2.2 has been updated
to better support wizard-like interfaces via FacesFlows and has been enhanced to
better support HTML5. NetBeans supports JPA 2.1 features such as Bean Validation
and many others. EJB session beans can be automatically generated by NetBeans,
allowing us to easily leverage EJB features such as transactions and concurrency.
CDI advanced features such as qualifiers, stereotypes, and others can be easily
implemented via NetBeans' wizards. JMS 2.0 has been greatly simplified, allowing us
to quickly and easily develop messaging applications. Java EE includes a new Java
API for JSON Processing (JSON-P), allowing us to quickly and easily process JSON
data. NetBeans includes several features to allow us to quickly and easily develop
both RESTful and SOAP-based web services.

This book will guide you through all the NetBeans features that make the
development of enterprise Java EE 7 applications a breeze.

What this book covers

Chapter 1, Getting Started with NetBeans, provides an introduction to NetBeans,
giving time-saving tips and tricks that will result in more efficient development
of Java applications.

Chapter 2, Developing Web Applications Using JavaServer Faces 2.2, explains how
NetBeans can help us easily develop web applications that take advantage of the
JavaServer Faces 2.2 framework.
Preface

Chapter 3, JSF Component Libraries, covers how NetBeans can help us easily develop
JSF applications using popular component libraries such as PrimeFaces, RichFaces,
and ICEfaces.

Chapter 4, Interacting with Databases through the Java Persistence API, explains how
NetBeans allows us to easily develop applications taking advantage of the Java
Persistence API (JPA), including how to automatically generate JPA entities from
existing schemas. This chapter also covers how complete web-based applications
can be generated with a few clicks from an existing database schema.

Chapter 5, Implementing the Business Tier with Session Beans, discusses how NetBeans
simplifies EJB 3.1 session bean development.

Chapter 6, Contexts and Dependency Injection, discusses how the CDI API introduced
in Java EE 6 can help us integrate the different layers of our application.

Chapter 7, Messaging with JMS and Message-driven Beans, explains Java EE messaging
technologies such as the Java Message Service (JMS) and Message-driven Beans
(MDB), covering NetBeans' features that simplify application development taking
advantage of these APIs.

Chapter 8, Java API for JSON Processing, explains how to process JSON data using the
new JSON-P Java EE API.

Chapter 9, Java API for WebSocket, explains how to use the new Java API for
WebSocket to develop web-based applications featuring full duplex communication
between the browser and the server.

Chapter 10, RESTful Web Services with JAX-RS, covers RESTful web services with
the Java API for RESTful Web Services, including coverage of how NetBeans can
automatically generate RESTful web services and both Java and JavaScript RESTful
web service clients.

Chapter 11, SOAP Web Services with JAX-WS, explains how NetBeans can help us
easily develop SOAP web services based on the Java API for the XML Web Services
(JAX-WS) API.

What you need for this book

You need Java Development Kit (JDK) version 7.0 or newer and NetBeans 8.0 or
newer Java EE edition.

[2]
 Preface

Who this book is for

If you are a Java developer who wishes to develop Java EE applications while taking
advantage of NetBeans' functionality to automate repetitive tasks and ease your
software development efforts, this is the book for you. Familiarity with NetBeans
or Java EE is not assumed.

Conventions
In this book, you will find a number of text styles that distinguish between different
kinds of information. Here are some examples of these styles and an explanation of
their meaning.

Code words in text, database table names, folder names, filenames, file extensions,
pathnames, dummy URLs, user input, and Twitter handles are shown as follows:
"NetBeans uses the JAVA_HOME environment variable to populate the JDK's
directory location."

A block of code is set as follows:

<package com.ensode.flowscope.namedbeans;

import javax.annotation.PostConstruct;
import javax.annotation.PreDestroy;
import javax.faces.flow.FlowScoped;
import javax.inject.Named;

@Named
@FlowScoped("registration")
public class RegistrationBean {
...

When we wish to draw your attention to a particular part of a code block, the
relevant lines or items are set in bold:
package com.ensode.flowscope.namedbeans;

import javax.annotation.PostConstruct;
import javax.annotation.PreDestroy;
import javax.faces.flow.FlowScoped;
import javax.inject.Named;

@Named
@FlowScoped("registration")
public class RegistrationBean {
...

[3]
Preface

Any command-line input or output is written as follows:

chmod +x filename.sh

New terms and important words are shown in bold. Words that you see on the
screen, for example, in menus or dialog boxes, appear in the text like this: " To
download NetBeans, we need to click on the Download button."

Warnings or important notes appear in a box like this.

Tips and tricks appear like this.

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[4]
 Preface

Errata
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do happen. If you find a mistake in one of our books—maybe a mistake in the text or
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[5]
 Getting Started with
NetBeans
In this chapter, we will learn how to get started with NetBeans. The following topics
are covered in this chapter:

• Introduction
• Obtaining NetBeans
• Installing NetBeans
• Starting NetBeans for the first time
• Configuring NetBeans for Java EE development
• Deploying our first application
• NetBeans tips for effective development

Introduction
NetBeans is an Integrated Development Environment (IDE) and platform.
Although initially, the NetBeans IDE could only be used to develop Java
applications, as of version 6, NetBeans supports several programming languages,
either through built-in support, or by installing additional plugins. Programming
languages natively supported by NetBeans include Java, C, C++, PHP, HTML, and
JavaScript. Groovy, Scala, and others are supported via additional plugins.

In addition to being an IDE, NetBeans is also a platform. Developers can use

NetBeans' APIs to create both NetBeans plugins and standalone applications.
Discovering Diverse Content Through
Random Scribd Documents
 John. Quite enchanting! If you were my grandmother, I should
certainly fall in love with you.
Charles. Where’s my wig?
Fournichon. Here are plenty, just choose one for yourself.
John. These curls are what will suit me. [Puts on the wig, and a
round straw hat on the top of it.]
Charles. This grey one will just do for me. [Puts it on, and then the
cap.] Now, I’m ready! Sapristi! How hot it is. There’s the bell.
John. Good gracious, now we’ve got it!
Fournichon. Quiet now; sit down before it’s too late.
Charles. What’s the good of that? our voices will betray us.
Fournichon. You must not talk. Just you trust to me, and it will be
all right.
 II.
Charles and John seated at a table, with their backs to the other
actors. Enter Bom de Sac, the police agent, fuming and swearing.
Bom de Sac. When I was with the First regiment, and was three
times wounded in two battles.... Ah! good-morning, Mr
Hairdresser ... three times wounded,—it would never have happened
to me to let two scoundrels escape. Never!
Fournichon. What’s your pleasure, Mr—Mr——
Bom de Sac. Bom de Sac, if you please—with the Third regiment—
in four battles, five wounds.
Fournichon. Does M. Bom de Sac want his hair cut?
Bom de Sac. Many thanks, I always do that myself. I learnt that
with the Fourth ... when I was six times wounded in five battles. But,
sir, that is not the point at present. I was just going to say that this
morning two scoundrels——
Fournichon. Scoundrels?
Bom de Sac. Scoundrels, or students, whichever you like to call
them.
Fournichon. Well, and what did they do?
Bom de Sac. Just imagine, sir. I was at the baker’s, and the maid
was standing on a ladder outside cleaning the window, when two
good-for-nothing vagabonds came up, took up a pail of water, and
threw it at the girl, and the girl fell right through the window in
among the currant-buns!
Fournichon. Not killed, I hope.
Bom de Sac. No, the buns had broken her fall. But I was out of the
house in a flash, and after the fellows. Sacré nom de guerre! if I
could still run as I could when I was in the Fifth ... and wounded
seven times in six battles ... they would never have escaped me! But
they are here!
Fournichon. Have a glass?
 Bom de Sac. If you please. [Drinks.] Thank you. I am told they
came into this house, and if so, they’ll have to come out, sir!
Fournichon. Here! How is it possible? You are quite free to search
the room if you like. These ladies are my grandmother and my
cousin.
Bom de Sac (seeing them for the first time, salutes). Ah! Honneur
aux dames, as we used to say in the Sixth. I hope you won’t mind,
ladies.
Fournichon. You need not give yourself the trouble of speaking to
them. The old lady is stone deaf, and won’t understand a word, and
she watches over her granddaughter so carefully that she cannot bear
to see a gentleman speak to the girl, because she cannot hear what he
is saying.

“SACRE NOM DE
GUERRE!”

Bom de Sac. Well, where in the thunder can they have got to? I
was quite certain of finding them here.
Fournichon. And I am quite certain you will do no such thing.
[Looks out of window.]
Bom de Sac. But—nom de nom!—how is it possible?
Fournichon. Just look here, Monsieur Bom de Sac, could these be
the gentlemen that have just passed laughing? Both of them have
white hats.
Bom de Sac (rushing to the window). Where?
Fournichon. Ah! what a pity! they have just this moment gone
round the corner towards the Botermarkt.
Bom de Sac. White hats, you say? The devil!—that must be they,
and they shan’t escape me this time. [Exit.] It’s not for nothing that I
had ten wounds in nine battles when serving with the Eighth.
Charles. Bad luck to the fellow! he has made it warm for us!
John. If it had lasted any longer, I am sure I should have made
some remarks on my own account. If some one else comes, we really
must find some other place, for I really can’t sit still so long in these
blessed skirts.
Charles. Shall we stand up then?
John. Why not. [Jumps on one of the chests.] Look here, I’ll bet
you anything you like I can stand half-an-hour like this without
moving. Don’t I look like a waxwork figure of summer?
Charles. The devil you are! [Gets on the other chest.] And I winter,
to match.
Fournichon. Splendid, gentlemen, it couldn’t be finer. Just stand
still like that. [A ring at the bell.]
Charles (getting down). Preserve us!—now we’re in for it.
John. No, Charles, stick to your post.
Charles. I can’t possibly stand still all that time.
Fournichon. It won’t be necessary. Just stand in any easy attitude,
and you can change your position quietly from time to time, without
our tiresome visitor becoming aware of it.
Charles. Well, I’ll see what I can do. [Climbs up again.]
Fournichon. Hush! he’s coming!
Enter Meijer.
Meijer. Good-day, Monsieur Fournichon. Good-day, ladies. (To
Fournichon.) Why are you laughing?
Fournichon. At your taking those waxworks for ladies. Ha! ha! ha!
Meijer. Waxworks, you say! How astonishingly lifelike! It’s true,
though, it would be a queer position for living beings to stand in.
 Fournichon. Well done, are they not? It is an allegorical
representation of winter and summer.
Meijer. Very pretty, very pretty indeed! You hair-dressers have
always something curious on hand.
Fournichon. That’s to say, sir, they are not my property. They have
been sent to me to look after the coiffures, and they are to go to
London,—to Madame Tousseau’s museum.
Meijer. Oh, indeed!—indeed! Well, art has made great strides.
Fournichon. Great strides, sir! You’re quite right there. Just feel
now—elastic as india-rubber—quite like a human being.
Meijer. Wonderful! wonderful! But I am in a hurry—can you shave
me?
Fournichon. Certainly, sir, sit down! [Gives him a chair between
John and Charles, but rather more towards the back of the shop.
Goes on shaving him, and talking at the same time.] Your barber,
sir, does not know his business. Your skin and complexion are quite
spoilt.
[John changes his position.]
Meijer (starting up). Good heavens!
Fournichon. No need to be uneasy, sir; there is nothing really
dangerous.
Meijer. No, that’s not what I was thinking of,—but that doll of
yours—the summer one—is moving!
Fournichon. Oh! that is nothing surprising—perhaps I stepped on
the floor rather heavily. You must know these figures are full of steel
springs inside, and the slightest vibration makes them move. Just
look now!
[Stamps on the floor. John and Charles immediately change
their positions.]
Meijer. Ah! thank you for your explanation. I really never should
have understood it.
[Sits down again, and Fournichon goes on shaving him till he
has finished. Meijer rises.]
Meijer. Thanks. Can you give me change?
 Fournichon. I’ll go and get it.
[Exit. Meijer goes to look at the waxworks.]
Meijer. They are curious, though! I have often seen waxworks
before, but never so graceful, so lifelike as these. Whenever any one
stamps on the floor, they move. [Stamps—John and Charles again
change their attitudes.] Just look at that! how pretty! Once more!
Sublime! And that’s the way they keep on! [Stamps again, and
continues to do so, faster and faster—John and Charles changing
their position with every stamp; but at length they begin to grow
tired of it—they jump down from their pedestals, seize Meijer, and
hold him fast, saying, “You rascal! this is too much of a good thing!”
They strike him, and push him out at the door—losing their wigs in
the struggle—after which they burst out laughing, and drop
exhausted into their chairs. Enter F.]
Fournichon. Gentlemen! what have you been up to now? Such an
infernal row I never heard before! You’ll wake all the babies in the
neighbourhood.
Charles (laughing). Oh! the conceited blockhead!
John. The worshipper of waxwork groups!
Fournichon. Well—where is he? What have you done with him?
Charles. We have put him out at the door as quietly and
deliberately as possible.
Fournichon. Well—and why?
John. Because he bored us too much. He was so delighted with the
mechanism of the figures, that we might have kept on dancing till to-
morrow morning if we had not put an end to the business ourselves.
Fournichon. And what about your coiffures?
Charles. Why, that’s true! What can have become of them!
Fournichon. Oh! good heavens! here they are, lying on the ground
like any old rubbish! [Picks them up, along with the hat and cap.]
Just look!—they are not worth a cent now!
John. Oh! just put the things away—we don’t want them any more,
—and if they’re spoilt, we’ll pay for them.
Fournichon. In that case, sir, it doesn’t matter. [Lays everything
on a table. The bell rings.] Hé! who’s that now?
 Charles. It doesn’t matter to me who it is. Any one may come who
likes—I’m not going to act in this farce any longer.
Fournichon (looks through the door). Look out, gentlemen—it’s
the agent—Bom de Sac!
John and Charles (springing up). That fellow! No! that will never
do! [They sit down at the table, as before, and put on their
headdresses, but without seeing that they have taken the wrong
ones, John putting on the grey wig and cap,—Charles, the curls and
round straw hat. Bom de Sac heard speaking outside the door:]—
No, sacré nom de nom! Mijnheer Meyer has lent me a hand. What
are people thinking of? It was not for nothing I was wounded eleven
times in ten battles, with the 9th Regiment. They are here—I’m
certain of that! [Enters.]
Fournichon. Search as much as you like, sir, but remember, if you
please, that, in the presence of ladies....
Bom de Sac. Of course, of course! I always said, “Honneur aux
dames.” [Looks at the ladies and salutes, then takes a step
backward in amazement.] Sacré nom de guerre!
Fournichon. What’s the matter?
Bom de Sac. Have I come to my age—not to speak of twelve
wounds in eleven battles—to let myself be fooled like this?
Fournichon. I don’t understand you.
Bom de Sac. No, perhaps not. But I understand how it is possible
for these ladies to have changed heads at a moment’s notice. Look
here! [He takes off the wigs.] The young lady is getting grey, and the
grandmother is going backwards to her childhood. Come with me,
now, gentlemen—I arrest you both!
Fournichon. Your own fault, gentlemen. I wash my hands of the
whole business.
Charles. We have a word to say to that, John.
John. Certainly.
Bom de Sac. Gentlemen, conspiracies or plots in which more than
one person are concerned are forbidden by law. Will you come with
me, or not?
Charles. I suppose we shall have to.
John. Do you want us to come with you as we are?
 Bom de Sac. Just as you like, gentlemen. I arrest you, and that is
all my share in the business. The rest does not concern me.
Charles (whispers to John, then continues aloud). Just listen,
Monsieur Bom de Sac,—though we find it very unpleasant to have
fallen into your hands, we are not children, and we are quite capable
of understanding that there is nothing for it but to give in. But just let
us change our clothes first—we’ll give you our word of honour not to
go out of the door without letting you know.
Bom de Sac. Very good! We have been young, too, you see. Just go
on, gentlemen. If you give me your word, that is enough. [While he
goes on talking to Fournichon, John and Charles take off their
costumes and tie Bom de Sac’s coattails to the table.] Yes, Mr
Hairdresser, when I was with the 11th, and had been wounded
thirteen times in twelve battles, then I thought to myself,—it’s quite
enough, Bom de Sac, you have done quite enough for your country;
you’re growing old—and a soldier may be too old. I was then
brigadier, and understood that it was getting time for me to make
room for another. So I came home to my old mother ... I married a
young wife....
Charles. ... and received, in thirteen battles....
Bom de Sac. Ah!—are you ready, gentlemen?
John. At your service, my worthy sergeant of police! We are quite
ready, and now warn you that we are about to leave. [Charles and
John go out by the door at the back of the stage, arm in arm,
saying, as they go.]—Bon soir.
Bom de Sac. Wait—I’m coming with you! [Tries to go, but finds
himself fastened to the table.] Bad luck to them! are they going to
give me the slip after all?
Fournichon. I see a good chance of it. Look here, Monsieur Bom de
Sac, you have, in far too many battles received more than too many
wounds to be anything like a match for these young fellows. They
have been sharper than you,—so you’ll have to acknowledge yourself
beaten, and e’en let them alone. By the time you get outside the door
they will be far beyond your reach.
Bom de Sac. You’re right enough there, so I shall keep the whole
matter to myself, and wish them a pleasant evening.
Anon.
 IN THE LITTLE REPUBLIC.

It was in the smallest Republic of our Continent—Altenet—rich in

mines of zinc. It lies, like a tiny wedge, between the great German
empire, the small kingdom of Holland, and the still smaller one of
Belgium.
Seldom has a stranger set foot here; few know the district even by
name; only a single encyclopædia makes mention of it; the atlases
have forgotten it,—nay, it has even been forgotten by the political
world.
When the separation between Belgium and Holland took place in
1830, the representatives of the various powers could not come to
any agreement over this little piece of ground. It was therefore
resolved to declare it “neutral territory,” till a later Congress should
find a better solution to the problem.
The old schoolmaster of the neighbouring village of Oppenaken
always asserted that the learned politicians assembled at the
aforesaid Congress had been too drunk to know what they were
doing. If his listeners looked at him incredulously, or began to laugh,
he would indignantly ask, “Don’t you believe me? Then I’ll prove it!”
And then he would fetch an atlas, open it at the map of the
Netherlands, and, following with his finger the boundary of our
provinces of Limburg and Brabant, continue—“Just look at this line
here how it goes—first to the left, then to the right—here crooked,
then slanting—then again forward for a bit, then backwards—one
minute straight, and then again with a great bend—isn’t it just like
the line a tipsy man would take in walking?”
In the year 1866 another European Congress took place; but it
seemed as though the gentlemen taking part in it had not recovered
from the effects of the drinking bout attributed to them by the
Oppenaken schoolmaster, for this time Altenet was forgotten—
forgotten for good and all.

“TOO DRUNK TO
KNOW WHAT THEY
WERE DOING.”

Thus the Altenetters lived on, independent of all foreign

domination. The miners continued to extract zinc from the ground,
and pile it up in the great waggons which transported it to other
countries; the peasant ploughed his field and reaped his grain; the
wind might be heard sighing in the clumps of trees on the hill-tops,
the brook rushing and murmuring between the rocks, and the lark
singing high in air—and what could you want more?
The government of the little Republic was entirely in the hands of
the burgomaster, Willem Drikus Bloemstein, a broad-shouldered
man of portly presence, red-haired and red-bearded, fully conscious
of his own importance, and loyally supported in all his works and
ways by the elect of Altenet, who were associated with him as
Councillors.
It was quite an earthly Paradise—a little Eden full of peace and
happiness! Here was no such thing as strife or hatred, for parties had
no existence, and life offered no opportunity for insult or injury on
political grounds. The taxes were not high, and there was no standing
army, so that no one thought it necessary to hold meetings in order
to discuss the advantages and disadvantages of compulsory service.
The only measure taken for the defence of the country was the
weekly drill of the rural rifle corps; and though no one was forced to
take his place in its ranks, yet every right-minded man of Altenet felt
it his duty to place himself under the orders of General Bauer—on
working days an energetic mine-superintendent.
Suddenly this happy state of things was disturbed.
A tiresome man—a German politician—had discovered the above-
mentioned negligence on the part of the statesmen of Europe, and
pointed out to the Government of his country that here was an
opportunity for gratifying its well-known love of annexation. The
high and mighty Reichstag took the hint, and resolved to proceed to
a speedy settlement of the still unsolved question of the division of
Altenet.
A storm of indignation swept through the whole Republic. The
head of the State, honest Bloemstein, immediately summoned all the
members of the Council, in order to consult as to ways and means of
averting the threatened misfortune, and the summons was obeyed by
every one.
They were all assembled. Klessens, the rich brewer; young Holzert,
an ugly little man, whose bow-legs were a continual challenge to any
poodle who had learned to jump through a hoop, but whose
shrewdness and clear insight into things were praised by every one;
the just-mentioned Bauer, the commander of the rifle corps;
Marbaise, the landlord of the “Lump of Zinc”; and Conrads, the
wealthy farmer.
“What’s got to be done?” was the question addressed by
Bloemstein to the notables of Altenet.
“It seems to me we ought to write the Prussian a civil letter, telling
him not to trouble his head about us,” was the opinion delivered by
Klessens, after coughing and clearing his throat for some time.
“You stupid fellow!” replied Bauer, pulling in an impressive
manner at his thick moustache, “do you think the insolent dog of a
Prussian will care anything for a civil letter? No, my boy, you don’t
know him yet; au contraire, we ought to show him we’re not afraid.”
“Why, then! there will be war!” was timidly interjected by Conrads.
“Very well then! there will be war!” The rest nodded assent.
“But that will surely be a great-to-do,—couldn’t we wait at least till
the crops are in?”
 “We won’t wait a moment! I shall march with the Rifles to-
morrow, right along the Prussian border, and then the miserable
wretches can see that we’re not afraid of them!” and Bauer banged
the table with his fists.
“That’s not nearly enough,” suggested Marbaise; “the custom-
house officers might forget to write to the Emperor about it, and as
long as he doesn’t know it, it all goes for nothing.”
“We ought to write to him ourselves, and not civilly,—no, indeed!—
but as impudently as we can; and you must sign the letter,
Bloemstein, just as if you were a king yourself, and put under it
‘Wullem the First, President of the Republic of Altenet.’”

“BAUER BANGED THE TABLE WITH HIS

FISTS.”

“Wullem, Wullem! why, there are so many Wullems,” was the

opinion of the man addressed; “the Dutch one is called so, and the
Prussian too. ‘Wullem!’—it’s so common.”
“But you have another name, haven’t you?” asked another
Councillor.
“Yes, of course,—Drikus.”
“Very well, then,—Drikus the First. What do you think of that?”
“Well, well,” muttered Klessens. “‘Drikus the First, President of the
Republic of Altenet’; it doesn’t sound bad, not bad at all.”
“Wouldn’t it be still better to say, ‘President of the Independent
Republic’?” added the warlike Bauer.
“We might do that,” was the general verdict.
 “But then we ought to be called Ministers,” suggested Conrads.
“Of course!” chorussed the rest.
“In that case, I suppose I shall be Minister of War?” asked Bauer.
“Certainly.”
“And I of Agriculture?” asked Conrads.
“Very good, too.”
“Marbaise for Finance.”
“And whom shall we have for Home Affairs?”
“It seems to me that wouldn’t be a bad thing for you, tailor,” put in
Bloemstein, addressing Councillor Holzert.
“I have no objection,” replied the latter; “but I’d just like to say
something too.”
“Councillor Holzert will now address the meeting.”
A sudden silence fell on the assembly; all were straining their ears
to hear what thoughts had arisen in the tailor’s shrewd brain.
Speaking slowly, and emphasising every word, he began,—
“We must have stamps made—big stamps, with your head on
them, Bloemstein; and then we’ll send a letter, with a stamp like that
on it, you understand, not to the Emperor of Prussia, but to
Bismarck, because, after all, he’s the fellow that does everything; and
you must write in that letter, just to rile him, that we are going to let
all the priests and Jesuits he has driven out come freely into our
country.”
“But only on condition that they brew no beer,” interrupted the
brewer, Klessens.
The tailor made believe not to have heard this interested remark,
and ended his speech with the question, “What do you think of that
idea?”
“Bravo, bravo!” cried all; and “You’re a sharp lad; you’re a clever
fellow,” added the chairman of the meeting, as he passed his hand
complacently over the head whose portrait was shortly to be sent to
the Chancellor of the German Empire.
“We haven’t done yet,” continued Holzert; “we have still to find out
how we’re going to put your head on the stamps,—with a beard, with
a moustache only, or without anything at all.”
 “Why, you do think of everything, tailor!” observed Marbaise.
Bauer declared that there could be no two opinions on the point
—“With a moustache, that’s quite military,” and, as he spoke, he
twisted the ends of his own.
“But I don’t think it would look very well—a red moustache,”
objected Marbaise.
“Why, what does that matter? You can’t see it in the picture,”
returned Conrads. “Bismarck has a white one.”
“I don’t quite know whether you’re right,” began Holzert again;
“just look at Napoleon,—I mean the great Napoleon,—he’s got
nothing, no beard and no moustache, and yet he sent the Prussians
to the right-about, time and again; but what do you think about it
yourself, Bloemstein?”
“Well, what am I to say to you? A beard is not respectable, and I
shall have mine shaved off; then we can see if the moustache alone
looks well; and if that is not the case, I’ll have that taken off too.”
All thought this an excellent idea.
“Don’t get shaved here, though. You’d better have that done at Aix-
la-Chapelle, and then you can get yourself taken at the same time for
the stamps.”
“Among the Prussians? Never! as long as I live. I’ll never help them
to earn a cent,” thundered Bloemstein.
“In Maastricht, then,” suggested another.
“All right. I’ll have it done on Monday. Has any one anything more
to say to the meeting?”
They looked at each other, but no one broke the silence.
“No one’s got nothing, then?”
“Just wait a minute,” cried Conrads. “You ought to have a crown,
Bloemstein.”
“A crown?—that’s expensive.”
“Nonsense; have one made of brass, and well polished up, then it
will shine just as if it were gold.”
“Then we ought to have Ministers’ uniforms. I’ll make them as
cheap and as quickly as possible,” said the tailor-Minister; “and then
I’ll make a long cloak for you, Bloemstein.”
 “If the gentlemen will allow, I’ve something more to say,” said
Marbaise.
“It’s Marbaise’s turn to speak.”
“We ought to forbid all Altenet girls marrying Prussians.”
“What about my Marieke, who’s courting with the Prussian
doctor?” was Bloemstein’s terrified reply. “What a set-out my
daughter will make—and, above all, my wife, when I tell them that.”
“Then you must just say that our country doesn’t permit it,” and
the whole assembly nodded in token of assent.
“Oh, Lord!” groaned the unlucky President; “it’s the hardest thing
you could ask me to do.”
“Our country! the Republic! the Independent Republic!” cried the
others, wagging their heads hither and thither, shrugging up their
shoulders, and holding out their hands with all their fingers extended
in air.

“BOTH WALKED ON IN
SILENCE.”

Here the weighty deliberations came to an end; and thereupon the

President and his Ministers slowly proceeded homewards.
Holzert escorted the newly appointed ruler to his dwelling. For a
considerable time both walked on in silence. At last the tailor spoke:
 “Bloemstein,” he began, “if your Marieke is not to marry the
Prussian doctor, ... in that case ... I’d like to have her. I always had a
liking for the girl; but I couldn’t say anything; ... but now I’m
Minister of the Interior, ... that sounds fine, eh? ... that’s
something.... I think perhaps it might do.”
“Why, my good fellow, I’ve nothing against you. You always were a
clever chap, and you’ve shown it again with those stamps. It would
be a good enough idea; ... but—Marieke! and then my wife!”
“But, after all, you’re the master. Why, you’re the king of
everything in the place! You must put on a bold face, and stand
firm!”
“Very well, lad, I’ll try.”
With wrathful strides, his head well thrown back, and his hand
resting on the front of his ample waistcoat, Bloemstein entered his
own house.
Marieke sprang to meet him, embraced him cordially, and then
said, “Father, I’ve just had a letter from Heinrich, he’s coming to
dinner with us to-morrow.”
“I’m very sorry, child; but this marriage with the Prussian doctor
can’t come to anything. I’ve another husband for you. You’re to
marry my Minister of the Interior.”
“Whom do you say I am to marry?”
“My Minister of the Interior.”
“Who’s that?”
“Mr Holzert.”
“The crooked tailor! what a joke! I didn’t know you could be so
funny, father!”
“It’s no joke; it’s quite serious, Marieke!” and he recounted all that
had taken place at the meeting.
Marieke, however, was not convinced. “I won’t have him!” she
cried, and stamped her little foot on the ground;—“and if you say I
must, I’ll never marry at all!—there! ... I’ll go and tell mother about
it!”
Bloemstein did not await the arrival of his better half. Under
pretext of urgent business, the ruler of all Altenet, except his own
house, hastily escaped up the street, and did not return home till late
in the evening.
On the following day—it was Sunday—all Altenet was clean turned
upside down.
Bauer had summoned all his riflemen, as soon as high mass was
over, and they assembled in full uniform at the tavern kept by the
Minister of Finance.
In a vigorous and pithy speech,—which he had been thinking over
all night,—he explained to his troops the danger which threatened
the country.
His manly language carried his audience with him. The shout,
“We’ll conquer or die!” raised by the Minister of War, was loudly
echoed by every one; and in order still further to raise their courage,
they all added, “Another drop all round!” which was poured out by
the Minister of Finance in his shirt-sleeves, and with fingers
trembling with emotion.
“And now,” yelled Bauer, “we’re going to make a military march
along the Prussian frontier, and then all that canaille can see that
we’re not afraid of them. Marbaise—you with the drum, your eldest
boy with the accordeon, and the other with the trumpet in front,—
you three are the band. Then you, Ummels, with the flag; and you,
Gradus, with the bird; and then we, the people!”
However, it was a considerable time before all of them had left the
tavern and taken up their positions.
They were a peculiar-looking troop, of about a hundred and twenty
men; mostly broad-shouldered fellows, though not tall—a kind of
build common to most miners. They wore all possible costumes, of
all sorts of colours; check trousers and black coats—blue blouses,
long, short, new, or half-worn;—suits of cloth, wool or linen—here
and there a hero marching in sabots. The majority were armed with
old-fashioned bell-mouthed blunderbusses; some, the tallest of the
lot, were provided with double-barrelled fowling-pieces, which at
once branded them as poachers.
 “CAUSED THEM TO
GO THROUGH ALL
POSSIBLE
MANŒUVRES.”

All, however, had the same head-covering—a green cap, with

yellow braid,—and all had wooden pipes in their mouths. The flag
matched the caps—white and yellowish green. The place next to the
flag was occupied by the silver bird, hung round with all the gold and
silver medals worn by the Altenetters in shooting competitions.
“Look out!” cried Bauer, who, in token of his exalted position was
hung round with a string of small silver plates of different shapes and
sizes, and who, besides, showed his superior dignity by smoking, not
a pipe like the rest, but a cigar of immense length and thickness,
which had cost him two cents and a half.
All placed themselves in position.
“Right-about-face, and along the cinder path to the Prussian
frontier. Band, advance!”
They advanced, with drum beating and accordeon chirping. Just in
full view of the German officials, who had come out to ascertain the
cause of the approaching noise, Bauer called a halt. Then he caused
them to go through all possible manœuvres, shoulder arms, port
arms,—but not “present”—that he would never do “for those pig-dogs
of Prussians.”
 These evolutions did not appear to command any particular
admiration on the part of the Germans; pitying smiles were seen to
pass over their countenances, and when at the command “Right-
about-face!” half the company turned to the left, so that the soldiers
of Altenet stood facing each other, they burst into a roar of laughter,
which so aroused the wrath of Klaos Drehmans (who had spent some
years at Sittard), that he stepped out of the ranks, and snorted
defiance at the principal custom-house clerk as follows:—
“You! do you know what you are? you’re a regular nuisance!” while
another member of the Altenet militia yelled at the top of his voice,
quite at a loss for a worse epithet, “Oh! thou accursed Prussian of a
Prussian!”
It was truly a triumphal march when the Republican army
returned from this glorious campaign; the inhabitants uttered loud
cries of joy, alternating with abuse of the cowardly Prussian lot.
Bloemstein stood, proudly defiant, in the full consciousness of his
presidential dignity, on the “stoop” of his house. And when the
standard-bearer had waved his flag three times over his head in the
President’s honour, and then tossed it on high, the President smiled
very genially, and waved back a salute with his hand, blowing thick
clouds of smoke the while from his long German pipe, a proceeding
which elicited thundering “hurrahs” from assembled Altenet.
The only Altenetters who had not been able to witness this sublime
spectacle were Bloemstein’s wife and daughter; they had walked out
to meet Dr Olthausen coming from Aix-la-Chapelle, and fell in with
him near the village of Vaals.
After the usual salutations, Marieke related to her betrothed all the
changes which had taken place in the government of Altenet, and
also her father’s resolution to marry her to the Minister of the
Interior. At this part of the story the mother clenched her fists, her
eyes flashed fire, and she said, threateningly, “Just let the fellow
come into our house, and I’ll make him repent his Affairs of the
Interior.”
To the great surprise of both ladies, Olthausen did not appear to be
angry; on the contrary, he began to laugh loudly, and seemed
especially diverted by the story of the postage-stamps.
 “We’ll have a regular good joke out of that,” he said, still laughing;
“but I won’t come to dinner with you to-day.”
“Are you afraid of Bloemstein?” asked the mother. “Because you
needn’t be; I shall be at dinner too.”
“No, I’m not afraid of him—only of laughing more than I ought.”
“Never mind that; laugh at him as he deserves, and we’ll laugh too,
won’t we, Marieke?”
“Nein, liebes Madamchen,” returned the doctor, “it will be better if
I don’t come—we’ll have some dinner here.”

“JUST LET THE

FELLOW COME INTO
OUR HOUSE.”

He went with the two women into the nearest eating-house in the
village and ordered dinner, also two sheets of paper and an envelope.
While the ladies were dining, he wrote a letter on one sheet, slowly
and carefully, with beautiful round letters, then dashed off another
more hastily, and enclosed both in one envelope, which he stamped
and addressed to “Herrn Oscar Olthausen, Rechtsanwalt, Berlin.” He
then directed Marieke to wait till her father was about to send away
the letters with the new Altenet stamps. “Then you must keep back
the one addressed to Bismarck, and post this in place of it; and then I
assure you that everything will come right, without you or your
mother getting into any trouble with the old gentleman.”
They remained chatting for some little time longer, and then Dr
Olthausen took his leave and returned to Aix-la-Chapelle.
 Early on the following day Drikus the First set out for Limburg’s
metropolis. Arrived there, he turned his steps towards the barber’s
shop. A young shopman came to meet him, and politely relieved him
of his coat and hat.
“See here, lad,” began Bloemstein, “did you ever shave a
president?”
“Why, yes, sir; only yesterday the President of the Congregation of
the Sacred Heart.”
“No, I don’t mean one like that; I mean a great president.”
“Oh, the one of the great club?”
“No—greater still.”
“The President of the Tribunal, then?”
“No; greater still—a president of a republic!”
“Of a republic, you say? No, I never shaved one—never in my life!”
“Do you know what he looks like?”
“Why, yes—like a gentleman.”
“Very good, my boy; I see you understand. Now, that’s the way
you’ve got to shave me—for I’m one.”
“You a president of a republic? Ha! ha! ha!”
“What are you laughing at, boy?”
“Because you’re trying to make a fool of me.”
“Indeed and I’m not. I’m Drikus the First, President of the
Independent Republic of Altenet.”
The lad laughed no longer; he looked round in alarm, convinced
that he had a madman in the room with him.
“Shave my beard off!” commanded Bloemstein.
“Very well, Mr ... President.”
“À la bonne heure, my lad! I like that—you know how to behave.”
 “SEE HERE, LAD, DID
YOU EVER SHAVE A
PRESIDENT?”

As speedily as possible the wish of this strange customer was

gratified.
“Now just wait a bit, my boy. I must see how the moustache looks
by itself,” and the ruler of the republic placed himself before the
mirror.
He remained for some time lost in admiration, then began to turn
the points of his moustache first up and then down.
“What do you think of it, lad? Is it good enough for a president of a
republic?”
“I don’t know.”
“Hold your tongue, then, can’t you?”
“Very good, Mr ... President ... as you please.”
Suddenly honest Bloemstein turned round and fairly snorted at
the poor youth. “Just shave this side off,” he blustered, pointing to
the right half of his countenance.
The youthful Figaro hastened to comply, having heard that a
madman must not be contradicted or he may become violent. His
request having been complied with, the President rose in order to
admire himself in the mirror. He covered first one and then the other
half of his face with one hand, in order to convince himself which
style was most becoming to the presidential dignity.
 The attractions of the clean-shaven half at length prevailed, and
the last remaining hair was removed.
“What have you got to get?” asked Bloemstein, when this was
done.
“Ten centimes ... Mr President.”
“There are two groschen for you.”
“I have to give you two centimes change.”
“Never mind that—you may keep them. A president of a republic
has nothing mean about him.”
And with a proud and stately demeanour he departed in the
direction of the photographer’s. Scarcely had he left the barber’s,
when the boy hastened to the police-office, to relate how he had just
been shaving a fellow who must certainly have just escaped from the
lunatic asylum, for he had told him quite seriously that he was the
president of a republic. A policeman started immediately with the
terrified barber’s boy to search the streets of Maastricht for the
lunatic.
It was, however, in vain. Bloemstein had already entered the
studio of a neighbouring photographer, muttering, “I shall have to
explain myself differently here. It seems as though these Maastricht
people had never heard of the president of a republic.”
When the photographer appeared, he accordingly delivered
himself as follows: “I want my photograph taken, but it must be
properly done, for I am a king.”
“Very good, sir. Shall I give you a gun, then, or do you prefer a
bow?”
“A gun!—a bow! What for?”
“Why, I’ve photographed a whole number of kings, and they——”
“Ah! you know how to do it then?”
“Of course I do.”
“What kings have you taken?”
“Why, only yesterday the Gronsveld one, and a few days ago one
from Neer-Itteren.”
“How—what—kings of Gronsveld and Neer-Itteren?”
“Yes, of course—those of the archery competition.”
 “You confounded idiot!—did I get shaved for that? Do I look like a
king of the archery competition? Why, I am king of a country—of a
republic—an independent republic! Do you understand now?”
“Oh heavens!” cried the artist to himself, “the fellow is certainly
touched in the upper storey, and I shall have to look out, or he’ll
knock the whole shop to pieces.” He made his visitor a low bow, and
said,—
“Very pleased, sir, to be honoured with your custom. May I ask
your Majesty to take a seat.... How would you like your portrait, full-
length, or bust only?”
“Nothing but the bust; it’s for the stamps of the country, do you
understand?”
“Certainly, certainly, sir, and will you kindly look through this
thing?”

“NOW YOU CAN GO

AHEAD.”

“Very good, but remember that I want it to look respectable—do

you hear? ... And just wait a bit—I must see if my hair is all right;”
and he hastened to the looking-glass, moistened his palms,
smoothed his head with them, and took his place, with a last self-
satisfied look at his own image.
“Now you can go ahead.”
The photographer placed himself in front of his apparatus, and
declared, a moment later, that the picture was a splendid success,
notwithstanding the fact that it was impossible to pronounce on that
point with any degree of certainty, since he had not the courage to go
into the dark room and leave his eccentric customer alone.
“When will they be finished?” asked Bloemstein.
“Oh! as soon as your Majesty likes to have them.”
“Can I have them next week? All right then, just send them to
Drikus the First, King of the Independent Republic of Altenet.”
“I’ll do so without fail, your Majesty.”
“If they turn out well, I’ll come back and bring my wife the queen,
and my daughter the princess; and I’ll give you leave to hang out a
fine gilt signboard with your own name on it, and after that
‘Photographer to the King of the Republic of Altenet.’”
“I’ll do my best, your Majesty.”
The photographer too, immediately after his visitor’s departure,
hastened away to the temple of Justice, with the tidings that a fellow
as mad as a hatter, calling himself king of a republic, had just been at
his studio. Another gendarme was at once sent in pursuit.
Meanwhile the object of their solicitude had entered the church of
St Servaas. It had struck him that, since his august head ought
certainly to be adorned with a crown, he might here find a pattern for
the same in painting or sculpture. He remained standing a long time
before a picture representing the Adoration of the Magi, but none of
the three crowns worn by those royal personages suited his fancy.
“They haven’t got points enough,” he muttered, and searched further,
but in vain, till at last he came to a statue of the Madonna, which
realised his ideal. There was the crown he had always imagined—
with points standing straight up all round it.
He delayed not a moment, but hastened out into the street, and
entered the first coppersmith’s shop he came to.
“Can you make me a crown like Our Lady’s in St Servaas’s?” he
asked.
“Oh! yes, sir. What size do you want it?”
 “HIS AUGUST HEAD
OUGHT CERTAINLY
TO BE ADORNED
WITH A CROWN.”

“As big as my head; you can take the measure now.”

“What for? You don’t want to wear it, do you?”
“Of course I do—nothing is more certain.”
“Sir, are you mad? or might you happen to be a Freemason?”
“Mad! mad! Mad yourself, fellow!”
“Just wait a bit, and I’ll show you which of us is mad!” and before
the poor president could assume a defensive attitude, the smith had
seized him and thrown him into the street.
This roused Bloemstein’s wrath, and his objurgations speedily
collected a crowd in the street.
“There he is!” a voice cried suddenly, echoed by “Now you’ve got
him!” from another quarter, as the barber’s boy and the
photographer appeared on the scene, escorted by a policeman apiece.
In the twinkling of an eye the two officials had mastered the furious
president, and in spite of his vigorous resistance, and his
protestation that, as President of Altenet, his person was inviolable,
the unhappy man was lugged off to the little dark hole known to the
population of Maastricht as “the larder.”
“What is your name?” was the first question asked him by the
police commissioner.
“You might ask it a little more civilly,” was the reply.
The commissioner immediately complied with this request.
“Will you be so kind as to tell me whom I have the honour of
speaking to?”
“That’s the proper way to speak, and now I shall answer you. I am
Wullem Drikus Bloemstein, President of the Independent Republic
of Altenet.”
“And where do you live?”
“Well, I should have thought you had no need to ask. At Altenet,
the capital of the Republic of Altenet.”
“Thank you.”
One of the inspectors was immediately despatched to Altenet to
make inquiries on the spot as to the personality of the prisoner.

“THERE HE IS!”

The officer returned the same day, with the tidings that all Altenet
was one great lunatic asylum; that every human being he had met
and spoken to there was even madder than the one who had been
caught; everything he had seen and heard was sheer nonsense and
delirium, and so he had been obliged to return as he came.
Medical aid was summoned, but all in vain; the gentlemen were
unable to agree, one asserting that the patient was suffering from
aberratio mentalis, while another thought things were not so bad as
that.
“After all, what business is it of ours?” said one at last. “Send him
back to his home, and let them settle it among themselves.”
This counsel met with unanimous approbation, and was, in fact,
the most practical, and at the same time the easiest, way of disposing
of the prisoner.
Bloemstein was furious; and when the gendarmes who escorted
him took leave of him at the frontier, he was almost beside himself
with rage. He would have liked to take them with him into his
dominions, where he was undisputed lord and master; he would then
have summoned the commander of the local rifles, and ordered him
to shut up the Maastricht officials for a whole day in the cellar below
the council-chamber. But, alas! fate was against him, he could not
gratify his desire for vengeance; but being forced to relieve his
feelings in some way, he did so by indignantly shouting after their
retreating figures, “You Dutch cheese-heads, you!”
With hasty steps he forthwith sought his chief counsellor, the
Minister for Home Affairs, the tailor Holzert. In excited language,
and with wild gestures, he related the story of the outrage suffered by
him at Maastricht, and asked, in conclusion, “What are we to do?”
The tailor put his hand to his head, and remained for some little
time lost in thought.
“What are we to do?” repeated Bloemstein; “we can’t let a thing
like that pass.”
“What are we to do?” replied Holzert, speaking slowly and
solemnly. “Why, we must declare war against Holland.”
“Declare war against Holland?”
“Yes.”
“And what for?”
“For high treason.”
“You’re right, you’re right; we must send for Bauer at once.”
 “No, not so fast; we must have the stamps first, with your head on
them, and then the Hollanders can see whom they have to deal with.”
“You’re right again, tailor,” said Drikus I., flattered not a little by
these words.
“Besides that, I haven’t finished the ministers’ suits yet, and we
can do nothing without them; everything has got to be respectable.”
“Of course.”
During the next few days an unheard-of political commotion
prevailed in the usually calm atmosphere of Altenet.
Every evening, when work was over, Bauer’s rifles assembled in
the Minister of Finance’s public-house, in order to exchange ideas as
to the coming war with Holland.
Guesses were given as to where the first battle would be fought,
and calculations were made as to how soon they would be before the
gates of Amsterdam, and how many thousand millions they would
make the Dutch pay as war indemnity.
Bloemstein, meanwhile, wrote innumerable letters to all the
powers of Europe, to give them notice of his accession. All of them
were enclosed in large square envelopes, and laid out in a long row
on the table.
“And when once I’ve stuck on the stamps, with my head on them,
why, then, I shall be no end of a fellow, Marieke,” he repeatedly
remarked to his daughter.
The portraits, however, did not arrive.
 “WROTE
INNUMERABLE
LETTERS TO ALL THE
POWERS OF EUROPE.”

After the lapse of a fortnight, Bloemstein’s ploughman—for he had

no intention of going to Maastricht again himself—was sent to the
photographer’s, to ask whether the portraits of the President of the
Republic of Altenet were not yet ready.
“Do you really want them?—seriously?” inquired the artist.
“I suppose so, seeing as how I had to come here a-purpose.”
“Very well, I’ll send them next week.”
At the appointed time the impatiently awaited packet at last
arrived at the house of Altenet’s ruler. Something else arrived as well,
—the long royal mantle promised by the tailor, richly ornamented
with gold fringe.
Bloemstein was quite excited with joy. Without a moment’s delay
he flung the royal insignia round his shoulders, and then stood
before the mirror, admiring his front and back view by turns. He was
satisfied—perfectly and entirely satisfied—both with the garment and
him who wore it!
“The other fellows must see that too! Thunder! how they’ll stare!”
Immediately Bloemstein’s man was sent to summon the council,
and before long Marbaise, Klessens, Conrads, Bauer, and Holzert
entered—all clad in their uniforms, consisting of long coats trimmed
with gold lace, knee-breeches, long woollen stockings of a doubtful
white, and swords dangling at their sides.
It was quite evident that Holzert had given his whole time and
attention to the job, as was, moreover, irrefutably proved by an
unexpected incident.
When all were gathered round the big table, loudly uttering their
admiration of their ruler’s portrait, long Kwoib Hermes suddenly
rushed into the room, in his red baize drawers, with the tails of a blue
shirt fluttering above them, and shouted aloud—“Thou accursed
tailor, where are my trousers? I must go to early mass to-morrow,
and I have no trousers!”
“You shall have them to-morrow; to-morrow morning early,
Kwoib,” replied the indignant tradesman.
“No, I want them to-night. You’ve promised me them all the week,
and I’m going to have those trousers of mine to-night.”
“Man, don’t make such a scandalous row! Just think where you are
—before the ministers of the republican council!”
“The ministers and the council and the whole republic may be
stolen, for all I care! I want my trousers, and I’m not going away
from here before I get them.” And therewith he took a chair, and
seated himself among the ministers of the crown.
“Will you get out or not?” asked Bauer, threateningly.
“No; I’m not going before I get my trousers.”
Suddenly Bloemstein heard the steps of his wife and daughter,
who were coming to see what the noise was. Fearing that they might
come in for this unseemly spectacle, he thrust the intruder into the
next room, with the words, “There; you’ll find some trousers in there;
just put them on in the meantime.”
Not long after, Hermes appeared in a garment much too short for
him, which, however, by way of compensation, was also a great deal
too wide.
The assembly was now able to finish its deliberations in peace and
quiet. The portraits having been unanimously approved of, No. 2 of
the Agenda came up for discussion. This was, “Declaration of war
against Holland on the ground of high treason.” The debate was
lively and confused.
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