The professors were terrified at this spectacle, and only Heinrich had the courage to advance to his side and ask—­“Where do you wish to go, my dear friend?”

“I wish to obey the command of the king—­I am going to the theatre,” he replied, with a cry of despair, and then fell fainting into the arms of his friend.

Professor Bierman instantly summoned assistance, and the insensible form of the president was borne from the room, and a messenger sent for a physician.

When the professors had become somewhat composed, Bierman announced to them that he had a proposition to make which he hoped would meet with their approval.

“You doubtless agree with me, my friends, in saying that this cruel sentence of the king must not be carried out.  Our friend the president would not suffer alone in its fulfilment—­the honor of the university would receive an irreparable wound.  We must employ every effort to alter this decision.  It is, in my opinion, fortunate that our worthy friend has sunk for the time beneath this blow.  His illness relieves him from the necessity of an immediate appearance in the theatre; and, whether ill or not, he must remain in his bed until the king can be induced to alter his sentence.  We will prepare a petition and send it immediately to the king.”

The proposal of Bierman met with entire approval; and the petition was prepared, signed by all the professors, and sent to Berlin by one of their number.  The king, however, declined to receive him, and his only answer was that in eight days the Senate would be made acquainted with his final decision.

The professors convinced themselves that there was comfort in this answer.  The king evidently did not intend to insist on the execution of the first sentence, or he would simply have ordered its fulfilment.

The professors were hopeful, and no longer opposed the nightly visits of the students to the theatre.  A few of them determined to visit the theatre themselves, and see this Eckhof who had caused them so much sorrow and trouble.  The students were delighted at this concession, and considered the professors the most enlightened and unprejudiced of the whole body.  To show their apreciation of this, they attended their lectures on the following day.

This unexpected result made the other professors falter in their determination.  Their temporal good depended very much on the attendance of the students upon their lectures.  They found that they must consent to listen to Eckhof and his companions, if they would be heard themselves; and, at length, they determined to make peace with the students and actors, and to visit the theatre.

Peace was now proclaimed, and Eckhof, whose noble and tender heart was filled with joy and gratitude, played “Britannicus” with such power and feeling that he even won applause from the professors.

President Franke was still confined to his room.  The terror of a forced visit to the theatre, which would be known as an expiation for his fault, made his nights sleepless and his days most wretched.