HERMAN (sits down with his head in his hands and ponders a long
time. Then he jumps up, startled). Didn't some one knock? (Goes
softly to the door, but sees no one. He sits down again, and
ponders; falls to weeping, and dries his eyes with papers; he jumps
up again and yells as if he were in a frenzy.) A whole pack of
papers from the syndics! The alderman of the hatters! The alderman's
opponent! Complaint in twenty headings! Riot of sailors! A foreign
president! Impeachment by the council! Threats! Isn't there a rope
here at hand? Yes, I think there really is--there's one behind the
stove. (Takes the rope and prepares a noose.) It was predicted of
me, that I should be elevated by my political studies. The prophecy
will come true, if only the rope holds. Let the council come, then,
with all their threats, I scoff at them, once I am dead. But there
is one thing I could wish for--to see the author of The Political
Stockfish hanged by my side with sixteen copies of The Council of
State and Political Dessert hung round his neck. (Takes the book
from the table and tears it apart.} You brute! You shall never
mislead another honest tinker. So, that's the last bit of comfort
before I die! Now I must look for a hook to hang myself from. It
will be especially noteworthy to have it said after my death: "What
burgomaster in Hamburg was ever more vigilant than Herman von
Bremenfeld, who in his whole term of office never slept a wink?"