“And now we must be going! Good-day to you, Herr Lebermann!”
“Where do you put up?” asked the apothecary.
“Nowhere as yet,” lied Karl, with a bold brow, appeasing his conscience
with the thought that they had not yet spent a night at the hotel.
“Waiter--what’s to pay?”
“And where shall we meet again?” asked this kind neighbour, who seemed
fully determined to dog the steps of his countrymen like a fearful
nightly apparition.
“Well, that’s the last thing--I mean to say we haven’t any definite
plans as yet,” said Karl, taking his hat from the hook, while the
ladies, much cast down by the turn their happily-begun travels had
taken, were also getting ready to go.
Annchen was struggling with her mantelet, when suddenly she heard a
very engaging voice behind her: “Permit me to be of assistance,” and
Dr. Rüdiger stood before the group with the happiest face in the world.
As far as the judge’s expression at that particular moment was
concerned, it is only to be regretted that there was no photographer on
the spot. He gave the uncalled helper a crushing look, offered his arm
to his wife, beckoned Annchen to his side, and without a word, bowed
coldly to Lebermann and left the restaurant.
This was really too bad! After several hours’ chase Rüdiger had at last
succeeded in finding his lovely heroine once more, and at that very
moment she was taken from him again. The only straw of refuge for him
to cling to was Herr Lebermann, whom he had found in the company of the
Schwarz family, and who might therefore be expected to give him some
information.
“The judge was in a great hurry,” he said, turning with an assumed air
of placidity to the apothecary, who at once made room for the new-comer
at his table.
“Yes, that’s just like my friend Schwarz,” he said deliberately, “he’s
always excited--always on the go. I’m not at all like him. I am much
more quiet, and that’s the very reason we get on so famously! My wife
always says: ‘Lebermann,’--my name is Lebermann, Apothecary Lebermann,
from Solau----”
“Dr. Rüdiger!” remarked his new friend with a bow.
“Happy to meet you! Well, my wife says: ‘Lebermann, you are the most
imperturbable man I ever saw.’ So you know my friend Schwarz, Dr.
Rüdiger? Ah, by the way, I did not understand exactly whether he has
found a hotel--do you know where he is staying?”
“At the R---- Hotel,” replied Rüdiger innocently, thereby doing the
worst service he could to the family to which he wished to make himself
agreeable.
“Ah, I am glad to hear it; I shall go and order a room immediately,”
said Lebermann joyously; “he will be so pleased, I know.”
The judge and his ladies had taken up their wanderings again not in
the best of spirits. The fact that the world is round had never
struck them as so vexatious as now, when, in consequence of this dire
roundness, Herr Lebermann was always rolling towards them.
“What with this bad luck we are having,” remarked the judge bitterly,
“it’s quite likely the fellow will cross our path again. After to-day’s
experience I am confident I could climb up on Mount Vesuvius to escape
from men, and when I reach the top the volcano would be sure to spit
out Lebermann. Hello! where are we now?” he added discontentedly. “We
are always losing our way in this wretched town. In this respect really
I prefer Solau!”
He disappeared once more behind his large map and began to search
diligently for his hotel, or rather for the street that it was in.
A small street urchin, with a bright, saucy face, at this moment
came singing and skipping along the side-walk. At sight of the
deeply-absorbed family an expression of unalloyed bliss passed over
his face, and with the exclamation, “Who lives behind there?” he put
his finger straight through the map; thereupon he took flight with
a perfect shriek of laughter ere the judge had recovered from his
consternation sufficiently to take up the chase with any hope of
success.
Helen and Annchen looked at their protector with some misgivings, in
the uneasy expectation of seeing him beside himself with ire; but,
lo and behold, he was quite the contrary! Herr Schwarz, who had been
steadily regarding the injured map, strangely enough looked very well
pleased, and taking a deep breath he said, “This _is_ a good thing,
now--if the lad hasn’t punched a hole in the spot I have always had
such a deal of trouble to find. This really simplifies matters greatly.”
_Hans Arnold._
_THE INNER LIFE OF THE SECOND-CLASS CAB-DRIVER._
“A WRITER who would describe things that he has not seen with his
own eyes is a feeble rhapsodist; his characters are unreal, and his
productions will never touch the hearts of his readers!” Amen! My
friend Otto put his glass down on the table with such vehemence that
the red wine in it spattered on the table-cloth. I am very shy by
nature; people who talk loud and set down their glass energetically,
looking at me at the same time, as much as to say, “Any objections?”
always awe me. That is the reason my friend Otto awed me. We sat
opposite at the table in the Italian wine-room; while he was speaking
he looked firmly at me; there was no doubt of it, he counted me in with
these blameworthy authors. Our other friends who sat at table with us
gazed at me in silence; it was evident that I was expected to say a
weighty word in self-defence. I myself felt it incumbent upon me,--but
unfortunately nothing appropriate occurred to me. After a lengthy pause
I mildly remarked, “Quite true, one should dip down into the fulness
of human life.” My friend Otto laughed scornfully into his glass, our
friends gave me a look of pity--I had undoubtedly made a fool of myself.
At the same time, the words of my friend Otto would never have made
such an impression upon me if my conscience had not troubled me. A
plan was ripening within me for a great social novel, delineating the
life of the lower classes in Berlin. Realism--that was my programme.
In spirit I saw my likeness in all the illustrated papers; behind my
name I read, “The German Zola,” in a parenthesis. I had not yet fully
decided upon the contents of the novel; but so much was sure, the hero
should be a second-class cab-driver,--if that didn’t take, I didn’t
know what would.
[Illustration: “KEPT ME WAITING AT THE DOOR WHILE HE WAS AMUSING
HIMSELF WITH HIS ADORED.”]
As I was walking home, I was tortured with tormenting doubts called
forth by the words of my friend. “So you would delineate a second-class
cab-driver?” I said to myself. “What do you know about a second-class
cab-driver? That in summer he wears a coat trimmed with galloons, and
a cocked hat, and in winter a mantle, high boots lined with straw,
and a fur cap--everybody knows that. But have you ever listened to
the conversation with which at the stopping-places he makes time pass
for himself and his colleagues? Have you ever followed him into the
gin-shops where he refreshes himself with a glass of half-and-half and
a sandwich? Do you know aught about his likes and dislikes? Or of the
mutual relation between him and his horse? In a word, have you any
knowledge of the inner life of a second-class cab-driver? Be honest
with yourself, you have none; and here you are going to write a social
novel about him! Well I never!” The last word I said half-audibly to
myself while I was opening the street-door in a very ill humour.
I did not sleep well that night. I was perpetually pondering over the
inner life of the second-class cab-driver.
When I arose, sighing, the next morning, I perceived that I should
accomplish nothing by going on in this way, and I resolved to devote
myself to practical studies. Armed with my note-book, I stepped out
into the street.
It was a glorious spring morning, but I was indifferent to the fact;
my eyes were riveted upon second-class cabs and their charioteers. At
the next corner there was a stopping-place for six such; my heart beat
faster as I beheld them. Heretofore these fellows had appeared to me
in the light of ordinary mortals; now it struck me that there was a
sly smile upon their faces, as if they were conscious of the fact of
possessing something which they would take care not to divulge--the
inner life of the second-class cab-driver.
I jumped into the foremost cab; it was open, and sported cushions of
red plush. The driver sat nodding upon the box, and for the present his
inner life was hidden by the sound of a tremendous snoring.
“Thou shalt be my hero!” spoke a voice within me. After some fruitless
efforts, I at last succeeded in waking him. I named some street
at random, where he was to take me, and resolved to enter into
conversation with him.
“Been on many trips to-day?” I asked in a winning voice, while he was
putting his horse in motion. He did not seem to hear me, at least he
paid no attention to my remark.
“Been on many trips to-day?” I repeated, still more pleasantly.
He turned his head about. “You’re right there,” he said. “It’s a double
trip.”
I was taken back by this unexpected result of my speech. “Double trip?”
I asked.
“Well, don’t you believe it?” he asked indignantly. I was vexed that I
had unwisely entered upon a double trip, and subsided.
“Pronounced faculty for justice,” I put down in my note-book, “which
occasionally amounts to unbending doggedness.” As the note seemed too
scant, I added, “Brusque and uncommunicative.”
We had reached a part of the town which offered no possible attractions
to me; so there was nothing for it but to drive back again. I jumped
into the first cab I saw, and as I was just about to open conversation
with the driver I perceived that it was a first-class cab. What was a
first-class cab-driver to me? Besides, it cost me a shilling. I was
terribly vexed with myself.
I now resolved to be more cautious in my choice of cabs. Long I
strolled about the streets, keeping an eye on all the stopping-places I
passed, until at last I beheld a young second-class cab-driver, who,
as soon as he saw my gaze fixed upon him, leaped with jerky haste upon
his box.
“At last,” I said to myself while getting in, “this is a genuine
wide-awake Berlin cab-driver, such as I want.”
I tested his conversational powers with two or three casual remarks--my
efforts were crowned with success. I told him to drive to the
Thiergarten, as the most favourable place to listen undisturbed to his
communications.
As we Were jolting along the streets I silently gazed at my charioteer,
who was enthroned with more audacity than grace side-wise upon his box,
so that I could see his profile; I noticed certain dark shadows in his
face, which looked as if he had inadvertently come into close contact
with a boot-brush.
As soon as we had reached the shady precincts of the Thiergarten the
sluices of his eloquence were opened, and indeed this worthy youth
repaid me for all that I had heretofore missed.
“How is business going on?” I asked.
“Well, it’s only just going so-so,” he replied, “but up to last week it
was going fine; we’ve had the whole town to sweep.”
“Sweep?” I asked, somewhat puzzled.
“Well yes, you see,” he said, “that’s because all winter folks had to
sit at home and have a fire, and now, you see, it’s warm again----”
“Aha,--I understand,” I interrupted; a rare point this for my
note-book: “The second-class cab-driver manifests a surprising aptitude
for simile; when the awaking spring-time entices men to leave their
dark houses and entrust themselves to his vehicle, he expresses this by
saying that he has swept the whole town.”
In the joy of my heart I offered him a cigar; he did not decline, at
the same time remarking that he preferred snuff to tobacco, which, as
he said, was better adapted to his calling.
Again I opened my note-book: “The second-class cab-driver does not
disdain tobacco, preferring however to indulge in snuff.”
“You see,” I said, after having secured this important fact in writing
for all future times, “how it is always well to open one’s eyes to
learn new things; up to this day I have never seen a cab-driver use
snuff.”
“Oh, as for them fellows----,” he replied, shrugging his shoulders,
“why should they snuff? I was talking about our business.”
“How so?” I stammered, with a puzzled look. He leaned down to me. “I’m
only taking this cab out to-day, because my father don’t feel just
right; the old hurdle belongs to him.”
The trees in the Thiergarten began to dance before my very eyes.
“What is your calling?” I shrieked in mortal agony. With a smile he
looked down upon me: “I’m a chimney-sweep,” he said.
“Stop!” I called out to him in a voice of thunder; “I want to get out
here!”
That afternoon I returned to my rooms with a bowed head; I had
the feeling that everybody must know I had been out riding with a
chimney-sweep.
As I entered the house I noticed that there was a gateway beside
the street-door bearing the inscription: “Cabs and carriages by the
hour.” I had only lived in that particular house for a few days, and
so had paid no attention to this before. Now, as my eyes were resting
thoughtfully upon this sign, I made the observation that it is in hours
of deep contrition that the soul of man ripens to grand purposes; for
a thought arose within me, the boldness of which almost made me grow
dizzy.
In my unhappy experience with the chimney-sweep I had seen that one can
be a cab-driver on time,--how would it be if for twenty-four hours I
myself were to fill such a post?
I seized my hat, so that the sacred fire of my first decision should
not be cooled off by pedantic considerations, entered the yard below,
and the office of the cab-owner.
At first he was little inclined to favour my plan; then gradually it
dawned upon him that I should certainly be a very cheap cab-driver,
who would cost him nothing, and moreover put thirty shillings into
his pocket, a sum which I then and there counted upon the table. He
began to treat me with a certain air of gentle indulgence, such as one
bestows upon a person who is not fully in his right mind, and whom
it is best not to irritate. One favourable circumstance was that he
had just had a new coat and a new pair of trousers made for one of
his drivers; provided these garments fitted me, I should put them on
to-morrow. As far as the hat was concerned, he would let me take the
one belonging to Gustav, the driver whose place I was to take.
“So then,--to-morrow morning at five o’clock,” he said, “right here in
the yard!”
“I shall be here to-morrow morning at five o’clock,” I replied with
an easy air, as if it were a daily habit of mine to get up at five. I
was turning to go, when he called after me, “But you must leave your
eye-glasses at home!” and he pointed to my nose; “that will never do
for a cab-driver!”
“You are right,” I rejoined; “I shall get me a pair of steel
spectacles.”
With that I left him, and partook myself to a masquerade-shop, where I
procured a large beard to cover the lower part of my face, and a wig;
beside my original object of disguising myself as far as possible,
the thought of Gustav’s cocked hat made a special head-gear seem
desirable. Beard and wig were sprinkled with grey, and must needs give
me an air of homely dignity. In the shop of an optician I completed
my outfit, looking through his entire stock of clumsy, old-fashioned
spectacles. I could not find the desired steel spectacles, but there
was a pair of horn ones with enormous circular glasses, by means of
which my face gained an owl-like expression. That was what I wanted.
Putting my treasures in my pocket, I stepped out upon the street, very
well satisfied with myself. The energetic way in which I had seized
upon this great enterprise pleased me; all my arrangements struck me
as being exceedingly practical; I had a happy presentiment as to the
success of my undertaking; this success I involuntarily carried into
my thoughts of the novel that was to be, and I began to conjecture
what remuneration I should demand. “I can’t let you have it cheap,
gentlemen,” I said half-audibly with a triumphant smile, as I opened
the door of the wine-room where I expected to meet my friends.
To evade every possibility of being recognised by them, I meant to tell
them that I should be going out of town to-morrow.
This part of my programme also ran off smoothly. My friend Otto and all
my other friends were present, and while my heart was leaping within me
for proud joy over my new-discovered talent for adventure, I unfolded
my fictitious plan of travel as coolly as possible.
The only person who seemed to be interested was my friend Otto.
“Going out of town?” he said. “Is it certain?”
“Quite certain,” I replied; “I shall be leaving to-morrow morning.”
“Where to?”
“Humph--a short trip to the country--to visit some relatives.”
“For how long?” he queried further.
“That depends; two or three days at the most.” It was really strange
that he should be so inquisitive--and withal there was a peculiar look
in his eyes. “He can’t know?” I asked myself involuntarily, but I did
not complete my sentence. “That is all nonsense,” I said to myself;
“he doesn’t even know anything about the novel--how could he guess
anything?” Indeed, he seemed quite satisfied at last, and when I had
left them all I walked home with the consciousness that things were
going finely.
“Are you the gentleman?” asked a deep, grumbling voice, when in the
grey dawn of morning I entered the yard next morning.
Without breakfast, for I had not wished to betray myself to my
landlady, with a false beard on my face and a wig on my head, and an
enormous pair of horn spectacles on my nose--my feelings can readily
be imagined. And with all that I felt it incumbent upon me to feign a
cheerful manner to keep Gustav--for I judged him to be the possessor of
the bass voice--in good spirits.
“The weather will be gorgeous to-day,” I said, apparently in the best
of humour, while my teeth were chattering with cold. Gustav grunted
like a bear disturbed in his winter’s sleep.
“Can I put on the things?” I asked.
Gustav pointed to the office. “In there,” he said; “I’ll be hitching up
while you’re about it.”
Soon after I came forth attired as a cab-driver.
In the middle of the yard stood the cab with a horse before it, which
in the light of early dawn looked like some antediluvian animal. Gustav
was occupied with the harness, and seemed disinclined to take notice of
me.
“Here we are,” I said in a tone of assumed gaiety, which was not at
all in keeping with my inmost mood. I seemed unspeakably ridiculous to
myself.
Gustav looked at me askance, and made some inarticulate ejaculation.
His conduct was not particularly encouraging. Upon the box I saw some
sort of a receptacle with an open top.
“Aha,” I said, stepping up to it, “I presume this is the fodder-chest?”
Gustav looked at the receptacle and then at me. “That there?” he said;
“sure, that’s my hat.”
“Ah, so----” I stammered in embarrassment; “your hat? Permit me.”
It was with strange feelings that I took the hat from the box and held
it in my hand.
“Number twelve thirty-two,” said Gustav laconically.
“Twelve thirty-two,” I repeated. It was the first time in my life that
I felt I had a number.
“At noon you have to feed him the first time,” Gustav informed me.
“Feed whom?” I asked involuntarily; my thoughts were occupied with the
hat, and I thought that was what he was referring to.
Gustav seemed to consider it beneath him to answer my insipid question.
“Between four and five,” he continued, “he gets his fodder again; do
you know how to go to work to feed a horse?”
He held the nose-bag in his hands and looked at me as if he had strong
doubts as to my efficiency.
“I have sometimes seen it done at the stopping-places,” I replied
dejectedly, “but we might as well make a trial.”
“Well, then, go ahead,” he said, handing the receptacle to me.
It was with some difficulty that I got the strap which held the bag
adjusted around the horse’s neck; Gustav stood behind me with a
critical air.
“That ain’t right,” he said; “take the bit out first.”
He now showed me how to take the bit out of the horse’s mouth, and then
made me do it.
The horse put his nose in the bag, and when he observed that there was
nothing in it, he shook his ears, as much as to say, “I don’t think
much of such practical jokes!” The horse seemed to share his master’s
opinion of me, for Gustav was anything but satisfied, as his grunting
tones proved.
“Well now, go ahead!” he said at last, scanning me once more from head
to foot. From under the seat he produced a dark bundle, which upon
being unfolded proved to be his mantle; he thereupon proceeded to put
it around my shoulders.
“Bless us! This is heavy,” I said, groaning under the burden.
As I seized the lines Gustav imparted his final instructions. “Here is
the check,” he said, putting a piece of metal with the number of my cab
into my hand; “now drive to the Schlesische Bahnhof and wait there;
maybe you’ll get a job when the early train comes in. Give the check to
the policeman; do you understand?”
“Yes, yes,” I said; “I have often arrived by that station myself.”
“And then when you’re ready to start give him a good whack with your
whip,” he continued.
“Whom?” I was about to ask once more, for I thought he was still
talking of the policeman, but fortunately I suppressed my dulness.
“For when he has been standing awhile,” explained Gustav, “the nag gets
awfully lazy and his bones get stiff; but when he’s going he does very
well, and then all you have to do is to let him jog along.”
“Very well,” I said, seizing the whip, which he handed to me; “I’ll do
precisely as you say.”
Gustav opened the gateway preparatory to setting out. I jerked the
reins and called out--“Go along!”
The steed in my cab, however, did not pay the least attention to my
manipulations; so far as I could see, he had fallen asleep again.
I now began to belabour his back with the whip; even that was but half
successful; he gave a little shrug of disdain, and stood still as if
fastened to the ground.
“You must hit around further to the front!” cried Gustav from the gate;
“he don’t feel anything on his back any more!”
So I whipped him on the neck, but, lo and behold, he did not seem to
approve of such treatment. He threw his head back, shook his ears as
much as to say, “Have the goodness to desist from such foolishness!”
And when I paid no attention to his objections, he suddenly lifted his
hinder part and “thump” went his hoofs against the cab, making me shake
and tremble upon my box.
Now Gustav came walking up to me slowly.
“Give it to me,” he said, taking the whip out of my hand; “I’ll have a
talk with him.”
The way Gustav “talked to him” seemed to make a decided impression upon
the steed, for before I knew it he started in a canter, so that I was
obliged to seize the reins convulsively in both hands.
“My hat,” I shrieked, for I felt that the cocked hat was parting
company with my head in a graceful curve. It was not until I was out on
the street that I succeeded in quieting the excited nag.
“Dear me, this--is--a--malicious beast!” I called out breathless to
Gustav, who was running after us with the hat and whip.
“He’s only a bit ticklish,” he replied consolingly.
I replaced the cocked hat upon the spot assigned to it. Gustav turned
to go.
I passed along the quiet streets with my vehicle on the way to the
Schlesische Bahnhof. I now had time to examine my steed more closely.
He was white, with a tinge of yellow, corresponding to the colour a
white beard assumes if its owner frequently moistens it with beer.
[Illustration: “THE WAY GUSTAV ‘TALKED TO HIM’ SEEMED TO MAKE A DECIDED
IMPRESSION UPON THE STEED.”]
So we reached the Schlesische Bahnhof, where I joined the row of
waiting cabs.
I had now reached my first station, and I sat upon my box with
attentive ears, so that no word of the conversation of my new
colleagues should escape me.
For the present there was little hope of accomplishing my purpose,
for the only thing I heard was a grand snoring-chorus--the assembled
drivers were making up for their interrupted morning’s sleep.
I tried to reason myself into the belief that the situation was very
original and interesting, but the thought of my orphaned bed at home,
and its discarded warmth and softness, would not be banished, and all
at once the consciousness that I was cold and hungry and bored beyond
endurance was borne in upon me with unrelenting sternness.