I
The Reichstag had voted to extend the period during which the Socialist
law would be in effect; the passing of a new army bill was also to be
expected. These two measures had provoked tumultuous discord in many
parts of the country.
The Social Democrats were planning a parade through the main streets of
the city in October, but the police had already forbidden their
demonstration. The evening the edict was issued the regiments stood at
alert in the barracks; feeling ran high throughout the entire city. In
Woehrd and Plobenhof there had been a number of riots; in the narrow
streets of the central zone thousands of workmen had stormed the
Rathaus.
Every now and then there would come a long, shrill whistle from the
silent mass, followed at once by the heavy rolling of drums at the guard
house.
Among those who came down from the direction of Koenig Street was the
workman Wachsmuth. In the vicinity of the Schimmelweis shop he delivered
an excited harangue against the former member of the party; his words
fell on fruitful soil. A locksmith's apprentice who had lost some money
through the Prudentia violently defamed the character of the bookseller.
The mob gathered before the lighted shop window. Wachsmuth stood by the
door, and demanded that the traitor be suspended from a lamp post before
this day's sun had set. A stone flew through the air over their heads,
and crashed through the window; pieces of glass flew in all directions.
Thereupon a dozen fellows rushed into the shop, exclaiming, "Where is
the dirty dog? Let us get at the blood-sucker!" They wanted to teach him
a lesson he would never forget.
Before Theresa could open her mouth, scraps of books and newspapers were
flying in every direction, and pamphlets were being trampled under foot.
A forest of arms were reaching out for the shelves, and bundles of books
were falling to the floor, like stacks of cards piled up by a child and
blown over by the wind. Zwanziger had taken refuge at the top of the
ladder; he was howling. Theresa stood by the till looking like the ghost
of ages. Philippina came in through the back door, and eyed what was
going on without one visible trace of surprise or discomfort; she merely
smiled. Just then the policeman's whistle blew; in less time than it
takes to draw one breath, the rebellious insurgents were beating a hasty
retreat.
When Theresa regained consciousness, the shop was empty; and the street
in front of the shop was as deserted as it ordinarily is at midnight.
After some time, the chief of police came up; he was followed by a crowd
of curious people, who stood around and gaped at the scene of
devastation.
Jason Philip, seeing what was coming, had left the shop betimes and
hidden in his house. He had even locked the front door and was sunk down
on a chair, his teeth clappering with vigour and regularity.
He returned at last to the shop, and with heart-rending dignity faced the
dispenser of justice, who by this time had put in his appearance. He
said: "And this is what I get from people for whom I have sacrificed my
money and my blood."
In giving his testimony as an eyewitness, Zwanziger displayed boastful
hardiness in his narration of details. Philippina looked at him with
venomous contempt from under the imbecile locks that hung down over her
forehead, and murmured: "You disgusting coward!"
When Jason Philip came back from the inn, he said: "To believe that
people can be ruled without the knout is a fatal delusion." With that he
stepped into his embroidered slippers--"For tired Father--Consolation."
The slippers had aged, and so had Jason Philip. His beard was streaked
with grey.
Theresa took an invoice of the damage the mob had done: she felt that
Jason Philip was a ruined man.
As he lay stretched out in bed, Jason Philip said: "The first thing I
want to do is to have a serious, heart-to-heart talk with Baron
Auffenberg. The Liberal Party is going to take direct action against the
impudence of the lower classes, or it is going to lose a constituent."
"How many quarts of beer did you drink?" asked Theresa from the depths
of the pillows.
"Two."
"You are a liar."
"Well, possibly I drank three," replied Jason Philip with a yawn. "But
to accuse a man of my standing of lying on such small grounds is an act
of perfidy such as only an uncultured woman like yourself could be
brought to commit."
Theresa blew out the candle.