When Jason Philip heard that Philippina was going to Jordan's daughters
every day, he told her most emphatically and repeatedly that she had to
quit it. Philippina paid not the slightest attention to him and did as
she pleased.
"I'll kill you," cried Jason Philip at the girl.
Philippina shrugged her shoulders and laughed impudently.
Jason Philip saw that a grown person was standing before him; he was
afraid of the evil look of his daughter.
It was long before he could make out what was taking her to his enemies.
Then he learned that wherever she chanced to be, at home, or with
acquaintances, or with strangers, she was spreading evil reports
concerning Daniel and his family. This tended to make him a bit more
indulgent: he too wanted to feast his ears on scandal from that quarter.
At times he would enter into a conversation with Philippina, and when
she told him the latest news he was filled with fiendish delight. "The
day will come when I will get back at that music-maker, you see if I
don't," he said.
Theresa was still confined to her bed. During his leisure hours
Willibald had to read to her, either from the newspapers or from trashy
novels. When she was alone she lay perfectly quiet and stared at the
ceiling.
The time finally came when Willibald left school. He went to Fuerth,
where he was employed as an apprentice by a manufacturer. There was no
doubt in any one's mind but that he would become one of those loyal,
temperate, industrious people who are the pride of their parents, and
who climb the social ladder at the rate of an annual increase in salary
of thirty marks.
The one-eyed Markus entered the paternal bookshop, where he soon
familiarised himself with the novels of the world from Dumas and Luise
Muehlbach to Ohnet and Zola, and with the popular sciences from Darwin to
Mantegazza. His brain was a book catalogue, and his mouth an oracle of
the tastes displayed at the last fair. But in reality he not only did
not like the books, he regarded all this printed matter as a jolly fine
deception practised on people who did not know what to do with their
money. Zwanziger, the clerk, had married the widow of a cheese merchant,
and was running a shop of his own on the Regensburg Chaussee.
"A rotten business," said Jason Philip at the end of each month. "The
trouble with me," he invariably added, "is that I have been too much of
an idealist. If I had worked as hard for myself as I have for other
people, I would be a rich man to-day."
He went to the cafe and discussed politics. He had developed into a
perpetual grumbler; he was pleased with nothing, neither the government
nor the opposition. To hear him talk you would have thought that the
opposing parties had been forced to narrow their platforms down to the
differences between the views of Prince Bismarck and Jason Philip
Schimmelweis. When Kaiser Wilhelm I died, Jason Philip acted as though
his appointment to the chancellorship was imminent. And when in that
same memorable year Kaiser Friedrich succumbed to his sufferings, Jason
Philip resembled the pilot on whose isolated fearlessness the rescue of
the storm-tossed ship of state depends.
The born hero always finds a sphere of activity, a forum from which to
express his views. If public life has rejected him, he goes to the cafe,
where he is sure to find a congenial element.
One day Theresa got up from the bed where she had spent fifteen unbroken
months, and seemed all of a sudden completely recovered. The physician
said it was the strangest case that had ever come under his observation.
But Jason Philip said: "It is the triumph of a good constitution." With
that he went to the cafe, drank beer, made fiery political speeches, and
played skat.
But Theresa left her bed not as a woman forty-six years old--that was
her age--but as a woman of seventy. She had only a few sparsely
distributed grey hairs left on her square head, her face was full of
wrinkles, her eye was hard and cold. From that time on, however, she did
not seem to age. She did not quarrel any more, attended to her affairs
in a straightforward, self-assured way, and observed her increasing
impoverishment with unexpected calm.
She lived on herring, potatoes, and coffee; it was the same diet on
which Philippina and Markus lived, with the one exception that Markus,
as the child nearest her heart, was allowed a piece of sugar for his
coffee. Jason Philip was also put on a diet: he never dared open his
mouth about it, either.
Philippina stood it for a while in silence; finally she said to her
mother: "I can't stand this chicory brew forever."
"Then you'll have to lap up water, you will," replied Theresa.
"No, I won't," said Philippina. "I am going to hire out."
"Well, hire out. Who cares? It'll be one mouth less to feed." "Your
daughter is going to hire out," said Theresa to her husband, when he
came home that evening.
Jason Philip had been playing cards that day, and had lost. He was in a
terrible humour: "She can go plumb to the Devil so far as I am
concerned." That was his comment.
The next morning Philippina sneaked up to the attic, and drew out her
cash from the hole in the chimney: it amounted to nine hundred and forty
marks, mostly in gold, which she had exchanged in the course of years
for small coins. Through the opening in the wall the June sun fell upon
her face, which, never young and bearing the stamp of extended crime,
looked like that of a witch.
She put the money in a woollen stocking, rolled it up in a knot, stuffed
it down her corset between her breasts, made the sign of the cross, and
repeated one of her drivelling formulas. Her clothes, ribbons, and other
possessions she had already packed in a basket. This she carried down
the stairs, and, without saying good-bye to a soul, left the house.
Her brother Markus was standing with sprawled legs in the sun before the
store, whistling. He caught sight of her with his one eye, smiled
contemptuously at her, and cried: "Happy journey!"
Philippina turned to him, and said: "You branded lout! You're going to
have a lousy time of it, mark what I tell you!"
In this frame of mind and body she came to Daniel, and said to him: "I
want to work for you. You don't need to pay nothing if you ain't got
it."
Daniel had been noticing for some time that Eleanore could not stand the
exertion required of her by the extra work.
"Will you mind the baby and sleep with it?" Daniel asked. Philippina
nodded and looked down.
"If you will take care of the child and act right toward it and me, I
shall be awfully grateful to you," he said, breathing more easily.
Thereupon Philippina threw her hands to her face, and shuddered from
head to foot. She was not exactly crying; there was something much
worse, much more despairing, in what she was doing than in mere crying.
She seemed to be convulsed by some demoniac power; a ghastly dream
seemed to have seized her in a moment of higher consciousness. She
turned around and trotted into the room where the child was playing with
a wooden horse.
She sat down on a foot-stool, and stared at the restless little
creature.
Daniel stopped, stood perfectly still, and looked at her in a mood of
solicitous reflection.