Part 26

“Well,” continued Lebermann, “my wife, resolute as she is, said ‘Lebermann’--she always calls me Lebermann now, since our youngest is not called Fatty any more, but Robert, and you know my name is Robert too, and there was everlasting confusion--Robert--Robert--there was no knowing which Robert was meant. Well, to make a long story short, she said, ‘Lebermann,’ says she, ‘this is a serious matter. You’d best go to the right man at once!’ No sooner said than done. I went and got a round-trip ticket--took the cars--came here--went to the dentist the first thing this morning--and now I’m free of all that, and I have had the rare good fortune of meeting you! This is delightful--really delightful!”

“So it is,” said Karl, who was on the utmost verge of human endurance. “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.

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.