In the city everything had by then become quiet, but out in the countryside they passed by large or small groups of cottagers, tar burners and glass factory folk, who had made a day of it for themselves and now were wending their way home, howling and singing as they went. Women too were among them, adding a certain flavor to it all.
Thus Dubslav trotted on towards Lake Nehmitz, which was considered the half-way point. Not far from it a charcoal kiln, Dietrichsofen, was to be found, and as Martin was making his way around the southerly protruding lake point, he saw someone lying on the road, his torso hidden by grass and reeds, but his feet directly across the roadway.
Martin pulled up. “Master, there be somebody lying there. I think it’s old Tuxen.”
“Tuxen, the old souse from Dietrichsofen?”
“Aye, Master. I’ll take a look an’ see what’s wrong with’m.”
He gave Dubslav the reins and climbed down and shoved and shook the old fellow lying on the road. “Aye then, Tuxen, what be ya doin’ here? If there waren’t no moon, man, you’d be a ded’n.”
“Oiye, oiye,” said the old timer. But one could see that his head was not clear.
And now Dubslav climbed down as well to help Martin lay the totally helpless old timer on the back seat. In the process the drunkard regained his senses to a certain extent and said, “Noi, noi, Martin, not thar. A’druther yer put mey op on the front sate.”
And in fact they pulled him up and there he sat then, not saying a word. He was ashamed of himself in front of the master.
Finally, however, the latter spoke up and said, “Well say now, Tuxen, can’t you leave off wi’ the brandy then? Laying down in a place like that. “Tis nightfrost already. ‘Nother hour, an you’d be a ded’n. Were they all like that?”
“Mosht o’em.”
“And so you all voted for Katzenstein.”
“Noi, Master, not fer Katzenstein.”
And now he became silent again as he reeled back and forth uncertainly on the coachman’s box.
print version
return to list
previous document