“Well let’s hear it then. You know perfectly well, I’ll not take anybody’s noggin off. It’s all the same anyway. Well then, not fer Katzenstein. Well, fer who then?”
“Fer that Torgelow feller.”
Dubslav laughed. “For Torgelow, the one the Berliners sent you. Has he ever done anything for you yet?”
“Noi, not yet.”
“Well, why then?”
“Oiye, they be tellin’ us, e wants ta do somethin’ fer us, an e’s really fer us poor folk. An’ we’ll all get a piece o’ p’tater land. An’ they be sayin’ too, e’s smarter than th’others.”
“Might well be. But he’s a long way from bein’ as smart as you’re all dumb. Have any of you ever gone hungry?”
“Noi, not zactly.”
“Well, that can still come too, y’know.”
“Ach, Master, that prob’ly won’t be aither.”
“Well, who knows, Tuxen. But here’s Dietrichsofen. Now climb down there and be careful you don’t fall when the horses start up. And here’s something for you. But no more for today. You’ve had enough for today. An’ now see that you get t’bed and dream about that p’tater land.”
Chapter Twenty-One
The next morning, Woldemar learned from last minute newspaper reports that the Social Democratic candidate, the filemaker Torgelow, had been the victor in the Rheinsberg-Wutz electoral district. Soon thereafter arrived a letter from Lorenzen, who initially confirmed the reports and at the conclusion added that Dubslav was actually heartily pleased about the outcome. Woldemar was as well. He believed that at Dressel’s or Borchardt’s his father quite probably had the stuff in him to hold forth with a good deal of common sense on every sort of political topic and what was more, with the roguish wit worthy of an Eulenspiegel. But to speak objectively and knowledgeably in the Reichstag on such matters was something he neither could nor wished to do. Woldemar was so convinced of this that he was able to come to terms with the idea of a defeat relatively quickly, even though as the old man’s son he nevertheless also felt a certain involvement. At the same time, however, he was thankful that just at this moment he had been entrusted with a command to East Prussia which would keep him away from Berlin for a few weeks. By the time he would return, inquiries about the whole election business would no longer need be of concern, least of all in his regiment, in which. Apart from a few intimate friends, everyone had actually kept a stony silence about the whole unpleasant incident.
Source of English translation: “Election in Rheinsberg-Wutz,” from Theodor Fontane, The Stechlin (orig. 1899), translated and introduced by William L. Zwiebel. Rochester, NY: Camden House (www.camden-house.com), 1995, pp. 135-40, 153-54, 157-63, 167-69.
Original German text reprinted in Theodor Fontane, Werke, Schriften und Briefe [Works, Writings, and Letters], edited by Walter Keitel and Helmuth Nürnberger. Twenty-one volumes in four sections. Section I, Sämtliche Romane, Erzählungen, Gedichte, Nachgelassenes [Complete Novels, Stories, Poems, Posthumously Published Pieces], vol. 5. © 1980 Carl Hanser Verlag: Munich, pp. 162-69, 184-85, 188-95, 201-03.
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