[ROMEO AND JULIET OF THE VILLAGE]
THE THREE DECENT COMBMAKERS
[THE THREE DECENT
COMBMAKERS]
The people of Seldwyla have furnished proof that a whole townful of the unjust or frivolous may, after all, continue for ages to exist despite changes of time and traffic; the three combmakers, though, demonstrate as clearly that not even three decent human beings may manage to live for a long stretch under one roof without getting their backs up. And with decent, with just, is not by any means meant heavenly justice, nor even the natural justice of the human conscience, but rather that vacuous justice which from the Lord's Prayer has struck the plea: And forgive us our debts, as we also forgive our debtors! And this simply because they never contract any debts whatever and cannot stand the idea of debts. Indeed, also because they live to no one's harm, but also to no one's pleasure; because, true enough, they work and earn money, but will not spend a stuyver, and find in their laboring task some small profit but never any joy. Such soberly decent chaps do not smash window panes for the wicked fun of it, but neither do they ever light any lanterns of their own, and no enlightenment proceeds from them. They toil at all sorts of things, and one thing, to their minds, is as good as another, so long as no risk or danger be involved. But they prefer to settle in such places where there are many unjust in their sense. For if left to themselves, without any mingling with the said unjust, they would soon grind each other sorely, as do millstones which lack corn between. And if at any time some piece of ill-luck befalls them, they are greatly amazed and wail and whine as though their last hour had come, inasmuch as they, so they say, have never done harm to anyone. For they look upon this world of ours as a huge and well-organized police department in which nobody need fear any fine or punishment so long as he unfailingly sweeps his sidewalk, does not leave flowerpots standing loosely on his window sill and does not pour any water into the street.
Now in Seldwyla there was a combmaking establishment the owner of which habitually changed every fifth or sixth year, and this although it did fair business when taken proper care of. For the small traders and stand-keepers who attended the fairs in the neighborhood, obtained there their horn wares. Beside the horn rasps and files, the implements of various kinds, the most marvelous ornaments and back-combs of every description for the use of the village belles and servant maids were made there out of handsome transparent ox horns, and the rare skill of the workmen (for, of course, the master never actually toiled himself) consisted in branding and searing the close counterfeit of the most artistically designed clouds of reddish brown tortoise shell, each according to his conceit and fancy, so that, when admiring these combs as the light played on their fantastic cumulations, it looked almost as though the most magnificent sunups and sundowns were concealed within the polished horn surface, rubicund gatherings of cloudlets, thunderstorms and tornadoes, as well as still other varicolored manifestations of the forces of Nature.
In the summertime, when these proud artisans loved to wander over the surface of the land and when they were scarce, they were treated with courtesy by the masters, and received good board and wages. But during the winter, at a time when they were looking for shelter and were plentiful, they had to be humble, had to turn out combs till their very pates smoked with the effort, and all for slender pay. During that inauspicious season the mistress of the house one day after another would put a big dish of sourkrout on the table, and the master himself would then say: "These are fish!" And if at such a time any fellow was rash enough to remark: "With your permission, this is sourkrout!" he was instantly handed his walking papers and had to issue forth into the dreary winter landscape. However, as soon as the meadows once more turned green and the roads became passable, they all said: "All the same, it's sourkrout!" and made up their bundle. For even in case the mistress instantly threw a boiled ham on top of the smoking sourkrout, and the master would murmur: "Goodness, I thought all along it was fish! But this time, surely, it is a ham!" nevertheless the workmen were not to be propitiated any longer. They longed for freedom and the open, as during the long winter all three of them had had to sleep in one bed and had grown thoroughly tired of each other because of the continual kicking of ribs and because of frozen and numbed bare sides. But it so happened that once a decent and gentle soul came that way, from out of the Saxon lands, and this good fellow complied with everything, worked as hard as any ant and was absolutely not to be frozen out, in such fashion that finally he became so to speak a part of the furnishings of the house and saw the owners changing several times, those years being somewhat more given to changes than of yore. Jobst (such was the creature's name) stretched himself in the bed as stiff as a ramrod and maintained his particular place next the wall, both winter and summer. He likewise willingly accepted the sourkrout for fish, and in the spring received with humble thanks a mouthful of the ham. His lesser wages he put aside as he did his larger ones. For he never spent anything; rather he saved every penny. He did not live like the other workmen: he never touched a drop of wine, did not associate with any of his own countrymen nor with other young fellows, but stood evenings under the house door and joked with the old women, lifted the heavy water pails upon their padded heads, at least when he chanced to be in good humor, and went to bed with the chickens, except at such times as he could do extra work against extra pay. Sundays he also toiled until late into the afternoon, no matter if the weather was fine. But do not assume that he did all this with pleasure and alacrity, as did John the merry Chandler in the well-known song. On the contrary, he was always cast-down and of ill-humor because of these voluntary abstentions from the amenities of life, and he was forever complaining about his hard lot. Come Sunday afternoon, however, Jobst went in all the disarray and filth of workaday, and with his clattering sabots across the lane and fetched from the laundress his clean shirt and his neatly ironed "dicky," his high linen collar or his better handkerchief, and proceeded to carry these things in his hands to his room, stepping the while with that rooster-like majesty which used to distinguish the prideful artisan of former days. For it belonged to their privileges, when walking attired in leather apron and heavy slippers, to observe a very peculiar stride, affected and as though they were floating in upper spheres. And of them all the highly instructed bookbinders, the jolly shoemakers and cobblers, and the rarer and queer-mannered combmakers excelled in these mannerisms. But arrived in his little chamber Jobst once more took thought to himself, ruminating and seriously reflecting as to whether it was really worth while to don the clean shirt and the snowy "dicky." For with all his gentleness and moral decency he was, after all, somewhat of a swinish fellow, and thus doubts arose in his penurious little soul as to the advisability of the whole proceeding, and as to whether the soiled linen would not do just as well for another week or so, in which latter case he would simply remain at home and work a little more. Then he would sit down with a sigh and begin anew, teeth clenched and mien fierce, cutting into the horn, or else he would transmute the horn into pseudo-tortoise shell, in doing which, however, he never forgot his innate sobriety and want of imagination, so that he always put but the same odious three splotches into the smooth surface. For with him it was always thus that he would not use even the slightest trouble if he was not specially bidden to do so.
On the other hand, if his resolution ripened into the actual taking of a walk, he spent first one or two hours painfully adorning himself, next he took his dapper little cane and stalked stiffly towards the gate of the town, and there he would stand around humbly and tediously and would carry on stupid gossip with others of the same ilk, some of those who did not know any more than himself how to kill time pleasantly, perhaps ancient and decrepit Seldwylians who had neither money nor gumption to find their way into the gay tavern. With such godforsaken old fossils he was in the habit of placing himself in front of a house in process of construction, or near a field in seed, before an apple tree injured in the last storm, or perhaps next to a new yarn factory, and then he would discuss with an infinitude of detail these things, the need of them, their cost, about the hopes entertained as to the next crop, and about the actual condition of the fields, of all of which he would know no more than the man in the moon. In fact, he did not care whether he did or not; the main thing with him was that time thus slipped away in what to him appeared the cheapest and the pleasantest manner. And thus it came about that these, the old and decrepit Seldwylians, only spoke of him as the "well-mannered and sensible Saxon," for they themselves understood not a whit more than he himself. When the people of Seldwyla founded a large brewery on shares, hoping therefrom for huge business in their town, and when the extensive foundation walls emerged from the ground, Jobst used to make it his task of boring into the soil thereabouts with his cane, talking like an expert and showing the keenest interest in the progress of the work, for all the world as if he were the most assiduous toper himself and as if the success or non-success of the enterprise were a matter of life and death with him. "No indeed," he would then exclaim in his lisping voice, "this is a shplendid undertakking. Only, the devil of it is it costs so mooch monnee! So mooch monnee! It's a pity! And here, this here vault ought really to be a leetle, yoost a leetle bit deeper, and this wall a leetle bit thicker." And the other idiots sided with him and said he knew all about it.
However, for all his enthusiasm he never failed to show up in time for his Sunday supper. For that was indeed the sole chagrin he inflicted on the mistress at home that he never missed a meal, Sunday or any other day. The other workmen would go to the tavern with their comrades and friends, dance, play cards and amuse themselves. But not so Jobst. On his account alone the master's wife was forced to remain at home Sundays, or else to provide his lonesome supper. And then, after chewing as long as he could his portion of bread and sausage or cold meat, he would spend another considerable while pawing over his slender possessions, fingering them as though they were the treasures of Aladdin, with bated breath, and then he would retire to his strictly virtuous couch. That according to his notions had been an enjoyable, a roystering Sunday.
But with all his humble, decent and inconspicuous ways, Jobst was not lacking in a species of inner, hidden irony, as though in his own peculiar way he were making fun of the world with its vanity and its foolishness. Indeed he seemed even to have strong doubts as to the grandeur and worth of things in general, and to be conscious of harboring within his own soul plans far more momentous and stirring. On Sundays, notably when delivering his expert opinions on creation as a whole, he often showed a face alive with superior, with almost owlish wisdom. It was plainly to be seen in his pinched features how he carried within his inmost ken plans of immense importance, plans compared with which the doings of the others, after all, were but as child's play. The great, the overwhelmingly great plan he cherished day and night and which had been all these years his loadstar, ever since he had first appeared in Seldwyla, amounted indeed to this: To save his wages until there would be a sum sufficient to present himself some fine morning, on an occasion when the business would be once more for sale, with the money in his hand and purchase it, himself at last becoming owner and master.