They left the beer cellar and took the direction of the city.
“Now let us descend a little lower, to what I might call the amphibia of society,” said Greifmann. “We are going to visit a place where masons, sawyers, cobblers, laborers, and other small fry are in the habit of slaking their thirst. You will there find going on the same sort of electioneering, or, as you call it, the same sort of terrorism, only in a rougher style. There beer-jugs occasionally go flying about, and bloody heads and rough-and-tumble, fights may be witnessed.”
“I have no stomach for fisticuffs and whizzing beer-mugs,” said Gerlach.
“Never mind, come along. I have undertaken to initiate you into the mysteries of elections, and you are to get a correct idea of the life action of a cultivated state.”
They entered an obscure alley where a fetid, sultry atmosphere assailed them. Greifmann stopped before a lofty house, and pointed to a transparency on which a brimming beer-tankard was represented. A wild tumult was audible through the windows, through which the cry of “Shund!” rose at times like the swell of a great wave from the midst of corrupted waters. As they were passing the doorway a dense fog of tobacco smoke mingled with divers filthy odors assailed their nostrils. Seraphin, who was accustomed to inhaling the pure atmosphere of the country, showed an inclination to retreat, and had already half-way faced about when his companion seized and held him. “Courage, my friend! wade into the slough boldly,” cried he into the struggling youth’s ear. “Hereafter, when you will be riding through woodland and meadows, the recollection of this subterranean den will enable you to appreciate the pure atmosphere of the country twice as well. Look at those sodden faces and swollen heads. Those fellows are literally wallowing and seething in beer, and they feel as comfortable as ten thousand cannibals. It is really a joy to be among men who are natural.”
The millionaires, having with no little difficulty succeeded in finding seats, were accosted by a female waiter.
“Do the gentlemen wish to have election beer?”
“No,” replied Gerlach.
His abrupt tone in declining excited the surprise of the fellows who sat next to them. Several of them stared at the landholder.
“So you don’t want any election beer?” cried a fellow who was pretty well fired.