Flower, Fruit, and Thorn Pieces;: or, the Wedded Life, Death, and Marriage of Firmian Stanislaus Siebenkaes, Parish Advocate in the Burgh of Kuhschnappel.Jean Paul
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Flower, Fruit, and Thorn Pieces;: or, the Wedded Life, Death, and Marriage of Firmian Stanislaus Siebenkaes, Parish Advocate in the Burgh of Kuhschnappel.
Jean Paul
German fiction -- Translations into English
"I've seen quite clearly for a long while past," she said, "that you've
made up your mind to carry off my mourning dress from me, by hook or by
crook, whether I will or no. But I'm not going to let you have it.
Suppose I were to say to you, pawn your watch, how would you like
that?" Perhaps the reason why husbands get into the way of issuing
their orders in a needlessly dictatorial manner is, that they generally
have little effect, but rather confirm opposition than overcome it.
"Damnation!" he cried; "that'll do, that's quite enough! I'm not a
turkey-cock, nor a bonassus neither, to be continually driven into a
frenzy by a piece of coloured rag. It goes to the pawn-shop to-day, as
sure as my name's Siebenkæs."
"Your name is Leibgeber as well," said she.
"Devil fly away with me, if that calico remains in this house!" said
he. On which she began to cry, and lament the bitter fortune which left
her nothing now, not even the very clothes for her back. When
thoughtless tears fall into a seething masculine heart, they often have
the effect which drops of water have when they fall upon bubbling
molten copper; the fluid mass bursts asunder with a great explosion.
"Heavenly, kind, gentle Devil," said he, "do please come and break my
neck for me. May God have pity on a woman like this! Very well, then,
keep your calico; keep this Lenten altar-cloth of yours to yourself.
But may the Devil fly away with me if I don't cock the old deer's horns
that belonged to my father on to my head this very day, like a poacher
on the pillory, and hawk them about the streets for sale in broad
daylight. Ay. _I give you my word of honour_ it shall be done, for all
the fun it may afford every soul in the place. And I shall simply say
that it is your doing; I'll do it, as sure as there's a devil in hell."
He went, gnashing his teeth, to the window, and looked into the street,
seeing vacancy. A rustic funeral was passing slowly by; the bier was a
man's shoulder, and on it tottered a child's rude coffin.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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