Chapter 9 of Three Men on the Bumble All three of us, by some means or another, managed between Nuremberg and the Black Forest to get into trouble. Harris led off at Stuttgart by insulting an official. Stuttgart is a charming town, clean and bright, a smaller Dresden. It has the additional attraction of containing little that one need to go out of one's way to see, a medium-sized picture gallery, a small museum of antiquities, and half a palace, and you're through with the entire thing, and can enjoy yourself. Harris did not know it was an official. He was insulting. He took it for a fireman. It looked like a fireman, and he called it a Dumer Ezil.  What had happened was this. Harris, in the Stuttgarten, anxious to get out, and seeing a gate open before him, had stepped over a wire into the street. Harris maintains he never saw it. But undoubtedly there was hanging to the wire a notice, Durschgang Verboten. The man, who was standing near the gates, stopped Harris, and pointed out to him this notice. Harris thanked him and passed on. The man came after him, and explained that treatment of the matter in such off-hand way could not be allowed. What was necessary to put the business right was that Harris should step back over the wire into the garden. Harris pointed out to the man that the notice said, going through, forbidden, and that therefore by re-entering the garden that way he would be infringing the law a second time. The man saw this for himself, and suggested that to get over the difficulty Harris should go back into the garden by the proper entrance, which was round the corner, and afterwards immediately come out again by the same gate.  That delayed us a day, and cost Harris forty marks. I followed suit at Karlsruhe by stealing a bicycle. I did not mean to steal the bicycle. I was merely trying to be useful. The train was on the point of starting when I noticed, as I thought, Harris's bicycle still in the goods van. No one was about to help me. I jumped into the van and hauled it out, only just in time. Wheeling it down the platform in triumph, I came across Harris's bicycle, standing against a wall behind some milk cans. The bicycle I had secured was not Harris's, but some other man's. It was an awkward situation. In England I should have gone to the station master and explained my mistake, but in Germany they are not content with your explaining a little matter of this sort to one man. They take you round and get you to explain it to about half a dozen. And if any one of the half dozen happens not to be handy, or not to have time just then to listen to you, they have a habit of leaving you over for the night to finish your explanation the next morning. I thought I would just put the thing out of sight, and then without making any fuss or show take a short walk. I found a woodshed, which seemed just the very place, and was wheeling the bicycle into it when, unfortunately, a red-hatted railway official, with the airs of a retired field-martial, caught sight of me and came up. He said, What are you doing with that bicycle? I said, I am going to put it in this woodshed out of the way. I tried to convey by my tone that I was performing a kind and thoughtful action, for which the railway officials ought to thank me, but he was unresponsive. Is it your bicycle? he said. Well, not exactly, I replied. Whose is it? he asked, quite sharply. I can't tell you, I answered. I don't know whose bicycle it is. Where did you get it from? was his next question. There was a suspiciousness about his tone that was almost insulting. I got it, I answered, with as much calm dignity as, at the moment, I could assume, out of the train. The fact is, I continued frankly, I have made a mistake. He did not allow me time to finish. He merely said he thought so too, and blew a whistle. Recollection of the subsequent proceedings is not, so far as I am concerned, amusing. By a miracle of good luck, they say providence watches over certain of us. The incident happened in Karlsruhe, where I possess a German friend, an official of some importance. Even what would have been my fate had the station not been at Karlsruhe, or had my friend been from home, I do not care to dwell. As it was, I got off, as the saying is, by the skin of my teeth. I should like to add that I left Karlsruhe without a stain upon my character, but that would not be the truth. My going scot-free is regarded in police circles there to this day as a grave miscarriage of justice. But all lesser sin sinks into insignificance beside the lawlessness of George. The bicycle incident had thrown us all into confusion, with the result that we lost George altogether. It transpired subsequently that he was waiting for us outside the police court, but this at the time we did not know. We thought maybe he had gone on to Barden by himself, and anxious to get away from Karlsruhe, and not perhaps thinking out things too clearly, we jumped into the next train that came up and proceeded thither. When George, tired of waiting, returned to the station, he found us gone, and he found his luggage gone. Harris had his ticket. I was acting as banker to the party, so that he had in his pocket only some small change. Excusing himself upon these grounds, he thereupon commenced deliberately a career of crime, that reading it later, as set forth boldly in the official summons, made the hair of Harris and myself almost to stand on end. German travelling, it may be explained, is somewhat complicated. You buy a ticket at the station you start from for the place you want to go to. You might think this would enable you to get there, but it does not. When your train comes up, you attempt to swarm into it, but the guard magnificently waves your way. Where are your credentials? You show him your ticket. He explains to you that by itself, that is of no service whatever, you have only taken the first step towards travelling. You must go back to the booking office, and get, in addition, what is called a Schnilzug ticket.  You are allowed to get in, so far so good. But you must not sit down anywhere, and you must not stand still, and you must not wander about.  What a man could do who persisted in taking nothing but the one ticket. I have often wondered, would he be entitled to run behind the train on the six-foot way, or could he stick a label on himself and get into the goods van? Again, what could be done with the man who, having taken his Schnilzug ticket, obstinately refused, or had not the money to take a platz ticket, would they let him lie in the umbrella rack, or allow him to hang himself out of the window? To return to George, he had just sufficient money to take a third-class slow-train ticket to Barden, and that was all. To avoid the inquisitiveness of the guard, he waited till the train was moving, and then jumped in. That was his first sin. A. Entering a train in motion. B. After being warned not to do so by an official. Second sin. A. Travelling in train of superior class to that for which ticket was held. B. Refusing to pay difference when demanded by an official. George says he did not refuse. He simply told the man he had not got it. Third sin. A. Travelling in carriage of superior class to that for which ticket was held. B. Refusing to pay difference when demanded by an official. Again George disputes the accuracy of the report. He turned his pockets out and offered the man all he had, which was about eight pence in German money. He offered to go into a third class, but there was no third class. He offered to go into the goods-van, but they would not hear of it. Fourth sin. A. Occupying seat and not paying for same. B. Loitering about corridor. As they would not let him sit down without paying, and as he could not pay, it was difficult to see what else he could do, but explanations are held as no excuse in Germany, and his journey from Karlsruhe to Baden was one of the most expensive, perhaps, on record. Reflecting upon the ease and frequency with which one gets into trouble here in Germany, one is led to the conclusion that this country would come as a boon and a blessing to the average young Englishman, to the medical student, to the eater of dinners at the temple, to the subaltern on leave. Life in London is a weary sum proceeding. The healthy Britain takes his pleasures lawlessly, or it is no pleasure to him. Nothing that he may do affords to him any genuine satisfaction. To be in trouble of some sort is his only idea of bliss. Now England affords him small opportunity in this respect. To get himself into a scrape requires a good deal of persistence on the part of the young Englishman. I spoke on this subject one day with our senior Church Warden. It was the morning of the 10th of November, and we were both of us glancing somewhat anxiously through the police reports. The usual batch of young men had been summoned for creating the usual disturbance, the night before, at the criterion. My friend the Church Warden has boys of his own, and a nephew of mine, upon whom I am keeping a fatherly eye, is, by a fond mother supposed to be in London for the sole purpose of studying engineering. No names we knew happened by fortunate chance to be in the list of those detained in custody, and relieved we fell to moralising upon the folly and depravity of youth. It is very remarkable, said my friend the Church Warden, how the criterion retains its position in this respect. It was just so when I was young. The evening always wound up with a row at the criterion. No meaningless, I remarked. So monotonous, he replied, you have no idea, he continued, a dreamy expression stealing over his furrowed face, how unutterably tired one can become of the walk from Piccadilly Circus to the Vine Street Police Court. Yet what else was there for us to do? Simply nothing. Sometimes we would put out a street lamp, and a man would come round and light it again. If one insulted a policeman he simply took no notice. He did not even know he was being insulted, or if he did he seemed not to care. You could fight a Covent Garden porter if you fancied yourself at that sort of thing. Generally speaking the porter got the best of it, and when he did it cost you five shillings, and when he did not the price was half for sovereign. I could never see much excitement in that particular sport. I tried driving a handsome cab once. That has always been regarded as the acme of modern Tom and gerryism. I stole it late one night from outside a public house in Dean Street, and the first thing that happened to me was that I was hailed in Golden Square by an old lady surrounded by three children, two of them crying, and the third one half asleep. Before I could get away she had shot the brats into the cab, taken my number, paid me, so she said, ashening over the legal fare, and directed me to an address a little beyond what she called North Kensington. As a matter of fact the place turned out to be the other side of Wilsden. The horse was tired and the journey took us well over two hours. It was the slowest lark I ever remember being concerned in. I tried once or twice to persuade the children to let me take them back to the old lady, but every time I opened the trap door to speak to them, the youngest one, a boy, started screaming, and when I offered other drivers to transfer the job to them, most of them replied in the words of a song popular amount that period, oh, George, don't you think you're going just a bit too far? One man offered to take home to my wife any last message I might be thinking of, while another promised to organize a party to come and dig me out in the spring. When I mounted the dickie I had imagined myself driving a peppery old kernel to some lonesome and cab-less region half a dozen miles from where he wanted to go, and there leaving him upon the curb-stone to swear. About that there might have been good sport or there might not, according to circumstances under the kernel. The idea of a trip to an outlying suburb in charge of a nursery full of helpless infants had never occurred to me. No, London, concluded my friend the church warden with a sigh, affords but limited opportunity to the lover of the illegal. Now in Germany, on the other hand, trouble is to be had for the asking. There are many things in Germany that you must not do that are quite easy to do. To any young Englishman yearning to get himself into a scrape, and finding himself hampered in his own country, I would advise a single ticket to Germany. A return lasting as it does only a month might prove a waste. In the police guide of the fatherland he will find set forth a list of the things the doing of which will bring to him interest and excitement. In Germany you must not hang your bed out of window. He might begin with that. By waving his bed out of window he could get into trouble before he had his breakfast. At home he might hang himself out of window and nobody would mind much, provided he did not obstruct anybody's ancient lights or break away and injure any passer underneath. In Germany you must not wear fancy dress in the streets. A Highlander of my acquaintance who came to pass the winter in Dresden spent the first few days of his residence there in arguing this question with the Saxon government. They asked him what he was doing in those clothes. He was not an amiable man. He answered he was wearing them. They asked him why he was wearing them. He replied to keep himself warm. They told him frankly that they did not believe him, and sent him back to his lodgings in a closed lander. The personal testimony of the English minister was necessary to assure the authorities that the Highland garb was the customary dress of many respectable law-abiding British subjects. They accepted the statement as diplomatically bound, but retained their private opinion to this day. The English tourist they have grown accustomed to, but a lester-shear gentleman invited to hunt with some German officers on appearing outside his hotel was promptly marched off, horse and all, to explain his frivolity at the police court. Another thing you must not do in the streets of German towns is to feed horses, mules, or donkeys, whether your own or those belonging to other people. If a passion seizes you to feed somebody else's horse, you must make an appointment with the animal, and the meal must take place in some properly authorized place. You must not break glass or china in the street, nor, in fact, in any public resort whatever, and if you do, you must pick up all the pieces. What you are to do with the pieces when you have gathered them together, I cannot say. The only thing I know for certain is that you are not permitted to throw them anywhere, to leave them anywhere, or, apparently, to part with them in any way whatever.  And then be buried with them. Or maybe you are allowed to swallow them. In German streets you must not shoot with a crossbow. The German lawmaker does not content himself with the misdeeds of the average man. The crime one feels one wants to do, but must not. He worries himself, imagining all the things a wandering maniac might do. In Germany there is no law against a man standing on his head in the middle of the road. The idea has not occurred to them. One of these days a German statesman visiting a circus and seeing acrobats will reflect upon this omission. Then he will straight away set to work and frame a clause forbidding people from standing on their heads in the middle of the road, and fixing a fine. This is the charm of German law. Miss Domina in Germany has its fixed price. You are not kept awake all night, as in England, wondering whether you will get off with a caution, or if you find forty shillings, or catching the magistrate in an unhappy moment for yourself, get seven days. You know exactly what your fun is going to cost you. You can spread out your money on the table, open your police guide, and plan out your holiday to a fifty fennec piece. For a really cheap evening I would recommend walking on the wrong side of the pavement after being cautioned not to do so. I calculate that by choosing your district and keeping to the quiet side streets, you could walk for a whole evening on the wrong side of the pavement, at a cost of little over three marks. In German towns you must not ramble about, after dark, in droves. I'm not quite sure how many constitute a drove, and no official to whom I have spoken on this subject has felt himself competent to fix the exact number. I once put it to a German friend, who was starting for the theatre with his wife, his mother-in-law, five children of his own, his sister and her fiancee and two nieces. If he did not think he was running a risk under this by-law, he did not take my suggestion as a joke. He cast an eye over the group. Oh, I don't think so. He said, you see, we are all one family. The paragraph says nothing about it being a family drove or not. I replied, it simply says drove. I do not mean it in any young complementary sense. But speaking etymologically, I am inclined personally to regard your collection as a drove. Whether the police will take the same view or not remains to be seen. I am merely warning you. My friend himself was inclined to poo-poo my fears, but his wife, thinking it better not to run any risk of having the party broken up by the police, at the very beginning of the evening, they divided, arranging to come together again in the theatre lobby. Another passion you must restrain in Germany is that prompting you to throw things out of windows. Cats are no excuse. During the first week of my residence in Germany, I was awakened incessantly by cats. One night I got mad. I collected a small arsenal, two or three pieces of coal, a few hard pears, a couple of candle ends, an odd egg I found on the kitchen table, an empty soda water bottle, and a few articles of that sort. And opening the window bombarded the spot from where the noise appeared to come. I do not suppose I hit anything. I never knew a man who did hit a cat, even when he could see it, except maybe by accident when aiming at something else. I have known crack shots, winners of Queen's Prizes, those sort of men, shoot with shotguns at cats 50 yards away and never hit a hair. I have often thought that instead of bullseyes running deer and that rubbish, the really superior marksman would be he who could boast that he had shot the cat. But anyhow, they moved off. Maybe the egg annoyed them. I had noticed when I picked it up that it did not look a good egg. And I went back to bed again, thinking the incident closed. 10 minutes afterwards, there came a violent ringing of the electric bell. I tried to ignore it, but it was too persistent. And putting on my dressing gown, I went down to the gate. A policeman was standing there.  He had evidently been collecting them. He said, are these things yours? I said, they were mine. But personally, I have done with them. Anybody can have them. You can have them. He ignored my offer. He said, you threw these things out of window. You are right, I admitted. I did. Why did you throw them out of window? He asked. A German policeman has his code of questions arranged for him. He never varies them, and he never omits one. I threw them out of the window at some cats. I answered, what cats? He asked. It was the sort of question a German policeman would ask. I replied with as much sarcasm as I could put into my accent, that I was ashamed to say I could not tell him what cats. I explained that, personally, they were strangers to me. But I offered, if the police would call all the cats in the district together, to come round and see if I could recognise them by their yowl. The German policeman does not understand a joke, which is, perhaps, on the whole, just as well. For I believe there is a heavy fine for joking with any German uniform. They call it treating an official with contumely. He merely replied that it was not the duty of the police to help me recognise the cats. Their duty was merely to find me for throwing things out of window. I asked what a man was supposed to do in Germany when woke up night after night by cats. And he explained that I could lodge an information against the owner of the cat, when the police would proceed to caution him, and if necessary, order the cat to be destroyed. Who was going to destroy the cat, and what the cat would be doing during the process, he did not explain. I asked him how he proposed I should discover the owner of the cat. He thought for a while, and then suggested that I might follow it home. I did not, feeling climbed, to argue with him any more after that. I should only have said things that would have made the matter worse, as it was that night's sport cost me twelve marks, and not a single one of the four German officials who interviewed me on the subject could see anything ridiculous in the proceedings from beginning to end. But in Germany, most human faults and follies sink into comparative insignificance beside the enormity of walking on the grass. Nowhere, and under no circumstances, may you at any time in Germany walk on the grass. Grass in Germany is quite a fetish. To put your foot on German grass would be as great a sacrilege as to dance a hornpipe on a Mohammedan's praying mat. The very dogs respect German grass. No German dog would dream of putting a paw on it.  In England, when we wanted to keep dogs out of places, we put up wire netting, six feet high, supported by buttresses and defended on the top by spikes. In Germany, they put a notice board in the middle of the place, Wunden Verboten, and a dog that has German blood in its veins looks at that notice board and walks away. In a German park, I have seen a gardener step gingerly with felt boots onto grass plot and removing there from a beetle, place it gravely but firmly on the gravel. Which done, he stood sternly watching the beetle to see that it did not try to get back on the grass and the beetle looking utterly ashamed of itself walked hurriedly down the gutter and turned up the path marked Ausgang. In German parks, separate roads are devoted to the different orders of the community and no one person at peril of liberty and fortune may go upon another person's road. There are special paths for wheel riders and special paths for footgoers, avenues for horse riders, roads for people in light vehicles and roads for people in heavy vehicles, ways for children and for alone ladies. That no particular route has yet been set aside for bald-headed men or new women has always struck me as an omission. In the Großer Garten in Dresden, I once came across an old lady standing helpless and bewildered in the centre of seven tracks. Each was guarded by a threatening notice warning everybody off it but the person for whom it was intended. I am sorry to trouble you," said the old lady on learning I could speak English and read German, but would you mind telling me what I am and where I have to go? I inspected her carefully. I came to the conclusion that she was a grown-up and a footgoer and pointed out her path. She looked at it and seemed disappointed but I don't want to go down there, she said. May I go this way? Great heavens know, madam, I replied. That path is reserved for children but I wouldn't do them any harm," said the old lady with a smile. She did not look the sort of old lady who would have done them any harm. Madam, I replied, if it rested with me I would trust you down that path though my own firstborn were at the other end but I can only inform you of the laws of this country. For you, a full-grown woman, to venture down that path is to go to certain fine, if not imprisonment. There is your path marked plainly. Nurfur Fusgeinge And if you will follow my advice, you will hasten down it. You are not allowed to stand here and hesitate. It doesn't lead a bit in the direction I want to go, said the old lady. It leads in the direction you ought to want to go, I replied, and we parted. In the German parks there are special seats labelled only for grown-ups. Nurfur Erwachsene and the German small boy anxious to sit down and reading that notice passes by and hunts for a seat on which children are permitted to rest and there he seats himself, careful not to touch the woodwork with his muddy boots. Imagine a seat in Regents or St. James's park labelled only for grown-ups. Every child for five miles round would be trying to get on that seat and hauling other children off who were on. As for any grown-up he would never be able to get within half a mile of that seat for the crowd. The German small boy who has accidentally sat down on such without noticing rises with a start when his error is pointed out to him and goes away with downcast head blushing to the roots of his hair with shame and regret. Not that the German child is neglected by a paternal government. In German parks and public gardens special places, spielplets are provided for him, each one supplied with a heap of sand. There he can play to his heart's content at making mud pies and building sand castles. To the German child a pie made of any other mud than this would appear an immoral pie. It would give to him no satisfaction. His soul would revolt against it. That pie, he would say to himself, was not as it should have been made of government mud specially set apart for the burburs. It was not manufactured in the place planned and maintained by the government for the making of mud pies. It can bring no real blessing with it. It is a lawless pie. And until his father had paid the proper fine and he had received his proper licking, his conscience would continue to trouble him. Another excellent piece of material for obtaining excitement in Germany is the simple domestic perambulator. What you may do with a Kinderfagen, as it is called, and what you may not, covers pages of German law, after the reading of which you conclude that the man who can push a perambulator through a German town without breaking the law was meant for a diplomatist. You must not loiter with a perambulator and you must not go too fast. You must not get in anybody's way with a perambulator and if anybody gets in your way you must get out of their way. If you want to stop with a perambulator you must go to a place specially appointed where perambulators may stop and when you get there you must stop. You must not cross the road with a perambulator. If you and the baby happen to live on the other side that is your fault. You must not leave your perambulator anywhere and only in certain places can you take it with you. I should say that in Germany you could go out with a perambulator and get into enough trouble in half an hour to last you for a month. Any young Englishman anxious for a row with the police could not do better than come over to Germany and bring his perambulator with him. In Germany you must not leave your front door unlocked after 10 o'clock at night and you must not play the piano in your own house after 11. In England I have never felt I wanted to play the piano myself or to hear anyone else play it after 11 o'clock at night but that is a very different thing to being told that you must not play it. Here in Germany I never feel that I really care for the piano until 11 o'clock. Then I could sit and listen to the maiden's prayer or the overture to Zampa with pleasure. To the law-loving German on the other hand music after 11 o'clock at night ceases to be music it becomes sin and as such gives him no satisfaction. The only individual throughout Germany who ever dreams of taking liberties with the law is the German student and he only to a certain well-defined point. By custom certain privileges are permitted to him but even these are strictly limited and clearly understood. For instance the German student may get drunk and fall asleep in the gutter with no other penalty than that of having the next morning to tip the policeman who has found him and brought him home but for this purpose he must choose the gutters of side streets. The German student conscious of the rapid approach of oblivion uses all his remaining energy to get round the corner where he may collapse without anxiety. In certain districts he may ring bells. The rent of flats in these localities is lower than in other quarters of the town while the difficulties further met by each family preparing for itself a secret code of bell ringing by means of which it is known whether the summons is genuine or not. When visiting such a household late at night it is well to be acquainted with this code or you may, if persistent, get a bucket of water thrown over you. Also the German student is allowed to put out lights at night but there is a prejudice against his putting out too many. The lucky German student generally keeps count contending himself with half a dozen lights per night. Likewise he may shout and sing as he walks home up until half past two and at certain restaurants it is permitted to him to put his arm round the frail lines waist. To prevent any suggestion of an unseemliness the waitresses at restaurants frequented by students are always carefully selected from among a staid and elderly class of women by reason of which the German student can enjoy the delights of flirtation without fear and without reproach to anyone. They are a law abiding people the Germans. The end of Chapter 9 of Three Men on the Bummel Chapter 10 of Three Men on the Bummel this LibriVox recording is in the public domain recording by Peter Yersley Three Men on the Bummel by Jerome K. Jerome Chapter 10 From Barden about which it need only be said that it is a pleasure resort singularly like other pleasure resorts of the same description we started bicycling in Ernest. We planned a ten days tour which while completing the Black Forest should include a spin down the Donau-Tal which for the twenty miles from Tutlingham to Zygmeringen is perhaps the finest valley in Germany. The Danube stream here winding it narrow way past old world unspoilt villages past ancient monasteries nestling in green pastures where still the bare-footed and bare-headed friar his rope girdle tight about his loins shepherds with crook in hand his sheep upon the hillsides through rocky woods between sheer walls of cliff whose every towering crag stands crowned with ruined fortress, church or castle together with a blick at the Vosges mountains where half the population is bitterly pained if you speak to them in French the other half being insulted when you address them in German and the whole indignantly contemptuous at the first sound of English a state of things that renders conversation with the stranger somewhat nervous work. We did not succeed in carrying out our program in its entirety for the reason that human performance lags ever behind human intention it is easy to say and believe at three o'clock in the afternoon that we will rise at five breakfast lightly at half-past and start away at six then we shall be well on our way before the heat of the day sets in remarks one this time of year the early morning is really the best part of the day don't we think so? adds another oh undoubtedly so cool and fresh and the half-lights are so exquisite the first morning one maintains one's vows the party assembles at half-past five it is very silent individually somewhat snappy inclined to grumble with its food also with most other things the atmosphere charged with compressed irritability seeking its vent in the evening the tempter's voice is heard I think if we got off by half-past six sharp that would be time enough the voice of virtue protests faintly it will be breaking our resolution the tempter replies resolutions were made for man not man for resolutions the devil can paraphrase scripture for his own purpose besides it is disturbing the whole hotel think of the poor servants the voice of virtue continues but even feebler but everybody gets up early in these parts they would not if they were not obliged to poor things say breakfast at half-past six punctual that will be disturbing nobody thus sin masquerades under the guise of good and one sleeps till six explaining to one's conscience who however doesn't believe it that one does this because of unselfish consideration for others I have known such consideration extend until seven o'clock likewise distance measured with a pair of compasses is not precisely the same as when measured by the leg ten miles an hour for seven hours seventy miles a nice easy day's work there are some stiff hills to climb the other side to come down say eight miles an hour and call it sixty miles got in himmel if we can't average eight miles an hour we had better go in bath-chairs it does seem somewhat impossible to do less on paper but at four o'clock in the afternoon the voice of duty rings less trumpet-toned well I suppose we ought to be getting on oh there's no hurry, don't fuss lovely view from here isn't it? very, don't forget we are twenty-five miles from Zankt Blasian how far? twenty-five miles, a little over if anything do you mean to say we have only come thirty-five miles? that's all nonsense, I don't believe that map of yours it is impossible you know we have been riding steadily ever since the first thing this morning no we haven't we didn't get away till eight to begin with quarter to eight and every half dozen miles we have stopped we have only stopped to look at the view it's no good coming to see a country and then not seeing it and we have had to pull up some stiff hills besides it has been an exceptionally hot day today well, don't forget Zankt Blasian is twenty-five miles off, that's all any more hills? yes, two, up and down I thought you said it was downhill into Zankt Blasian so it is for the last ten miles we are twenty-five miles from Zankt Blasian here isn't there anywhere between here and Zankt Blasian? what's that little place there on the lake? it isn't Zankt Blasian or anywhere near it there's a danger in beginning that sort of thing there's a danger in overworking oneself one should study moderation in all things pretty little place that it is, according to the map looks as if there would be good air there all right, I'm agreeable it was you fellows who suggested our making for Zankt Blasian oh, I'm not so keen on Zankt Blasian pokey little place down in a valley this Titezi, I should say, was ever so much nicer quite near, isn't it? five miles general chorus we'll stop at Titezi George made discovery of this difference between theory and practice on the very first day of our ride I thought, said George, he was riding the single Harris and I being a little ahead on the tandem that the idea was to train up the hills and ride down them so it is, answered Harris as a general rule, but the trains don't go up every hill in the Black Forest somehow I felt a suspicion that they wouldn't growled George and for a while silence reigned besides, remarked Harris who had evidently been ruminating the subject you would not wish to have nothing but down a hill, surely? it would not be playing the game one must take a little rough with one's smooth again their return silence broken after a while by George this time don't you two fellows overexert yourselves merely on my account? said George how do you mean? asked Harris I mean, answered George that where a train does happen to be going up these hills don't you put aside the idea of taking it for fear of outraging my finer feelings personally I am prepared to go up all these hills in a railway train even if it's not playing the game I'll square the thing with my conscience I've been up at seven every day for a week now and I calculated owes me a bit don't you consider me in the matter at all? we promised to bear this in mind and again the ride continued in dogged dumbness until it was again broken by George what bicycle did you say this was of yours? asked George Harris told him I forget of what particular manufacture it happened to be it is immaterial are you sure? persisted George of course I'm sure answered Harris why, what's the matter with it? well it doesn't come up to the poster said George that's all what poster? asked Harris the poster advertising this particular brand of cycle explains George I was looking at one on a hoarding in Sloan Street only a day or two before we started a man was riding this make-of-machine, a man with a banner in his hand he wasn't doing any work that was clear as daylight he was just sitting on the thing and drinking in the air the cycle was going of its own accord and going well this thing of yours leaves all the work to me it is a lazy brute of a machine if you don't shove it simply does nothing I should complain about it if I were you when one comes to think of it few bicycles do realize the poster on only one poster that I can recollect have I seen the rider represented as doing any work but then this man was being pursued by a bull in ordinary cases the object of the artist is to convince the hesitating neophyte that the sport of bicycling consists in sitting on a luxurious saddle and being moved rapidly in the direction you wish to go by unseen heavenly powers generally speaking the rider is a lady and then one feels that for perfect bodily rest combined with entire freedom from mental anxiety slumber upon a waterbed you cannot compare with bicycle riding upon a hilly road no fairy travelling on a summer cloud could take things more easily than does the bicycle girl according to the poster her costume for cycling in hot weather is ideal old-fashioned landlady's might refuse her lunch, it is true and a narrow-minded police force might desire to secure her and wrap her in a rug preliminary to summonsing her but such she heeds not uphill and downhill through traffic that might tax the ingenuity of a cat over road surfaces calculated to break the average steamroller she passes a vision of idle loveliness her fair hair streaming to the wind her silph-like form poised airily one foot upon the saddle the other resting lightly upon the lamp sometimes she condescends to sit down on the saddle then she puts her feet on the rests, lights a cigarette and waves above her head a Chinese lantern less often it is a mere male thing that rides the machine he is not so accomplished an acrobat as is the lady but simple tricks such as standing on the saddle and waving flags drinking beer or beef tea while riding he can and does perform something one supposes he must do to occupy his mind sitting still hour after hour on this machine having no work to do nothing to think about must pull upon any man of active temperament thus it is that we see him rising on his pedals as he nears the top of some high hill to apostrophise the sun or address poetry to the surrounding scenery occasionally the poster pictures a pair of cyclists and then one grasps the fact how much superior for purposes of flirtation is the modern bicycle to the old-fashioned parlor or the played-out garden gate he and she mount their bicycles being careful of course that such are of the right make after that they have nothing to think about but the old sweet tale down shady lanes through busy towns on market days merrily roll the wheels of the Bermond Z company's bottom bracket Britain's best or of the Camberwell company's jointless Eureka they need no peddling they require no guiding give them their heads and tell them what time you want to get home and that is all they ask while Edwin leans from his saddle to whisper the dear old nothings in Angelina's ear while Angelina's face to hide its blushes is turned towards the horizon at the back the magic bicycles pursue their even course and the sun is always shining and the roads are always dry no stern parent rides behind no interfering aunt beside no demon small boy brother is peeping round the corner there never comes a skid army why were there no Britain's best nor Camberwell Eureka's to be hired when we were young or maybe the Britain's best or the Camberwell Eureka stands leaning against the gate maybe it is tired it has worked hard all the afternoon carrying these young people mercifully minded they have dismounted to give the machine a rest they sit upon the grass beneath the shade of graceful boughs it is long and dry grass a stream flows by their feet all is rest and peace that is ever the idea the cycle poster artist sets himself to convey rest and peace but I am wrong in saying that no cyclist according to the poster ever works now I come to reflect I have seen posters representing gentlemen on cycles working very hard overworking themselves one might almost say they are thin and haggard with the toil the perspiration stands upon their brow in beads you feel that if there is another hill beyond the poster they must either get off or die but this is the result of their own folly this happens because they will persist in riding a machine of an inferior make were they riding a putty popular or batasy bounder such as the sensible young man in the centre of the poster rides then all this unnecessary labour would be saved to them then all required of them would be as in gratitude bound to look happy perhaps occasionally to backpedal a little when the machine in its youthful buoyancy loses its head for a moment and dashes on too swiftly you tired young man sitting dejectedly on milestones too spent to heed the steady rain that soaks you through you weary maidens with the straight damp hair anxious about the time longing to swear not knowing how you stout bald men vanishing visibly as you pant and grunt along the endless road you purple dejected matrons plying with pain the slow unwilling wheel why did you not see to it that you bought a Britain's best or a Camberwell Eureka why are these bicycles of inferior make so prevalent throughout the land or is it with bicycling as with all other things does life at no point realize the poster the one thing in Germany that never fails to charm and fascinate me is the German dog in England one grows tired of the old breeds one knows them all so well the mastiff the plum pudding dog the terrier black white or rough-haired as the case may be but always quarrel some the collie the bulldog never anything new now in Germany you get variety you come across dogs like of which you have never seen before that until you hear them bark you do not know our dogs it is also fresh so interesting George stopped the dog in Ziegmeringen and drew our attention to it it suggested a cross between a codfish and a poodle I would not like to be positive it was not a cross between a codfish and a poodle Harris tried to photograph it but it ran up a fence and disappeared through some bushes I do not know what the German breeders idea is at present he retains his secret George suggests he is aiming at a griffin there is much to bear out this theory and indeed in one or two cases I have come across success on these lines would seem to have been almost achieved yet I cannot bring myself to believe that such are anything more than mere accidents the German is practical and I failed to see the object of a griffin if mere quaintness of design be desired is there not already the Dachshund what more is needed besides about a house a griffin would be so inconvenient people would be continually treading on its tail my own idea is that what the Germans are trying for is a mermaid which they will then train to catch fish for your German does not encourage laziness in any living thing he likes to see his dog's work and the German dog loves work of that there can be no doubt the life of the English dog must be a misery to him imagine a strong active and intelligent being of exceptionally energetic temperament condemned to spend 24 hours a day in absolute idleness how would you like it yourself no wonder he feels misunderstood yearns for the unattainable and gets himself into trouble generally now the German dog on the other hand has plenty to occupy his mind he is busy and important watch him as he walks along harnessed to his milk cart no church warden at collection time could feel or look more pleased with himself he does not do any real work the human being does the pushing he does the barking that is his idea of division of labour what he says to himself is the old man can't bark but he can shove very well the interest and the pride he takes in the business is quite beautiful to see another dog passing by makes maybe some jeering remark casting discredit upon the creaminess of the milk he stops suddenly quite regardless of the traffic I beg your pardon what was that you said about our milk I said nothing about your milk retorts the other dog in a tone of gentle innocence I merely said it was a fine day and asked the price of chalk oh you asked the price of chalk did you would you like to know yes thanks somehow I thought you would be able to tell me you are quite right I can it's worth oh do come along says the old lady who is tired and hot and anxious to finish her round yes but hang it all did you hear what he hinted about our milk oh never mind him there's a tram coming round the corner we shall all get run over yes but I do mind him one has one's proper pride he asked the price of chalk and he's going to know it it's worth just twenty times as much you'll have the whole thing over I know you will cries the old lady pathetically struggling with all her feeble strength to haul him back oh dear oh dear oh I do wish I had left you at home the tram is bearing down upon them a cab driver is shouting at them another huge brute hoping to be in time to take a hand is dragging a bread cart followed by a screaming child across the road from the opposite side a small crowd is collecting and a policeman is hastening to the scene it's worth says the milk dog just twenty times as much as you'll be worth before I've done with you oh you think so do you yes I do you grandson of a French poodle you cabbage eating there I knew you'd have it over says the poor milk woman I told him he'd have it over but he is busy and he's her not five minutes later when the traffic is renewed when the bread girl has collected her muddy rolls and the policeman has gone off with the name and address of everybody in the street he consents to look behind him it is a bit of an upset he admits then shaking himself free of care he adds cheerfully but I guess I taught him the price of chalk he won't interfere with us again I'm thinking I'm sure I hope not says the old lady regarding dejectedly the milky road but his favorite sport is to wait at the top of the hill for another dog and then race down on these occasions the chief occupation of the other fellow is to run about behind picking up the scattered articles loaves cavities or shirts as they're jerked out at the bottom of the hill he stops and waits for his friend good race wasn't it he remarks panting as the human comes up laden to the chin I believe I'd have won it too if it hadn't been for that fool of a small boy he was right in my way just as I turned to the corner you noticed him which I had peacefully brat what's he yelling like that for because I knocked him down and ran over him well why didn't he get out of the way it's disgraceful the way people leave their children about for other people to tumble over hello did all those things come out you couldn't have packed them very carefully you should see to a thing like that you did not dream of my tearing down the hill twenty miles an hour surely you knew me better than to expect I'd let that old Schneider's dog pass me without an effort but there you never think you're sure you've got them all you believe so I shouldn't believe if I were you I should run back up the hill again and make sure you feel too tired alright don't blame me if anything is missing that's all he is so self-willed he is cocksure that the correct turning is the second on the right and nothing will persuade him that it is the third he is positive he can get across the road in time and will not be convinced until he sees the cart smashed up then he is very apologetic it is true but of what use is that as he is usually of the size and strength of a young bull and his human companion is generally a weak need old man or woman or a small child he has his way the greatest punishment his proprietor can inflict upon him is to leave him at home and take the cart out alone but your German is too kind-hearted to do this often that he is harnessed to the cart for anybody's pleasure but his own it is impossible to believe and I am confident that the German peasant plans the tiny harness and fashions the little cart purely with the hope of gratifying his dog in other countries in Belgium, Holland and France I have seen these draft dogs ill-treated and overworked but in Germany, never Germans abuse animals shockingly I have seen a German standing in front of his horse and call it every name he could lay his tongue to but the horse did not mind it I have seen a German weary with abusing his horse called to his wife to come out and assist him when she came he told her what the horse had done the recital roused the woman's temper to almost equal heat with his own and standing one each side of the poor beast they both abused it they abused its dead mother they insulted its father they made cutting remarks about its personal appearance its intelligence its moral sense its general ability as a horse the animal bore the torrent with exemplary patience for a while then it did the best thing possible to do under the circumstances without losing its own temper it moved quietly away the lady returned to her washing and the man followed it up the street still abusing it a kinder hearted people than the Germans there is no need for cruelty to animal or child is a thing almost unknown in the land the whip with them is a musical instrument its crack is heard from morning to night but an Italian coachman that in the streets of Dresden I once saw use it was very nearly lynched by the indignant crowd Germany is the only country in Europe where the traveller can settle himself comfortably in his hired carriage confident that his gentle willing friend between the shafts will be neither overworked nor cruelly treated end of chapter 10 of three men on the bummel chapter 11 of three men on the bummel this LibriVox recording is in the public domain recording by Peter Yersley three men on the bummel by Jerome K. Jerome chapter 11 there was one night when tired out and far from town or village we slept in a black forest farmhouse the great charm about the black forest house is its sociability the cows are in the next room the horses are upstairs the geese and ducks are in the kitchen while the pigs, the children and the chickens live all over the place you are dressing when you hear a grunt behind you good morning don't happen to have any potato peelings in here no, I see you haven't goodbye next, there is a cackle and you see the neck of an old hen stretched round the corner fine morning, isn't it? you don't mind my bringing this worm of mine in here, do you? it is so difficult in this house to find a room where one can enjoy one's food with any quietness from a chicken I have always been a slow eater and when a dozen there I thought they wouldn't leave me alone now they'll all want a bit you don't mind my getting on the bed, do you? perhaps here they won't notice me while you're dressing, various shock heads peer in at the door they evidently regard the room as a temporary menagerie you cannot tell whether the heads belong to boys or girls you can only hope they're all male it is of no use shutting the door because there is nothing to fasten it by and the moment you're gone they push it open again you breakfast as the prodigal son is generally represented feeding a pig or two drop in to keep you company a party of elderly geese criticise you from the door you gather from their whispers added to their shocked expression that they're talking scandal about you maybe a cow will condescent to give a glance in this Noah's Ark arrangement it is I suppose that gives to the black forest home its distinctive scent it is not a scent you can liken to any one thing it is as if you took roses and Limburger cheese and hair oil some heather and onions peaches and soap suds together with a dash of sea air and a corpse and mixed them up together you cannot define any particular odor but you feel they are all there all the odours that the world has yet discovered people who live in these houses are fond of this mixture they do not open the window and lose any of it they keep it carefully bottled up if you want any other scent you can go outside and smell the wood violets and the pines inside there is the house and after a while I am told you get used to it so that you miss it and are unable to go to sleep in any other atmosphere we had a long walk before us the next day and it was our desire therefore to get up early even so early as six o'clock if that could be managed without disturbing the whole household we put it to our hostess whether she thought this could be done she said she thought it could she might not be about herself at that time it was her morning for going into the town some eight miles off and she rarely got back much before seven but possibly her husband or one of the boys would be returning home to lunch about that hour anyhow somebody should be sent back to wake us and get our breakfast as it turned out we did not need any waking we got up at four all by ourselves we got up at four in order to get away from the noise and the din that was making our heads ache what time the black forest peasant rises in the summertime I am unable to say to us they appeared to be getting up all night and the first thing the black forester does when he gets up is to put on a pair of stout boots with wooden soles and take a constitutional round the house until he has been three times up and down the stairs he does not feel he is up once fully awake himself the next thing he does is to go upstairs to the stables and wake up a horse the black forest house being built generally on the side of a steep hill the ground floor is at the top and the hay loft at the bottom then the horse it would seem must also have its constitutional round the house and this scene too the man goes downstairs into the kitchen and begins to chop wood and when he has chopped sufficient wood he feels pleased with himself and begins to sing all things considered we came to the conclusion we could not do better and follow the excellent example set us even George was quite eager to get up that morning we had a frugal breakfast at half past four and started away at five our road lay over a mountain and from inquiries made in the village it appeared to be one of those roads you cannot possibly miss I suppose everybody knows this sort of road generally it leads you back to where you started from and when it doesn't you wish it did so that at all events you might know where you were I foresaw evil from the very first and before we had accomplished a couple of miles we came up with it the road divided into three a worm eaton signpost indicated that the path to the left led to a place that we had never heard of that was on no map its other arm pointing out the direction of the middle road had disappeared the road to the right so we all agreed clearly led back again to the village the old man said distinctly so Harris reminded us keep straight on round the hill which hill George asked pertinently we were confronted by half a dozen some of them big some of them little he told us continued Harris that we should come to a wood I see no reason to doubt him commented George whichever road we take as a matter of fact a dense wood covered every hill and he said mermen Harris that we should reach the top in about an hour and a half there it is said George that I begin to disbelieve him well what shall we do said Harris now I happen to possess the bump of locality it is not a virtue I make no boast of it it is merely an animal instinct that I cannot help that things occasionally get in my way mountains precipices rivers and such like obstructions is no fault of mine my instinct is correct enough it is the earth that is wrong I led them by the middle road that the middle road had not character enough to continue for any quarter of a mile in the same direction that after three miles up and downhill it ended abruptly in a wasps nest was not a thing that should have been laid to my door if the middle road had gone in the direction it ought to have done it would have taken us to where we wanted to go of that I am convinced even as it was I would have continued to use this gift of mine to discover a fresh way had a proper spirit been displayed towards me but I am not an angel I admit this frankly and I decline to exert myself for the ungrateful and the ribald besides I doubt if George and Harris would have followed me further in any event therefore it was that I washed my hands of the whole affair and that Harris entered upon the vacancy well said Harris I suppose you're satisfied with what you have done I am quite satisfied I replied from the heap of stones where I was sitting so far I have brought you with safety I would continue to lead you further but no artist can work without encouragement you appear dissatisfied with me because you do not know where you are for all you know you may be just where you want to be but I say nothing as to that I expect no thanks go your own way I have done with you both I spoke perhaps with bitterness but I could not help it not a word of kindness had I had all the weary way do not misunderstand us said Harris both George and myself feel that without your assistance we should never be where we now are for that we give you every credit but instinct is liable to error what I propose to do is to substitute for it science which is exact now where's the sun don't you think said George that if we made our way back to the village and hired a boy for a mark to guide us it would save time in the end it would be wasting hours said Harris with decision you leave this to me I have been reading about this thing and it has interested me he took out his watch and began turning himself round and round it's as simple as abc he continued you point the shorthand at the sun then you bisect the segment between the shorthand and the 12 and thus you get to the north he worried up and down for a while then he fixed it now I got it he said that's the north where that wasp's nest is now give me the map we handed it to him and seating himself facing the wasps he examined it Tutmus from here he said is south by southwest how do you mean from here asked George why from here where we are returned Harris but where are we said George this worried Harris for a time but at length he cheered up it doesn't matter where we are he said wherever we are Tutmus is south by southwest come on we're only wasting time I don't quite see how you make it out said George as he rose and shouldered his knapsack but I suppose it doesn't matter we are out for a health and it's all pretty we shall be all right said Harris with cheery confidence we shall be in at Tutmus before 10 don't you worry and at Tutmus we will have something to eat he said that he himself fancied a beef steak followed by an omelette George said that personally he intended to keep his mind off the subject until he saw Tutmus we walked for half an hour then emerging upon an opening we saw below us about two miles away the village through which we had passed that morning it had a quaint church with an outside staircase a somewhat unusual arrangement the sight of it made me sad we had been walking hard for three hours and a half and had accomplished apparently about four miles but Harris was delighted now at last said Harris we know where we are I thought you said it didn't matter George reminded him no more it does practically replied Harris but it is just as well to be certain now I feel more confidence in myself I'm not so sure about that being an advantage muttered George but I do not think Harris heard him we are now continued Harris east of the Sun and Tutmus is southwest of where we are so that if he broke off by the buyer he said do you remember whether I said the bisecting line of that segment pointed to the north or to the south you said it pointed to the north replied George are you positive persisted Harris positive answered George but don't let that influence your calculations in all probability you were wrong Harris thought for a while then his brow cleared that's all right he said of course it's the north it must be the north how could it be the south now we must make for the west come on I am quite willing to make for the west said George any part of the compass is the same to me I only wish to remark that at the present moment we are going dead east no we are not returned Harris we are going west we are going east I tell you said George I wish you wouldn't keep saying that said Harris you confuse me I don't mind if I do return to George I would rather do that than go wrong I tell you we are going dead east what nonsense retorted Harris there's the Sun I can see the Sun answered George quite distinctly it may be where it ought to be according to you and science or it may not all I know is that when we were down in the village that particular hill with that particular lump of rock upon it was due north of us at the present moment we are facing due east you are quite right said Harris I forgot for the moment that we had to turn around I should get into the habit of making a note of it if I were you grumbles George it's a maneuver that will probably occur again more than once we faced about and walked in the other direction at the end of 40 minutes climbing we again emerged upon an opening and again the village lay just under our feet on this occasion it was south of us this is very extraordinary said Harris I see nothing remarkable about it said George if you walk steadily around a village it is only natural that now and then you get a glimpse of it myself I am glad to see it it proves to me that we are not utterly lost it ought to be the other side of us said Harris it will be in another hour or so said George if we keep on I said little myself I was vexed with both of them but I was glad to notice George evidently growing cross with Harris it was absurd of Harris to fancy he could find the way by the sun I wish I knew said Harris thoughtfully for certain whether that bisecting line points to the north or to the south I should make up for my mind about it said George it's an important point it's impossible it can be the north said Harris and I'll tell you why you needn't trouble said George I am quite prepared to believe it isn't you said just now it was said Harris reproachfully I said nothing of the sort retorted to George I said you said it was a very different thing if you think it isn't let's go the other way it'll be a change at all events so Harris worked things out according to the contrary calculation and again we plunged into the wood and again after half an hour's stiff climbing we came in view of that same village true we were a little higher and this time it lay between us and the sun I think said George as he stood looking down at it this is the best view we've had of it as yet there is only one other point from which we can see it after that I propose we go down into it and get some rest I don't believe it's the same village said Harris it can't be there's no mistaking that church said George but maybe it is a case on all fours with that Prague statue possibly the authorities hereabouts have made some life-size models of that village and have stuck them about the forest to see where the thing would look best anyhow which way do we go now I don't know said Harris and I don't care I have done my best you've done nothing but grumble and confuse me I may have been critical admit is George but look at the thing from my point of view one of you says he's got an instinct and leads me to a wasps nest in the middle of a wood I can't help wasps building in a wood I replied I don't say you can answer to George I am not arguing I am merely stating incontrovertible of acts the other one who leads me up and downhill for hours on scientific principles doesn't know the north from the south and is never quite sure whether he's turned around or whether he hasn't personally my professed to no instincts beyond the ordinary nor am I a scientist but two fields off I can see a man I am going to offer him the worth of the hay he is cutting which I estimated one mark fifty finnig to leave his work and lead me to within sight of toot moose if you two fellows like to follow you can if not you can start another system and work it out by yourselves George's plan lacked both originality and a plomb but at the moment it appeals to us fortunately we had worked round to a very short distance away from the spot where we had originally gone wrong with the results that aided by the gentleman of the size we recovered the road and reached toot moose four hours later than we had calculated to reach it with an appetite that took 45 minutes steady work in silence to abate from toot moose we had intended to walk down to the Rhine but having regard to our extra exertions of the morning we decided to promenade in a carriage as the French would say and for this purpose hired a picturesque looking vehicle drawn by a horse that I should have called barrel bodied but for contrast with his driver in comparison with whom he was angular in Germany every vehicle is arranged for a pair of horses but drawn generally by one this gives to the equipage a lopsided appearance according to our notions but it is held here to indicate style the idea to be conveyed is that you usually drive a pair of horses but that for the moment you have mislaid the other one the German driver is not what we should call a first class whip he is at his best when he is asleep then at all events he is harmless and the horse being generally speaking intelligent and experienced progress under these conditions is comparatively safe if in Germany they could only train the horse to collect the money at the end of the journey there would be no need for a coachman at all this would be a distinct relief to the passenger for when the German coachman is awake and not cracking his whip he is generally occupied in getting himself into trouble or out of it he is better at the former once I recollect driving down a steep black forest hill with a couple of ladies it was one of those roads winding corkscrew eyes down the slope the hill rose at an angle of 75 on the offside and fell away at an angle of 75 on the near side we were proceeding very comfortably the driver we were happy to notice with his eyes shut when suddenly something a bad dream or indigestion awoke him he sees the reins and by an adroit movement pulled the near side horse over the edge where it clung half supported by the traces our driver did not appear in the least annoyed or surprised both horses I also noticed seemed equally used to the situation we got out and he got down he took from under the seat a huge clasp knife evidently kept there for the purpose and deftly cut the traces the horse thus released rolled over and over until he struck the road again some 50 feet below there he regained his feet and stood waiting for us we re-entered the carriage and descended with the single horse until we came to him there with the help of some bits of string our driver harnessed him again and we continued on our way what impressed me was the evident accustomedness of both driver and horses to this method of working down a hill evidently to them it appeared a short and convenient cut I should not have been surprised had the man suggested our strapping ourselves in and then rolling over and over carriage and all to the bottom another peculiarity of the German coachman is that he never attempts to pull in or to pull up he regulates his rate of speed not by the pace of the horse but by manipulation of the brake for eight miles an hour he puts it on slightly so that it only scrapes the wheel producing a continuous sound as of the sharpening of a saw for four miles an hour he screws it down harder and you travel to an accompaniment of groans and shrieks suggestive of the symphony of dying pigs when he desires to come to a full stop he puts it on to its full if his brake be a good one he calculates he can stop his carriage unless the horse be an extra powerful animal in less than twice its own length neither the German driver nor the German horse knows apparently that you can stop a carriage by any other method the German horse continues to pull with his full strength until he finds it impossible to move the vehicle another inch then he rests horses of other countries are quite willing to stop when the idea is suggested to them I have known horses content to go even quite slowly but your German horse seemingly is built for one particular speed and is unable to depart from it I am stating nothing but the literal unadorned truth when I say I have seen a German coachman with the reins lying loose over the splashboard working his brake with both hands in terror lest he would not be in time to avoid a collision at Val should one of those little 16th century towns through which the Rhine flows during its earlier course we came across that exceedingly common object of the continent the traveling Britain grieved and surprised at the unacquaintance of the foreigner with the subtleties of the English language when we entered the station he was in very fair English though with a slight Somersetia accent explaining to a porter for the 10th time as he informed us the simple fact that though he himself had a ticket for Donal Eschingen and wanted to go to Donal Eschingen to see the source of the Danube which is not there though they tell you it is he wished his bicycle to be sent on to Engen and his bag to Constanza there to await his arrival he was hot and angry with the effort of the thing the porter was a young man in years but at the moment looked old and miserable I offered my services I wish now I had not though not so fervently I expect as he the speechless one came subsequently to wish this all three routes so the porter explains to us were complicated necessitating changing and re-changing there was not much time for calm elucidation as our own train was starting in a few minutes the man himself was voluble always a mistake when anything entangled has to be made clear while the porter was only too eager to get the job done with and so breathe again it's dawned upon me ten minutes later when thinking the matter over in the train that though I had agreed with the porter that it would be best for the bicycle to go by way of Imen Dignen and had agreed to his booking it to Imen Dignen I had neglected to give instructions for its departure from Imen Dignen were I of a despondent temperament I should be worrying myself at the present moment with the reflection that in all probability that bicycle is still at Imen Dignen to this day but I regard it as good philosophy to endeavor always to see the brighter side of things possibly the porter corrected my omission on his own account or some simple miracle may have happened to restore that bicycle to its owner some time before the end of his tour the bag we sent to Radolfzil but here I console myself with the recollection that it was labeled constanza and no doubt after a while the railway authorities finding it unclaimed at Radolfzil forwarded it on to constanza but all this is a part from the moral I wish to draw from the incident the true inwardness of the situation lay in the indignation of this british at finding a german railway porter unable to comprehend english the moment we spoke to him he expressed this indignation in no measured terms thank you very much indeed he said it's simple enough I want to go to Donoeschingum myself by train from Donoeschingum I'm going to walk to Geisingen from Geisingen I'm going to take the train to Engen and from Engen I'm going to bicycle to Constance but I don't want to take my bag with me I wants to find it at Constance when I get there I have been trying to explain the thing to this fool for the last 10 minutes but I can't get it into him it is very disgraceful I agreed some of these german workmen know hardly any other language than their own I have gone over it with him continued the man on the timetable and explained it by pantomime even then I could not knock it into him I can hardly believe you I again remarked you would think the thing explained itself Harris was angry with the man he wished to reprove him for his folly and journeying through the outlying portions of a foreign climb and seeking in such to accomplish complicated railway tricks without knowing a word of the language of the country but I checked the impulsiveness of Harris and pointed out to him the great and good work at which the man was unconsciously assisting Shakespeare and Milton may have done their little best to spread acquaintance with the English tongue among the less favoured inhabitants of Europe Newton and Darwin may have rendered their language a necessity among educated and thoughtful foreigners Dickens and Ouida for your folk who imagine that the literary world is bounded by the prejudices of New Grub Street would be surprised and grieved at the position occupied abroad by this at home sneered at lady may have helped still further to popularize it but the man who has spread the knowledge of English from capes and Vincent to the Ural Mountains is the Englishman who unable or unwilling to learn a single word of any language but his own travels purse in hand into every corner of the continent one may be shocked at his ignorance annoyed at his stupidity angry at his presumption but the practical fact remains he it is that is anglicizing Europe for him the Swiss peasant tramps through the snow on winter evenings to attend the English class open in every village for him the coachman and the guard the chambermaid and the lawn dress pour over their English grammars and colloquial phrase books for him the foreign shopkeeper and merchant send their sons and daughters in their thousands to study in every English town for him it is that every foreign hotel and restaurant keeper adds to his advertisement only those with fair knowledge of English need apply did the English speaking races make it their rule to speak anything else than English the marvellous progress of the English tongue throughout the world would stop the English speaking man stands amid the strangers and jingles his gold here he cries his payment for all such as can speak English he it is who is the great educator theoretically we may scold him practically we should take our hats off to him he is the missionary of the English tongue end of chapter 11 of three men on the bumble chapter 12 of three men on the bumble this LibriVox recording is in the public domain recording by Peter Yersley three men on the bumble by Jerome K Jerome chapter 12 a thing that vexes much the high class Anglo-Saxon soul is the earthly instinct prompting the German to fix a restaurant at the goal of every excursion on mountain summit in fairy glen on lonely paths by waterfall or winding stream stands ever the busy virtue how can one rhapsodize over a view when surrounded by beer stained tables how lose oneself in historical reverie amid the odor of roast veal and spinach one day on elevating thoughts intent we climbed through tangled woods and at the top said harris bitterly as we paused to breathe the space and pull our belts a whole tighter there will be a gaudy restaurant where people will be guzzling beef sticks and plum tarts and drinking white wine do you think so said George sure to be answered harris you know their way not one grove will they consent to dedicate to solitude and contemplation not one height will they leave to the lover of nature unpolluted by the gross and the material i calculate i remarked that we shall be there a little before one o'clock provided we don't dawdle the mittag tish will be just ready groaned harris with possibly some of those little blue trout they catch about here in germany one never seems able to get away from food and drink it is maddening we pushed on and in the beauty of the walk forgot our indignation my estimate proved to be correct at a quarter to one said harris who was leading here we are i can see the summit any sign of that restaurant said george i don't notice it replied harris but it's there you may be sure confound it five minutes later we stood upon the top we looked north south east and west then we looked at one another grand view isn't it said harris magnificent i agreed superb remarked george they have had the good sense for once said harris to put that restaurant out of sight they do seem to have hidden it said george one doesn't mind the thing so much when it is not forced under one's nose said harris of course in its place i observed a restaurant is right enough i should like to know where they have put it said george suppose we look for it said harris with inspiration it seemed a good idea i felt curious myself we agreed to explore in different directions returning to the summit to report progress in half an hour we stood together once again there was no need for words the face of one and all of us announced plainly that at last we had discovered a recess of german nature untarnished by the sordid suggestion of food or drink i should never have believed it possible said harris would you i should say i replied that this is the only square quarter of a mile in the entire fatherland unprovided with one and we three strangers have struck it said george without an effort true i observed by pure good fortune we are now enabled to feast our finer senses undisturbed by appeal to our lower nature observe the light upon those distant peaks is it not ravishing talking of nature said george which should you say was the nearest way down the road to the left i replied after consulting the guidebook takes us to son and steig where by the by i observe the gold dinner adler is well spoken of in about two hours the road to the right though somewhat longer commands more extensive prospects one prospect said harris is very much like another prospect don't you think so personally said george i am going by the left hand road and harris and i went after him but we were not to get down so soon as we had anticipated storms come quickly in these regions and before we had walked for quarter of an hour it became a question of seeking shelter or living for the rest of the day in soaked clothes we decided on the former alternative and selected a tree that under ordinary circumstances should have been ample protection but a black forest thunderstorm is not an ordinary circumstance we consoled ourselves at first by telling each other that at such a rate it could not last long next we endeavored to comfort ourselves with the reflection that if it did we should soon be too wet to fear getting wet as it turned out said harris i should have been almost glad if there had been a restaurant up here i see no advantage in being both wet and hungry said george i shall give it another five minutes then i'm going on these mountain solitudes i remarked are very attractive in fine weather on a rainy day especially if you happen to be past the age when at this point there hailed us a voice proceeding from a stout gentleman who stood some 50 feet away from us under a big umbrella won't you come inside asked the stout gentleman inside where i called back i thought at first he was one of those fools that will try to be funny when there is nothing to be funny about inside the restaurant he answered we left our shelter and made for him we wished for further information about this thing i did call to you from the window said the stout gentleman as we drew near to him but i suppose you did not hear me this storm may last for another hour you will get so wet he was a kindly old gentleman he seemed quite anxious about us i said it is very kind of you to have come out we are not lunatics we have not been standing under that tree for the last half hour knowing all the time there was a restaurant hidden by the trees within 20 yards of us we had no idea we were anywhere near a restaurant i thought maybe you hadn't said the old gentleman that is why i came it appeared that all the people in the inn had been watching us from the windows also wondering why we stood there looking miserable if it had not been for this nice old gentleman the fools would have remained watching us i suppose for the rest of the afternoon the landlord excused himself by saying he thought we looked like english it is no figure of speech on the continent they do sincerely believe that every englishman is mad they are as convinced of it as is every english peasant that frenchmen live on frogs even when one makes a direct personal effort to disabuse them of the impression one is not always successful it was a comfortable little restaurant where they cooked well while the tishvayan was really most passable we stopped there for a couple of hours and dried ourselves and fed ourselves and talked about the view and just before we left an incident occurred that shows how much more stirring in this world are the influences of evil compared with those of good a traveller entered he seemed a careworn man he carried a brick in his hand tied to a piece of rope he entered nervously and hurriedly closed the door carefully behind him saw to it that it was fastened peered out of the window long and earnestly and then with a sigh of relief laid his brick upon the bench beside him and called for food and drink there was something mysterious about the whole affair one wondered what he was going to do with the brick why he had closed the door so carefully why he had looked so anxiously from the window but his aspect was too wretched to invite conversation and we forbore therefore to ask him questions as he ate and drank he grew more cheerful sighed less often later he stretched his legs lit an evil smelling cigar and puffed in calm contentment then it's happened it happened too suddenly for any detailed explanation of the thing to be possible i recollect a froy line entering the room from the kitchen with a pan in her hand i saw her cross to the outer door the next moment the whole room was in an uproar one was reminded of those pantomime transformation scenes where from among floating clouds slow music waving flowers and reclining fairies one is suddenly transported into the midst of shouting policemen tumbling yelling babies swells fighting pantaloons sausages and harlequins buttered slides and clowns as the froy line of the pan touched the door it flew open as though all the spirits of sin had been pressed against it waiting two pigs and a chicken rushed into the room a cat that had been sleeping on a beer barrel spluttered into fiery life the froy line threw her pan into the air and lay down on the floor the gentleman with the bricks sprang to his feet upsetting the table before him with everything upon it one looked to see the cause of this disaster one discovered it at once in the person of a mongrel terrier with pointed ears and a squirrel's tail the landlord rushed out from another door and attempted to kick him out of the room instead he kicked one of the pigs the fatter of the two it was a vigorous well-planted kick and the pig got the whole of it none of it was wasted one felt sorry for the poor animal but no amount of sorrow anyone else might feel for him could compare with the sorrow he felt for himself he stopped running about he sat down in the middle of the room and appealed to the solar system generally to observe this unjust thing that had come upon him they must have heard his complaint in the valleys round about and have wondered what upheaval of nature was taking place among the hills as for the hen it scuttled screaming every way at once it was a marvellous bird it seemed to be able to run up a straight wall quite easily and it and the cat between them fetched down mostly everything that was not already on the floor in less than 40 seconds there were nine people in that room all trying to kick one dog possibly now and again one or another may have succeeded for occasionally the dog would stop barking in order to howl but it did not discourage him everything has to be paid for he evidently argued even a pig and chicken hunt and on the whole the game was worth it besides he had the satisfaction of observing that for every kick he received most other living things in the room got two as for the unfortunate pig the stationary one the one that still sat lamenting in the center of the room he must have averaged a steady four trying to kick this dog was like playing football with a ball that was never there not when you went to kick it but after you had started to kick it and had gone too far to stop yourself so that the kick had to go on in any case your only hope being that your foot would find something or another solid to stop it and so save you from sitting down on the floor noisily and completely when anybody did kick the dog it was by pure accident when they were not expecting to kick him and generally speaking this took them so unawares that after kicking him they fell over him and everybody every half minute would be certain to fall over the pig the sitting pig the one incapable of getting out of anybody's way how long the scrimmage might have lasted it is impossible to say it was ended by the judgment of george for a while he had been seeking to catch not the dog but the remaining pig the one still capable of activity cornering it at last he persuaded it to cease running round and round the room and instead to take a spin outside it shots through the door with one long whale we always desire the thing we have not one pig a chicken nine people and a cat were as nothing in that dog's opinion compared with the quarry that was disappearing unwisely he darted after it and george closed the door upon him and shot the bolt then the landlord stood up and surveyed all the things that were lying on the floor that's a playful dog of yours said he to the man who had come in with the brick he is not my dog replied the man sullenly whose dog is it then said the landlord I don't know whose dog it is answered the man that won't do for me you know said the landlord picking up a picture of the german emperor and wiping beer from it with his sleeve I know it won't replied the man I never expected it would I'm tired of telling people it isn't my dog they none of them believe me what do you want to go about with him for if he's not your dog said the landlord what's the attraction about him I don't go about with him replied the man he goes about with me he picked me up this morning it's 10 o'clock and he won't leave me I thought I'd got rid of him when I came in here I left him busy killing a duck more than a quarter of an hour away I'll have to pay for that I expect on my way back have you tried throwing stones at him asked Harris have I tried throwing stones at him replied the man contemptuously I've been throwing stones at him till my arm aches with throwing stones and he thinks it's a game and brings them back to me I've been carrying this beastly brick about with me for over an hour in the hope of being able to drown him but he never comes near enough for me to get hold of him he just sits six inches out of reach with his mouth open and looks at me it's the funniest story I've heard for a long while said the landlord glad it amuses somebody said the man we left him helping the landlord to pick up the broken things and went our way a dozen yards outside the door the faithful animal was waiting for his friend he looked tired but contented he was evidently a dog of strange and sudden fancies and we feared for the moment lest he might take a liking to us but he let us pass with indifference his loyalty to this unresponsive man was touching and we made no attempts to undermine it having completed to our satisfaction the black forest we journeyed on our wheels through alt preysach and colmar to munster whence we started a short exploration of the vows range where according to the present german emperor humanity stops of old alt preysach a rocky fortress with the river now on one side of it and now on the other for in its inexperienced youth the rine never seems to have been quite sure of its way must as a place of residence have appealed exclusively to the lover of change and excitement whoever the war was between and whatever it was about alt preysach was bound to be in it everybody besieged it most people captured it the majority of them lost it again nobody seemed able to keep it whom he belonged to and what he was the dweller in alt preysach could never have been quite sure one day he would be a frenchman and then before he could learn enough french to pay his taxes he would be an austrian while trying to discover what you did in order to be a good austrian he would find he was no longer an austrian but a german though what particular german out of the dozen must always have been doubtful to him one day he would discover that he was a catholic the next an ardent protestant the only thing that could have given any stability to his existence must have been the monotonous necessity of paying heavily for the privilege of being whatever for the moment he was but when one begins to think of these things one finds oneself wondering why anybody in the middle ages except kings and tax collectors ever took the trouble to live at all for variety and beauty the vogue will not compare with the hills of the schratzwald the advantage about them from the tourist's point of view is their superior poverty the vogue peasant has not the unromantic air of contented prosperity that spoils his vis-a-vis across the rine the villages and farms possess more the charm of decay another point wherein the vogue district excels is its ruins many of its numerous castles are perched where you might think only eagles would care to build in others commenced by the romans and finished by the troubadours covering acres with the maze of their still standing walls one may wonder for hours the fruiterer and greengrocer is a person unknown in the vogue most things of that kind grow wild and are to be had for the picking it is difficult to keep to any program when walking through the vogue the temptation on a hot day to stop and eat fruit generally being too strong for resistance raspberries the most delicious i have ever tasted wild strawberries currants and guzzberries grow upon the hillsides as blackberries by english lanes the vogue small boy is not called upon to rob an orchard he can make himself ill without sin orchards exist in the vogue mountains in plenty but to trespass into one for the purpose of stealing fruit would be as foolish as for a fish to try and get into a swimming bath without paying still of course mistakes do occur one afternoon in the course of a climb we emerged upon a plateau where we lingered perhaps too long eating more fruit than may have been good for us it was so plentiful around us so varied we commenced with a few late strawberries and from those we passed to raspberries then harris found a green gauge tree with some early fruit upon it just perfect this is about the best thing we have struck said george we had better make the most of this which was good advice on the face of it it is a pity said harris that the pears are still so hard he grieved about this for a while but later on came across some remarkably fine yellow plums and these consult him somewhat i suppose we are still a bit too far north for pineapples says george i feel i could just enjoy a fresh pineapple this commonplace fruit pulls upon one after a while too much bushfruit and not enough tree is the fault i find said harris myself i should have liked a few more green gauges here is a man coming up the hill i observed who looks like a native maybe he will know where we can find some more green gauges he walks well for an old chap remarked harris he certainly was climbing the hill at a remarkable pace also so far as we were able to judge at that distance he appeared to be in a remarkably cheerful mood singing and shouting at the top of his voice gesticulating and waving his arms what a merry old soul it is said harris it does one good to watch him but why does he carry his stick over his shoulder why doesn't he use it to help him up the hill do you know i don't think it is a stick said george what can it be then asked harris well it looks to me said george more like a gun you don't think we can have made a mistake suggested harris you don't think this can be anything in the nature of a private orchard i said do you remember the sad thing that happened in the south of france some two years ago a soldier picked some cherries as he passed a house and the french peasants to whom the cherries belonged came out and without a word of warning shot him dead but surely you're not allowed to shoot a man dead for picking fruit even in france said george of course not i answered it was quite illegal the only excuse offered by his council was that he was of a highly excitable disposition and especially keen about these particular cherries i recollect something about the case said harris now you mention it i believe the district in which it happened the commune as i think it is called had to pay heavy compensation to the relatives of the deceased soldier which was only fair george said i am tired of this place besides it's getting late harris said if he goes at that rate he will fall and hurt himself besides i don't believe he knows the way i felt lonesome up there all by myself with nobody to speak to besides not since i was a boy i reflected had i enjoyed a run down a really steep hill i thought i would see if i could revive the sensation it is a jerky exercise but good i should say for the liver we slept that night at bar a pleasant little town on the way to sanctotilienberg an interesting old convent among the mountains where you are waited upon by real nuns and your bill made out by a priest at bar just before supper a tourist entered he looked english but spoke a language the like of which i have never heard before yet it was an elegant and fine sounding language the landlord stared at him blankly the landlady shook her head he sighed and tried another which somehow recalled to me forgotten memories though at the time i could not fix it but again nobody understood him this is damnable he said allowed to himself ah you are english exclaimed the landlord brightening up and monsieur looks tired added the bright little landlady monsieur will have supper they both spoke english excellently nearly as well as they spoke french and german and they bustled about and made him comfortable at supper he sat next to me and i talked to him tell me i said i was curious on the subject what language was it you spoke when you first came in german he explained oh i replied i beg your pardon you did not understand it he continued it must have been my fault i answered my knowledge is extremely limited one picks up a little here and there as one goes about but of course that is a different thing but they did not understand it he replied the landlord and his wife and it is their own language i do not think so i said the children hear about speak german it is true and our landlord and landlady know german to a certain point but throughout al sass and loren the old people still talk french and i spoke to them in french also he added and they understood that no better it is certainly very curious i agreed it is more than curious he replied in my case it is incomprehensible i possess a diploma for modern languages i won my scholarship purely on the strength of my french and german the correctness of my construction the purity of my pronunciation was considered at my college to be quite remarkable yet when i come abroad hardly anybody understands a word i say can you explain it i think i can i replied your pronunciation is too faultless you remember what the scotsman said when for the first time in his life he tasted real whiskey it may be pure but i cannot drink it so it is with your german it strikes one less as a language than as an exhibition if i might offer advice i should say mispronounce as much as possible and throw in as many mistakes as you can think of it is the same everywhere each country keeps a special pronunciation exclusively for the use of foreigners a pronunciation they never dream of using themselves that they cannot understand when it is used i once heard an english lady explaining to a frenchman how to pronounce the word have you will pronounce it said the lady reproachfully as if it was spelt h a v it isn't there is an e at the end but i thought said the pupil that you did not sound the e at the end of h a v e no more you do explained his teacher it is what we call a mute e but it exercises a modifying influence on the preceding vowel before that he used to say have quite intelligently afterwards when he came to the word he would stop dead collect his thoughts and give expression to a sound that only the context could explain putting aside the sufferings of the early martyrs few men i suppose have gone through more than i myself went through in trying to attain the correct pronunciation of the german word for church long before i had done with it i had discerned never to go to church in germany rather than be bothered with it no no my teacher would explain he was a painstaking gentleman you say it as if it was spelt k i r c h k e there is no k it is and he would illustrate to me again for the 20th time that morning how it should be pronounced the sad thing being that i could never for the life of me detect any difference between the way he said it and the way i said it so he would try a new method you say it from your throat he would explain he was quite right i did i want you to say it from down here and with a fat forefinger he would indicate the region from where i was to start after painful efforts resulting in sounds suggestive of anything rather than a place of worship i would excuse myself i really fear it is impossible i would say you see for years i have always talked with my mouth as it were i never knew a man could talk with his stomach i doubt if it is not too late now for me to learn by spending hours in dark corners and practicing in silent streets to the terror of chance passes by i came at last to pronounce this word correctly my teacher was delighted with me and until i came to germany i was pleased with myself in germany i found that nobody understood what i meant by it i never got near a church with it i had to drop the correct pronunciation and pains taking to go back to my first wrong pronunciation then they would brighten up and tell me it was around the corner or down the next street as the case may be i also think pronunciation of a foreign tongue could be better taught than by demanding from the pupil those internal acrobatic feats that are generally impossible and always useless this is the sort of instruction one receives press your tonsils against the underside of your larynx then with the convex part of the septum curved upwards so as almost but not quite to touch the uvula try with the tip of your tongue to reach your thyroid take a deep breath and compress your glottis now without opening your lips say garoo and when you have done it they are not satisfied end of chapter 12 of three men on the bumble