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Updated: June 24, 2025


When Jason Philip Schimmelweis learned what was afoot, he would not let the troublesome journey deter him, but appeared in Marian’s shop like an avenging angel. Daniel feared him no longer, since he had given up hoping for anything from him. He laughed to himself at the sight of the stubby, short-necked man in his rage.

She had told Benjamin Dorn that a doughtier, bonnier, more capable person than Fräulein Schimmelweis was not to be found on this earth, and that the two were as much made for each other as oil and vinegar for a salad. She said: “You simply ought to see the dresses the girl has and how she can fix herself up when she wants to go out. Moreover, she comes of a good family.

The investigations of the various boards, including that of the fire department, the cross-examination, the taking of evidence, the coming to a decisionall this was over. The cause of the fire remained unexplained; a guilty party could not be found. Philippina Schimmelweis had sworn that the fire had already started when she reached the attic.

You can help Marian with the interest, and all I ask of you is to be silent and to act a father’s part toward the boy when I shall be no more.” Jason Philip Schimmelweis arose. He was moved and wrung Gottfried Nothafft’s hand. “You may rely upon me,” he said, “as you would on the Bank of England.” “I thought that would be your answer, brother, and that is why I came.”

Every now and then there would come a long, shrill whistle from the silent mass, followed at once by the heavy rolling of drums at the guard house. Among those who came down from the direction of Koenig Street was the workman Wachsmuth. In the vicinity of the Schimmelweis shop he delivered an excited harangue against the former member of the party; his words fell on fruitful soil.

Then it was that Jason Philip Schimmelweis rose to his true heights of eloquence. He insisted that his hands were clean, his left one and also his right one; that he was working in the interest of a good cause; and that threats could not intimidate him. He made it plain that he would bow to no dictatorship operating under the mask of equality and fraternity.

She said to herself: “When an Eleanore dies in the full bloom of youth, one must mourn until the soul of its own accord again grows hungry for life.” At first Eva had tried to play with her little step-sister; but Philippina had chased her from the room. Once she turned against the enraged daughter of Jason Philip Schimmelweis, and said: “I’ll tell my father on you!” “Yes? You’ll tell your father?

It seemed to her as though fate had inspired the soul of her child with something of the foolish and torturing hatred which she had nursed during her pregnancy. Jason Philip Schimmelweis left the dark basement on the square, rented a shop near the bridge by the museum, and set up as a bookseller. Thus his old ambition was realised at last.

That’s sharp practice, Frau Schimmelweis, sharp practice,” the man repeated, as though this phrase summed up all he could express in the way of withering condemnation. “A fellow like me wants to get on and wants to learn something. All right. So I think I’ll buy me a book and get a step ahead in knowledge. So where do I go?

Look at those black, staring, pearly eyes: they remind me of Jason Philip Schimmelweis and Alfons Diruf and Alexander Dörmaul; they remind me of the reserved table, the Kaffeeklatsch, smelly feet, evenings at the club, and everything else that is unappetising, vulgar, and base. Don’t look at me in such astonishment, Eleanore, I have just had an ugly dream; that is all.

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