Weights and Measures

by Joseph Roth

  ‘She must be taken away!’ he said. He grasped her raised hand in which the saw-knife threatened. At this moment all the dealers rushed out of their booths. A frightful outcry went up. One might have thought that the entire living world was crying out and raging against the arrest of Frau Soscha Czaczkes. Sergeant Slama did something else: he handcuffed the old woman. And so, scolding, screaming, croaking incomprehensible and meaningless curses, she went on her way to prison, between the two men, the gendarme and the Inspector.

  As for the Inspector, he was greatly agitated. It had not been his wish that a poor foolish Jewish poultry-dealer should be locked up. He himself was of Jewish stock. He still remembered his grandfather, who had worn a big beard and had died when he, Anselm, had been eight years old. He even remembered the funeral. It was a Jewish funeral. Enveloped in the white shroud, without a coffin, old grandfather Eibenschütz fell into the grave, which was very quickly filled in.

  Ah, he was in a really bad spot, was Inspector Eibenschütz. He was pained, deeply pained, by his own fate. He was resolved to uphold the law. He was a man of honour, strict and yet compassionate at heart. What was he to do with this combination of compassion and strictness? At the same time there sounded in his ears the golden ringing of Frau Euphemia’s little earrings.

  He walked along as if he himself were manacled. Nevertheless, he still had to stop at one or two shops. Meanwhile Frau Czaczkes screamed horribly and the gendarme held her fast by the chain while Eibenschütz inspected the scales and weights at various stalls. He made his inspection quickly and hurriedly. This went against his soldierly and official conscience, but what else could he have done? The woman was screaming, the crowd of dealers looked threatening. He wanted to be speedy and yet conscientious. He wanted to be compassionate, considerate, and still the woman screamed and, what was more, there was a constant ringing in his ears: the sound of Euphemia’s earrings. In the end he asked Sergeant Slama to release Frau Czaczkes. ‘If you stop screaming,’ said Slama to the old dealer, ‘I’ll let you go. Agreed?’ Yes, to be sure, she agreed. They let her go. And she ran off, back down the road, her arms flapping. She resembled a crane.

  Finally Eibenschütz arrived at Jadlowker’s barrel. ‘What are you doing here?’ he asked. ‘Have you got a licence to sell fish as well?’ ‘No,’ said Jadlowker and his whole broad countenance smiled, as if some small, misshapen sun, a sun of the misshapen, was smiling. ‘No,’ said Jadlowker, ‘I’m only standing in for a friend, my friend the fishmonger Schächer.’

  ‘Papers?’ asked the Inspector. He did not know why he had suddenly been seized with such a violent rage against poor Leibusch Jadlowker.

  ‘You’re only here to check weights!’ said Jadlowker, who knew his way about the law. ‘You’re not entitled to ask for papers!’

  ‘You’re offering resistance!’ said Inspector Eibenschütz. He did not know why he hated Leibusch Jadlowker so. He did not know why, constantly, in his heart, in his brain, everywhere, he heard the dangerous tinkling of the earrings.

  At the word ‘resistance’ the sergeant stepped nearer. ‘Where d’you come from?’ he asked Jadlowker.

  ‘I own the border tavern at Szwaby,’ answered Jadlowker. ‘I know that,’ said Sergeant Slama. ‘I’ve been to your inn. Now we’re talking officially. No liberties: understand?’

  He stood there, Sergeant Slama, in the evening sun. The sun was sending a last token of its strength across the market-place. It even gilded a cloud which hovered over the square, and at the same time it roused a dangerous sparkle in the gendarme’s spiked helmet. Even his bayonet glittered.

  No one knows what came over Leibusch Jadlowker at that point. He suddenly rushed at the gendarmerie sergeant, fishknife in hand. He uttered filthy oaths against the Emperor, against the State, against the Law and even against God.

  Inspector Eibenschütz and Sergeant Slama finally overpowered him. This time the sergeant produced the real chains from his official pouch: excellent staunch chains.

  Thus they drove the man to Zloczow, to the county jail.

  There was no more talk of Szwaby. The soft tinkling of Frau Euphemia’s earrings still sounded in the Inspector’s ears.

  17

  Inspector Eibenschütz and Sergeant Slama had a great deal of very unpleasant business to attend to in Zloczow. They arrived quite exhausted by their journey. They had found it very difficult to get the wild and rather heavy Leibusch Jadlowker into the carriage, shackled though he was. The gendarme had had to fetter his feet as well. On the way Jadlowker had in turn spat into the faces of the gendarme and the Inspector. Although he sat wedged between the two men, he was stronger than either of them and he pushed his elbows against them with such force that both of them feared they would fall from the small vehicle. After three hours of such laborious journeying they finally arrived in Zloczow. Sergeant Slama whistled and two municipal policemen and another gendarme came to deal with Leibusch Jadlowker. It was already six o’clock in the evening when, panting and sweating, the party reached the district court. The magistrate was in a bad temper and had already knocked off work and wanted to go home. Nevertheless he hastily drew up a protocol. He ordered Sergeant Slama and Inspector Eibenschütz back for the following morning. They spent a sleepless night in a barn at the inn ‘The Golden Crown’, where all the rooms were occupied and where officials were not particularly welcome.

  The next day and the day after that there were nothing but protocols, hearings and further protocols. Things were not going well for Inspector Eibenschütz, not at all well. He had the feeling that something important and serious had happened to him, but why did he feel so cast down by it? What on earth did Jadlowker have to do with him? True, one was human, one did not willingly bring misfortune on anyone! Or so Inspector Eibenschütz said to himself and so he said to Sergeant Slama. Was it not possible even now to go back on the whole affair? ‘No, it’s not possible,’ said Slama. What with the protocols, the examining magistrate, all the hearings and finally Jadlowker’s own confession, that he had slandered God and, still worse, the state and its officials.

  On the way back to Zlotogrod, while they were driving so fraternally, the Inspector and the sergeant, there stirred in Eibenschütz a faint envy towards Sergeant Slama, who so obviously accepted everything that had come his way. He knew the laws just as thoroughly as did the Inspector. He, too, must know that slandering God and insulting officials meant at least two years in the penitentiary. But why should Slama worry about that? The remarkable fact was that Slama did not worry about it.

  The evening was already growing dark as they turned onto the broad highway to Zlotogrod. A gentle breeze blew towards the gig and combed the horse’s mane. Just three kilometres outside Zlotogrod there was a country road which branched off to the border forest. To the border forest, that is to Szwaby, to the border tavern. The Inspector, who held the reins, slackened pace. He waited until it was quite dark, then he said: ‘What do you think of driving to Szwaby? Then we could tell Euphemia what has happened to Jadlowker. It is really a matter of common humanity.’

  The gendarmerie sergeant could not resist the phrase ‘common humanity’. And although he wanted to see his wife again and although he had a fresh tour of duty tomorrow, he said: ‘Very well, to Szwaby, then!’

  Eibenschütz and Slama had just sat down at the table when Euphemia came up to them. She remained standing, she supported herself on the table with both fists, she looked at the Inspector and the sergeant in turn and said: ‘So you’ve done for him, then. And you still come here!’ She said this very softly. She turned round and went away but immediately returned, sat down at the table, snapped her fingers and ordered a drink. By accident her knee encountered the Inspector’s knee under the table. He withdrew it instantly but he also knew immediately that this would not change anything. What was done was done! Now he clearly heard the golden chinking of the earrings, there was ringing all about him and ringing in his heart as well. He said aloud: ‘You’re not cross with us any
more! It’ll mean the penitentiary for Jadlowker! But it’s his own fault!’ It seemed to him that, while he was saying all these things above the table, he was really two people, one above and one below the table. Above, he drank and spoke. But below, in the good darkness under the table and under the tablecloth, his yearning knee sought for renewed contact with Euphemia. He timidly extended a foot but touched the sergeant’s boot instead, said ‘Pardon!’ and saw out of the corner of his eye how Euphemia smiled. This quite confused him but it also gave him some courage. So he said: ‘We are both very sorry, Frau Euphemia. But we couldn’t do otherwise. We are particularly sorry because now you’re left quite on your own!’

  ‘I don’t think I shall be on my own for long,’ she replied. ‘At least you two will take an interest in me.’ But she looked only at the Inspector.

  She rose and went towards the stairs, up the stairs. Above all the tavern noises one could still hear the soft, sweet rustling of her many-pleated, wide, dark-red skirt.

  It was late at night when they drove home to Zlotogrod, the Inspector and the gendarme.

  On the way Slama said: ‘I wouldn’t mind her myself!’

  ‘Nor I!’ said Eibenschütz, and instantly regretted it.

  ‘Haven’t you had her yet, then?’ asked the gendarme.

  ‘How dare you!’ said the Inspector.

  ‘Well, and why not?’ said the gendarme.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Eibenschütz.

  ‘In any case,’ wound up the gendarme, ‘it’s good that we’re rid of him, that Jadlowker. My guess is two years!’

  Eibenschütz cracked the whip out of embarrassment. The grey settled into a gallop. The gig glided softly and speedily along the moist sandy surface of the country road. The stars gleamed, immense and still. The breeze blew. The grey horse shimmered in the dark blue night in front of the Inspector’s eyes.

  Two years – he thought – two years of happiness are worth a life, two lives, three lives. He heard the soft tinkling.

  18

  In Zloczow, Jadlowker was in no way given short shrift, as the saying goes, but, on the contrary, a very long trial. He was accused of insulting behaviour, insults to officialdom, forcible resistance to the civil power and, what was worse, blasphemy. The trial lasted so long because the magistrates of the assize court had not had such an interesting trial for a long time. The county courts of this region were very busy. With trifles and trials. Someone had not paid someone else some money. Someone else had had his face slapped. The county courts of this region had a lot to do. There were, for instance, certain types of men who allowed themselves to be slapped, voluntarily and with relish. They possessed the great art of provoking other men who, for one reason or another, were ill disposed towards them, until they received a slap in the face. Whereupon they went to the local doctor. He confirmed that they had been injured, and, sometimes, that they had lost a tooth. This was known as a ‘visum rapport’. Whereupon they sued. They received justice and damages. And on this they lived for years.

  This is only by the way. It was after all entirely a matter for the county courts. The assize court, however, had almost nothing to do in this district. When a murder or a robbery with murder did occur, it was never brought to light by the police. But there were, in fact, few murderers or violent robbers in this district. There were only swindlers. And as nearly everybody was a swindler, no one reported anyone else. The assize court therefore had so little to do that it almost envied the county court. Therefore it was pleased when it had to handle Jadlowker’s case.

  The most important thing was to examine a lot of witnesses. For all the market stall-holders offered themselves as witnesses. This meant that they had their return journey paid for and in addition received the witnesses’ fee of one krone, thirty-six heller.

  As they were under the impression that they could not obtain the full witnesses’ fee if they were to say anything favourable about the accused, Jadlowker, they said only unfavourable things. Even Frau Czaczkes, who had actually been responsible for the whole case, declared that she had been treated with great kindness and consideration by Inspector Eibenschütz as well as by gendarmerie sergeant Slama.

  The public prosecutor brought a charge of resistance to the civil power and of blasphemy. Inspector Eibenschütz and the sergeant of gendarmerie had confirmed this under oath.

  Counsel for Jadlowker’s defence, on the other hand, asked the jury to consider that an Inspector of Weights and Measures, an employee of the municipality in fact, had no right to ask Jadlowker for his licence. Furthermore, in taking it upon himself to arrest and even to fetter Jadlowker, the Inspector had been guilty of assault. Thirdly and lastly, Jadlowker’s blasphemy had not been aimed at God in general, God Almighty, but God in particular, namely the God of the officials: ‘Your God!’ he had said.

  Unfortunately it also emerged that Jadlowker had escaped from Odessa and that once, many years ago, he had slain a man with a sugar-loaf.

  The testimony of Jadlowker’s mistress, Fräulein Euphemia Nikitsch, did not significantly affect the progress of the trial, although it did not fail to make an impression. The solemnity of the court did not prevent her from asserting, with downright malicious friendliness, that she had always taken her friend Leibusch Jadlowker for a violent-tempered and particularly irreligious man.

  Poor Jadlowker sat helplessly in the dock, between two guards. Not only did he not defend himself, it did not even occur to him that he was in any way capable of defending himself. His entire life had been ransacked. It had been discovered that he had immigrated from Russia. It had further been discovered that once, many years ago, he had killed a man in Odessa with a sugar-loaf.

  However, he had killed not one man but several men and so he kept silent. Also his name was not Jadlowker but Kramrisch. He had merely appropriated the papers, and naturally also the name, of one of his victims.

  He was finally sentenced to two years in the penitentiary, plus one fast-day a week, on a Friday, the day when he had committed this misdeed.

  Silent and determined, he suffered himself to be led away.

  19

  Inspector Eibenschütz felt as if he and not Leibusch Jadlowker had been sentenced. Why this should be so he did not know, he did not know at all. He resolved never again to go to the border tavern. Nevertheless he looked around for Frau Euphemia. But she had disappeared, disappeared in a mysterious manner.

  He drove home very silently with Sergeant Slama. They way was long, some thirteen kilometres. During the journey the Inspector was silent although the gendarme again and again attempted to make conversation. The trial had made Sergeant Slama extremely cheerful while it had made Inspector Eibenschütz extremely depressed.

  He found himself in a strange frame of mind, did Anselm Eibenschütz: he thought of poor Jadlowker with compassion, with genuine sorrow even; at the same time, however, he could not conceal from himself the fact that the sentence of two years of penitentiary passed on Jadlowker actually made him very glad. He did not know precisely why, or, rather, he did know precisely why but did not want to admit it to himself.

  He struggled with himself as to whether or not he should admit to his actual knowledge. The gendarmerie sergeant Slama seemed to talk all kinds of foolish rubbish en route. Never before – so it seemed to Eibenschütz – had Slama uttered so much foolishness.

  Evening had already set in. They rolled on along the wide sandy road between two forests. They rolled in a westerly direction. The setting sun, ruddy and benevolent, shone straight in their eyes and dazzled them. The pines on the edge of the forest, which lined the road on both sides, glowed as if from within, as if they had drunk the reddish gold of the sun and were now radiating it. One could hear the ceaseless piping, warbling, twittering and whistling of the birds and one smelled the sharp resinous smell, harshly sweet and astringent, that emanated from the two boundless forests. The aroma was sharp and sweet and bitter all at the same time. It excited Inspector Eibenschütz, and he stroked the gr
ey’s right flank gently with the whip to urge him on. But why urge him on? Where was he hurrying to? Home? Did he have a home? Did he still have a home? Was not a strange infant screaming in his home? Nowak’s infant? Ah, how could a poor Inspector of Weights and Measures know the answers! Eibenschütz felt naked, quite naked, as if fate had stripped him bare. He was ashamed, and what was worse, he really did not know why he was ashamed. If, before, he had urged his horse on, now he endeavoured to curb his gallop. The stars were already glittering in the sky, very far away and quite enigmatic. From time to time Eibenschütz gazed up at them. He tried to find some comfort there, he sought to get closer to them, as it were. In former years he had never taken any notice of them, let alone liked them. Now, all of a sudden, he felt as if they had always played a part in his life – from afar, it was true, but a part nevertheless, rather as very distant relations sometimes do.

  Now they were arriving at the town of Zlotogrod.

  ‘Shall I put you down?’ Eibenschütz asked the gendarme.

  ‘To be sure,’ said the sergeant. ‘I’m tired.’

  Sergeant Slama lived on the outskirts of Zlotogrod, where the road to Szwaby branched off. A white arrow on a weathered signpost indicated the road to Szwaby; the white arrow shone bright, almost dazzling, through the light-blue night.

  Inspector Eibenschütz took his leave of the gendarme.

  He really meant to drive home, did the Inspector. But the arrow, the arrow, shone too brightly. And so Eibenschütz turned his gig towards Szwaby, towards the border tavern.