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Die Stadt ohne Juden - pp 129
Am Tage vorher hatte Leo mit dem Chauffeur eine wichtige Unterredung gehabt, die mit der Frage begann:
»Wollen Sie hundert französische Francs verdienen?«
Der Chauffeur hatte ungeheure Augen gemacht, war blutrot geworden und erwiderte keuchend:
»Herr, für hundert Francs führ' ich Sie auf den Mond!«
Aber der Franzose erwies sich als wesentlich bescheidener. Er erklärte, daß es sich um eine Wette handle und er nichts weiter zu tun habe, als vor dem Haus in der Billrothstraße zu warten, bis er, Monsieur Dufresne, mit einem voraussichtlich schwergeladenen Herrn einsteigen werde. Daraufhin habe das Auto stadtwärts bis zur Volksoper zu fahren, wo er aussteigen werde. Nunmehr müsse die Fahrt weiter bis zur großen Irrenanstalt am Steinhof, die weit außerhalb im Südwesten der Stadt liegt, gehen. Dort müsse der Chauffeur so lange stehen bleiben, bis sein betrunkener Gast sich melde. Und dann folgten weitere ausführliche Instruktionen für den intelligenten, lustigen Chauffeur.
»Wollen Sie hundert französische Francs verdienen?«
Der Chauffeur hatte ungeheure Augen gemacht, war blutrot geworden und erwiderte keuchend:
»Herr, für hundert Francs führ' ich Sie auf den Mond!«
Aber der Franzose erwies sich als wesentlich bescheidener. Er erklärte, daß es sich um eine Wette handle und er nichts weiter zu tun habe, als vor dem Haus in der Billrothstraße zu warten, bis er, Monsieur Dufresne, mit einem voraussichtlich schwergeladenen Herrn einsteigen werde. Daraufhin habe das Auto stadtwärts bis zur Volksoper zu fahren, wo er aussteigen werde. Nunmehr müsse die Fahrt weiter bis zur großen Irrenanstalt am Steinhof, die weit außerhalb im Südwesten der Stadt liegt, gehen. Dort müsse der Chauffeur so lange stehen bleiben, bis sein betrunkener Gast sich melde. Und dann folgten weitere ausführliche Instruktionen für den intelligenten, lustigen Chauffeur.
Near fragment in time
Mit weitausgreifenden Schritten durchquerte Fels, der eben nach seinem Morgenritt vom Frühstück kam, den Türkenschanzpark, um sich nach Pötzleinsdorf zu begeben, wohin er sein Automobil beordert hatte.
pp 182 from Faustrecht by
Near fragment in space
My closest friend in Vienna is Alice Springer. She's three years older than I am, gentle and funny, and though she talks almost without stopping she never seems to say anything wounding or indiscreet. Alice sings in the chorus of the Volksoper - a hard life of dirndls and um-pa-pa - and I regard this as a shocking waste because she has a real gift for millinery. Hats come to Alice like dresses come to me and she has total recall for any hat that has ever caught her interest.
She's not a person to complain, but I think of late things have been hard for her. Though she's so pretty - one of those nut-brown women whose eyes and hair have the same russet tint, she's nearly forty and recently there's been a tendency to put her in the second row, often with a hay
bale or a milking stool. And from there, as everyone knows, it's only a short step to the back row in a grey wig with the village elders and a spinning wheel.
I usually pick her up at the theatre and we go and have a spritzer at the Cafe Landtmann. Tonight I was early enough to use the ticket she'd left for me, and so I was privileged to see the whole of a new production from Germany called Student Love. Alice was in the second row again, holding huge steins of beer aloft because it all took place in Heidelberg and about the operetta itself I prefer not to speak.
At the same time people were enjoying it. I noticed particularly a very fat man in the same row as me. He had bright ginger hair parted in the middle and a round red face which clashed with his moustache and it was clear that he was very much moved by what was going on. During the song about the fast-flowing River Neckar he sighed deeply, during the duet in which the nobly born student and the impoverished landlady's daughter plighted their troth, he leaned forward with parted lips, and during the heroine's solo of (strictly temporary) renunciation he was so overcome he had to mop his face several times with a large white handkerchief.
pp 26-27 from Madensky Square by
She's not a person to complain, but I think of late things have been hard for her. Though she's so pretty - one of those nut-brown women whose eyes and hair have the same russet tint, she's nearly forty and recently there's been a tendency to put her in the second row, often with a hay
bale or a milking stool. And from there, as everyone knows, it's only a short step to the back row in a grey wig with the village elders and a spinning wheel.
I usually pick her up at the theatre and we go and have a spritzer at the Cafe Landtmann. Tonight I was early enough to use the ticket she'd left for me, and so I was privileged to see the whole of a new production from Germany called Student Love. Alice was in the second row again, holding huge steins of beer aloft because it all took place in Heidelberg and about the operetta itself I prefer not to speak.
At the same time people were enjoying it. I noticed particularly a very fat man in the same row as me. He had bright ginger hair parted in the middle and a round red face which clashed with his moustache and it was clear that he was very much moved by what was going on. During the song about the fast-flowing River Neckar he sighed deeply, during the duet in which the nobly born student and the impoverished landlady's daughter plighted their troth, he leaned forward with parted lips, and during the heroine's solo of (strictly temporary) renunciation he was so overcome he had to mop his face several times with a large white handkerchief.