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The Two Postilions
(Die zwei Postillione) 1811
Two merchants often travelled by special post from Fürth to Hechingen,
or from Hechingen to Fürth, as their business required, and whilst one
gave the postilion a meagre tip, the other gave him a generous one. For
each said: ‘Why should I give the postman a twelve-groschen coin? It’s
no great burden to me.’ But the postilions, the one from Dünkelsbühl and
the one from Ellwangen, said: ‘If only we could do the gentlemen a
service just once, so that they might become more generous!’ One day,
the man from Fürth arrived in Dünkelsbühl and wished to continue his
journey. The postilion said to his comrade: “You drive the passenger.”
The comrade said: “It’s your turn.” Meanwhile, the traveller sat quite
patiently in his open Elias carriage until the postilion mounted. When
he saw that the postilion was sitting properly in the saddle and raising
the whip, he said: “Drive on, brother-in-law! Don’t knock me over!” That
very afternoon, the man from Hechingen also set off from Ellwangen, and
the postilion thought to himself: “If only my comrade from Dinkelsbühl
were also on the road with the man from Fürth!” As he drove, up hill and
down dale, not far from the Segringen customs house, where the house
friend and his master’s brother had once had their hair cut, they met;
neither would give way to the other. Each said: “I’m driving an
honourable gentleman, not a groschen-pincher like you, to whom his
six-groschen pieces look like a Hildburghausen Groschen.” At last, the
man from Fürth joined in the argument: “Good heavens!” he said; “Are we
to spend another forty years in the wilderness?” and finally he began to
rail at the man from Ellwangen, who then struck him across the face with
his whip.
The man from Dinkelsbühl says: “You mustn’t hit my passenger; he’s in my
care and pays his fare in full, or I’ll hit yours too.” - “Don’t you
dare hit my master!” said the man from Ellwangen. So the man from
Dinkelsbühl struck the man from Ellwangen’s passenger, and the man from
Ellwangen struck the man from Dinkelsbühl’s passenger, and they shouted
at one another in unceasing fury: “Will you leave my master in peace, or
shall I beat yours to a pulp?” And the more painfully one cried ‘Ouch!’
and the other ‘Ow!’, the harder the postilions struck them, until they
themselves grew weary of this merciless game. But when they had parted
ways and each went on his own path, the postilions said to their
passengers thus and so: “Didn’t I look after you properly? My mate won’t
boast to anyone about how I beat his master to a pulp. But this time,
you won’t be short of a better tip either. If the prince knew,” said the
man from Dinkelsbühl, “he wouldn’t begrudge a Maxd’or. He makes sure
travellers are well looked after.”
Note: There is no money worse spent than that which is withheld from
poor people in wages and tips, and for which one is beaten or otherwise
dishonoured. For a few groschen, one can buy a great deal of kindness
and goodwill.
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