Jason Philip came rushing from his workshop into her room. He
had a newspaper in his hand; his face was radiant with joy. "At last, my
dear, at last! I have been avenged. Jason Philip Schimmelweis was after
all a good prophet. Well, what do you say?" he continued, as Theresa
looked at him without any noticeable display of curiosity, "what do you
say? I'll bet you can't guess. No, you will never be able to guess
what's happened; it's too much for a woman's brain." He mounted a chair,
held the paper in his hand as if it were the flag of his country, waved
it, and shouted: "Bismarck is done for! He's got to go. The Kaiser hates
him! Now let come what may, I have not lived in vain."

Jason Philip had the feeling that it was due to his efforts that the
reins of government had been snatched from the hands of the Iron
Chancellor. His satisfaction found expression in blatancy and in actions
that were thoroughly at odds with a man of his age. He held up his
acquaintances on the street, and demanded that they offer him their
congratulations. He went to his favourite cafe, and ordered a barrel of
beer for the rejuvenation of his friends. He delivered an oration,
spiced with all the forms of sarcasm known to the art of cheap politics
and embellished with innumerable popular phrases, explaining why he
regarded this as the happiest day of his eventful life.

He said: "If fate were to do me the favour of allowing me to stand face
to face with this menace to public institutions, this unscrupulous
tyrant, I would not, believe me, mince matters in the slightest: I would
tell him things no mortal man has thus far dared say to him."

Several months passed by. Bismarck, then staying at his country place in
Sachsenwald and quarrelling with his lot, decided to visit Munich. There
was tremendous excitement in Nuremberg when it was learned that he would
pass through the city at such and such an hour.

Everybody wanted to see him, young and old, aristocrats and humble folk.
Early in the morning the whole city seemed to be on its feet, making its
way in dense crowds out through the King's Gate.

This was a drama in which Jason Philip had to play his part: without him
it would be incomplete. "To look into the eyes of a tiger whose claws
have been chopped off and whose teeth have been knocked out is a
pleasure and a satisfaction that my mother's son dare not forego," said
he.

His elbows stood him in good stead. When the train pulled into the