[Enter Bailiff's wife; she kisses Jeppe's band.]
JEPPE. Are you the bailiff's wife?
WIFE. Yes, your lordship, I am.
JEPPE [takes her by the breasts]. You are pretty. Would you like to sleep with me to-night?
WIFE. My lord has only to command, for I am his servant.
JEPPE [to the Bailiff]. Do you consent to my lying with your wife to-night?
BAILIFF. I thank his lordship for doing my humble house the honor.
JEPPE. Here! Bring her a chair; she shall eat with me. [She sits at the table, and eats and drinks with him. He becomes jealous of the Secretary.] You'll get into trouble, if you look at her like that. [Whenever he looks at the Secretary, the Secretary takes his eyes off the woman and gazes at the floor. Jeppe sings an old love-ballad as he sits at the table with her. He orders a polka to be played and dances with her, but he is so drunk that he falls down three times, and finally lies where he falls and goes to sleep.]
(Enter the Baron and Eric.)
BARON. He is sound asleep. Now we have played our game, but we have nearly been made the bigger fools ourselves, for he intended to tyrannize over us, so that we must either have spoiled our trick, or else have let ourselves be mauled by the rude yokel, from whose conduct one can learn how haughty and overbearing such people become when they suddenly rise from the mire to a station of worth and honor. If I had, in an unlucky moment, impersonated a secretary myself, I might have got a thrashing, and the whole affair would have been a failure, for people would have laughed more at me than at the peasant. We had better let him sleep awhile before we put him back into his dirty farm clothes again.
ERIC. Why, my lord, he is sleeping like a log; look, I can pound him and he doesn't feel it.
BARON. Take him out, then, and complete our little comedy.
[Jeppe is lying on a dungheap in his old peasant clothes. He wakes and calls out.]
JEPPE. Hey, Sectary, Valet, Lackeys! another glass of pork-wine! [He looks about him, rubs his eyes as before, feels his head, and finds his old broad-brimmed hat on it; rubs his eyes again, turns the hat over and over, looks at his clothes, recognizes himself again, and begins to talk.] How long was Abraham in paradise? Now, alas, I recognize everything again—my bed, my jacket, my old cuckold-hat, myself; this is different, Jeppe, from drinking pork-wine out of a gilt-edged glass, and sitting at a table with lackeys and a sectary behind my chair. Good fortune, worse luck, never lasts very long. Oh, that I, who such a short time ago was "my lord," should now find myself in such a miserable plight, with my fine bed turned into a dungheap, my gold-embroidered cap changed into my old cuckold-hat, my lackeys into pigs, and I myself from "my lord" to a wretched peasant once more! I thought when I woke up again I should find my fingers covered with gold rings, but, saving your presence, they're covered with something very different. I thought I should be calling servants to account, but now I must get my back ready for my home-coming, when I shall have to give an account of my own doings. I thought that when I woke up I should reach out and grasp a glass of pork-wine, but instead, to speak modestly, I get a handful of dung. Alas, Jeppe, your sojourn in paradise was pretty short, and your happiness came quickly to an end. But who knows that the same thing might not happen again if I were to lie down for a while? Oh, if it only would! Oh, if I could get back there again! [Lies down and goes to sleep.]
[Enter Nille.]
NILLE. I wonder if anything has happened to him? What could it be? Either the devil has taken him, or, what I fear more, he's sitting at an inn drinking up the money. I was a goose to trust the drunkard with twelve pence at once. But what do I see? Isn't that himself lying there in the filth and snoring? Oh, miserable mortal that I am, to have such a beast for a husband! Your back will pay dearly for this! [She steals up to him and gives him a whack on the rump with Master Eric.]
JEPPE. Hey, hey! Help, help! What is that? Where am I? Who am I? Who is beating me? and why? Hey!
NILLE. I'll teach you what it is soon enough. [Beats him and pulls his hair.]
JEPPE. Oh, dear Nille, don't beat me any more; you don't know all that has happened to me.
NILLE. Where have you been all this time, you guzzler? Where is the soap you were to buy?
JEPPE. I couldn't get to town, Nille.
NILLE. Why not?
JEPPE. I was taken up to paradise on the way.
NILLE. To paradise! [Hits him.] To paradise. [Hits him again.] Are you going to make sport of me into the bargain?
JEPPE. O—o—o—! As true as I'm an honest man, it's so!
NILLE. What's so?
JEPPE. That I have been in paradise. [Nille repeats "in paradise," hitting him each time.] Oh, Nille, dear, don't beat me!
NILLE. Quick, confess where you've been, or I'll trounce the life out of you.
JEPPE. Oh, I'll confess, if you won't beat me any more.
NILLE. Go on, confess.
JEPPE. Swear not to beat me?
NILLE. No.
JEPPE. As true as I'm an honest man called Jeppe of the Hill, as sure as that's true, I have been in paradise and have seen things that it will stun you to hear of.
[Nille beats him again and drags him into the house by the hair.]
[Enter Nille.]
NILLE. Now, then, you drunken hound! Sleep off your liquor first; then we shall have more to say about it. Such swine as you don't go to paradise! Think of it, the beast has drunk himself clean out of his wits. But if he did it at my expense, then he'll do heavy penance for it; he shan't get a thing to eat or drink for two whole days. By that time he'll get over his notions about paradise.
(Enter three armed men.)
FIRST MAN. Does a man named Jeppe live here?
NILLE. Yes, he does.
FIRST MAN. Are you his wife?
NILLE. Yes, God help me, so much the worse for me.
FIRST MAN. We must go in and talk with him.
NILLE. He's dead drunk.
FIRST MAN. That makes no difference; fetch him out or the whole household will suffer.
[Nille goes in, and pushes Jeppe out so hard that he knocks over one of the men and rolls on the ground with him.]
JEPPE. Now, good friends, you see what a wife I have to put up with.
FIRST MAN. You deserve no better, for you're a malefactor.
JEPPE. What have I done now?
FIRST MAN. You'll see when justice takes its course.
(Enter the Judge, followed by two Lawyers. He sits down. Jeppe, his hands tied behind him, is brought to the bar. One of his captors steps forward.)
FIRST MAN. Here is a man, your honor, whom we can swear to have seen sneaking into the baron's house, where he posed as his lordship, put on his clothes, and tyrannized over the servants. As this is a piece of unheard-of impudence, we demand on behalf of his lordship that it be punished with such severity that it shall serve as an example and a warning to other evil-doers.
JUDGE. Is this accusation true? Speak out whatever you may have to say in answer to it, for we do not wish to convict any one unheard.
JEPPE. Alas, what a God-forsaken man I am! What can I say? I admit I deserve punishment, but only for the money I squandered on drink instead of buying soap with it. I also admit that I have recently been in the castle, but how I got there and how I got out again, I haven't the least idea.
FIRST LAWYER. Your honor has it on his own admission: he got drunk and in his drunkenness committed this unheard-of outrage. All that remains is to decide whether the guilt of such a gross misdeed can be held devoid of criminal intent because of intoxication. I argue that it cannot, for if it could, neither fornication nor murder could be punished, for every criminal could seek that escape and assert that he had committed his crime while intoxicated. And although he can prove that he was drunk, his case is none the stronger, for the law is: What a man does under the influence of drink he shall answer for when sober. It is well known that in a recent case of the same nature the misdeed was punished, although the criminal was led into passing himself off as a lord through his own simplicity; his ignorance and foolishness could not save him from death. The penalty is imposed purely as a warning to others. I would tell the circumstances, were it not that I fear to delay justice thereby.
SECOND LAWYER. Your honor! This story appears so remarkable to me that I cannot accept it without the testimony of several witnesses. How could a simple peasant get into his lord's house and impersonate his lordship unless he could imitate his very form and features? How could he get into the lord's bedroom, how could he put on his clothes, without any one being aware of it? No, your honor, one can plainly see that this is the outcome of a conspiracy on the part of this poor man's enemies. I hope, therefore, that he may be discharged.
JEPPE [weeping]. God bless your mouth. I have a bit of tobacco in my breeches pocket which perhaps you won't refuse; it's good enough for any honorable man to chew.
SECOND LAWYER. Keep your tobacco, Jeppe! I speak for you not in the hope of receiving gifts, but merely from Christian charity.
JEPPE. Pardon me, Master Attorney! I didn't know you folks were so honorable.
FIRST LAWYER. What my colleague advances in favor of this man's acquittal is based entirely on conjecture. The question is not whether such a thing could happen or not, because that it did happen is proved both by witnesses and by the man's own confession.
SECOND LAWYER. What a man says from fear and awe has no weight as a confession. It seems to me, therefore, that it is best to give the simple fellow time to collect his wits, then question him over again.
JUDGE. Listen, Jeppe! Be careful what you say. Do you admit the charges against you?
JEPPE. No; I will swear my most sacred oath that it's all lies that I swore to before; I haven't been outside my door for the last three days.
FIRST LAWYER. Your honor, it is my humble opinion that he should not be allowed to testify on a matter already established by witnesses, particularly inasmuch as he has already confessed his misdeed.
SECOND LAWYER. I think he should.
FIRST LAWYER. I think he should not.
SECOND LAWYER. The case is of so unusual a nature—
FIRST LAWYER. That does not affect witnesses and a confession.
JEPPE. Oh, if they would only go for each other's throats, then I could set upon the judge and give him such a beating he would forget both law and procedure.
SECOND LAWYER. But listen, worthy colleague! Although the deed is confessed, the man has deserved no punishment, for he did no murder nor robbery nor harm of any kind while on the premises.
FIRST LAWYER. That makes no difference! Intentio furandi is the same as furtum.
JEPPE. Talk Danish, you black hound! Then I can answer for myself.
FIRST LAWYER. For when a man is taken, whether he was about to steal or had already stolen, he is a thief.
JEPPE. Gracious judge! I am perfectly willing to be hanged if that attorney can be hanged alongside of me.
SECOND LAWYER. Stop talking like that, Jeppe! You are merely injuring your own case.
JEPPE. Then why don't you answer him? [Aside.] He stands like a dumb beast.
SECOND LAWYER. But wherein is proof of furandi propositum?
FIRST LAWYER. Quicunque; in aedes alienas noctu irrumpit tanquam fur aut nocturnus grassator existimandus est; atqui reus hic ita, ergo—
SECOND LAWYER. Nego majorem, quod scilicet irruperit.
FIRST LAWYER. Res manifesta est, tot legitimis testibus existantibus, ac confitente reo.
SECOND LAWYER. Quicunque; vi vel metu coactus fuerit confiteri—
FIRST LAWYER. Oh, but where is the vis? Where is the metus? That is a quibble.
SECOND LAWYER. You're the one that quibbles.
FIRST LAWYER. No honorable man shall accuse me of that.
(They grab each other by the throat, and Jeppe jumps behind them and pulls off the First Lawyer's wig.)
JUDGE. Respect for the law! Stop, I have heard enough. [Reads aloud.] Inasmuch as Jeppe of the Hill, son of Niels of the Hill, grandson of Jeppe of the same, has been proved both by legal evidence and by his own confession to have introduced himself by stealth into the Baron's castle, to have put on his clothes and maltreated his servants; he is sentenced to be put to death by poison, and when he is dead, his body to be hanged on a gallows.
JEPPE. Oh, oh, your honor! Have you no mercy?
JUDGE. None is possible. The sentence shall be carried out forthwith in the presence of the court.
JEPPE. May I have a glass of brandy first, before I drink the poison, so I can die with courage?
JUDGE. That is permissible.
JEPPE [drinks off three glasses of brandy, and falls on his knees].Will you not have mercy?
JUDGE. No, Jeppe! It is now too late.
JEPPE. Oh, it's not too late. A judge can reverse his decision and say he judged wrong the first time. We're all merely men, so we're all likely to make mistakes.
JUDGE. No; you yourself will feel in a few minutes that it is too late, for you have already drunk the poison in the brandy.
JEPPE. Alas, what an unfortunate man I am! Have I taken the poison already? Oh, farewell, Nille! But the beast doesn't deserve that I should take leave of her. Farewell, Jens, Niels, and Christoffer! Farewell, my daughter Marthe! Farewell, apple of my eye! I know I am your father because you were born before that deacon came around, and you take after me so we're like as two drops of water. Farewell, my piebald horse, and thank you for all the times I have ridden you; next to my own children I never loved any animal as I love you. Farewell, Feierfax, my good watchdog! Farewell, Moens, my black cat! Farewell, my oxen, my sheep, my pigs, and thank you for your good company and for every day I have known you!… Farewell,… Oh, now I can say no more, I feel so heavy and so weak. [He falls, and lies on the floor.]
JUDGE. That worked well; the sleeping-potion has already taken effect, and he is sleeping like a log. Hang him up now, but be careful not to hurt him, and see that the rope goes only under his arms. Then we shall see what he does when he wakes up and finds himself hanging.
[They drag him out.
(Jeppe is discovered hanging from a gallows. The Judge stands aside, unseen by Nille.)
NILLE. Oh, oh, can it be that I see my good husband hanging on the gallows? Oh, my dearest husband! Forgive me all the wrong I have done you. Oh, now my conscience is roused; now I repent, but too late, for the ill nature I showed you; now that I miss you, for the first time I can realize what a good husband I have lost. Oh, that I could only save you from death with my own life's blood.
[She wipes her eyes, and weeps bitterly. Meanwhile the effects of the sleeping-potion have worn off, and Jeppe wakes. He sees that be is hanging on the gallows, and that his hands are tied behind him, and he hears his wife's laments.]
JEPPE. Be calm, my dear wife, we must all go the same way. Go home and look after the house and take good care of my children. You can have my red jacket made over for little Christoffer, and what's left will do for a cap for Marthe. Above all, see to it that my piebald horse is well cared for, for I loved that beast as if he had been my own brother. If I weren't dead, I'd have more to say to you.
NILLE. O—o—o—! What is that? What do I hear? Can a dead man talk?
JEPPE. Don't be afraid, Nille, I shan't hurt you.
NILLE. But, my dearest husband, how can you talk when you're dead?
JEPPE. I don't know myself how it happens. But listen, my dear wife! Run like wildfire and bring me eightpence worth of brandy, for I am thirstier now than I ever was when I was alive.
NILLE. Shame, you beast! You scoundrel! You hopeless drunkard! Haven't you drunk enough brandy in your living lifetime? Are you still thirsty, you sot, now that you are dead? I call that being a full-blown hog.
JEPPE. Shut your mouth, you scum of the earth! and run for the brandy. If you don't, devil take me if I don't haunt you in the house every night. You shall soon find out that I am not afraid of Master Eric any more, for now I can't feel a beating.
[Nille runs home after Master Eric, comes out again, and beats him as be hangs.]
JEPPE. Ow, ow, ow! Stop it, Nille, stop! You'll kill me all over again. Ow! ow! ow!
THE JUDGE [coming forward]. Listen, my good woman! You must not beat him any more. Be reassured; for your sake we will pardon your husband's transgression, and furthermore sentence him back to life again.
NILLE. No, no, good sir! Let him hang, for he's not worth letting live.
JUDGE. Fie, you are a wicked woman; away with you, or we shall have you hanged alongside of him.
[Nille runs away.
(Enter the Judge's servants, who take Jeppe down from the gallows.)
JEPPE. Oh, kind judge, am I surely all alive again, or am I spooking?
JUDGE. You are quite alive, for the law that can take away a man's life can also give it back again. Can you not comprehend that?
JEPPE. No, indeed, I can't get it through my head, but I keep on thinking I'm a ghost, and am spooking.
JUDGE. Foolish fellow! It's perfectly easy to understand. He who takes a thing away from you can give it back again.
JEPPE. Then may I try it and hang the judge just for fun to see if I can sentence him back to life again?
JUDGE. No, that won't work, because you're not a judge.
JEPPE. But am I really alive again?
JUDGE. Yes, you are.
JEPPE. Then I'm not just a spook?
JUDGE. Certainly not.
JEPPE. I'm not a ghost at all?
JUDGE. No.
JEPPE. Am I the same Jeppe of the Hill as I was before?
JUDGE. Yes.
JEPPE. I'm no mere spirit?
JUDGE. No, certainly not.
JEPPE. Will you give me your oath that's true?
JUDGE. Yes, I swear to it; you're alive.
JEPPE. Swear that the devil may split you if it's not so. JUDGE. Come, take our word for it, and thank us for so graciously sentencing you back to life again.
JEPPE. If you hadn't hanged me yourselves, I would gladly thank you for taking me down from the gallows.
JUDGE. Be satisfied, Jeppe! Tell us if your good wife beats you too often, and we shall find a remedy. Here are four rix-dollars with which you can make merry for a while, and don't forget to drink our health.
[Jeppe kisses his hand and thanks him.]
[Exit Judge, followed by his servants.
JEPPE. Now I've lived half a hundred years, but in all that time I haven't had so much happen to me as in these two days. It is a devil of a story, now that I come to think of it: one hour a drunken peasant, the next a baron, then another hour a peasant again; now dead, now alive on a gallows, which is the most wonderful of all. Perhaps it is that when they hang living people they die, and when they hang dead people they come to life again. It seems to me that, after all, a glass of brandy would taste magnificent. Hey, Jacob Shoemaker! Come out here!
[Enter Jacob Shoemaker.]
JACOB. Welcome back from town! Did you get the soap for your wife?
JEPPE. You scoundrel! You shall soon find out what sort of people you're talking to. Take off your cap, for you're no more than carrion compared to the likes of me.
JACOB. I wouldn't stand such words from any one else, Jeppe, but as you bring the house a good penny a day, I don't mind it so much.
JEPPE. Take off your cap, I say, you cobbler!
JACOB. What's happened to you on the way to make you so lofty?
JEPPE. I would have you know that I've been hanged since I saw you last.
JACOB. There's nothing so splendid about that. I don't grudge you your luck. But listen, Jeppe: where you drink your liquor, there you pour out the dregs; you have gone and got full somewhere else, and now you come here to do your brawling.
JEPPE. Quick, take off your cap, scoundrel! Don't you hear what jingles in my pocket?
JACOB (his cap under his arm). Heavens, man, where did you get the money?
JEPPE. From my barony, Jacob. I will tell you all that's happened to me; but get me a glass of mead, for I'm much too high and mighty to drink Danish brandy.
JACOB. Your health, Jeppe!
JEPPE. Now I shall tell you all that's happened to me: When I left you, I fell asleep. When I woke up, I was a baron, and got drunk all over again on pork-wine. I woke up on a dungheap and went to sleep again, hoping to sleep myself back to my baron's estate. I found it doesn't always work, for my wife woke me up again with Master Eric and pulled me home by the hair, not showing the least respect for the kind of man I had been. When I got back to my room, I was thrown out again by the neck, and found myself in the midst of a lot of constables, who sentenced me to death and killed me with poison. When I was dead, I was hanged; and when I was hanged, I came to life again; and when I came to life again, I got four rix-dollars. That is my story, but as to how it happened, I leave that to you to think out.
JACOB. Ha, ha, ha! It's all a dream, Jeppe!
JEPPE. If it weren't for my four rix-dollars here, I might think it was a dream, too. Give me another, Jacob! I shan't think about all that rubbish any more, but get myself decently drunk.
JACOB. Your health, my lord baron! Ha, ha, ha!
JEPPE. Perhaps you can't grasp it, Jacob?
JACOB. No, not if I stood on my head.
JEPPE. It can be true for all that, Jacob! For you're a dunce, and there are simpler things than this that you can't understand.
[Enter Magnus.]
MAGNUS. Ha, ha, ha! I'll tell you the damn'dest tale, about a man called Jeppe of the Hill, who was found lying on the ground dead drunk: they changed his clothes and put him in the best bed up at the baron's castle, made him believe that he was the baron when he woke up, got him full, and laid him in his own dirty clothes back on the dungheap again, and when he came to, he thought he had been in paradise. I nearly laughed myself to death when I heard the story from the bailiff's men. By the Lord, I'd give a rix-dollar to see the fool! Ha, ha, ha!
JEPPE. What do I owe, Jacob?
JACOB. Twelvepence.
[Jeppe strokes his chin and goes out looking very shame-faced.
MAGNUS. Why is that fellow in such a hurry?
JACOB. It's the very man they played the joke on.
MGNUS. Is that possible? I must run after him. Listen, Jeppe! Just a word—How are things in the other world?
JEPPE. Let me be.
MAGNUS. Why didn't you stay longer?
JEPPE. What business is that of yours?
MAGNUS. Come, do tell us a little about the journey.
JEPPE. Let me be, I say, or there'll be a calamity coming to you.
MAGNUS. But, Jeppe, I am so anxious to know about it.
JEPPE. Jacob Shoemaker, help! Will you let this man do me violence in your house?
MAGNUS. I'm not doing you any harm, Jeppe, I'm just asking you what you saw in the other world.
JEPPE. Hey, help, help!
MAGNUS. Did you see any of my forefathers there?
JEPPE. No, your forefathers must all be in the other place, where you and all the rest of the carrion go when they die.
[Shakes himself loose and runs away.
(Enter the Baron, his Secretary, Valet, and Lackeys.)
BARON. Ha, ha, ha! That experiment was worth money. I never thought it would work out so well. If you could amuse me like that more often, Eric, you would stand even better with me than you do now.
ERIC. No, my lord! I should not dare to play that kind of comedy again. For if he had beaten your lordship as he threatened, it would have turned into an ugly tragedy.
BARON. That's very true. I was afraid of that, but I was so much engrossed in keeping up the deception that I really think I should have let myself be pummelled, or even let you be hanged, Eric, as he threatened, rather than give it away. Didn't you feel the same?
ERIC. No, indeed, my lord! It would be an odd sensation, to let yourself be hanged for fun; that sort of fun would be too expensive.
BARON. Why, Eric, such things happen every day: people throw away their lives for fun in one way or another. For instance, a man has a weak nature and sees that he is ruining his life and his health by excessive drinking; yet he still keeps on maltreating his body and risks his life for an evening's enjoyment. Then, again: it often happens in Turkey that grand viziers are strangled or choked to death with a cord the very day they are made viziers, or a few days after; yet every one is eager to take the office, just so that he may be hanged with a great title. Still another instance: officers gladly risk body and soul to get a reputation for bravery, and fight duels about anything at all even with men known to be their superiors. I think, too, that one could find hundreds and hundreds of men in love who for the sake of a night of pleasure would let themselves be killed in the morning. And you see in sieges how soldiers will desert in droves and flock to the beleaguered city, which they know must shortly surrender, and in order to live in luxury for one day will get themselves hanged the next. One way is no more rational than the other. In olden times even philosophers used to subject themselves deliberately to misfortune in order that after their death they might be praised. Therefore, Eric, I thoroughly believe that you would rather have allowed yourself to be hanged than have spoiled our beautiful practical joke.
(Spoken by the Baron)
Of this adventure, children, the moral is quite clear: To elevate the lowly above their proper sphere Involves no less a peril than rashly tumbling down The great who rise to power by deeds of just renown. Permit the base-born yokel untutored sway to urge, The sceptre of dominion as soon becomes a scourge. Let once despotic power drive justice from the realm, In every peaceful hamlet a Nero grasps the helm. Could Phalaris or Caius in days of yore have been More merciless a tyrant than him we here have seen? Before the seat of justice had time his warmth to feel He threatened us with torture, the gallows, and the wheel. Nay, never shall we tremble beneath a boor's dictates Or set a plowman over us, as oft in ancient states—For if we sought to pattern us on follies such as those, Each history of dominion in tyranny would close.
1722-1731
HERMAN VON BREMEN, a tinker.GESKE, his wife.ENGELKE, his daughter.
HENRICH }ANNEKE }- his servants.PEITER }
ANTONIUS, Engelke's lover.
JENS, a tavern-keeper }RICHARD, a brushmaker } Members of theGERT, a furrier }- Collegium Politicum.SIVERT, a baggage inspector }FRANZ, a cutler }
ABRAHAMS }SANDERUS }- Practical jokers.
MADAME ABRAHAMS.MADAME SANDERUS.ARIANKE, a blacksmith's wife.
A Man pretending to be Alderman of the Hatters' Guild, Petitioners,Women, Boys, Lackeys, and others.
ACTS I and III
ACTS II, IV, and V
A room in Herman's house.
(A Street in front of Herman von Bremen's house. Antonius is standing before the door.)
ANTONIUS. I swear my heart's in my mouth, for I've got to talk to Master Herman and ask him for his daughter, to whom I've been engaged for ever so long, but secretly. This is the third start I have made, but each time I have turned back again. If it were not for the disgrace of it, and the reproaches I should have to take from my mother, it would be the same story over again. This bashfulness of mine is an inborn weakness, and it's not easy to get the better of it. Each time I go to knock on the door, it is as if some one were holding back my hand. But courage, Antonius, is half the battle! There is no help for it, you must go on. I should spruce myself up a bit first, for they say Master Herman is getting finicky of late. (He takes off his neck-band and ties it on again, takes a comb from his pocket and combs his hair, and dusts his shoes.) Now, I think I will do. This is the moment to knock. See! as sure as I'm an honest man, it's just as if someone were holding back my hand. Come, courage, Antonius! I know that you haven't done anything wrong. The worst that can happen to you is a "no." (He knocks.)
Enter Henrich, eating a sandwich.
HENRICH. Your servant, Master Antonius. Whom do you want to see?
ANTONIUS. I wanted to talk with Master Herman, if he was alone.
HENRICH. Oh, yes, certainly he is alone. He is at his reading.
ANTONIUS. Then he is more God-fearing than I am.
HENRICH. If an ordinance were issued decreeing that the Herculus should count as a book of sermons, I believe he could qualify as a preacher.
ANTONIUS. Then has he time to spare from his work for reading such books as that?
HENRICH. You must realize that the master has two professions: he is both tinker and politician.
ANTONIUS. The two don't seem to go together very well.
HENRICH. The same idea has occurred to us. For when he does a piece of work, which is rarely, there is such a political look to the job that we have to do it all over again. But if you want to talk to him, go right into the sitting-room.
ANTONIUS. I have an important errand, Henrich, for between you and me, I want to ask him for his daughter, whom I've been engaged to for a long time.
HENRICH. My word, that is an important errand, indeed. But listen, Master Antonius, you must not take it amiss if I warn you of just one thing: if you want your suit to prosper, you must tune up your language and make a graceful speech, for he has become devilish particular recently.
ANTONIUS. No, I can't do that, Henrich! I'm a good workman, and I've never learned to pass compliments. I can only speak out straight and plain that I love his daughter and want her for my wife.
HENRICH. Nothing more? Then I'll risk my neck that you don't get her. At the very least you must start with "Whereas" or "Inasmuch." You must realize, Master Antonius, that you have to do with a learned man, who spends his days and nights in reading political works, till he's on the verge of madness. The one thing that he's found fault with lately about the people in the house is that we have such vulgar ways with us all, and myself especially—he never mentions me without calling me "You low, dirty rascal." A week or so ago he swore by the devil that Mother Geske should wear an Adrienne; still, he didn't make any headway, because mistress is an old-fashioned God-fearing woman, who had rather lay down her life than part with her lapelled bodice. He is always about to bring forth something or other, the devil knows what. So if you wish to succeed in your wooing, you had better take my advice.
ANTONIUS. Well, on my word, I don't believe in beating about the bush. I go straight to the point. [Exit into house.
HENRICH. The greatest difficulty about proposing is to hit on something to start off with. I went courting once myself, but for two weeks I couldn't make up my mind what to say. I knew, of course, that you ought to begin with "Whereas" or "Inasmuch," but the trouble was that I couldn't pick out the next word to hitch on to that "Whereas." So I didn't bother about it any longer, but went and bought a formula for eightpence from Jacob tke schoolmaster—he sells them for that. But it all went wrong with me, for when I got into the middle of my speech I couldn't remember the rest of it, and I was ashamed to pull the paper out of my pocket. I swear I could recite the thing both before and afterwards like my paternoster; yet when I came to use it I stuck fast. It went like this:
"With humble wishes for your good health, I, Henrich Andersen, have come here deliberately of my own free will and on my own initiative to inform you that I am no more of a stock and a stone than others, and inasmuch as every creature on earth, even the dumb brute, is subject to love, I, unworthy as I am, have come in the name of God and Honor to beg and urge you to be the darling of my heart—" (To the audience) If any one will pay me back my eightpence, I will turn the thing over to him, for I believe that any one who made such a speech could get any good man's daughter that he had a mind to. Will you give me sixpence, then? Honestly, I paid eightpence for it myself. I'm damned if I sell it for less. But here comes the old man. I must be off. [Exit.
Enter Herman and Antonius.
HERMAN. Many thanks, Monsieur Antonius, for your kind offer. You are a fine worthy fellow. I feel sure that you could take good care of my daughter. But I should very much like to have a son-in-law who had studied his politics.
ANTONIUS. But, my dear Monsieur Herman von Bremen, no one can support a wife and family on that!
HERMAN. You think not? Do you suppose I intend to die a tinker? Yon shall see, before half a year is over. I hope, when I have read through The European Herald, that I shall be urged to take a place in the council. I have already got The Political Dessert at my fingers' ends, but that is not enough. Confound the author! He might have spun it out a little. You know the book, of course?
ANTONIUS. No, not I.
HERMAN. Then I will lend you my copy. It is as good as it is brief.I have learned all my statecraft from that book, together with theHerculus and the Herculiscus.
ANTONIUS. That last one—isn't that just a romance?
HERMAN. Indeed it is, and I wish the world were full of such romances. I was at a certain place yesterday, and a man of the foremost rank whispered in my ear: "Any one who has read that book with understanding may fill the most important posts, ay, rule a whole nation."
ANTONIUS. Very good, master, but when I take to reading, I neglect my trade.
HERMAN. I tell you, monsieur, that I do not expect to confine myself to tinkering forever. I should have abandoned it long since, for hundreds of fine men here in town have said to me, "Herman von Bremen, you ought to be something else." It was only the other day that one of the burgomasters let fall these words in the council: "Herman von Bremen could surely be something more than a tinker. That man has stuff in him that many of us in the council itself might be glad to own." From which you may conclude that I shall not die a tinker. And therefore I wish to have a son-in-law who will apply himself to affairs of state, for I hope that in time both he and I shall become members of the council. And now, if you will start in with The Political Dessert, I shall examine you every Saturday evening and see what progress you make.
ANTONIUS. No, indeed, I will not. I am too old to go to school all over again.
HERMAN. Then you are not the sort to be my son-in-law. Adieu! [Exit.
Enter Geske.
GESKE. It is awful about my husband; he is never at home attending to business. I would give a good deal to find out where he keeps himself. But look, here is Monsieur Antonius! Are you all alone? Won't you come in?
ANTONIUS. No, thank you, mother, I am not worthy of that.
GESKE. What nonsense is this?
ANTONIUS. Your husband has his head full of political whims, and has a burgomastership on his brain. He turns up his nose at working-people like me and my kind. He imagines that he is cleverer than the notary public himself.
GESKE. The fool! The idiot! Will you heed him? I believe he's more likely to become a vagrant and have to beg his bread, than to become a burgomaster. Dear Antonius! you mustn't pay attention to him, and you mustn't lose the affection you have for my daughter.
ANTONIUS. Von Bremen swears she shall take no one who is not a politician.
GESKE. I'll wring her neck before I see her married to a politician.In the old days they used to call a rogue a politician.
ANTONIUS. Nor do I wish to become one. I want to earn my living honestly as a wheelwright. That trade gave my honored father his daily bread, and I hope it will feed me, too. But here comes a boy who seems to be looking for you.
Enter boy.
GESKE. What do you want, my boy?
BOY. I want to talk to Master Herman.
GESKE. He's not at home. Won't you tell me?
BOY. I was to find out for my mistress, if the dish was done that she ordered three weeks ago. We have sent after it twenty times, but they always put us off with talk.
GESKE. Ask your mistress, my son, please not to be angry. It will surely be done to-morrow. [Exit Boy.
[Enter another Boy.]
SECOND BOY. I am to find out once and for all if the soup-plates will ever be finished. They could have been made and worn out since we ordered them. Mistress swore you shouldn't do any work for us again in a hurry.
GESKE. Listen, my dear child, when you order anything again, order it from me. At times my husband has bats in his belfry, and it does no good to talk to him. Believe me, on my word, it will be done by Saturday. Good-bye. (Exit Boy.) You see, my dear Antonius, how it goes in our house. We lose one job after another from my husband's neglect.
ANTONIUS. Is he never at home?
GESKE. Seldom; and when he is, he builds castles in the air so that he has no thought for work. I ask nothing of him except that he keep an eye on the workmen, for if he does anything himself, the apprentices have to do it over again. Here is Henrich: he will tell you what I say is true.
(Enter Henrich.)
HENRICH. There's a man out here, mistress, who wants to be paid for the eight barrels of coal we got yesterday.
GESKE. Where can I get the money from? He will have to wait till my husband comes home. Can't you tell me where my husband is all day long?
HENRICH. If you will keep quiet about it, I can tell you right enough.
GESKE. I swear, Henrich, that I won't give you away.
HENRICH. There's a college that meets every day—Collegium Politicum, they call it—where a dozen or more people come together and chatter about affairs of state.
GESKE. Where does the meeting take place?
HENRICH. You mustn't call it a meeting, it is a Collegium.
GESKE. Where does the Collegium meet, then?
HENRICH. It meets in turn, now at one member's house, now at another's. To-day—don't tell on me—it will meet here.
GESKE. Ha, ha! Now I understand why he wants to have me out to-day calling on Arianke, the smith's wife.
HENRICH. You might go out, but come back in an hour and surprise them. Yesterday this Collegium of theirs met at Jens the tavern-keeper's. I saw them all there sitting at a table, and the master at the head of it.
GESKE. Did you know any of them?
HENRICH. I should say I did—all of them. Let me see: master and the tavern-keeper makes two, and Franz the cutler, three; Christopher the painter, four; Gilbert the paper-hanger, five; Christian the dyer, six; Gert the furrier, seven; Henning the brewer, eight; Sivert the baggage inspector, nine; Niels the clerk, ten; David the schoolmaster, eleven; and Richard the brushmaker, twelve.
ANTONIUS. They are fine fellows to discuss affairs of state! Didn't you hear what they talked about?
HENRICH. I heard well enough, but I understood very little. I heard them depose emperors and kings and electors, and set up others in their places. Then they talked about excise and consumption, about the stupid people who were in the council, and about the development of Hamburg and the promotion of trade; they looked things up in books and traced things out on maps. Richard the brushmaker sat with a toothpick in his hand; so I think he must be the secretary of their council.
ANTONIUS. Ha, ha, ha! The first time I see him I shall certainly say, "Good-day, Mr. Secretary!"
HENRICH. Yes, but don't you give me away. To the devil with fellows who put down kings and princes and even burgomaster and council!
GESKE. Does my husband join in the talk, too?
HENRICH. Not much. He just sits and ponders and takes snuff while the others talk, and when they have talked it all out, he gives his decision.
GESKE. Didn't he see you there?
HENRICH. He didn't see me because I was in another room, but if he had, his dignity wouldn't have allowed him to recognize me, for he had the air of a colonel, or of the first burgomaster when he gives audience to a minister. As soon as people get into colleges they gather a sort of mist before their eyes, and they can't see even their best friends.
GESKE. Oh, unfortunate creature that I am! That husband of mine will surely get us into trouble if the burgomaster and the council find he is setting up to reform the government. The good gentlemen don't want any reform here in Hamburg. You just see if we don't have a guard in front of the house before we know it, and my poor Herman von Bremen will be dragged off to jail.
HENRICH. That may happen, like enough; for the council has never had more power than now, ever since the troops were camped in Hamburg. All the citizens together aren't powerful enough to take his part.
ANTONIUS. Nonsense! Such fellows are only to be laughed at. What can a tinker, a painter, or a maker of brushes know about statecraft? The council is more likely to be amused than to be anxious about it.
GESKE. I will see if I can't surprise them. Let us go in till they come. [Exeunt.
(A Room in Herman's house. Herman and Henrich are making preparations for the meeting.)
HERMAN. Henrich, get everything ready: mugs and pipes on the table. They will be here in a minute. (Henrich sets everything in order. One by one the members of the Collegium Politicum enter and sit at the table. Herman takes the seat at the head of the table.) Welcome to you all, good sirs. Where did we leave off last time?
RICHARD. I think it was the interests of Germany.
GERT. That is right. I remember now. That will all be decided at the next session of the Reichstag. I wish I might be there for an hour: I should whisper something into the ear of the Elector of Mainz that he would thank me for. Those good people do not understand on what the interests of Germany depend. Where has one ever heard of an imperial capital like Vienna without a fleet or, at the very least, galleys? They could just as well maintain a war-fleet for the defence of the kingdom. There are surely war-taxes enough, and imperial subsidies. See how much more shrewd the Turk is. We can never learn to make war from any one better than from him. There are certainly plenty of forests both in Austria and in Prague, if one only will use them, to make ships, or masts, for that matter. If we had a fleet in Austria, or in Prague, the Turks and the French would give up besieging Vienna, you may be sure, and we could go straight to Constantinople. But no one thinks of such a thing.
SIVERT. No, never a mother's soul of them. Our forefathers had more sense. It is all a question of preparation. Germany is no bigger now than it was in the old days when we not only defended ourselves honorably against all our neighbors, but took in large parts of France besides, and besieged Paris by land and sea.
FRANZ. But Paris is not a seaport, is it?
SIVERT. Then I must have my map all wrong. I know well enough where Paris is. Here is England, clear enough, right where I have my finger; here flows the Channel; here is Bordeaux; and here is Paris.
FRANZ. No, brother, here is Germany, and here, right next, is France, which is joined on to Germany; ergo Paris cannot be a seaport.
SIVERT. Isn't there any seacoast to France, then?
FRANZ. Certainly not. A Frenchman who has not travelled abroad has never heard about ships and boats. Just ask Master Herman. Is it not as I say, Master Herman?
HERMAN. I shall settle the dispute at once. Henrich, give us the map of Europe—Danckwart's map.
JENS. Here is one, but it is a bit torn.
HERMAN. That makes no difference. I know well enough where Paris is, and I only need the map to convince the others. Now, look, Sivert, here is Germany.
SIVERT. That's right. I can see that by the Danube, which is here. (As he points out the Danube he upsets a mug with his elbow, and the map is flooded.)
JENS. The Danube is flowing too strongly. (All laugh.)
HERMAN. Listen, my friends. We are talking too much about foreign affairs. Let us discuss Hamburg for a while—that subject will give us material enough. I have often pondered on the question of how it happens that we own no cities in India, but are forced to buy the wares of others. That is a matter that the burgomaster and council ought to consider.
RICHARD. Don't speak of the burgomaster and council. If we wait until they think of it, we shall wait a long time. Here in Hamburg a burgomaster is commended for nothing but holding the law-abiding burgesses in subjection.
HERMAN. I believe, my good friends, that it is not too late: for why should not the king of India trade with us as well as with the Hollanders, who have nothing to send out there but cheese and butter, which usually spoil on the way? I maintain that we should do well to send a proposal to the council to that effect. How many of us are here?
JENS. We are only six, for I don't believe the other six are coming.
HERMAN. That is enough. What is your opinion, Mr. Tavern-keeper? Let us vote.
JENS. I am entirely opposed to that plan, because such voyages take away from the city a great many good men from whom I get my daily penny.
SIVERT. I hold that we ought to consider the development of the city rather than our own interests, and that Master Herman's proposal is the most admirable that can ever be made. The more trade we have, the more the city must flourish; the more ships that come in, the better for us minor officials. But the latter is not the main reason I have for favoring this plan. The city's need and its progress are the only things that persuade me to support such a scheme.
GERT. I can by no means agree to this proposal. I advise instead the founding of a company in Greenland and on Davis Strait, for that trade is much better and more useful to the state.
FRANZ. I see that Gert's vote regards his own advantage more than the welfare of the republic; for people do not need a furrier so much on the voyages to India as on voyages to the North. For my part, I contend that India surpasses all in importance; in India you can often trade a knife, a fork, or a pair of scissors with the savages for its full weight in gold. We must contrive it so that the plan we put before the council will not smell of self-interest, or else we shall get nowhere with it.
RICHARD. I am of the same opinion as Niels the clerk.
HERMAN. You certainly vote like a brushmaker. Niels the clerk is not here. But what is the woman doing here? Good Heavens, it is my wife!
(Enter Geske.)
GESKE. Is this where you are, you dawdler? It would be better if you were at work on something, or at least superintending your workmen; for we lose one job after another from your neglect.
HERMAN. Quiet, wife! You will be Madam Burgomaster before you know it. Do you think that I go out just to pass the time? Ay, I do ten times as much work as all of you in the house: the rest of you work with your hands only; I work with my brain.
GESKE. All crazy people work that way, building castles in the air just as you do, cudgelling their brains with bosh and nonsense, imagining that they are doing something of importance when it is really nothing at all.
GERT. If she were my wife, she would not talk that way more than once.
FRANZ. I see that Gert's vote regards his own advantage more than the welfare of the republic; for people do not need a furrier so much on the voyages to India as on voyages to the North. For my part, I contend that India surpasses all in importance; in India you can often trade a knife, a fork, or a pair of scissors with the savages for its full weight in gold. We must contrive it so that the plan we put before the council will not smell of self-interest, or else we shall get nowhere with it.
RICHARD. I am of the same opinion as Niels the clerk. Herman. You certainly vote like a brushmaker. Niels the clerk is not here. But what is the woman doing here? Good Heavens, it is my wife!
Enter Geske.
GESKE. Is this where you are, you dawdler? It would be better if you were at work on something, or at least superintending your workmen; for we lose one job after another from your neglect.
HERMAN. Quiet, wife! You will be Madam Burgomaster before you know it. Do you think that I go out just to pass the time? Ay, I do ten times as much work as all of you in the house: the rest of you work with your hands only; I work with my brain.
GESKE. All crazy people work that way, building castles in the air just as you do, cudgelling their brains with bosh and nonsense, imagining that they are doing something of importance when it is really nothing at all.
GERT. If she were my wife, she would not talk that way more than once.
HERMAN. Ah, Gert, a statesman must pay no attention to that sort of thing. Two or three years ago I should have made my wife's back smart for such words, but since I have begun to look into works on politics, I have learned to despise such trifles. Qui nesclt simulare, nescit regnare, says an ancient statesman, who was no fool. I think his name was Agrippa, or Albertus Magnus. It is a fundamental principle of all the politics in the world; for he who cannot endure an evil speech from an angry and unreasonable woman is not fit to hold any high office. Self-control is the highest virtue and the jewel which most adorns rulers and magistrates. Therefore I maintain that no one should sit in our council here in the city until he has given proof of his self-control, and made it clear that he can take words of abuse, blows, and boxes on the ear. I am by nature quick-tempered, but I try to overcome it by study. I once read in the preface of a book called The Political Stockfish that when one is overwhelmed with anger he must count twenty, and his anger will pass.
GERT. It would do me no good to count up to a hundred.
HERMAN. Then you are good for nothing but a subordinate. Henrich, give my wife a mug of ale at the side table.
GESKE. Oh, you beast! Do you think I have come here to drink?
HERMAN. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen—Now, it is all over. Listen, mother, you must not speak so harshly to your husband—it sounds utterly vulgar.
GESKE. Is it aristocratic to beg? Hasn't any woman reason enough to scold when she has such a good-for-nothing for a husband—a man who neglects his house like this, and leaves his wife and children in want?
HERMAN. Henrich, give her a glass of brandy, for she has worked herself into a passion.
GESKE. Henrich, give my husband a couple of boxes on the ear, the scoundrel!
HENRICH. You must do that yourself. I decline such a commission.
GESKE. Then I take it on myself. (Boxes both his ears.)
HERMAN. One, two, three-(counts to twenty, starts to strike her, but begins counting again). Eighteen, nineteen, twenty—If I hadn't been a statesman, you would have caught it that time!
GERT. If you don't keep your wife in check, I will. Get out of here.Go! Out with you!
[Exit Geske, still scolding.
GERT. I 'll teach her to keep quiet at home another time. I confess that if it is statesmanlike to let yourself be dragged about by the hair by your wife, I shall never be a statesman.
HERMAN. Oh, qui nescit simulare, nescit regnare; that is easily said, but less easily done. I admit it was a great indignity my wife did me. I believe I shall run after her yet and beat her on the street. But one, two, three, four (and so on), nineteen, twenty. Now, that's all over. Let us talk of other things.
FRANZ. The women have altogether too much to say here in Hamburg.
GERT. Yes, that is so. I have often thought of bringing forward a proposal on the subject. But it is dangerous to fall out with them. Still, the proposal has its good points.
HERMAN. What is the proposal?
GERT. It consists of several articles. First, I argue that the marriage contract should not be eternal, but should be made for a term of years, so that if a man were not content with his wife, he could make a new contract with another one. A man ought to be bound, as he is with a rented house, to give a quarter's notice before moving-day, which should be at Easter or Michaelmas. If he were satisfied, the contract could be renewed. Believe me, if such a law were passed, there wouldn't be a bad woman to be found in Hamburg. Every one of them would try to gain favor in her husband's eyes so that her contract might be renewed. Have you good men anything to say against that article? Franz, you smile so knowingly, you surely have something to say against it. Let us hear it!
FRANZ. But couldn't a woman sometimes take the opportunity to separate from a husband who either was cruel to her or was an idler and only ate and drank, and refused to work to support his wife and children? Or she might take a fancy to some one else and make it so hot for her husband that, contrary to his intention, he would let her go. I argue that worse trouble might arise from such an arrangement. There are methods enough for coercing a woman. If every one would count twenty like you, Master Herman, when he got a box on the ear, we should have a fine lot of women. My humble opinion is that the best way when a woman is unruly is for the husband to threaten to sleep alone and share no bed with her till she improves.
GERT. I couldn't stick to that. To many men that would be as much of a hardship as it would be to the woman.
FRANZ. But a man can go elsewhere.
GERT. But a woman can go elsewhere.
FRANZ. Anyhow, Gert, let us hear the other articles.
GERT. I see myself! You just want to scoff some more, Nothing is so good that no fault can be found with it.
HERMAN. Let us talk of other things. People who heard us talk would think we were holding a consistory or a divorce court. I was thinking last night, as I lay awake, how the administration in Hamburg could be best arranged so that certain families whose members are born, as it were, to be burgomasters and councillors could be excluded from the highest positions of authority and complete freedom be introduced. I figured that the burgomasters should be taken in turn, now from one trade-guild, now from another, so that all citizens might share in the government and all classes flourish. For instance, when a goldsmith was burgomaster he could look after goldsmiths' interests, and a tailor after tailors', a tinker after tinkers'; and no one should be burgomaster for more than a month, so no one trade should prosper more than another. When the government was arranged like that, we might be called a really free people.
ALL. The proposition is splendid. Master Herman, you talk like aSolomon.
FRANZ. The plan is good enough, but—
GERT. You always come in with a "but." I believe your father was a butler.
HERMAN. Let him express his opinion. What were you going to say?What does that "but" of yours mean?
FRANZ. I wonder if it might not be hard at times to get a good burgomaster from every common trade? Master Herman would do, for he is well educated. But when he is dead, where shall we find another among the tinkers fitted for such responsibility? For when the republic is brought to its knees, it is not so easy to make it over into another form as it is to make over a plate or a pot that is spoiled.
GERT. Oh, nonsense! We shall find capable men a-plenty, and among artisans, too.
HERMAN. Listen, Franz. You are still a young man and so you can't see so deep into things as the rest of us, albeit I perceive that you have a good head and in time may amount to something. I can show you, briefly, that this objection of yours has no foundation, by a consideration of ourselves alone. We are twelve men in this guild, all artisans; each one of us can surely see hundreds of mistakes which the council makes. Imagine, now, that one of us becomes burgomaster and corrects all the mistakes that we have talked about so many times and that the council cannot see. Do you suppose the city of Hamburg would lose by such a burgomaster? If you good gentlemen are so disposed, I shall make that motion.
ALL. Yes, indeed.
HERMAN. But enough of these matters. Time flies, and we have not read the newspaper yet. Henrich, let us have the latest paper.
HENRICH. Here are all the latest newspapers.
HERMAN. Give them to Richard the brushmaker, who usually does the reading.
RICHARD. It is reported from headquarters on the Rhine that recruits are expected.
HERMAN. Oh, they have reported that twelve times in succession. Skip the Rhine. I could worry myself to death when I hear of such things. What is the news from Italy?
RICHARD. From Italy it is reported that Prince Eugene has broken camp, crossed the Po, and gone past all the fortifications to surprise the enemy, who thereupon retreated four miles in the greatest haste. The Duke of Vendome laid waste and burned right and left in his own territory as he retreated.
HERMAN. Upon my soul his Excellency is struck blind. We are done for. I wouldn't give fourpence for the whole army of Italy.
GERT. I maintain that the prince did right, for that has always been my plan. Didn't I say last time, Franz, that they ought to do that?
FRANZ. I don't remember that you did.
GERT. Of course I have said so, a hundred times. For why should an army lie idle? The prince has done right. I dare maintain it against any one, whoever he be.
HERMAN. Henrich, give us a glass of brandy. I swear, gentlemen, it went black before my eyes when I heard this news read.—Your health, gentlemen!—I must admit I consider it a fatal mistake to go past all the forts.
SIVERT. On my word, I should have done the same thing if the army had been entrusted to me.
FRANZ. You will see when they make generals of baggage inspectors.
SIVERT. You have no call to sneer. I should have been as good as another.
GERT. You are right there, Sivert. The prince did well to make straight for the enemy.
HERMAN. Ah, my good Gert, you are much too self-satisfied. You still have something to learn.
GERT. But not from Franz the cutler.