The living room in old BERND'S cottage. The room is fairly large; it has grey walls and an old-fashioned whitewashed ceiling supported by visible beams. A door in the background leads to the kitchen, one at the left to the outer hall. To the right are two small windows. A yellow chest of drawers stands between the two windows; upon it is set an unlit kerosene lamp; a mirror hangs above it on the wall. In the left corner a great stove; in the right a sofa, covered with oil-cloth, a table with a cloth on it and a hanging lamp above it. Over the sofa on the wall hangs a picture with the Biblical subject: "Suffer little children to come unto me"; beneath it a photograph of BERND, showing him as a conscript, and several of himself and his wife. In the foreground, to the left, stands a china closet, filled with painted cups, glasses, etc. A Bible is lying on the chest of drawers; over the door to the hall hangs a chromolithograph of "Christ with the crown of thorns." Mull curtains hang in front of the windows. Each of four or five chairs of yellow wood has its own place. The whole room makes a neat but very chilly impression. Several Bibles and hymnals lie on the china closet. On the door-post of the door to the hall hangs a collecting-box.
It is seven o'clock in the evening of the same day on which the events in Act Four have taken place. The door that leads to the hall as well as the kitchen door stands open. A gloomy dusk fills the house.
Voices are heard outside, and a repeated knocking at the window. Thereupon a voice speaks through the window.
Bernd! Isn't there a soul at home? Let's be goin' to the back door!
A silence ensues. Soon, however, the back door opens and voices and steps are heard in the hall. In the door that leads to the hall appear KLEINERT and ROSE BERND. The latter is obviously exhausted and leans upon him.
[Weak and faint.] No one's at home. 'Tis all dark.
I can't be leavin' you alone this way now!
An' why not, Kleinert? There's nothin' the matter with me!
Somebody else can believe that—that there's nothin' wrong! I wouldn't ha' had to pick you up in that case!
Eh, but I'd only gotten a bit dizzy. Truly … 'tis better now. I really don't need you no more.
No, no, lass; I can't leave you this way!
Oh, yes, father Kleinert! I do thank you, but 'tis well! There's nothin' wrong with me! I'm on my feet an' strong again! It comes over me that way sometimes; but 'tis nothin' to worry over.
But you lay half dead yonder behind the willow! An' you writhed like a worm.
Kleinert, go your ways…. I'll be lightin' a light! An' I must light a fire, too … go your ways … the folks will be comin' to their supper!… Oh, no, Kleinert, Kleinert! But I'm that tired! Oh, I'm so terrible tired! No one wouldn't believe how tired I am.
An' then you want to be lightin' a fire here? That's nothin' for you! Bed is the place where you ought to be!
Kleinert, go your ways, go! If father, an' if August … they mustn't know nothin'! For my sake, go! Don't do nothin' that'll only harm me!
I don't want to do nothin' that'll harm you!
No, no, I know it! You was always good to me! [She has arisen from the chair at the right on which, she had sunk down, gets a candle from behind the oven and lights it.] Oh, yes, yes, I'm well off again.—There's nothin' wrong.—You can be easy in your mind.
You're just sayin' that!
Because 'tis really so!
MARTHEL comes in from the fields with bare arms and feet.
An' there's Marthel, too!
Rose, is that you? Where have you been all day?
I dreamed I was at the court.
No, no; she was really at the court! Take a bit o' care o' your sister, Marthel. Look after her at least till your fatter comes back. 'Tisn't well with the girl.
Marthel, hurry! Light the fire, so's we can start to put on the potatoes.—Where's father?
On August's land.
An' August?
I don't know where he is. He was out on the field to-day.
Have you got new potatoes?
I have an apron full!
[Immediately behind the kitchen door she pours out the potatoes on the floor.
Fetch me a pan and a saucepan, so's I can begin the peelin'. I can't get nothin' for myself.
D'you want me to be givin' a message anywhere?
To whom? To the grave-digger, maybe?… No, no, godfather, not on my account. 'Tis a special bit o' ground where I'll find rest.
Well, good-bye!
Good-bye to you!
[Cheerily.] Come again, godfather!
KLEINERT as usual with his pipe in his mouth, departs shaking his head.
[Lighting the fire.] Don't you feel well, Rosie?
Oh, yes; well enough! [Softly wringing her hands, she speaks to the crucifix.] Jesus, Mary, have mercy on me!
Rose!
What?
What's the matter with you?
Nothin'. Bring me a pan an' the potatoes.
[Has started the fire to burning and now brings ROSE an earthenware bowl of potatoes and a paring knife.] Oh, but Rosie, I'm that frightened! You look so …!
How does I look? Tell me that? How? Has I got spots on my hands? Is it branded over my eyes? Everythin's kind o' ghastly to me this day. [Laughing a ghastly laugh.] Lord! I can't see the face o' you! Now I see one hand! Now I see two eyes! Just dots now! Martha, maybe I'm growin' blind!
Rosie, did somethin' happen to you?
God protect you from what's happened to me…. You'd better be wishin' yourself an early death! Because, even if a body dies to this world, they do say that he passes into rest. Then you don't have to live an' draw breath no more.—How did it go with little Kurt Flamm? I've clean forgot … I'm dizzy … I'm forgettin' … I've forgotten everythin' … life's that hard … If I could only keep on feelin' this way … an' never wake up again …! What's the reason o' such things comin' to pass in this world?
[Frightened.] If only father would come home!
Martha, come! Listen to me! You mustn't tell father that I was here or that I am here … Martha, sure you'll promise me that, won't you?… Many a thing I've done for the love o' you … Martha! You haven't forgotten that, nor you mustn't forget it, even if things grows dark around me now.
Will you drink a bit of coffee? There's a drop left in the oven.
An' don't be frightened! I'll go upstairs in the room an' lie down a wee bit … just a bit. Otherwise I'm all right … otherwise there's nothin' that ails me.
An' I'm not to say nothin' to father?
Not a word!
An' not to August neither?
Not a syllable! Lass, you've never known your mother an' I've raised you with fear an' heartache.—Many's the night I've watched through in terror because you was ill! I wasn't as old as you when I carried you about on my arm till I was near breakin' in two! Here you was—at my breast! An' if you go an' betray me now, 'tis all over between us!
Rosie, 'tis nothin' bad is it … nothin' dangerous, I mean?
I don't believe it is! Come, Martha, help me a bit, support me a bit!… A body is left too lonely in this world … too deserted! If only a body wasn't so lonely here … so lonely on this earth!
[ROSE and MARTHEL pass out through the hall door.
For some moments the room remains empty. Then old BERND appears in the kitchen. He puts down his basket and the potato hoe and looks about him, earnestly and inquiringly. Meanwhile MARTHEL re-enters the living-room from the hall.
Is it you, father?
Is there no hot water! You know I have to have my foot bath! Isn't Rose here yet?
She isn't here yet, father!
What? Hasn't she come back from court yet? That isn't possible hardly!'Tis eight o'clock. Was August here?
Not yet.
Not yet either? Well, maybe she's with him then.—Have you seen that great cloud, Marthel, that was comin' over from the mountain about six o'clock, maybe?
Yes, father; the world got all dark!
There'll come a day o' greater darkness than this! Light the lamp on the table for me an' put the Good Book down next to it. The great thing is to be in readiness. Marthel, are you sure you keep thinkin' o' the life eternal, so that you can stand up before your Judge on that day? Few is the souls that think of it here! Just now as I was comin' home along the water's edge, I heard some one cryin' out upon me from behind, as they often does. "Bloodsucker!" cried he. An' was I a bloodsucker when I was overseer on the domain? Nay, I did my duty,—that was all! But the powers of evil is strong! If a man is underhanded, an' closes his eyes to evil, an' looks on quietly upon cheatin'—then his fellows likes him well.—But I leans upon the Lord Jesus. We human bein's all need that support. 'Tisn't enough just to do good works! Maybe if Rose had given more thought to that, maybe we'd ha' been spared many a visitation an' a deal o' heaviness an' bitterness. [A CONSTABLE appears in the doorway.] Who's comin' there?
I have a summons to serve, I must speak to your daughter.
My oldest daughter?
[Reads from the document.] To Rose Bernd.
My daughter hasn't come back from court yet. Can I give her the letter?
No; I've got to make a personal search, too. I'll be back at eight in the mornin'.
AUGUST appears hastily.
There's August, too.
Isn't Rose here?
No; an' the sergeant here is askin' after her, too. I thought you an' she was together.
I has to make a search into one matter an' also to serve this paper.
Always an' forever this Streckmann business. 'Tis not only the loss of my eye—now we has these everlastin' troubles an' annoyances. It seems, God forgive me, to come to no end.
Good evenin'. To-morrow mornin' at eight!
[Exit.
Marthel, go into the kitchen a bit of a while.—Father, I've got to speak with you. Go, Marthel; go an' shut the door. But Marthel, didn't you see anythin' o' Rose?
No, nothin'! [Surreptitiously she beckons to him with her hand.] I'll tell you something August.
Close the door, lass. I have no time now. [He himself closes the kitchen door.] Father, you'll have to withdraw your suit.
Anythin' but that, August. I can't do that!
'Tis not Christian. Yon must withdraw.
I don't believe that 'tis not Christian!—For why? 'Tis a piece of infamy to cut off a girl's honour that way. 'Tis a crime that needs to be punished.
I hardly know how to begin, father Bernd…. You've been too hasty in this matter….
My wife who's in her grave demands that of me! An' my honour demands it … the honour o' my house and o' my lass. An' yours, too, if you come to think.
Father Bernd, father Bernd, how am I to speak to you if you're so set on not makin' peace? You've spoke o' so many kinds of honour. But we're not to seek our honour or glory in this world, but God's only an' no other!
'Tis otherwise in this matter. Here woman's honour is God's too! Or have you any complaint to make against Rose?
I've said to you: I make no complaint!
Or is your own conscience troublin' you on her account?
You know me in that respeck, father Bernd. Before I'd depart from the straight an' narrow way …
Well, then. I know that! I always knew that! An' so justice can take its course.
[Wiping the sweat from his forehead.] If only we knew where Rose is!
Maybe she isn't back from the court at Striegau yet!
An examination like that don't take very long. She meant to be home by five o'clock.
Maybe she went to buy some things on the way. Wasn't she to get several things yet? I thought you were wantin' one thing or another.
But she didn't take along any money. An' the things we was needin' for the shop—curtains for the windows an' the door—we intended to buy those together.
I was thinkin' that she'd come with you!
I went to meet her on the road—more'n a mile, but I heard an' saw nothin' of her. Instead o' that, I met Streckmann.
I calls that meetin' the devil!
Ah, father, that man has a wife an' children too! His sins are no fault o' theirs! What good does it do me that he's got to go to gaol? If a man repents … that's all I asks!
That bad man don't know repentance!
It looked very much as if he did.
Did you speak to him?
He gave me no peace. He ran along next to me an' talked an' talked. There wasn't a soul to be seen far an' wide! In the end I felt sorry for him; I couldn't help it.
You answered him! What did he say?
He said you should withdraw your suit.
I couldn't rest quiet in my grave if I did! 'Twouldn't matter if it concerned me! I can bear it; I can laugh at it! I'm not only a man but a Christian! But 'tis a different thing with my child! How could I look you in the face if I let that shameful thing stick to her! An' now, especially, after that terrible misfortune! Look, August, that can't be! That mustn't be!—Everybody's always been at our heels, because we lived different from the rest o' the world! Hypocrites they called us an' bigots, an' sneaks an' such names! An' always they wanted to trump up somethin' against us! What a feast this here thing would be to 'em! An' besides … How did I bring up the lass? Industrious an' with the fear o' God in her heart so that if a Christian man marries her, he can set up a Christian household! That's the way! That's how I gives her out o' my care! An' am I goin' to let that poison cling to her? Rather would I be eatin' bread an' salt all my days than take a penny from you then!
Father Bernd, God's ways is mysterious! He can send us new trials daily! No man has a right to be self-righteous! An' even if I wanted to be, I couldn't! I can't spare you the knowledge no longer, father. Our Rose has been but a weak human bein' like others.
How do you mean that, August?
Father, don't ask me no more,
[Has sat down on a chair by the table in such a way that his face is turned to the wall. At AUGUST'S last words he has looked at him with eyes, wide-open and estranged. Then he turns to the table, opens the Bible with trembling hands, and turns its leaves hither and thither in growing excitement. He ceases and looks at AUGUST again. Finally he folds his hands over the book and lets his head sink upon them while his body twitches convulsively. In this posture he remains for a while, Then he straightens himself up.] No. I don't understand you rightly! Because, you see, if I did understand you rightly … that'd be really … an' I wouldn't know … my God, the room swims with me … why, I'd have to be deaf an' blind!—Nay, August, an' I'm not deaf an' blind! Don't let Streckmann impose on you! He'll take any means to get out o' the trap that he's in now. It's comin' home to him, an' he wants to sneak out at any cost! An' so he's incitin' you against the lass. No, August, … truly, August … not on that bridge … you mustn't start for to cross that bridge!… Anybody can see through his villainy! … He's laid traps enough for the lass. An' if one way don't succeed, he'll try another!… Now he's hit on this here plan.—Maybe he'll separate you two! It's happened in this world, more than once or twice that some devil with his evil schemes has tore asunder people that God meant for each other. They always grudged the girl her good fortune. Good: I'm willin'! I won't throw Rose after you! We've satisfied our hunger up to now! But if you'll heed my word: I'll put my right hand in the fire for….
But Mr. Flamm took oath.
Ten oaths against me … twenty oaths against me!… Then he has sworn falsely an' damned hisself in this world an' in the world to come!
Father Bernd….
Now wait a bit before ever you say another word! Here I take the books! Here I take my hat! Here I take the collecting box o' the missions. An' all these things I puts together here. An' if that's true what you've been sayin'—if there's so much in it as a grain o' truth—then I'll go this minute to the pastor an' I'll say: Your reverence, this is how things is: I can't be a deacon no more; I can't take care o' the treasury for missions no more! Good-bye! And then nobody would see me no more! No, no, no, for the love o' God! But now go on! Say your say! But don't torture me for nothin'.
I had the same thought, too. I want to sell my house an' my land! Maybe one could find contentment somewhere else.
[In unspeakable astonishment.] You want to sell your house an' your land, August? How do all these strange things come about all of a sudden! It's enough … A body might be tempted to make the sign o' the cross, even though we're not Catholics.—Has the whole world gone mad? Or is the Day o' Judgment at hand? Or maybe, 'tis but my last hour that has come. Now answer me, August, how is it? As you hope for a life to come, how is it?
However it is, father Bernd, I won't desert her.
You can do about that as you please. That don't concern me! I don't want to know if a man'd like a wench o' that kind in his house or not. Not me! I'm not that kind of a man. Well now …?
I can't say nothin' more than this—somethin' must ha' happened to her!Whether 'twas with Flamm or with Streckmann….
That makes two of 'em …!
I can't tell exactly …!
Well, then I'll be goin' to the pastor! Brush me off, August, clean me a bit! I feel as if I had the itch on my body!
[He steps into the hall.
At the same moment MARTHEL rushes out of the kitchen and speaks to AUGUST in intense terror.
I believe a misfortune has happened to Rose! She's upstairs! She's been home this long time!
[Returns, changed somewhat by a fright which he has felt.] Somebody must be upstairs.
Marthel is just sayin' that Rose is there.
I hear her. She's comin' down the stairs.
God forgive me the sin! I don't want to see her.
He sits down at the table, as before, holds his thumbs over his ears and bends his head deep over the Bible. ROSE appears in the door. She has her house skirt on and a loose bodice of cotton cloth. She keeps herself erect by sheer force of will. Her hair hangs down, partly loose, partly braided. There is in her face an expression of terrible, fatalistic calm and of bitter defiance. For several moments she lets her eyes wander over the room, over OLD BERND sitting there with his Bible, over AUGUST who has slowly turned from the door and pretends to be looking intently out of the window. Then, groping for some support, she begins to talk with desperate energy.
Good-evenin' to all o' ye!—?—Good evenin'.
[After some hemming.] The same to you.
[With bitter iciness.] If you don't want me, I can go again.
[Simply.] Where else do you want to go to? An' where have you been?
He that asks much, hears much. More sometimes than he'd like to.—Marthel, come over here to me a bit. [MARTHEL goes. Rose has seated herself not far from the stove and takes the younger girl's hand. Then she says:] What's the matter with father?
[Embarrassed, timid, speaks softly.] I don't know that neither.
What's the matter with father? You can speak right out! An' with you,August? What is the matter with you?… You've got cause, that you have,August, to despise me. I don't deny that. No….
I don't despise no one in this world.
But I do! All of 'em … all … all!
Those is dark words to me that you're speakin'.
Dark? Yes! I know it. The world's dark! An' you hear the roarin' o' wild beasts in it. An' then, later, it gets brighter … but them are the flames o' hell that make it bright.—Martha….
[Who has been listening a little, arises and frees MARTHEL'S wrist from ROSE'S grasp.] Don't poison the little lass's mind. Take your hand away!—March off to bed! [MARTHEL goes weeping.] A man would like to be deaf, to be blind! A man'd like to be dead.
[He becomes absorbed again in his Bible.
ROSE Father!—I'm alive!—I'm sittin' here!—That's somethin'!—Yes, that's something when you considers!—I think, father, you might understand that! This is a world …! Nobody can never do nothin' more to me! O Jesus, my Saviour—! All o' you, all o' you—you live together in a bit o' chamber an' you don't know what goes on outside in the world! I know it now … I've learned it in bitterness an' wailin'! I had to get out o' that little chamber! An' then—somehow—the walls gave way, one wall an' another … an' there I stood, outside, in the storm … an' there—was nothin' under me an' nothin' above me … nothin'. You're all like children compared to me.
[Frightened.] But, Rose, if it's true what Streckmann says, then you've committed perjury!…
[Laughing bitterly.] I don't know. 'Tis possible … I can't just remember this moment. The world is made up o' lies an' deception.
[Sighs.] O God … my refuge evermore.
Is it so easy that you take the swearin' o' false oaths?
That's nothin'! Nothin'! How could that be anythin'? There's somethin' that lies, out there, under a willow … That's … somethin' … The rest don't concern me! There … there … I wanted to look up at the stars! I wanted to cry out an' to call out! No heavenly Father stirred to help me.
[Frightened, trembling.] You're blasphemin' our heavenly Father? Has it gone so far with you? Then I don't know you no more!
[Approaching him on her knees.] 'Tis gone so far! But you know me anyhow, father! You cradled me on your knees, an' I've stood by you too many a time.—Now somethin' has come over us all—I've fought against it and struggled against it….
[Deeply perplexed.] What is it?
I don't know … I don't know!
[Trembling and kneeling, she crouches and stares at the floor.
[Overwhelmed and taken out of himself by the pity of the sight.] Rosie, get up! I won't desert you! Get up, I can't bear to see you lyin' there! We're all sinners together! An' anyone who repents so deep, is bound to be forgiven. Get up, Rose, Father, raise her up! We're not among them that condemns—not I, at least. There's nothin' in me o' the Pharisee! I see how it goes to her heart! Come what will, I'll stand by you! I'm no judge … I don't judge. Our Saviour in Heaven didn't judge neither. Truly, he bore our sickness for us, an' we thought he was one that was tortured an' stricken, by God! Maybe we've all been guilty of error. I don't want to acquit myself neither. I've been thinkin'. Before the lass hardly knew me, she had to say her yea an' amen! What do I care about the world? It don't concern me.
August, they clung to me like burrs … I couldn't walk across the street safe … All the men was after me!… I hid myself … I was that scared! I was so afraid o' men!… It didn't help! 'Twas worse an' worse! After that I fell from one snare into another, till I hardly came to my senses no more.
You used to have the strictest notion o' such things. You condemned the Leichner girl an' despised the Kaiser wench! You boasted—you'd like to see someone come across your path! You struck the miller's journeyman in the face! A girl as does that, you said, don't deserve no pity; she can go an' hang herself! An' now you speak o' snares.
I know better now.
Come what will, I'll stand by you, Rose. I'll sell my land! We'll go out into the world! I have an uncle in Brazil, across the ocean. We'll get our bit o' livin' somehow—one way or t'other. Maybe 'tis only now that we're ripe an' ready to take up our life together.
O Jesus, Jesus, what did I do? Why did I go an' creep home? Why didn't I stay with my little baby?
With whom?
[Gets up.] August, it's all over with me! First there was a burnin' in my body like flames o' fire! Then I fell into a kind o' swoon! Then there came one hope: I ran like a mother cat with her kitten in her mouth! But the dogs chased me an' I had to drop it….
Do you understand one word, August?
No, not o' this….
Do you know how I feel? I feel as if one abyss after another was openin', was yawnin' for us here. What'll we hear before the end?
A curse! A curse will ye have to hear: I see you! I'll meet you! On the Day o' Judgment I'll meet you! I'll tear out your gullet an' your jaws together! You'll have to give an accountin'! You'll have to answer me, there!
Whom do you mean, Rosie?
Heknows …heknows.
[A great exhaustion overtakes her and, almost swooning, she sinks upon a chair. A silence follows.
[Busying himself about her.] What is it that's come over you? Suddenly you're so….
I don't know.—If you'd asked me earlier, long ago, maybe … to-day I can't tell you!—There wasn't nobody that loved me enough.
Who can tell which love is stronger—the happy or the unhappy love.
Oh, I was strong, strong, so strong! Now I'm weak! Now it's all over with me.
The CONSTABLE appears.
[With a quiet voice.] They say your daughter is at home. Kleinert said she was here.
It's true. We didn't know it a while ago.
Then I might as well get through now. There's somethin' to be signed here.
[Without noticing ROSE in the dim room, he lays several documents on the table.
Rose, here's somethin' you're to sign.
ROSE laughs with horrible and hysterical irony.
If you're the one, Miss, it's no laughin' matter.—Please!
You can stay a minute yet.
An' why?
[With flaming eyes, a malice against the whole world in her voice.] I've strangled my child.
What are you sayin'? For the love of God, what are you sayin'?
[Draws himself up, looks at her searchingly, but continues as though he had not heard.] It'll be somethin' connected with the Streckmann 'affair.
[As before, harshly, almost with a bark.] Streckmann? He strangled my child.
Girl, be still. You're out o' your mind.
Anyhow, you have no child at all—?
What? I has none? Could I ha' strangled it with my hands?… I strangled my baby with these hands!!!
You're possessed! What's wrong with you?
My mind's clear. I'm not possessed. I woke up clear in my mind, so clear…. [Coldly, mildly, but with cruel firmness.] Itwasnot to live! I didn't want it to live! I didn't want it to suffer my agonies! It was to stay where it belonged.
Rose, think! Don't torment yourself! You don't know what you're sayin' here! You'll bring down misery on us all.
You don't know nothin' … that's it … You don't see nothin'. You was all blind together with your eyes open. He can go an' look behind the great willow … by the alder-trees … behind the parson's field … by the pool … there he can see the wee thing….
You've done somethin' so awful?
You've been guilty o' somethin' so unspeakable?
ROSE faints. The men look upon her confounded and helpless. AUGUST supports her.
'Twould be best if she came along with me to headquarters. There she can make a voluntary confession. If what she says isn't just fancies, it'll count a good deal in her favour.
[From the depth of a great experience.] Those are no fancies, sergeant. That girl … what she must have suffered!
HARRO HASSENREUTER,formerly a theatrical manager.
WALBURGA,their daughter.
ERICH SPITTA,postulant for Holy Orders, his son.
ALICE RÜTTERBUSCH,actress.
NATHANAEL JETTEL,court actor.
KÄFERSTEIN, DR. KEGEL,Pupils of HASSENREUTER.
JOHN,foreman mason.
BRUNO MECHELKE,her brother.
PAULINE PIPERCARCKA,a servant girl.
SELMA,her daughter.
QUAQUARO,house-steward.
The attic of a former cavalry barracks in Berlin, A windowless room that receives all its light from a lamp which burns suspended over a round table. From the back wall opens a straight passage which connects the room with the outer door—a door with iron hasps and a primitive signal bell which any one desiring to enter rings by means of a bell rope. A door in the right wall leads to an adjoining room, one in the left wall leads to the stairs into the loft immediately under the roof. Into this store room, as well as into the space visible to the spectator, the former theatrical manager, HARRO HASSENREUTER has gathered his collection of properties. In the prevalent gloom it is difficult to decide whether the place is the armour room of an old castle, a museum of antiquities or the shop of a costumer. Stands with helmets and breast-plates are put up on either side of the passage; a row of similar stands almost covers the two sides of the front room. The stairs wind upward between two mailed figures. At the head of the stairs is a wooden trap-door. In the left foreground, against the wall, is a high desk. Ink, pens, old ledgers, a tall stool, as well as several chairs with tall backs and the round table make it clear that the room serves the purposes of an office. On the table is a decanter for water and several glasses; above the desk hang a number of photographs. These photographs represent HASSENREUTER in the part of Karl Moor (in Schiller's "Robbers"), as well as in a number of other parts. One of the mailed dummies wean a huge laurel wreath about its neck. The laurel wreath is tied with a riband which bears, in gilt letters, the following inscription: "To our gifted manager Hassenreuter, from his grateful colleagues." A series of enormous red bows shows the inscriptions: "To the inspired presenter of Karl Moor … To the incomparable, unforgettable Karl Moor" … etc., etc. The room is utilised as far as its space will permit for the storing of costumes. Wherever possible, German, Spanish and English garments of every age hang on hooks. Swedish riding boots, Spanish rapiers and German broadswords are scattered about. The door to the left bears the legend: Library. The whole room displays picturesque disorder, Trumpery of all kinds—weapons, goblets, cups—is scattered about. It is Sunday toward the end of May.
At the table in the middle of the room are sitting, MRS. JOHN (between thirty-five and forty) and a very young servant girl, PAULINE PIPERCARCKA. PAULINE, vulgarly overdressed—jacket, hat, sunshade—sits straight upright. Her pretty, round little face shows signs of long weeping. Her figure betrays the fact that she is approaching motherhood. She draws letters on the floor with the end of her sunshade.
Well, sure now! That's right! That's what I says, Pauline.
All right. So I'm goin' to Schlachtensee or to Halensee. I gotta go and see if I c'n meet him!
[She dries her tears and is about to rise.
[Prevents PAULINE from getting up.] Pauline! For God's sake, don't you be doin' that! Not that there, for nothin' in the world! That don't do nothin' but raise a row an' cost money an' don't bring you in nothin'. Look at the condition you're in! An' that way you want to go an' run after that there low lived feller?
Then my landlady c'n wait an' wait for me to-day. I'll jump into theLandwehr canal an' drownd myself.
Pauline! An' what for? What for, I'd like to know? Now you just listen to me for a speck of a minute, just for God's sake, for the teeniest speck of one an' pay attention to what I'm goin' to propose to you! You know yourself how I says to you, out on Alexander square, right by the chronomoneter—says I to you right out, as I was comin' out o' the market an' sees your condition with half an eye. He don't want to acknowledge nothin', eh? That's what I axed you right out!—That happens to many gals here, to all of 'em—to millions! An' then I says to you … what did I say? Come along, I says, an' I'll help you!
O' course, I don't never dare to show myself at home lookin' this way. Mother, she'd cry it out at the first look. An' father, he'd knock my head against the wall an' throw me out in the street. An' I ain't got no more money left neither—nothin' but just two pieces o' gold that I got sewed up in the linin' o' my jacket. That feller didn't leave me no crown an' he didn't leave me no penny.
Miss, my husband, he's a foreman mason. I just wants you to pay attention … just for heaven's sake, pay attention to the propositions that I'm goin' to make to you. They'll help us both. You'll be helped out an' the same way I'll be. An' what's more, Paul, that's my husband, he'll be helped, because he'd like, for all the world, to have a child, an' our only one, little Adelbert, he went an' died o' the croup. Your child'll be as well taken care of as an own child. Then you c'n go an' you c'n look up your sweetheart an' you c'n go back into service an' home to your people, an' the child is well off, an' nobody in the world don't need to know nothin'.
I'll do it just outa spite—that's what! An' drownd myself! [She rises.] An' a note, a note, I'll leave in my jacket, like this: You drove your Pauline to her death with your cursed meanness! An' then I'll put down his name in full: Alois Theophil Brunner, instrument-maker. Then he c'n see how he'll get along in the world with the murder o' me on his conscience.
Wait a minute, Miss! I gotta unlock the door first.
MRS. JOHN acts, as though she were about to conduct PAULINE to the door.
Before the two women reach the passage, BRUNO MECHELKE enters with slow and suspicious demeanour by the door at the left and remains standing in the room. BRUNO is short rather than tall, but with a powerful bull's neck and athletic shoulders. His forehead is low and receding, his close-clipped hair like a brush, his skull round and small. His face is brutal and his left nostril has been ripped open sometime and imperfectly healed. The fellow is about nineteen years old. He bends forward, and his great, lumpish hands are joined to muscular arms. The pupils of his eyes are small, black and piercing. He is trying to repair a rat trap.
BRUNO whistles to his sister as he would to a dog.
I'm comin' now, Bruno! What d'you want?
[Apparently absorbed by the trap.] Thought I was goin' to put up traps here.
Did you put the bacon in? [To PAULINE.] It's only my brother. Don't be scared, Miss.
[As before.] I seen the Emperor William to-day. I marched along wi' the guard,
[To PAULINE, who stands fearful and moveless in BRUNO'S presence.] 'Tain't nothin' but my brother. You c'n stay.—[To BRUNO.] Boy, what're you lookin' that way for again? The young lady is fair scared o' you.
[As before, without looking up.] Brrr-rr-rr! I'm a ghost.
Hurry an' go up in the loft an' set your traps.
[Slowly approaching the table.] Aw, that business ain't no good 'cept to starve on! When I goes to sell matches, I gets more outa it.
Good-bye, Mrs. John.
[Raging at her brother.] Are you goin' to leave me alone?
[Knuckling under.] Aw, don' go on so. I'm leavin'.
Obediently he withdraws into the adjoining room. MRS. JOHN locks the door behind him with a determined gesture.
That's a feller I wouldn't like to meet in theTiergarten. Not by night an' not by day neither.
If I sets Bruno on anyone an' he gets at him, God help him!
Good-bye. I don't like this here place. If you wants to see me again,Mrs. John, I'd rather meet you at a bench on theKreuzberg.
Pauline, I brought up Bruno with sorrow and trouble by day an' by night. An' I'll be twenty times better to your child. So when it's born, Pauline, I'll take it, an' I swears to you by my father an' mother what died in the Lord an' what I goes to visit the graves of out in Rüdersdorf one Sunday a year an' puts candles on 'em an' don' let nobody keep me back—I swears to you that little crittur'll live on the fat o' the land just like a born prince nor a born princess couldn't be treated no better.
I'm goin' and with my last penny I'm goin' to buy vitriol—I don' care who it hits! An' I'll throw it in the face o' the wench that he goes with … I don' care who it hits … right in the middle o' the mug. I don' care! It c'n burn up his fine-lookin' phiz! I don' care! It c'n burn off his beard an' burn out his eyes if he goes with other women! What did he do? Cheated me! Ruined me! Took my money! Robbed me o' my honour! That's what the damn' dog did—seduced me an' lied to me an' left me an' kicked me out into the world! I don' care who it hits! I wants him to be blind! I wants the stuff to burn his nose offa his face! I wants it to burn him offa the earth!
Pauline, as I hopes to be happy hereafter, I tells you, from the minute where that there little one is born … it's goin' to be treated like … well, I don' know what!… as if it was born to be put in silks an' in satins. All you gotta do is to have some confidence—that's what! You just say: Yes. I got it all figgered out. It c'n be done, it c'n be done—that's what I tells you! An' no doctor an' no police an' no landlady don't has to know nothin'. An' then, first of all, you gets paid a hundred an' twenty crowns what I saved scrubbin' an' charrin' here for manager Hassenreuter.
I might strangle it when it's born, rather 'n sell it!
Who's talkin' about sellin'?
Look at the frights an' the misery I've stood from October las' to this very day. My intended gives me the go; my landlady puts me out! They gives me notice at a lodgin's. What does I do that I has to be despised an' cursed an' kicked aroun'?
That's what I says. That's cause the devil is still gettin' the better of our Lord Jesus.
Unnoticed and busy with the trap as before BRUNO has quietly re-entered by the door.
[With a strange intonation, sharply and yet carelessly.] Lamps!
That feller scares me. Lemme go!
[Makes violently for BRUNO.] Is you goin' to go where you belongs? I told you I'd call you!
[In the same tone as before.] Well, Jette, I jus' said: Lamps!
Are you crazy? What's the meanin' o' that—lamps?
Ain't that a ringin' o' the front bell?
[Is frightened, listens and restrains PAULINE, who makes a motion to go.] Sh, Miss, wait! Just wait one little minute!
[BRUNO continues whittling as the two women stop to listen.
[Softly and in a frightened tone to BRUNO.] I don't hear nothin'!
You ol' dried up piece! You better go an' get another pair o' ears!
That'd be the first time in all the three months that the manager'd be comin' in when it's Sunday.
If that there theayter feller comes, he c'n engage me right on the spot.
[Violently.] Don' talk rot!
[Grinning at PAULINE.] Maybe you don' believe it, Miss, but I went an' took the clown's hoss at Schumann's circus aroun' the ring three times. Them's the kind o' things I does. An' is I goin' to be scared?
[Seeming to notice for the first time the fantastic strangeness of the place in which she finds herself. Frightened and genuinely perturbed.] Mother o' God, what kind o' place is this?
Whoever c'n that be?
'Tain't the manager, Jette! More like it's a spout what's drippin'!
Miss, you be so kind an' go for two minutes, if you don' mind, up into this here loft. Maybe somebody's comin' that just wants some information.
In her growing terror PAULINE does as she is asked to do. She clambers up the stairs to the loft, the trap door being open. MRS. JOHN has taken up a position in which she can, at need, hide PAULINE from anyone entering the room. PAULINE disappears: MRS. JOHN and BRUNO remain alone.
What business has you with that pious mug?
That ain't none o' your business, y'understan'?
I was just axin' 'cause you was so careful that nobody should see her.Otherwise I don't know's I gives a damn.
An' you ain't supposed to!
Much obliged. Maybe I better toddle along, then.
D'you know what you owes me, you scamp?
[Carelessly.] What are you gettin' excited for? What is I doin' to you? What d'you want? I gotta go to my gal now. I'm sleepy. Las' night I slept under a lot o' bushes in the park. An' anyhow, I'm cleaned out—[He turns his trowsers pockets inside out.] An' in consequence o' that I gotta go an' earn somethin'.
Here you stays! Don't you dare move! If you do you c'n whine like a whipped purp an' you'll never be gettin' so much as a penny outa me no more—that's what you won't! Bruno, you're goin' ways you hadn't ought to.
Aw, what d'you think? Is I goin' to be a dam' fool? D'you think I ain' goin' when I gets a good livin' offa Hulda? [He pulls out a dirty card-case.] Not so much as a measly pawn ticket has I got. Tell me what you want an' then lemme go!
What I wants? Of you? What're you good for anyhow? You ain't good for nothin' excep' for your sister who ain't right in her head to feel sorry for you, you loafer an' scamp!
Maybe youain'right in your head sometimes!
Our father, he used to say when you was no more'n five an' six years old an' used to do rowdy things, that we couldn't never be proud o' you an' that I might as well let you go hang. An' my husband what's a reel honest decent man … why, you can't be seen alongside of a good man like him.
Sure, I knows all that there, Jette. But things ain' that easy to straighten out. I knows all right I was born with a kind o' a twist in my back, even if nobody don't see it. No, I wasn't born in no castle. Well, I gotta do what I c'n do with my twist. All right. What d'you want? 'Tain't for the rats you're keepin' me. You wanta hush up somethin' wi' that whore!
[Shaking her hand under BRUNO'S nose.] You give away one word o' this an' I'll kill you, I'll make a corpse o' you!
Well now, looka here! I'm goin', y'understan'? [He mounts the stairs.]Maybe someday I'll be droppin' into good luck without knowin' it.
He disappears through the trap-door, MRS. JOHN hurriedly blows out the lamp and taps her way to the door of the library. She enters it but does—not wholly close the door behind her.—The noise that BRUNO actually heard was that of a key being turned in a rusty keyhole. A light step is now heard approaching the door. For a moment the street noises of Berlin as well as the yelling of children in the outer halls had been audible. Strains of a hurdy-gurdy from the yard.—WALBURGA HASSENREUTER enters with hesitating and embarrassed steps. The girl is not yet sixteen and is pretty and innocent of appearance. Sunshade, light-coloured summer dress, not coming below the ankle.
[Halts, listens, then says nervously:] Papa!—Isn't any one up here yet? Papa! Papa! [She listens long and intently and then says:] Why, what an odour of coal oil there is here! [She finds matches, lights one, is about to light the lamp and burns her fingers against the hot chimney.] Ouch! Why, dear me! Who is here?
[She has cried out and is about to run away.
MRS. JOHN reappears.
Well, Miss Walburga, who's goin' to go an' kick up a row like that! You c'n be reel quiet. 'Tain't nobody but me!
Dear me, but I've had an awful fright, Mrs. John.
Well, then I advise you to be gettin' out o' here to-day—on Sunday?
[Laying her hand over her heart.] Why, my heart is almost standing still yet, Mrs. John.
What's the matter, Miss Walburga? What's frightenin' you? You oughta know that from your pa that Sunday an' week day I gotta be workin' aroun' here with them boxes an' cases, dustin' an' tryin' to get rid o' the moths! An' then, after two or three weeks, when I've gone over the twelve or eighteen hundred theayter rags that're lyin' here—then I gotta start all over again.
I was frightened because the chimney of the lamp was still quite hot to the touch.
That's right. That there lamp was burnin' 'an' I put it out jus' a minute ago. [She lifts up the chimney.] It don't burn me; my hands is hard. [She lights the wick.] Well, now we has light. Now I lit it again. What's the danger here? I don' see nothin'.
But you do look like a ghost, Mrs. John.
How do you say I looks?
Oh, it just seems so when one comes out of the vivid sunlight into the darkness, into these musty holes. It seems as though one were surrounded by ghosts.
Well, you little ghost, why did you come up here? Is you alone or has you got somebody with you? Maybe papa'll be comin' in yet?
No, papa has been granted an important audience out in Potsdam to-day.
All right! What're you lookin' for here then?
I? Oh, I just came out for a walk!
Well, then I advise you to be gettin out o' here again. No sun don't shine into your papa's lumber-room.