You must be a bit friendly with her. The lass is thankful for every kind word. Be quiet, Berthel, be quiet!
I want to go to father!
You're with mother now! Mother is good!—I'm reel satisfied that we has her with us. 'Twas the highest time. A bit longer an' we might ha' had to look for her in the graveyard.
That wasn't half as bad as you're tryin' to make out.
[In some consternation but still kindly.] What's the meanin' o' that?
[Pause.]
Well, good luck to you all. I'll have to be goin'.
Wait a bit an' drink a glass o' toddy.
If there were only some rum in the house!
Well, you can fetch it from Wermelskirch's!
I don't want to have nothin' to do with those people!
No, no. I got to go home. I got no time. I got to be ridin' half an hour yet. [To HANNE.] I don't want to be a bother to you.
Who mentioned such a thing?
[Humorously.] Nothin'! I didn't say nothin' at all. God forbid! I won't let myself in for nothin'. You're a hard customer. Good-bye an' good luck!
Good-bye, an' don't forget a greetin' to the wife!
[Already from outside.] All right! Good night! I won't forget nothin'.
[Exit.
Well, didn't I do the right thing this time?
What is I to say to people?
—You're not goin' to be ashamed o' your own daughter!
Who's sayin' I is, eh? 'Tis all the same to me! You're willin' to have 'em say evil o' me. You force 'em to it! [Harshly to the child.] Here, drink this milk! An' then off to bed with you! [BERTHEL drinks.]
Are you goin' to go on this way?
Go on how?
With the child!
I'm not goin' to bite her; there's no fear!
[She takes the still weeping child into the little room to bed.
[Speaking after her.] She's not here to be bitten. I needn't ha' brought her, you know!
[A brief pause, after which HANNE returns.
A man can't never know how to please you. There's no gettin' along with women folks. You always acted as if….
[With tears of rage.] That's a lie if you want to know it!
What's a lie!
[As above.] I never bothered you about Berthel. I never so much as mentioned her to you!
I didn't say you had. Why d'you howl so? On that account, because you didn't say nothin', I wanted to help you in spite o' your silence.
But couldn't you ha' asked? A man ought to say somethin' before he does a thing like that!
Well now, I'll tell you somethin': This is Saturday night. I hurried all I could so's to be at home again. I thought you'd meet me different! But if it's not to be, it can't be helped. Only, leave me in peace! You understand!
Nobody's robbin' you o' your peace.
D'you hear me? I want my peace an' that's all. You brought me to that point. I didn't think nothin' but what was good doin' this thing. Gustel is dead. She won't come back no more. Her mother took her to a better place. The bed is empty, an' we're alone. Why shouldn't we take care o' the little lass? That's the way I thinks an' I'm not her father! You ought to think so all the more, 'cause you're the child's mother!
There you are! You're beginnin' to throw it up to me this minute!
If you don't stop I'll go to Wermelskirch an' not come back all night! D'you want to drive me out o' the house?—I'm always hopin' things'll be different, but they gets worse … worse! I thought maybe if you had your child with you, you'd learn a little sense. If these goin's on don't end soon …
All I say is this: If she stays in the house an' if you tell people that she's mine …
They all know it! I don't have to tell 'em.
Then you c'n take your oath on it—I'll run away!
Run, run all you can—all you want to! You ought to be ashamed o' yourself to the bottom o' your heart!
The tap room in WERMELSKIRCH'S public house. A flat, whitewashed room with a door leading to the inner rooms of the house on the left. The rear wall of this room is broken, toward its middle. The opening leads to a second, smaller, oblong room. On the right wall of this second room there is a glass door leading out into the open and, farther forward, a window. On the rear wall of the main room the bar is situated, filled with square whisky-bottles, glasses, etc. The beer is also on draught there. Highly varnished tables and chairs of cherry wood are scattered about the room. A red curtain divides the two rooms. In the oblong rear room are also chairs and tables and, in the extreme background, a billiard table. Lithographs, representing mainly hunting scenes, are hung on the walls.
WERMELSKIRCH, in a dressing gown and smoking a long pipe, sits on the left, himself playing the piano. Three members of the voluntary fire-corps play billiards. In the foreground to the right HAUFFE sits brooding over a glass of whisky. He is noticeably shabby. MRS. WERMELSKIRCH, a gipsy-like, slovenly old woman, is rinsing glasses behind the bar. FRANZISKA is crouching on a window ledge at the right playing with a kitten. The waiter GEORGE is standing at the bar over a glass of beer. He has an elegant spring suit on, as well as patent-leather shoes, kid-gloves and a top-hat set far back on his head.
[Plays and sings.]
"When I was prince in realms Arcadian,I lived in splendour and in wealth."
[Who has accompanied the music by dancing gestures.] Go on, go on with, that!
[Coughing affectedly.] Can't be done! Quite hoarse! Anyhow … pshaw!… I'll try again.
"When I was prince …." [He coughs.]
"When I was prince in realms Arcadian,I lived in splen … I lived in splen … "!
The devil take it!
Aw, why don't you go on? That was quite right! That was fine!
I see myself trying! It's all over with me!
I don't understand you! That's the finest kind o' chamber music!
[Laughing.] Chamber music!
Well, maybe not! I don't know the differences so well. Hallo, MissFranziska, what are you laughin' at?
I'm laughing at your beautiful patent-leather boots.
Go right ahead! You don't expect me to go barefoot. Give that man over there a glass of beer. How would you like a bit o' cordial, Miss Franziska? You're right, my boots is pretty fine ones. They cost me twenty crowns. Why not? I c'n stand the expense; I'm able to do it! In the "Sword" hotel a man c'n at least earn somethin'. To be sure, while I was at the "Star" I couldn't ha' bought no boots like this.
So you like it better at the "Sword"?
I should say so! A boss like I got now, a reel good fellow—I never had before long's I've been in the business. We're like old friends—like brothers. I could say most anythin' to him!
Well, that's very different from Siebenhaar.
FRANZISKA laughs out.
An' that just shows you: Pride goeth before a fall. Two or three weeks an' he'll be under the hammer. Then I c'n buy myself his gold watch.
You'd better buy the whole house!
Not just now. You got to wait for the proper time to do a thing like that. An' anyhow, it's sold. Your health, gentlemen!… Your health, gentlemen! When you're through, I'll order more! What's the name o' the man that bought the house? Exner? Eh? He's goin' to bottle the spring water an' export it. He's goin' to rent out the hotel.—I'd rent it this minute if I had the money.
Why don't you go to Henschel? He'll give it to you.
That wouldn't be as much out o' the question as you thinks.
No, that a fac'! You're on pretty good terms with the wife!
[FRANZISKA laughs aloud.]
Well, why shouldn't I be. That there woman's not half bad. I tell you, a fellow that knows how, c'n make the women feed out o' his hand!
Well, if you know enough to make Mrs. Henschel feed out o' your hand, you must know your business pretty well. I'll say that for you.
FABIG enters, the cord of his pack around his shoulders. He sits down modestly in a corner.
Well, there you are; that's what I'm tellin' you! There's pretty few that could come up to me that way. But a man has to be on the lookout, or he'd get a good beatin' an' that's all!
Well, you're not through with it yet yourself. [SIEBENHAAR enters from the left.] Where Henschel strikes down the grass stops growing. Your servant, Mr. Siebenhaar!
[Somewhat pale.] Good morning!
I think I'll play a game o' billiards.
[He takes up his glass and disappears behind the curtain in the rear.
[Sitting down at a table near the piano.] Weren't you just singing, Mr. Wermelskirch? Don't let me interrupt you, please.
What? I? Singing? That's hardly possible! You know how deeply this business affects me. But if you say so it must be true. Permit me to sit down by you. Bring me a glass of beer, too, Franziska!
When one considers that you were completely hoarse three or four years ago, you must admit that you've recuperated remarkably.
You're quite right. But what good does it do me? I've half way crawled out of the slough. But who knows what'll happen now?
[Places a glass of beer before SIEBENHAAR; to WERMELSKIRCH:] I'll bring yours at once.
[Having drunk.] What do you mean by that, exactly?
I don't know that I can tell you very exactly what I do mean. But I feel something in my bones. I believe there'll be a change in the weather. Jesting aside—I have all kinds of omens that are familiar to an old actor. When the waters here began to do me so much good, I knew certainly that ten horses couldn't drag me away. And it wasn't a month before my road company had gone to smash. Now I suppose I'll have to wander on in the same old way again—who knows whither?
Who knows whither? That's the way of the world. As for me—I'm not sorry!
Ah, but you're a man in the prime of life. The world has a place for a man like you everywhere. It's different with an old fellow like me. If I lose my means of making a living, I mean, if I'm given notice, what is there left me, I'd like to know? I might actually get me a hurdy-gurdy and Franziska could go about and collect the pennies.
That wouldn't embarrass me a bit, papa!
Not if it were to rain gold pieces!
And, anyhow, papa, how you always talk! You could go back on the stage!
Not even at a monkey-show, girlie!
Did Mr. Exner intimate anything to you? According to what he told me he meant to leave everything pretty much as it is.
Well, I hardly belong to what could be summed up as "everything."
[Approaching the table in great excitement.] I must say, Mr. Siebenhaar, I must say … And you can take my word for it! I'm an old woman of fifty and I've seen a good deal of the world, but the way we've been treated here—that's really—I don't know what to call it—but it's just vulgar malice, the lowest kind of scheming, pure meanness. You can take my word for that!
Oh, mother, are you starting in too? You'd better withdraw, if you don't mind, and retire behind your barricade!
I'd like to know what our little Fanny did to that woman!
Oh, never mind, mama!
On the contrary! Are we to put up with everything? Isn't one to offer any resistance if that woman robs us of our very bread—if she spreads slander about our daughter? [To SIEBENHAAR.] Did the child ever offend you in any way?
Mama, mama! Come along now, mama, and rest a while. So! You spoke your part very well indeed. You can repeat it to-night.
[He leads her behind the bar where her sobbing is heard for some time after.
[Having resumed his seat.] She's quite right at bottom. I've heard all kinds of rumours too, to the effect that Henschel will rent the barroom. And, of course, his wife is behind that!
An' who else'd be back of it I'd like to know? If there's anythin' low happenin' in the village nowadays, you don't has to go an ax who's back of it! That Henschel woman's got the devil in her!
An' she's had her eye on the barroom this long time.
[ToHAUFFE.] One hardly ever sees you any longer, Hauffe? Where did you land?
Where d'you suppose? In misery an' hunger' An' who gave me the shove? That damned crittur of a woman! Who else'd do it, I'd like to know! I never had no trouble with Henschel!
His wife has the breeches on—that's all!
I wasn't quick enough for her no more. I'm not as young as I was—that's a fac'! An' I don't go hangin' aroun' no woman's apron strings neither. An' that there is what she wants. That's what you got to do with her! She's a hot one—you might say—she don't never get enough.—But as for workin': I c'n work! Them young fellers that she hires—they're that stinkin' lazy…. I could do as much as any three of 'em.
One feels sorry for old Henschel.
If he's satisfied, I don't care. But he ought to know why my bones is stiff! They didn't get stiff with lazyin' aroun', an' if that man has a chest full o' money to-day, he knows who it is that helped him earn a good lot of it!
I recall very well that you even worked for Wilhelm Henschel's father.
Well, who else but me! That's the way it is! An' I fed Wilhelm's horses eighteen years an' more—hitched 'em up an' unhitched 'em—went on trips summer an' winter. I drove 's far's Freiburg an' 's far's Breslau: I had to drive 'way to Bromberg. Many a night I had to sleep in the waggon. I got my ears an' my hands frost bitten: I got chilblains on both feet big as pears. An' now he puts me out! Now I c'n go!
That's all the woman's doin's: he's a good man.
Why did he go an' load hisself with that wench! Now he can look out for hisself! An' he couldn't hardly wait to do it decent. His first wife—she wasn't hardly cold when he ran to get married to this one!
Well, no one knew her, of course.
I knew her well enough. O Lord—that I did! If he'd ha' axed me, I could ha' told him! If he wanted to send Gustel after her mother, there wasn't no surer way for him to take: all he had to do was to make Hanne the child's step-mother.
Ah yes, yes … well, well … I'm not sayin' nothin' more. There's many a one has shaken his head about that! But that'll be comin' home to him some day. First people just wondered; now they'd believe anythin' of him.
That's undoubtedly mere idle talk.
The horse dealer WALTHER enters in riding boots, hunting jacket and cap. His whip is in his hand. He sits down at one of the tables and beckons FRANZISKA to bring him beer.
You c'n say that. Maybe it's true. But if the dead was to come back an' was to say their say—'tis old Mrs. Henschel that could tell you a thing or two. She couldn't live an' she didn't want to live! An' what's the main thing—she wasn't to live!
Hauffe, you'd better take care! If Henschel were to get wind of that …
I wouldn't have to take care if he did! I'd say that to anyone's face.Old Mrs. Henschel—she was meant to die! If they pisened her, I couldn'tsay; I wasn't on the spot. But that thing didn't happen no natural way.She was a well woman; she might ha' lived thirty years.
SIEBENHAAR drinks and rises.
I c'n bear witness that she was well. She was my own sister an' I ought to know. She was in the way an' had to go.
SIEBENHAAR leaves quietly.
Would you like a little snuff, gentlemen? [Softly and confidentially.] And don't you think, gentlemen, that you're going a little far? It seems so to me. I wish you would watch the man. He sat here till quite late yesterday. The man sighed so pitifully—there was no one else here—that I really felt very sorry for him.
'Tis his bad conscience that's botherin' him!
Don't talk to me about Henschel! I'm sick o' hearin' about him. He an' me—we're through with each other this long time.
No, no, Mr. Siebenhaar is right. One ought to feel sorry for him.
He c'n think about it what he pleases. I don't care. But what I ought to think about Henschel—there's nobody that need tell me nothin' about that!
HENSCHEL and the smith HILDEBRANT enter at the right. HENSCHEL is carrying little BERTHA, more neatly dressed than formerly, on his arm. A little pause of embarrassment falls upon the men.
Welcome, Mr. Henschel.
Good mornin', all of ye.
Well, Berthel, how are you?
Say thank you! Well, can't you talk?—We gets along. A body has to be satisfied. Good mornin', brother. [He stretches out his hand carelessly to WALTHER who takes it in the same fashion.] How are you? How's everythin'?
I gets along as usual. 'Twouldn't be bad if it was better! You're a reg'lar nurse girl nowadays!
True, true! 'Tis almost that!
You're hardly ever seen without the girl. Can't you leave her with her mother?
She's always scourin' an' workin'. The little thing is just in her way! [He sits down on a bench along the wall near the bar, not far from his brother-in-law. He keeps the little girl on his lap. HILDEBRANT sits down opposite him.] How is it, Hildebrant, what shall we have? I think we've earned a bumper o' beer? Two of 'em, then, an two glasses o' brandy.
That son of a—actually broke my skin!
Nothin' but a foal neither an' has the strength o'—… Good mornin',Hauffe.
Mornin'.
He's a bit surly. Let's not bother him.
Mr. Henschel, won't you buy something o' me? A needle box for the wife, maybe, or a pretty little comb to stick in the hair! [All laugh.] George, the waiter, he bought one too.
[Laughing good-naturedly with the others.] Don't you come botherin' me with your trash! [To WERMELSKIRCH.] Give him a measure o' beer!—'Tis a quaint little chap he is. Who is it?
'Tis Fabig from Quolsdorf, I think—the most mischievous little scamp in the county.
Well, I got a little native from Quolsdorf here too.
[To BERTHA.] We're good old friends, eh?
[To FABIG.] Why don't you dive me some nuts?
Aha, she knows who I is! I'll look an' see if I c'n find some!
Outside in the waggon!
No, they're here in my pocket! [He gives them to the child.] You see, you don't get out o' the pubs. Long ago your grandfather took you along; now you got to go about with Henschel.
[To BERTHA.] Tell him to attend to his bit o' trash! Tell him you're bein' looked out for! Tell him that!
GEORGE comes vivaciously out of the billiard room.
[Without noticing HENSCHEL.] Well,—I never saw the likes o' that! That there feller c'n eat glass like anythin'. Put it down on the reckoning, Miss Franziska: a lot o' beer! There's five o' us!
[Has taken BERTHA on her arm. She goes with the child behind the bar.] Bertha won't permit it; I can't do it now!
Good heavens, Mr. Henschel, there you are too!
[Without noticing GEORGE, to HILDEBRANT.] Your health, Hildebrant!
[They clink their glasses and drink.
[To GEORGE who, a little taken aback, lights his cigar at one of the tables.] Tell me this, mister George, you're a kind of a wizard, eh?
Well, I do declare! What makes you think so?
'Cause a while ago, you was gone like a light that's blown out.
Well, what's the use o' huntin' for disagreeable things. Siebenhaar an' me—we can't agree, that's all.
[With the gesture of boxing another's ears.] People do say that somethin' happened.—[Passing by, to HAUFFE.] Did you win in the lottery? eh?
You damned vermin!
Yes, that's just what I am.
Is it true that you're working down at Nentwich's now?
What business is it o' yours?
[Laughing and quite even-tempered.] Now look at that feller. He pricks like a weasel wherever you touches him.
I s'pose you'll be our host here pretty soon now?
[After he has glanced at him in astonishment.] That's the first ever I've heard of it!
Oh, I thought! I don't know exackly who 'twas that told me.
[Drinking: indifferently.] Whoever told you that must ha' been dreamin'!
[Pause.]
In this here house everythin' is bein' turned upside down now. An' what I says is this: You'll be all sighin' to have Siebenhaar back some day.
[To HAUFFE.] You might go over to Landeshut. I got two coach horses standin' there. You might ride them in for me.
The hell I will—that's what I'll do for you.
[Laughing and calmly.] Well, now you c'n sit there till you gets blue in the face. I won't concern myself that much about you!
You c'n keep busy sweepin' before your own door.
'Tis well, 'tis well. We'll let that there be.
You got filth enough in your own house!
Hauffe, I tell you right now: I wouldn't like to do it. But if you're goin' to start trouble here—I tell you that—I'll kick you out!
Peace, gentlemen! I beg of you: peace!
You're not the host here an' you can't kick nobody out! You has no more right to say anythin' here than me! I don't let you nor nobody tell me to hold my tongue. No, not you an' not your wife, no matter how you scheme, you two! That don't scare me an' don't bother me that much!
Without any show of anger, HENSCHEL grasps HAUFFE by the chest and pushes him, struggling in vain, toward the door. Just before reaching it he turns slightly, opens the door, puts HAUFFE out, and closes it again. During this scene the following colloquy takes place:
Let go, I tell you! I just warn you: let go!
Mr. Henschel, that won't do; I can't permit that!
I gave you fair warnin'! There's no help for you now.
Are you goin' to choke me? Let go, I tell you! You're not the host here!
[From behind the bar.] What's the meaning of this? That will never do, Ludwig! You can't permit yourself to be treated that way!
[While HENSCHEL, holding HAUFFE, is rapidly approaching the door.] You might as well let it be. There's nothin' to be done. That there man—he's like an athlete. He'll bite his teeth into the edge of a table, and he'll lift the table up for you so steady, you won't notice a glass on it shakin'. If he went an' took the notion, I tell you, we'd all be flyin' out into the street different ways!
HAUFFE has been put out, HENSCHEL returns.
[Resuming his seat amid a general silence.] He wouldn't give no rest—he's that stubborn.
[Who has come in out of the billiard room and drunk a glass of whisky at the bar.] I'd like to pay. A man had better go. In the end anybody might be flyin' out o' here, you know.
Yon take another glass of beer. That would be the last straw. After all,I am still master here.
If that's the way you're goin' to do, Henschel, when you stands behind the bar and runs this here place instead o' Wermelskirch—you won't keep many customers, I c'n tell you that!
Customers like that don't matter.
You won't be able to pick 'em out, though. Hauffe don't pay with counterfeit money neither.
He c'n pay anyway he wants to, for all I care. But I tell you again now: Don't start that there business over again. I won't be takin' this place at all. If I was goin' to take it, I ought to know better than anybody else. Well, then: if I'm ready to buy a pub some day—I'll let you know! Afterward you c'n give me your advice. An' if you don't like the place an' don't patronise it—well, then, Lord A'mighty, you don't has to!
The FIREMAN goes out slamming the door angrily behind him.
I s'pose it's just as well to go….
[He prepares to pay his score.
Mr. Henschel, surely that isn't right of you. You drive my customers out.
Well, my goodness! Now tell me: If that man runs out, what has I to do with it? For my part he can stay here till mornin'.
[Pocketing his money again.] You got no right to put anybody out o' here. You're not the host.
Anythin' else you know?
People knows a good deal. Only they rather keep still. Wermelskirch knows that best of all!
Why I exactly? Now, look here, that's …
[Firmly and collectedly.] What is't you know? Out with it! One o' you knows one thing an' another another, an' altogether you don't know that much!
[Pause.]
[In a changed tone.] If you were only the same man you used to be! But God only knows what's gotten into you! In those days you had a standin' among men. People came from far an' wide to get your advice. An' what you said, that was—you might say—almost like the law o' the land. 'Twas like Amen in church. An' now there's no gettin' along with you!
Go right ahead with your preachin'.
Very well, I s'pose you're noticin' it all yourself. Formerly, you had nothin' but friends. Nowadays nobody comes to you no more; an' even if they did want to come they stay away on account o' your wife. Twenty years Hauffe served you faithful. Then, suddenly, he don't suit your wife, an' you take him by the scruff an' put him out. What's the meanin' o' that! That woman has but to look at you an' you're jumpin' at her beck, instead o' goin' an' takin' a stout rope an' knockin' the wickedness out o' her!
If you don't keep still this minute—I'll take you by the scruff too.
[To HENSCHEL.] Don't forget yourself, whatever you do, Mr. Henschel! That man don't know no better, you see.
[Exit rapidly into the billiard room.
I believe, Henschel, if a man comes nowadays an' tells you the truth, you're capable o' flingin' him against the wall. But a feller like that, a worthless windbag like George—he c'n lie to you day an' night. Your wife an' he—they c'n compete with each other makin' a fool o' you! If you want to be cheated—all right! But if you got a pair o' eyes left in your head, open 'em once an' look around you an' look at that there feller good an' hard. Them two deceive you in broad daylight!
[About to hurl himself upon WALTHER, masters his rage.] What did you say—eh? Nothin'! Aw, it's all right.
[Pause.]
It's reg'lar April weather this day. Now the sun shines an' now it blows again.
[From without.] I'll pay you back for this! You watch out! You c'n let it be now! We'll meet again: we'll meet at court—that's where.
[Finishes his glass.] Good-bye. I'm meanin' well by you, Henschel.
[Lays his hand about WALTHER'S wrist.] You stay here! Y' understan'?
What is I to do here?
You'll see for yourself. All I says is: You stay! [To FRANZISKA.] Go down an' tell my wife she's to come up!
FRANZISKA goes.
But, dear Mr. Henschel, I beg you, for heaven's sake, don't cause a scandal here! The police will be coming at me next, and then …
[In an outburst of towering, withering rage—bluish-red of face.] I'll beat you all to death if Hanne don't come here—now!!!
[In helpless perplexity.] Wilhelm, Wilhelm, don' go an' commit some foolishness now! I wish I hadn't said nothin'. An' it didn't mean nothin'. You know yourself how people will talk!
Wilhelm, you're a good man. Come to your senses! My God, how you look!Think, man, think! Why, you fairly roared! What's the matter with you?That must ha' been heard all over the house!
Anybody c'n hear me now that wants to. But you stay here an' Hanne is to come here.
Why should I be stayin' here? I don't know what for! Your affairs—they don't concern me a bit. I don't mingle in 'em an' I don't want to!
Then you should ha' thought before you spoke!
Everythin' else that's between us'll be settled in court. There we'll see who's in the right. I'll get hold o' my money; never fear! Maybe you're wife'll think it over once or twice before she goes an' perjures herself. The rest don't concern me. I tell you to let me go. I has no time. I has to go to Hartau, an' I can't be kept waitin' here.
SIEBENHAAR re-enters.
What's happened here?
Goodness, gracious, I don't know! I don't know what Mr. Henschel wants!
[Who continues to imprison WALTHER'S wrist.] Hanne is to come here: that's all.
[To SIEBENHAAR.] The men were drinking their beer quite peacefully. Suddenly Mr. Henschel came in and began a dispute as though he were master here.
[With a deprecating gesture.] All right; all right. [To HENSCHEL.] What's happened to you, Henschel?
Mr. Siebenhaar, it's no fault o' mine. I couldn't help things comin' about this way. You may think what you please, Mr. Siebenhaar. I give you my word—'twasn't my fault.
You needn't excuse yourself to me, Henschel. I know you're a man of peace.
Yes. I was in your father's service long ago, an' even if it looks that way a thousand times over—it wasn't my fault that this here has happened. I don't know myself what I has done. I never was quarrelsome—that's certain! But now things has come about …! They scratch an' they bite at me—all of 'em! An' now this man here has said things o' my wife that he's got to prove—prove!!—or God help him!
Why don't you let the people gossip?
Proofs! Proofs! Or God help him!
I can prove it an' I will. There are not many people in this room that don't know it as well as I. That there woman is on an evil way. 'Tis no fault o' mine, an' I wouldn't ha' mentioned it. But I'm not goin' to let you strike me. I'm no liar. I always speaks the truth! Ask it of anybody! Ask Mr. Siebenhaar here on his honour an' conscience! The sparrows is twitterin' it on every roof—an' worse things 'n that!
Think over what you're saying carefully, Walther.
He forces me to it! Why don't he let me go? Why is I to suffer for other people? You know it all as well as I? How did you used to stand with Henschel in other years when his first wife was alive? D'you think people don't know that? An' now you don't cross his threshold.
The relations between us are our private affair. And I will not permit remark or interference.
All right. But if first his wife dies, though she's as well as anybody, an' when Gustel goes an' dies eight weeks later, then, I'm thinkin' it's more'n a private affair!
What?—Hanne is to come!
MRS. HENSCHEL enters suddenly and quickly, just as she has come from her work and still drying her hands.
What're you roarin' about so?
'Tis well that you're here.—This man here says—
[Makes a movement as if to go.] Damned rot that it …
You're to stay here!
Are you all drunk together? What're you thinkin' of, anyhow? D'you thinkI'm goin' to stay here an' play monkey tricks for you?
[She is about to go.
Hanne, I advise you … This man here says …
Aw, he c'n say what he wants to, for all I cares!
He says that you deceive me before my face an' behind my back!
What? What? What? What?
That's what he says! Is he goin' to dare to say that? An' that … my wife …
Me? Lies! Damned lies!
[She throws her apron over her face and rushes out.
That I … that my wife … that we together … that our Gustel … 'Tis well! 'Tis well!
[He releases WALTHER'S hand and lets his head sink, moaning, on the table.
I won't be made out a liar here.
The same room as in the first three acts. It is night, but the moonlight throws a moderate brightness into the room. It is empty. Several days have passed since the occurrences in the fourth act.
A candle is lit in the small adjoining room; at the end of a few seconds HENSCHEL enters, carrying the candle in a candlestick of tin. He wears leathern breeches but his feet are cased in bedroom slippers. Slowly he approaches the table, gazes hesitatingly first backward, then toward the window, finally puts the candlestick on the table and sits down by the window. He leans his chin on his hand and stares at the moon.
[Invisible, from the adjoining chamber, calls:] Husband! Husband! What are you doin' out there?—the same mortal foolishness all the time! —[She looks in, but half-clad.] Where are you? Come 'n go to bed! 'Tis time to sleep! To-morrow you won't be able to go out again! You'll be lyin' like a sack o' meal and everythin' 'll go upside down in the yard. [She comes out, half-clad as she is, and approaches HENSCHEL hesitatingly and fearfully.] What are you doin', eh?
—Me?
Why are you sittin' there an' not sayin' a word?
I'm lookin' at the clouds.
Oh, no, my goodness; it's enough to confuse a person's head! What's to beseen up there, I'd like to know! The same worry, night after night.There's no rest in the world for nobody no more. What are you starin' at?Say somethin', won't you?
Up there!… That's where they are!
You're dreaming, eh? You, Wilhelm, wake up! Lay down in your bed an' go to sleep. There's nothin' but clouds up there!
Anybody that has eyes c'n see what there is!
An' anybody that gets confused in his mind goes crazy.
I'm not confused.
MRS. HENSCHEL I'm not sayin' that you are! But if you go on actin' this way, you will be!
[She shivers, pulls on a jacket, and stirs the ashes in the oven with a poker.
What time is it?
A quarter of two.
You've got a watch hangin' to you; it used to hang behind the door.
What fancies is you goin' to have next? 'Tis hangin' where it always did.
[Rising.] I think I'll go over to the stables a bit.
I tells you to go to bed, or I'll raise an alarm. You got nothin' to do in the stable now! 'Tis night, an' in bed is where you belong!
[Remains standing quietly and looking at HANNE.] Where's Gustel?
What are you botherin' for? She's lyin' in bed asleep! What are you always worritin' over the girl for? She don't lack for nothin'! I don't do nothin' to her!
She don't lack for nothin'. She's gone to bed. She's gone to sleep betimes—Gustel has. I don't mean Berthel.
[Wailing, stuffs her apron into her mouth.] I'll run away! I won't stay here!
—Go to bed, go! I'll come too. Your cryin' can't help no more now. 'Tis our Lord alone knows whose fault it is. You can't help it; you don't need to cry.—Our Lord an' me—we two, we knows.
[He turns the key in the door.
[Hastily turning it back again.] Why d'you lock the door? I won't stand bein' locked in.
I don't rightly know why I turned the key.
Them people has gone an' addled your brains for you! They'll have to answer some day for the things they've put into your head! I took as good care o' your girl as I did o' my own. She wouldn't ha' died o' that! But I can't wake the dead. If a body is to die, she dies—in this world. There's no holdin' people like that; they has to go. There never was much strength in Gustel—you know that as well as I. Why do you go axin' me an' lookin' at me as if I done God knows what to her!
[Suspiciously.] Maybe you did somethin'. 'Tis not impossible.
[Beside herself.] Oh, if somebody'd foretold this—I'd ha' gone beggin' my bread first. No, no, O my goodness, if I'd ha' known that! To have to listen to things like that! Didn't I want to go? An' who kept me back? Who held me fast in the house here? I could ha' made my livin' any time! I wasn't afraid; I could always work. But you didn't let up. Now I got my reward. NowIgot to suffer for it!
'Tis true, maybe, that you has to suffer for it. Things comesasthey come. What c'n a body do?
[He locks the door again.
You're to leave the door open, Wilhelm, or I'll cry for help!
—Sh! Keep still! Did you hear? There's somethin' runnin' along the passage. D'you hear? Now it goes to the washstand. D'you hear the splashin'? She's standin' there an' washin' herself!
You! Wilhelm! You're dreamin'! The wash-stand is in here!
That's just it! I know very well! They can't deceive me. I know what I know, [Hurriedly.] That's all I say.—Come, come, let's go to bed. Time'll show.
[While he approaches the door of the next room, Mrs. HENSCHEL softly unlocks the door to the hall and slips out.
[Taking down a whip from the frame of the door.] Why, that's my old Triest whip! Where does that old thing come from? I haven't seen it for over a year. That was bought in mother's time. [He listens.] What d'you say? Eh?—O' course … Certainly.—Nothin'!—Well, s'posin'! An' why not? 'Tis well!—I know what I has to do!—I won't be stubborn.—You let that be too.
SIEBENHAAR enters by the door which is slightly ajar. By means of gestures he signifies to WERMELSKIRCH, who follows him, that the latter is to remain behind, also to MRS. HENSCHEL. He is fully clad except that he wears a silk kerchief instead of a collar. WERMELSKIRCH is in his dressing-gown.
Good evening, Mr. Henschel! What? Are you still up? You're not well, eh?What's the matter with you?
[After he has, for several seconds, regarded him with perplexity; simply:] I just can't sleep. I don't get sleepy at all! I'd like to take some medicine, if I knew any. I don't know how it comes. God knows!
I'll tell you somethin', old friend: You go quietly to bed now, and to-morrow, real early, I'll send the doctor in. You must really take some serious step now.
No doctor won't be able to help me.
You mustn't say that; we'll see about that! Doctor Richter knows his business. My wife couldn't sleep for weeks; her head ached as if it would burst. Last Monday she took a powder, and now she sleeps all night like the dead.
Yes, yes … well, well … 'Tis possible! I'd like it well enough if I could sleep.—Is the madam reel sick?
Oh, we're all a little under the weather. When once Monday is past, everything will straighten out again.
I s'pose you has to turn over the property on Monday.
Yes, I hope it will be possible to arrange it by Monday. In the meantime the work is heaping up so—what with writing and making the inventory—that I scarcely get out of my clothes. But come now, Henschel, and go to bed. One man has one trouble and another has another. Life is no joke and we must all see how we can best fight our way through. And even if many strange thoughts pass through your head—don't take them to heart so!
Thank you many times, Mr. Siebenhaar. Don't take anythin' in ill part, please. An' good luck to you an' your wife!
We'll see each other again to-morrow, Henschel. You owe me no thanks for anything. We've done each other many a service in the years that we've lived together here. And those services compensate for each other. We were good friends and, surely, we will remain such.
[Silently takes a few steps toward the window and looks out.]—Ah, them's queer things here. Time don't stand still in this world. Little Karl, he never came to see us no more … I can't make no objection. Maybe you was right. The lad couldn't ha' learned nothin' good here. 'Twas different—once!
Henschel, I don't know what you mean now!
An' you didn't cross my threshold neither. 'Tis nine months since you did.
I had too much to worry me; that's all.
Those were the very times you used to come before. No, no, I know. You were right. An' the people are right too—all of 'em. I can't take no pride in myself no more.
Henschel, you must take some rest now.
No, no; we c'n talk about it a bit. You see, I know 'tis all my fault—I know that, an' with that we can let it be. But before I went an' took this woman—Hanne, I mean—before that it all began … slowly it began, slowly—but downhill right along. First thing, a good bonehandled whip broke. After that, I remember it right well, I drove over my dog an' he died. 'Twas the best little dog I had. Then, one right after another, three o' my horses died; an' one of 'em was the fine stallion that cost me five hundred crowns. An' then, last of all … my wife died. I noticed it well enough in my own thoughts that fate was against me. But when my wife went away from me, I had a minute in my own mind when I thought to myself: Now it's enough. There's not much else that c'n be taken from me. But you see, there was somethin' else.—I don't want to talk about Gustel. A man loses first his wife an' then a child—that's common. But no: a snare was laid for me an' I stepped into it.
Who laid a snare for you?
Maybe the devil; maybe, too, somebody else. It's throttlin' me—that's certain.
[Pause.]
That's a most unhappy notion of yours …
An' I'm denyin' nothin'. A bad man I've come to be, only it's no fault o' mine. I just, somehow, stumbled into it all. Maybe it's my fault too. You c'n say so if you want to. Who knows? I should ha' kept a better watch. But the devil is more cunnin' than me. I just kept on straight ahead.
Henschel, you're just your own worst enemy. You're fighting phantoms which have no existence at any time or place. The devil has done nothing to you, nor have you stepped into any snare. And no one is throttling you either. That is all nonsense. And such fancies are dangerous.
We'll see; we c'n wait an' see.
Well, tell me something definite. You won't be able to do it, however you try. You are neither bad, as you say, nor are you burdened by any guilt.
Ah, I know better.
Well, what is your guilt?
Here stood the bed. An' she was lyin' in it. An' here I gave her my promise. I gave her my promise an' I've broken it!
What promise was that?
You know well enough!—I broke it an' when I did that, I was lost. I was done for. The game was up.—An' you see: now she can't find no rest.