That's possible, all right. There ain't nothin' impossible inthisworld, I tell you.
Well, then! Now, what did you want to announce?
A little girl, your honour.
I will do all that is possible.
I won't let the matter rest until I get back my coat.
Well, whatever can be done will be done. Mrs. Wolff can use her ears a little.
The trouble is I don't know how to act like a spy. But if things like that don't come out—there ain't no sayin' what's safe no more.
You are quite right, Mrs. Wolff, quite right. [To WEHRHAHN.] I must ask you to examine that package carefully. The handwriting on the slip that was found in it may lead to a discovery. And day after to-morrow morning, your honour, I will take the liberty of troubling you again. Good morning!
[Exit.
Good morning.
[Exit.
[To WULKOW.] How old are you?—There's something wrong with those two fellows up here. [He touches his forehead. To WULKOW.] What is your name?
August Philip Wulkow.
[To MITTELDORF.] Go over to my apartment. That Motes is still sitting there and waiting. Tell him I am sorry but I have other things to do this morning.
An' you don't want him to wait?
[Harshly.] No, he needn't wait!
[MITTELDORF, exit.
[To MRS. WOLFF.] Do you know this author Motes?
When it comes to people like that, your honour, I'd rather go an' hold my tongue. There ain't much good that I could tell you.
[Ironically.] But you could tell me a great deal that's good about Fleischer.
He ain't no bad sort, an' that's a fac'.
I suppose you're trying to be a bit careful in what you say.
No, I ain't much good at that. I'm right out with things, your honour. If I hadn't always gone an' been right out with what I got to say, I might ha' been a good bit further along in the world.
That policy has never done you any harm with me.
No, not with you, your honour. You c'n stand bein' spoken to honest.Nobody don't need to be sneaky 'round you.
In short: Fleischer is a man of honour.
That he is! That he is!
Well, you remember my words of to-day.
An' you remember mine.
Very well. The future will show. [He stretches himself, gets up, and stamps his feet gently on the floor. To WULKOW.] This is our excellent washerwoman. She thinks that all people are like herself. [To MRS. WOLFF.] But unfortunately the world is differently made. You see human beings from the outside; a man like myself has learned to look a little deeper. [He takes a few paces, then stops before her and lays his hand on her shoulder.] And as surely as it is true when I say: Mrs. Wolff is an honest woman; so surely I tell you: this Dr. Fleischer of yours, of whom we were speaking, is a thoroughly dangerous person!
[Shaking her head resignedly.] Well, then I don't know no more what to think …
FIELITZ,Shoemaker and Spy. Near sixty years old.
MRS. FIELITZ,formerly MRS. WOLFF, his wife. Of the same age.
LEONTINE,her oldest daughter by her first marriage; unmarried; near thirty.
SCHMAROWSKI,Architect.
LANGHEINRICH,Smith. Thirty years old.
RAUCHHAUPT,retired Prussian Constable.
GUSTAV,his oldest son, a congenital imbecile.
MIEZE, LOTTE, TRUDE, LENCHEN, LIESCHEN, MARIECHEN, TIENCHEN, HANNCHEN,his daughters.
DR. BOXER,a vigorous man of thirty-six. Physician. Of Jewish birth.
VON WEHRHAHN,Justice.
EDE,Journeyman at LANGHEINRICH'S.
GLASENAPP,Clerk in the Justice's Court.
SCHULZE,Constable.
MRS. SCHULZE,his aunt.
TSCHACHE,Constable.
The work shop of the shoemaker FIELITZ. A low room with blue tinted walls. A window to the right. In each of the other walls a door. Under the window at the right a small platform. Upon it a cobbler's bench and a small table. On the latter a stand upholding three spheres of glass filled with water. Near them stands an unlit coal-oil lamp. In the corner, left, a brown tile oven surrounded by a bench and kitchen utensils of various kinds.
SHOEMAKER FIELITZ is still crouching over his work. On the platform and around it old shoes and boots of every size are heaped up. FIELITZ is hammering a piece of leather into flexibility.
MRS. FIELITZ (formerly MRS. WOLFF) is thoughtfully turning over in her hands a little wooden box and a stearin candle. It is toward evening, at the end of September.
You get outta this here shop. Go on now!
[Briefly and contemptuously.] Who d'you think'll come in here now? It's past six.
You get outta the shop with that trash o' yours.
I wish you wouldn't act so like a fool. What's wrong about this here little box, eh? A little box like this ain't no harm.
[Working with enraged violence.] It's somethin' good, ain't it now?
[Still thoughtfully and half in jest.] The sawdust comes up to here … An' then they go an' put a candle plumb in the middle here …
Look here, ma, you're too smart for me! If that there smartness o' yours keeps on, I see myself in gaol one o' these days.
[Harshly.] I s'ppose you can't listen a bit when a person talks to you. You might pay some attention when I talks to you. Things like that interest a body.
I takes an interest in my boots, an' I don't take no interest in nothin' else.
That's it! O Lordy! That'd be a nice state for us. We'd all go an' starve together. Your cobblin'—there's a lot o' good in that!—They puts the candle in here. Y'understand? This here little box ain't big enough neither. That one over there would be more like. Let's throw them children's shoes out.
[She turns a box full of children's shoes upside down.
[Frightened.] Don't you go in for no nonsense, y'understand?
An' then when they've lit the candle—… then they stands it up in the middle o' the box, so's it can't burn the top, o' course. Then you puts it, reel still, up in some attic—Grabow didn't do that different neither—right straight in a heap o' old trash—an' then you goes quiet to Berlin, an' when you comes back …
Ssh! Somebody's comin'! Ssh!
An' the devil hisself can't go an' prove nothin' against you.
[A protracted silence.
If it was as simple as all that! But that ain't noways as easy as you thinks. First of all there's got to be air-holes in here. O' course this here awl—: that'll do for a drill. That thing's got to have a draught, if you want it to catch! If there ain't no draught, it just smothers! Fire's gotta have a draught or it won't burn. Somebody's got to lend a hand here as knows somethin'.
Well, that'd be an easy thing for you!
[Forgetting his point of view in his growing zeal.] There's gotta be a draught here an' another here! An' it's all gotta be done just right! An' then sawdust an' rags here. An' then you go an' pour some kerosene right in.—There ain't nothin' new in all that. I was out in the world for six years.
Well, exactly. That's what I been sayin'.
You c'n do that with a sponge an' you c'n do that with a string. All you gotta do is to steep 'em good an' hard in saltpetre. An' you c'n light that with burning glasses. It c'n be done twenty steps away!—All that's been done before now. There ain't nothin' new in all that to me. I know all about it.
An' Grabow's built up again. If he hadn't gone an' taken his courage in both hands, he'd ha' been in the street long ago.
That's all right, if a man's in trouble like water up to his neck an' is goin' to be drowned. Maybe then …
An' there's many as lets the time slip till he is drowned.
[The doorbell rings.
Go an' put the box away an' then open the door.
JUSTICE VON WEHRHAHN enters, wearing a thick overcoat, tall boots and a fur cap.
Evening, Fielitz! How about those boots?
They's all right, your honour.
You better go an' get a little light so's Mr. von Wehrhahn can see somethin'.
Well, how is everything and what are you doing, Mrs. Wolff?
I ain't no Mrs. Wolff no more.
She's grown very proud, eh, Fielitz? She carries her head very high? She feels quite set up?
Hear that! Marryin's gone to my head? I could ha' lived much better as a widder.
[Who has drawn the lasts out of WEHRHAHN'S boots.] Then you might ha' gone an' stayed a widder.
If I'd ha' known what kind of a feller you are, I wouldn't ha' been in no hurry. I could ha' gotten an old bandy-legged crittur like you any day o' the week.
Gently, gently!
Never you mind her. [With almost creeping servility.] If you'll be so very kind, your honour, an' have the goodness to pull off your right boot. If you'll let me; I c'n do that. So. An' if you'll be so good now an' put your foot on this here box.
[Holding the burning lamp.] An' how is the Missis, Baron?
Thank you, she's quite well. But she's still lamenting her Mrs. Wolff …
Well, you see, I couldn't do that no more reely. I washed thirty years an' over for you. You c'n get enough o' anything in that time, I tell you. I c'n show you my legs some day. The veins is standin' out on 'em, thick as your fist. That comes from the everlastin' standin' up at the tub! An' I got frost boils all over me and the rheumatiz in every limb. They ain't no end to the doctorin' I gotta do! I just gotta wrap myself up in cotton, an' anyhow I'm cold all day.
Certainly, Mrs. Wolff, I can well believe that.
There was a time an' I'd work against anybody. I had a constitootion! You couldn't ha' found one in ten like it. But nowadays … O Lord! Things is lookin' different.
You c'n holler a little louder if you want to.
I can't blame you, of course, Mrs. Fielitz. Any one who has worked as you have may well consider herself entitled to some rest.
An' then, you see, things keep goin'. We got our livin' right along. [She give FIELITZ a friendly nudge on the head.] An' he does his part all right now. We ain't neither of us lazy, so to speak. If only a body could keep reel well! But Saturday I gotta go to the doctor again. He goes and electrilises me with his electrilising machine, you know. I ain't sayin' but what it helps me. But first of all there's the expenses of the trip in to Berlin an' then every time he electrilises me that costs five shillin's. Sometimes, you know, a person, don't know where to get the money.
You go ahead an' ram your money down doctors' throats!
[Treads firmly with his new shoe.] None of us are getting any younger, Mrs. Fielitz. I'm beginning to feel that quite distinctly myself. Perfectly natural. Nothing to be done about it. We've simply got to make up our minds to that.—And, anyhow, you oughtn't to complain. I heard it said a while ago that your son-in-law had passed his examinations very well. In that case everything is going according to your wishes.
That's true, of course, an' it did make me reel happy too. In the first place he'll be able to get along much better now that he's somethin' like an architect … an' then, he deserved it all ways.—The kind o' time he had when he was a child! Well, I ain't had no easy time neither, but a father like that …
Schmarowski is a fellow of solid worth. I never had any fears for him. Your Adelaide was very lucky there.—You remember my telling you so at the time. You came running over to me that time, you recall, when the engagement was almost broken, and I sent you to Pastor Friederici:—that shows you the value of spiritual advice. A young man is a young man and however Christian and upright his life, he's apt to forget himself once in a while. That's where the natural function of the spiritual adviser comes in.
Yes, yes, I s'ppose you're right enough there. An' I'll never forget what the pastor did for us that time! If Schmarowski had gone an' left the girl, she'd never have lived through it, that's certain.
There we've got an instance of what happens when a church and a pastor are in a place. The house of God that we've built together has brought many a blessing. So, good evening and good luck to you.—Oh, what I was going to say, Fielitz: the celebration takes place on Monday morning. You will be there surely?
Naturally he'll come.
Sure an' certain.
I would hardly know what to do without you, Fielitz. In the meantime, come in for a moment on Sunday, I'm proposing certain points … certain very marked points, and we must pull together vigorously. So, good evening! Don't forget—we've got to have a strong parade.
That's right. You can't do them things without one.
[Exit WEHRHAHN.
You go an' take that candle out! Will you, please?
You're as easy scared as a rabbit, Anton! That's what you are—a reg'lar rabbit.
She takes the candle out of the little box. Almost at the same moment RAUCHHAUPT opens the door and looks in.
Good evenin'. Am I intrudin'?
— — — —
Aw, come right into our parlour!
Ain't Langheinrich the smith come in yet?
Was he goin' to come? No, he ain't been here.
We made a special engagement.—I brought along the cross too. Here, Gustav! Bring that there cross in! [GUSTAV brings in a cross of cast iron with an inscription on it.] Go an' put it down on that there box.
[Quickly.] No, never mind, Edward, that'll break.
Then you c'n just lean it against the wall.
So you got through with it at last. [Calls out through the door.]Leontine! You come down a minute!
Trouble is I had so much to do. I'm buildin' a new hot house, you know.
Another one, eh? Ain't that a man for you! You're a reg'lar mole,Rauchhaupt. The way that man keeps diggin' around in the ground.
A man feels best when he's doin' that. That's what we're all made of—earth: an that's what we're all goin' to turn to again. Why shouldn't we be diggin' around in the earth? [He helps himself from the snuff-box which FIELITZ holds out to him.] That's got a earthy smell, too, Fielitz. That smells like good, fresh earth.
LEONTINE enters. A pair of scissors hangs by her side; she has a thimble on her finger.
Here I am, mama. What's up?
He just brought in papa his hephitaph.
LEONTINE and MRS. FIELITZ regard the cross thoughtfully.
Light the candle for me, girl. [She hands her the tallow-candle with which she has been experimenting.] We wants to study the writin' a bit.
I fooled around with that thing a whole lot. But I got it to please me in the end. You c'n go an' look through the whole cemetery three times over and you'll come away knowin' this is the finest inscription you c'n get. I went an' convinced myself of that.
[He sits down on the low platform and fills his nose anew with snuff.
MRS. FIELITZ holds the lighted lamp and puzzles out the inscription.
Here rests in …
[Reading on.] In God.
That's what I said: in God. I was goin' to write first: in the Lord. But that's gettin' to be so common.
[Reads on with trembling voice.] Here rests in God the unforgotten carpenter … [Weeping aloud.] Oh, no, I tell you, it's too awful! That man—he was the best man in the world, he was. A man like that, you c'n take my word for it, you ain't likely to find no more these days.
[Reading on.] … the unforgotten carpenter Mr. Julian Wolff …
[She snivels.
—Don't you be takin' on now, y'understand? No corpse ain't goin' to come to life for all your howlin'. [He hands the whiskey bottle to RAUCHHAUPT.] Here, Edward, that'll do you good. Them goin's on don't.
[He gets up and brushes off his blue apron with the air of a man who has completed his day's work.
[Pointing with the bottle.] Them lines there I made up myself. I'll say 'em over for you; listen now:
"The hearts of all to sin confess" …
'Tain't everybody c'n do that neither!—
"The hearts of all to sin confess,The beggar's and the king's no less.But this man's heart from year to yearWas spotless and like water clear."
[The women weep more copiously. He continues.] I gotta go over that with white paint. An' this part here about God is goin' to be Prussian blue.
[He drinks.
The smith LANGHEINRICH enters.
[Regarding LEONTINE desirously.] Well now, look here, Rauchhaupt, old man, I been lookin' for you half an hour! I thought I was to come an' fetch you, you chucklehead.—Well, are you pleased with the job?
Oh, go an' don't bother me, any of you! If a person loses a man like that one, how's she goin' to get along with you jackasses afterwards!
Come on, man, an' pull up a stool. You just let her get back to her right mind.
[With sly merriment.] That's right, I always said so myself: this here dyin' is a invention of the devil.
We was married for twenty years an' more. An' there wasn't so much as one angry word between us. An' the way that man was honest. Not a penny, no,—he never cheated any man of a penny in all his days. An' sober! He didn't so much as know what whiskey was like. You could go an' put the bottle before him an' he wouldn't look at it. An' the way he brought up his children! Whatd'youthink about, but playin' cards and swillin' liquor …
Gustav is poking out his tongue at me.
[_Takes hold of a cobbler's last and throws himself enragedly upon GUSTAV, who has been making faces at LEONTINE and has poked out his tongue at her.] You varmint! Ill break your bones!—That rotten crittur is goin' to be the death o' me yet. I just gets so mad sometimes I think it's goin' to be the death o' me.
The poor crittur ain't got his right senses.
I wish to God the dam' brat was dead. I'll get so dam' wild some day, if he ain't, that I'll go an' kill my own flesh an' blood.
I'd go an' have him locked up in the asylum. Then you don't have the worry of him no more. D'you want me to write out a petition for you?
Don't I know all about petitions? What does they say then: he ain't dangerous bein' at large.—The whole world ain't nothin' but a asylum. It ain't dangerous, o' course, that he fires bricks at me, an' unscrews locks and steals house keys—oh, no, that ain't considered dangerous. No, an' it's all right for him to eat my tulip bulbs. I c'n just go ahead an' do the best I can.
How did that happen at Grabow's the other day—I mean when his inn the"Prussian Eagle" burned down?
Aw, Grabow, he needed just that. It wasn't no Gustav that set that there fire. He wasn't needed there.
They say he's always playin' with matches.
Gustav an' matches? Aw, that's all right. If he c'n just go an' hunt up matches some place, trouble ain't very far off. You know I needs coverin's for my hot house plants; so I built a kind of a shed. I stored the straw in there. Well, I tell you, Mrs. Fielitz, that there idjit went an' burned the shed down. It was bright day an' o' course nobody wasn't thinkin', an' I got loose boards all over my lot. The shed crackled right off. It wasn't more'n a puff! But Grabow—he took care o' his fire hisself.
I'd give notice about a thing like that, Rauchhaupt—I mean burnin' down the shed.
I don't get along so very well with Constable Schulze. That's often the way with people in your own profession. I was honourably retired. He don't like that. He ain't sooted with that. All right; all that may be so. An' that I own my own lot, an' that my old woman died. Sure, it ain't no use denyin' it! I made a few crowns outta all that. An' that my gardenin' brings in somethin'—well, he don't like to see it. So then it's easy to say: Rauchhaupt? He don't need no help. He c'n take care o' hisself. An' that's the end of it.
Fred Grabow, he's all right now!
[Eagerly.] An' he's got me to thank for it. Only thing is, I pretty near got into a dam' mess myself that time. You see, I'm captain of the hook an' ladder. Well, I says to my boys, says I:—I don't know but I must ha' had more'n I could carry. The whole crowd was pretty well full!—Well, I says to my boys: Sail right in an' see that there ain't a stone left standin', 'cause if there is, Grabow'll get one reduction of insurance after another an' then the whole thing ain't no good to him. I guess I hollered that out a bit too loud. So when I takes a step or two backward I thinks all hell's broke loose, 'cause there stands Constable Schulze an' stares at me. Your health, says I, your health, captain!—Grabow, you know, was treatin' to beer!—An' then Schulze was real sociable and took a drink with me.
It's queer that nothin' don't come out there. That fellow ain't a bit cute. How did he manage to do it?
Everybody likes Fritz Grabow.
He ain't got sense enough to count up to three. An' anyhow he had to go an' take oath.
Takin' oath? Aw, that ain't so much! I'll just tell you how 'tis, 'cause you never can't tell. Who knows about it? Anybody might have to do that some day. All you do is to twist off one o' your breeches buttons while you goes ahead and swears reel quiet. You just try it. That's easy as slidin'.
[General laughter.
He's got one o' his jokin' spells again. I won't have to go an' twist off a button, I c'n tell you. Things can't get that way with me.—But tell me this: whose turn is it goin' to be now? It's about time for somebody, you know. Somethin's got to burn pretty soon now.
It could be most anybody. Things is lookin' pretty poor over at Strombergers. The rain's comin' right down into his sittin' room,—Well, good evenin'. A man's got to have his joke.
But who's goin' to drink my hot toddy now?
You stay right where you are!
Can't be done. I gotta be goin'. [He puts an arm around LEONTINE, who frees herself carelessly and with a contemptuous expression.]—If mother don't hear my hammerin' downstairs she'll be swimmin' away in tears an' the bed with her when I gets home.
That's nothin' but jealousy, mama.
Maybe it is, an' maybe she's got reason. You go on up to your work.—How is the Missis?
Pretty low. What c'n you expect?
You'll be drivin' me to work till I gets consumption.
If you get consumption, it won't be your dress-makin' that's the cause of it. You act as much like a ninny as if you was a man.
[Putting his arms around MRS. FIELITZ.] Come now, young woman, don't be so cross! Young people wants to have their fling—that's all. An' they'll have it, if it's only with Constable Schulze.
[Exit.
Now what's the meanin' o' that?
Wait there a minute an' I'll join you.
[He gets up and motions to GUSTAV, who lifts the iron cross again.
Why d'you go an' run off all of a sudden?
I gotta go an' get rid o' some work.
[_Exit with GUSTAV.
What's the trouble with you an' Langheinrich again? You act like a fool—that's what you do!
There ain't no trouble. I want him to leave me alone.
He'll be willin' to do that all right! If you're goin' to turn up your nose an' wriggle around that way, you won't have to take much trouble to get rid o' him. He don't need nothin' like that!
But he's a married man.
So he is. Let him be. You got no sense 'cause you was born a fool. You got a baby and no husband; Adelaide's got a husband an' no baby.
[LEONTINE goes slowly out.
If she'd only go an' take advantage o' her chances. There ain't no tellin' how soon Langheinrich'll be a widower.
I don't know's I like to see the way Constable Schulze runs after that girl.
[Sententiously.] You can't run your head through no stone walls. [She sits down, takes out a little notebook and turns its leaves.] You got a office. All right. Why shouldn't you have? Things isasthey is. But havin' a office you got to look out all around. You just let Constable Schulze alone! Did you read the letter from Schmarowski?
Aw, yes, sure. I got enough o' him all right. I wish somebody'd given me the money—half the money—that feller's had the use of. But no: nobody never paid no attention to me. Nobody sent me to no school o' architecture.
I'd like to know what you got against Schmarowski! You're pickin' at him all the time.
Hold on! Not me! He ain't no concern o' mine. But every time you open your mouth I gets ready to bet ten pairs o' boots that you're goin' to talk about Schmarowski.
Did he do you any harm, eh? Well?
No, I can't say as he has. Not that I know. An' I wouldn't advise him to try neither. Only when I sees him I gets kind o' sick at my stomick. You oughta have married him yourself.
If I had been thirty years younger—sure enough.
Well, why don't you go an' move over to your daughter then! Go right on! Hurry all you can an' go to Adelaide's. Then they got hold of you good and tight an' you c'n get rid o' your savin's.
That's an ambitious man. He don't have to wait, for me; that's sure!—there ain't no gettin' ahead with your kind. Instead o' you fellows helpin' each other, you're always hittin' out at each other. Now Schmarowski—he's a wide-awake kind o' man. No money ain't been wasted on him. You needn't be scared: he'll make his way all right.—But if you knew just a speck o' somethin' about life, you'd know what you'd be doin' too.
Me? How's that? Why me exactly?
What was it that there bricklayer boss told me? I saw him one day when he was full; they was just raisin' that church. He says: Schmarowski, says he, that's a sly dog. An' he knew why he was sayin' that. Them plans o' his takes 'em all in.
I ain't got no objection to his takin' 'em in.
He ain't the kind o' man to sit an' draw till he's blind an' let the bricklayers get all the profit.
Well, I ain't made the world.
No, nor you ain't goin' to stop it neither.
An' I don't want to.
You ain't goin' to stop it, Fielitz—not the world an' not me. That's settled.—
[She has said this in a slightly ironical way, yet with a half embarrassed laugh. She now puts away her little book excitedly.
I can't get to understand reel straight. I'm always thinkin' there's somethin' wrong with you.
Maybe there was somethin' wrong with Grabow too, eh? I s'ppose that's the reason he's livin' in his new house this day.—I wish there'd be somethin' like that wrong with you onct in a while. But if somebody don't pull an' poke at you, you'd grow fast to the stool you're sittin' on.
[With decision.] Mother, put that there thing outta your mind. I tell you that in kindness now. I ain't goin' to lend my help to no such thing. Because why? I knows what that means. Is I goin' to jump into that kind of a mess again? No, I ain't young enough for that no more.
Just because you're an old feller you oughta be thinkin' about it all the more. How long are you goin' to be able to work along here. You don't get around to much no more now. You cobbled around on Wehrhahn's shoes! It took more'n two weeks.
Well, mother, you needn't lie that way.
That cobblin' o' yours—that ain't worth a damn. I ain't much good no more an' you ain't. That's a fact. I don't excep' myself at all. An' if people like us don't go an' get somethin' they c'n fall back on, they got to go beggin' in the end anyhow. You c'n kick against that all you want to.
It's a queer thing about you, mother. It's just like as if the devil hisself got a hold o' you. First it just sort o' peeps up, an' God knows where it comes from. Sometimes it's there an' sometimes it's gone. An' then it'll come back again sudden like an' then it gets hold o' you an' don't let you go no more. I've known some tough customers in my time, mother, but when you gets took that way—then I tell you, you makes the cold shivers run down my back.
[Has taken out her notebook again and become absorbed in it.] What did you think about all this? We're insured here for seven thousand.
What I thought? I didn't think nothin'.
Well, there ain't any value to this place excep' what's in the lot itself.
[Gets up and puts on his coat.] You just leave me alone, y'understand?
Well, ain't it true? You just stop your foolin'. I seen that long ago, before we was ever married. Schmarowski told me that ten times over, that this here is the proper place for a big house. An' anybody as has any sense c'n see that it's so. Now just look for yourself: over there, that's the drug shop! An' a bit across the way to the left is the post office. An' then a little ways on is the baker an' he's built hisself a nice new shop. Four noo villas has gone up and if, some day, we gets the tramway out here—we'll be right in the midst o' things.
[About to go.] Good evenin'.
Are you goin' out this time o' day?
Yes, 'cause I can't stand that no more.—If I'd known the kind of a crittur you are … only I didn't know nothin' about it … I'd ha' thought this here marryin' over a good bit—yes, a good bit.
You? Is that what you'd ha' thought over, eh?
Is I goin' to let myself be put up to things like that?…
A whole lot o' thinkin' over you'd ha' done! You ain't done any thinkin' all the days o' your life. A great donkey like you … an' thinkin'. Well! A fine mess would come of it if you took to thinkin'.
Mother, I axes you to consider that …
Put you up? To what? What is I puttin' you up to?—This here old shed is goin' to burn down sometime. It's goin' to burn down one time or 'nother, if it don't first come topplin' down over our heads. It's squeezed in here between the other houses in a way to make a person feel ashamed, if he looks at it.
Mother, I axes you to consider …
Aw, I wish you'd clear out o' the front door this minute! I'm goin' to pack up my things pretty soon too. An' you c'n go over to the justice for all I care. I been puttin' you up to things, you know!
Mother, I axes you to consider that … Look out that you don't go an' get a black eye! 'Cause I, if I …
[With a gesture as though about to push him out.] Get out! Just get out! It'll be good riddance! The sooner the better! What are you dawdlin' for?
[Beside himself.] Mother, I'll hit you one across the … You're goin' to put me out, eh? What? Outta my shop? Is this here your shop? I'll learn you! Just wait!
Well, I'm waitin'. Why don't you start? You're that kind of a man, are you? Come right on! Come on now! You got the courage! I'll hold my breath or maybe I'd blow you right into Berlin.
[Hurls a boot against the wall in his impotent rage.] I'll break every stick in this here shop! To hell with the whole business: that's what I says! I must ha' been just ravin' mad! There I goes an' burdens myself with a devil of a woman like that, an' I might ha' lived as comfortable as can be! She killed off one husband an' now I'm dam' idjit enough, to take his place! But you're goin' to find out! It ain't goin' to be so easy this time! I'll first kick you out before I'll let you get the best o' me! Not me! No, sir! You c'n believe that!
You needn't exert yourself that much, Fielitz …
Not me! Not me! You c'n depend on that! You ain't agoin' to down me! You c'n take my word for it.
[He sits down, exhausted.
Maybe you might like throwin' some more boots. There's plenty of 'em around here—I s'ppose you married me for love, eh?
God knows why I did!
If you'll go an' study it out, maybe you'll know why. Maybe it was out o' pity? Eh? Maybe not.—Or maybe it was the money I had loaned out?—Well, you see! I s'ppose that was it.—You c'n live a hundred years for my part! But it's always the same thing. 'Twasn't much different with Julius neither. If things had gone his way, I wouldn't have nothin' saved this day neither. The trouble is a person is too good to you fellers.
An' outta goodness you want me to go an' take a match an' set fire to the roof over my head?
You knew that you'd have to go an' build. I said that to myself right off, an' buildin' costs money. There ain't no gettin' away from that fact. An' the few pennies we has ain't more'n a beginnin'. If we had what you might call a real house here … Schmarowski, he'd build us one that'd make all the others look like nothin' … you could have a fine shop here. We might put a few hundred dollars into it an' sell factory shoes. If you'd want to take in repairing you could get a journeyman an' put him here. An' if you wanted to go an' make some new shoes yourself, you could take the time for all I care.
I don't know! I s'ppose I ain't got sense enough for them things. I thought I'd get hold o' a bit o' money … I thought I'd be able to lay out a bit o' money! Buildin' a little annex of a shop—that's good fun. I thought it all out to myself like—with nice shelves and things like that … an' I planned to hang up a big clock an' such. An' now you sit on your money bag like an old watch dog.
That money—it ain't to be thrown away so easy. 'Twas earned too bitter hard for that.
… You forgets that I've been in trouble before. Is I to go an' get locked up again?
Never mind, Fielitz, to-morrow is another day. A person mustn't go an' take things that serious! I was more'n half jokin' anyhow.—Go over to Grabow's an' drink a glass o' beer!… We must all be satisfied's best we can. An' even if you can't go an' open a shoe shop, an' even if you gotta worry along cobblin' an' can't buy no clock—well, a good conscience is worth somethin' too.
The smithy of LANGHEINRICH. The little house protrudes at an angle into the village street. The shed that projects over the smithy is supported by wooden posts. The empty space below the shed is used for the storage of tools and materials. Wheels are leaned against the wood, a plough, wheel-tyres, pieces of pig iron, etc. An anvil stands in the open, too, and several working stools. From behind the house, jutting out diagonally, a wooden wagon is visible. The left front wheel has been taken off and a windlass supports the axle.
Through the door that leads to the shop one sees smithy fires and bellows.
Opposite the smithy, on the left side of the village street which, taking a turn, is lost to view in the background, there is a board fence. A small locked gate opens upon the street.
A cloudy, windy day.
DR. BOXER, in a slouch hat and light overcoat, stands holding a heavy smith's hammer at arm's length. EDE has a horseshoe in his right hand, a smaller hammer in his left, and is looking on.
[Counts.] … twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four an' one makes twenty-five an' another makes twenty-six.—Great guns, you're ahead o' me now. An' twenty-seven, an' twenty-eight, an' twenty-nine an' thirty. My respects, Doctor. That's all right. Is that the effect o' the sea air?
It may be. You see I haven't quite forgotten the trick.
No, you haven't. That's pretty good. Now let's try it with weights, though. I c'n hold up a hundred an' fifty pounds, Doctor. How about yourself?
I don't know. It remains to be seen.
What? You think you c'n lift a hundred weight an' a half? You're a little bit of a giant, ain't you? You didn't learn that on board ship. I thought you travelled as a sawbones an' not as a strong man!—Look at that little man over there goin' into Mrs. Fielitz' house. That's her son-in-law.
He looks very much like a bishop.
Right enough! That's what he is—Bishop Schmarowski.—You c'n knock! The old woman's out and she took her cobbler with her. There won't be nothin' to get there to-day.—You see, Doctor, when that fellow goes there he wants money. If he weren't hard up he wouldn't come.
The Fielitzes went in to Berlin to-day; I met them this morning at the railway station. Tell me:heisn't quite right in his mind, is he?
How so? That wasn't never noticed. He's a pretty keen fellow … No, I couldn't say thathe'scrazy.
He talked a mixture of idiotic nonsense and looked away from me while he was talking. The fellow looked like an evil conscience personified. But I don't suppose he has a conscience.
By the way: that time they came down on you an' made a search in your house—that fellow Fielitz had his hand in it. He helped get you into that pickle.
[MRS. SCHULZE puts her head out at the attic window.
Ede!
What?
Ain't Mr. Langheinrich back yet?
Well, o' course he is, naturally. [MRS. SCHULZE disappears and EDE withdraws under the shed.] Quick! Take this hammer, will you, Doctor, an' hammer away a bit. If you kept up your strength the way you have, you ain't forgot about that neither.
I went at locksmith's work like the deuce when there was nothing to do on board ship. That gave me a very good chance.
You're a doctor an' you're a smith an' … I guess you're a sausage maker too!
I even made sausages once.
Nobody didn't want to eat them, I guess.
I wouldn't have advised any one to do so either. The sausages were mainly filled with arsenic. The rats scarcely left us space to turn around in.
[About to set to work.] Ugh! That wouldn't be no kind o' sausage for me. Come now, Doctor, go at it! We wants the missis to think that two people is workin' here or she'll never stop axin' questions.
Where did Langheinrich go so early?
That's a secret all right—the kind o' secret that all the sparrows on the gutters is chirpin'.—Doctor, roll that wheel over here, will you? You got a chance now to deserve well, as they says, o' the Prussian state, 'cause this here waggon belongs to the government forester.—That sort o' thing can't do you no harm.
No. And anyhow I ought to stand in with people.
[He rolls the wheel slowly along; it escapes him and glides backwards.
That ain't so easy. Them people has long memories. [He catches the wheel.] Hold on there! No goin' backward! I'm for progress, I am, Doctor! I'm willin' to fight for that!
But you must be careful of your fingers. [He puts on a leathern apron.]Is Langheinrich going to be gone long?
[Whistles.] That depends on how hard it is!
Why do you whistle so significantly?
That's a gift o' my family. All my eleven brothers an' sisters is musicians. I'm the only one that's a smith. [For a space both work at the wheel in silence. Then EDE continues.] 'Twouldn't be a bad stage play, I tell you. You wouldn't have to be scared o' riskin' somethin' on that. You'd make money! That's somethin' fine—specially for young people! You been away here a good long while, that's the reason you don't know what's what. I could tell you a few little things that happen around here in bright daylight.—D'you know that Leontine?
Very sorry indeed, but I don't.
No? An' then you pretend that this is your home an' don't know that girl.Somethin' wrong with you!
Oh, yes, yes, Leontine! Mrs. Wolff's daughter! I once got the deuce of a flogging on her account.
Well, I wish you'd ha' been here two hours ago. Well, first of all that same girl slouched by here … No! First of all her mother an' father went away …'twasn't more'n dawn yet! Then Leontine at about eight. She looked all around an' waited an' made lovin' eyes in this direction an' then walked by. You should ha' seen Langheinrich. "Sweetheart, where are you goin'?"—Then, after a while comes Constable Schulze and goes after her.—That was too much for Langheinrich. Off with his apron an' there he goes, quick 's a stag. That's the way it was. You could ha' observed that: the rest ain't to be observed.—There's Langheinrich hurryin' back now. [He at once sets zealously to work and pretends to discover LANGHEINRICH, who is approaching hastily and vigorously at this moment.] Well, at last! Good thing you're here! No end o' askin' after you. Did you catch her?
[Brusquely.] Catch what?
I meant the 'bus.
Hold your…! I had business to attend to.—Well now, I'll give a dollar if this here ain't Dr. Boxer! Why, how are you? How are things goin'? An' what are you doin' nowadays? Did your ship come in? You been away now—lemme see—that must be three years, eh? Sure. That's … well, time passes.
I want to settle down here, Langheinrich. That is to say, I have that intention if it's possible. I should like to try my luck at home for a change.
Things is best at home, that's right. O' course, there's one here now, a doctor I mean, but he ain't good for much. They say somethin' queer happened to him onct—got his ears boxed too hard or somethin'. An' they say that made him kind o' melancholious. That ain't much good for his patients! No sick man can't get well through that. I'll send for you, Doctor, if I need help.
I'll extract my first dozen wisdom teeth free of charge. So you'll be glad if you don't need me soon.
Well, I … fact is … my wife is sick.
MRS. SCHULZE comes hurriedly from the house.
It's a mighty good thing that you're here. D'you hear? That whimperin' goes right on.
Doctor, I'm goin' to ax you somethin' now: d'you know any cure for jealousy? You see, it's this way: We had a baby, an' I'd be lyin' if I said I wasn't mighty well pleased. An' why shouldn't I be? But now my wife is sick. She can't get up an' she don't want me to budge from the side o' her bed. She screams an' she scolds an' she reproaches me. Sometimes I reely don't know what to do no more.
You better go upstairs a bit first.
Do give him a chance to get his breath!
Oh, pshaw! Never you mind! I c'n attend to that right off.
[After he has taken off his hat and coat and slipped on wooden shoes he hurries into the house.
Well, what d'you think o' that?
He's a cheerful soul—more so, if possible, than he used to be. It does one good to find a man that way.
Only that I axed after Leontine, that riled him more'n a little bit all right.
[To EDE, watchfully:] Where was the boss so early this mornin'?
In Lichtenberg, attendin' a dance.
The treatment that woman's gettin' is all wrong, Doctor. I don't mix in what don't concern me. But the way she's treated, that ain't no kind o' treatment, I c'n tell you. I told that Majunke man too that the missis was goin' to the dogs this way.
But Dr. Majunke is very capable. I know him to be an excellent physician.
[Interrupting.] Sure, sure, an' that's true. 'Course he's capable. That's right, an' so he is. But, you see, he just won't prescribe nothin' …
What should he prescribe? Let the people save their money.
But that's just what people don't want to do. It's like this: medicine's got to be. If there ain't none they says: how c'n the doctor help us?
Mrs. Langheinrich never was strong. Even years ago when she used to sew for us …
That's the way it is. She's a little bit humpbacked; that's right. That's the way women is, though, Doctor! A seamstress—that's what she was…! She sewed an' she sewed and saved up a little money…! An' what kind of a bargain is it she's got now. A handsome feller an' sickness an' worry an' no rest no more by day or night.
LANGHEINRICH returns from the house.
[Tapping MRS. SCHULZE'S shoulder somewhat roughly.] Hurry now! Go on up! It's all arranged an' settled. To-morrow I'm goin' to take her to the clinic.
That ain't goin' to be no easy work!
[Lifts a great can of water to his mouth.] I can't help that. Things is as they is. [He takes an enormously long draught from the tin can. Putting it down:] Ede, drive them ducks away!