She seems to possess a good deal of energy.
Stubbornness.
Deep feeling, too?
Too much at times …
But if the conditions here are so unfortunate for her, why doesn't your sister-in-law live withyourfamily?
You'd better ask her that! I've often enough made her the offer. Women have these fancies, that's all. [Holding the cigar in his mouth, HOFFMANN takes out a note-book and adds a fete items.] You'll forgive me, won't you, if I have to leave you alone after a while?
Assuredly.
How long do you think of stay—
I mean to look for a lodging very soon. Where does Schimmelpfennig live?The best thing would be to go to see him. He wouldprobablybe able tosecure one for me. I hope that I'll soon find a suitable place, otherwiseI'll spend the night at the inn next door.
Why should you? Of course you'll stay with us till morning, at least. To be sure, I'm only a guest in this house myself, otherwise I'd naturally ask you to … you understand?
Perfectly.
But do tell me, were you really quite serious when you said …
That I would spend the night at an inn…?
Nonsense … Of course not!… I mean what you mentioned a while ago—that business about your ridiculous descriptive essay?
Why not?
I must confess that I thought you were jesting. [He gets up and speaks confidentially and half-humorously.] Now, you don't mean to say you're really capable of undermining the ground here where a friend of yours has been fortunate enough to get a firm foothold?
You may take my word for it, Hoffmann; I had no idea that you were here.If I had known that …
[Jumps up, delighted.] Very well, then; very well. If that's the way things are. And I assure you I'm more than glad that I was not mistaken in you. So now you do know that I am here. It goes without saying that I'll make up to you all your travelling expenses and all extras. No, you needn't be so excessively delicate. It's simply my duty as a friend … Now I recognise my excellent old friend again. But I tell you: for a time I had very serious suspicions of you … Now you ought to know this, however. Frankly, I'm not as bad as I sometimes pretend to be, not by any means. I have always honoured you, you and your sincere, single-minded efforts. And I'm the last man to fail to attach weight to certain demands of the exploited, oppressed masses, demands which are, most unfortunately, only too well justified.—Oh, you may smile. I'll go further and confess that there is just one party in parliament that has any true ideals, and that's the party to which you belong! Only—as I said before—we must go slowly, slowly!—not try to rush things through. Everything is coming, surely coming about exactly as it ought to. Only patience! Patience …
One must have patience. That is certain. But one isn't justified on that account in folding one's hands in idleness.
Exactly my opinion.—As a matter of fact my thoughts have oftener been in accord with you than my words. It's a bad habit of mine, I admit, I fell into it in intercourse with people to whom I didn't always want to show my hand…. Take the question, of woman, for instance … You expressed a good many things quite strikingly. [He has, in the meantime, approached the telephone, taken up the receiver and now speaks alternately into the telephone and to LOTH.] My little sister-in-law, by the way, was all ear … [Into the telephone.] Frank! I want the carriage in ten minutes … [To LOTH.] You made an impression on her … [Into the telephone.] What—oh, nonsense!—well, that beats everything … Then hitch up the black horses at once … [To LOTH.] And why shouldn't you?… [Into the telephone.] Well, upon my…! To the milliner, you say? The madame? The ma—! Well, very well, then. But at once! Oh, very well! Yes! What's the—! [He presses the button of the servants' bell. To LOTH.] You just wait. Give me a chance to heap up the necessary mountain of shekels, and maybe you'll see something happen … [EDWARD has entered.] Edward, my leggings, my walking-coat! [EDWARD withdraws.] Maybe something will happen then that you fellows wouldn't believe of me now … If, at the end of two or three days—you must stay with us so long by all means—I'd consider it a real insult if you didn't—[he slips out of his dressing-gown]—if, at the end of two or three days, you're ready to go. I'll drive you over to the train.
EDWARD enters carrying gaiters and walking-coat.
[Permitting himself to be helped on with the coat.] So-o! [Sitting down on a chair.] Now the boots. [After he has pulled on one of them.] There's number one!
Perhaps you didn't quite understand me after all.
Surely, that's quite possible. A fellow gets out of touch with things.Nothing but musty business affairs. Edward, hasn't the mail come yet?Wait a minute!—Do go up into my room. You'll find a document in a bluecover on the left side of my desk. Get that and put it into the carriage.
EDWARD goes through the door at the right, reappears through the middle-door and then withdraws.
I simply meant that you hadn't understood me in one particular respect.
[Worrying his foot into the other shoe.] Ouch! There! [He rises and stamps his feet.] There we are. Nothing is more disagreeable than tight shoes … What were you saying just now?
You were speaking of my departure …
Well?
But I thought I had explained that I must stay here for a specific purpose.
[In extreme consternation and thoroughly indignant at once.] Look here!… That comes near being caddish!—Don't you know what you owe me as your friend?
Not, I hope, the betrayal of my cause!
[Beside himself.] Well then—in that case—I haven't the slightest motive for treating you as a friend. And so I tell you that I consider your appearance and demeanour here—to put it mildly—incredibly impudent.
[Quite calmly.] Perhaps you'll explain what gives you the right to use such epithets …
Yon want an explanation of that? That is going to an extreme! Not to feel a thing like that it's necessary to have a rhinoceros-hide instead of skin on one's back! You come here, enjoy my hospitality, thresh out a few of your thread-bare phrases, turn my sister-in-law's head, go on about old friendship and other pleasant things, and then you tell me quite coolly: you're going to write a descriptive pamphlet about the local conditions. Why, what do you take me to be, anyhow? D'you suppose I don't know that these so-called essays are merely shameless libels?… You want to write a denunciation like that, and about our coal district, of all places! Are you so blind that you can't see whom such a rag would harm most keenly? Only me, of course! I tell you, the trade that you demagogues drive ought to be more firmly stamped out than has been done up to now! What is it you do? You make the miners discontented, presumptuous; you stir them up, embitter them, make them rebellious, disobedient, wretched! Then you delude them with promises of mountains of gold, and, in the meantime, grab out of their pockets the few pennies that keep them from starving!
Do you consider yourself unmasked now?
[Brutally.] Oh, pshaw! You ridiculous, pompous wind-bag! What do you suppose I care about being unmasked by you?—Go to work! Leave off this silly drivelling!—Do something! Get ahead! I don't need to sponge on any one for two-hundred marks!
[He rushes out through the middle door.
For several moments LOTH looks calmly after him. Then, no less calmly, he draws a card case out of his inner pocket, takes a slip of paper therefrom—HOFFMANN'S cheque—and tears it through several times. Then he drops the scraps slowly into the coal-bin. Hereupon he takes his hat and cane and turns to go. At this moment HELEN appears on the threshold of the conservatory.
[Softly.] Mr. Loth!
[Quivers and turns.] Ah, it is you.—Well, then I can at least say farewell toyou.
[In spite of herself.] Did you feel the need of doing that?
Yes! I did feel it, indeed. Probably, if you were in there, you heard what has taken place here, and—in that case….
I heard everything.
In that case it won't astonish you to see me this house with so little ceremony.
No-o! I do understand—! But I should like you to feel less harshly toward my brother-in-law. He always repents very quickly. I have often….
Quite possibly. But for that very reason what he has said just now probably expresses his true opinion of me.—In fact, it is undoubtedly his real opinion.
Do you seriously believe that?
Oh, yes, quite seriously. And so…. [He walks toward her and takes her hand.] I hope that life will be kind to you. [He turns but at once stops again.] I don't know…! or rather:—[he looks calmly and directly into HELEN'S face]—I do know, I know—at this moment the knowledge becomes clear—that it is not so easy for me to go away from here … and … yes … and … well, yes…!
But if I begged you—begged you truly—from my heart … to stay a little longer—
So you do not share Hoffmann's opinion?
No!—and that—that is just what I wanted to be sure—quite sure to tell you, before … before—you—went.
[Grasps her hand once more.] It helps memuchto hear you say that.
[Struggling with herself. Her excitement mounts rapidly and to the point of unconsciousness. She stammers out half-chokingly.] And more, oh, more I wanted to … to tell you … that I esteem and … and … honour you as … I've done no … man before … that I trust … you … that I'm ready to … to prove that … that I feel toward you …
[She sinks, swooning into his arms.
Helen!
The farmyard, as in the second act. Time: a quarter of an hour after HELEN'S avowal.
MARIE and GOLISCH the cowherd drag a wooden chest down the stairs that lead to the loft. LOTH comes from the house. He is dressed for travelling and goes slowly and thoughtfully diagonally across the yard. Before he turns into the path that leads to the inn, he comes upon HOFFMANN, who is hurrying toward him through the gateway.
[In top hat and kid gloves.] Don't be angry with me. [He obstructsLOTH'S way and grasps both of his hands.] I take it all back herewith… Mention any reparation you demand … I am ready to give you any!…I'm most truly, most sincerely sorry.
That helps neither of us very much.
Oh, if you would just … Look here, now…! A man can't well do more than that. I assure you that my conscience gave me no rest! I turned back just before reaching Jauer…. That should convince you of the seriousness of my feeling. Where were you going?
To the inn—for the moment.
Oh, that's an affront you simply can't offer me … no, you mustn't—simply, I believe that I did hurt you badly, of course. And probably it's not the kind of thing that can be wiped out with just a few words. Only don't rob me of any chance … of every possibility to prove to you … D'you hear? Now turn back and stay at least—at least until to-morrow. Or till … till I come back. I want to talk it all over with you at leisure. You can't refuse me that favour.
If you set so much store by it all….
A great deal!… on my honour!… I care immensely. So come, come! Don't run away!
[He leads LOTH, who offers no further resistance, back into thehouse.
The dismissed maid and the boy have, in the meantime, placed the chest on a wheelbarrow and GOLISCH has put on the shoulder strap.
[Slipping a coin into GOLISCH'S hand.] There's somethin' fer you.
[Refusing it.] Keep yer penny.
Aw! Ye donkey!
Well, I don't care.
[He takes the coin and puts it into his leathern purse.
[Appears at one of the windows of the house and calls out:] Marie.
What d'ye want now?
[Appearing almost immediately at the door of the house.] The madame's willing to keep you, if you promise….
A stinkin' lot I'll promise her. Go on, Golisch!
[Approaching.] The madame is willing to increase your wages, if you…. [Whispering suddenly.] What d'ye care, girl! She just gits kinder rough now an' then.
[Furiously.] She c'n keep her dirty money to herself!—[Tearfully.] I'd rather starve! [She follows GOLISCH, who has preceded her with the wheelbarrow.] Naw, just to think of it!—It's enough to make you….
[She disappears, as does MRS. SPILLER.
Through the great gate comes BAER called HOPPING BAER. He is a lank fellow with a vulture's neck and goitre. His feet and head are bare. His breeches, badly ravelled at the bottom, scarcely reach below the knee. The top of his head is bald. Such hair as he has, brown, dusty, and clotted, hangs down over his shoulders. His gait is ostrich-like. By a cord he draws behind him a child's toy waggon full of sand. His face is beardless. His whole appearance shows him to be a god-forsaken peasant lad in the twenties.
[With a strangely bleating voice.] Sa—a—and! Sa—a—and!
He crosses the yard and disappears between the house and the stables. HOFFMANN and HELEN come from the house. HELEN is pale and carries an empty glass in her hand.
[To HELEN.] Entertain him a bit! You understand? Don't let him go. I should hate to have him.—Injured vanity like that!… Good-bye!… Oh, maybe I oughtn't to go at all? How is Martha doing?—I've got a queer kind of feeling as if pretty soon…. Nonsense!—Good-bye! … awful hurry!… [Calls out.] Franz! Give the horses their heads!
[Leaves rapidly through the main gate.
HELEN goes to the pump, fills her glass and empties it at one draught. She empties half of another glass. She then sets the glass on the pump and then strolls slowly, looking backward from time to time, through the gate-may. BAER emerges from between the house and the stables and stops with his waggon before the house door, where MIELE takes some sand from him. In the meantime KAHL has become visible at the right, beyond the dividing fence. He is in conversation with MRS. SPILLER, who is on the hither side of the fence and therefore close to the entrance of the yard. As the conversation proceeds, both walk slowly along the fence.
[Mildly agonised.] Ah yes—m—Mr. Kahl! I have—m—many a time thought of—m—you when … when our—m—dear Miss Helen … She is so to—m—speak betrothed to you and so—m—ah! I—m—must say … in my time…!
[Mounts a rustic bench under the oak-tree and fastens a bird trap to the lowest branch.] When is th-that b-beast of a doctor goin' to git out o' here? Ha?
Ah, Mr. Kahl! I don't—m—think so very soon.—Ah, Mr. Kahl, I—m—have, so to speak, come—m—down in the world, but I—m—know—m—what refinement is. In this respect, Mr. Kahl, I—must say—dear Miss Helen isn't—m—acting quite right toward you. No—m—in that respect, so to speak—m—I've never had anything with which to—m—reproach myself—m—my conscience, dear Mr. Kahl, is as pure in that—m—respect—so to speak, as new-fallen snow.
BAER has finished the sale of his sand and, at this moment, passes by KAHL in order to leave the yard.
[Discovers BAER and calls out.] Heres hopping Baer! Hop a bit!
BAER takes a, huge leap.
[Bellowing with laughter.] Here, hopping Baer! Hop again!
Well—m—Mr. Kahl, what I want to say is—m—I have the best—m—intentions toward you. You ought to observe very—m—carefully. Something—m—is going on between our young lady and—m—
If I could j-jist git my d-dogs on that son of a—… Jist once!
[Mysteriously.] And I'm afraid you—m—don't know what kind of an individual that—m—is. Oh, I am so—m—truly sorry for our dear young lady. The wife of the bailiff—she has it straight from the office, I think. He is said to be a—m—really dangerous person. The woman said her husband had—m—orders, just think! actually—m—to keep his eye on him.
LOTH comes from the house and looks about.
You see, now he is going—m—after our young lady. Oh, it'stoosad—m—for anything.
Aw! You wait an' see!
[Exit.
MRS. SPILLER goes to the door of the house. In passing LOTH she makes a deep bow. Then she disappears into the house.
LOTH disappears slowly through the gateway. The coachman's wife, an emaciated, worried, starved woman, emerges from between the house and the stables. She carries a large pot hidden under her apron and slinks off toward the cow-shed, looking about fearfully at every moment. She disappears into the door of the stable. The two MAIDS, each before her a wheel-barrow laden with clover, enter by the gate. BEIPST, his pipe in his mouth and his scythe across his shoulder, follows them, LIESE has wheeled her barrow in front of the left, AUGUSTE hers in front of the right door of the barn, and both begin to carry great armfuls of clover into the building.
[Coming back out of the stable.] Guste! D'ye know, Marie is gone.
Aw, don' tell me!
Go in there'n ask the coachman's wife. She's gittin' her a drop o' milk.
[Hangs up his scythe on the wall.] Ye'd better not let that Spiller creature get wind o' it.
Oh, Lord, no! Who'd think o' it!
A poor woman like that with eight—
Eight little brats. They wants to be fed!
An' they wouldn't give her a drop o' milk even. It's low, that's what I calls it.
Where is she milkin'?
Way back there.
[Fills his pipe. Holding his tobacco-pouch with his teeth he mumbles.] Ye say Marie's gone?
Yes, it's true an' certain. The parson's hired man slept with her.
[Replacing the tobacco-pouch in his pocket.] Everybody feels that way sometimes—even a woman. [He lights his pipe and disappears through the gateway. In going:] I'm goin' fer a bit o' breakfast.
[Hiding the pot full of milk carefully under her apron, sticks her head out of the stable door.] Anybody in sight?
Ye c'n come if ye'll hurry. There ain't nobody. Come! Hurry!
[Passing by the maids.] It's fer the nursin' baby.
[Calling out after her.] Hurry! Some one's comin'.
THE COACHMAN'S WIFE disappears between the house and the stable.
It's only the young Miss.
The maids now finish unloading their wheelbarrows and then thrust them under the doorway. They both go into the cow-shed.
HELEN and LOTH enter by the gate.
A disgusting fellow—this Kahl—an insolent sneak.
I think in the arbour in front—[They pass through the small gate into the little garden by the house and into the arbour.] It's my favourite place, I'm less disturbed there than anywhere if, sometimes, I want to read something.
It's a pretty place.—Really. [Both sit down in the arbour, consciously keeping at some distance from one another. An interval of silence. Then LOTH.] You have very beautiful and abundant hair.
Yes, my brother-in-law says so too. He thought he had scarcely seen anyone with so much—not even in the city … The braid at the top is as thick as my wrist … When I let it down, it reaches to my knees. Feel it. It's like silk, isn't it?
It is like silk.
[A tremour passes through him. He bends down and kisses her hair.
[Frightened.] Ah, don't. If …
Helen! Were you in earnest a while ago?
Oh, I am so ashamed—so deeply ashamed. What have I done? Why, I've thrown myself at you. That's what I've done. I wonder what you take me for?
[Draws nearer to her and takes her hand in his.] Ah, you mustn't letthattrouble you.
[Sighing.] Oh, if Sister Schmittgen knew of that—I dare not imagine it.
Who is Sister Schmittgen?
One of my teachers at boarding-school.
How can you worry about Sister Schmittgen!
She was very good.
[Laughing heartily to herself suddenly.
Why do you laugh all at once?
[Half between respect and jest.] Oh, when she stood in the choir and sang—she had only one long tooth left—then she was supposed to sing: "Trouble yourselves not, my people!"—and it always sounded like: "'Rouble, 'rouble yourselves not, my people!" It was too funny. And we always had to laugh so … when it sounded through the chapel: "'Rouble, 'rouble!" [She laughs more and more heartily. LOTH becomes infected by her mirth. She seems so sweet to him at this moment that he wants to take the opportunity to put his arms about her. HELEN wards him off.] An, no! no! Just think! I threw myself at you!
Oh, don't say such things!
But it isn't my fault; you have only yourself to blame for it. Why do you demand …
LOTH puts his arm about her once more and draws her closer to him. At first she resists a little, then she yields and gazes, with frank blessedness, into the joyous face of LOTH which bends above her. Involuntarily, in the awkwardness of her very timidity, she kisses his mouth. Both grow red; then LOTH returns her kiss. His caress is long and heartfelt. A giving and taking of kisses—silent and eloquent at once—is, for a time, all that passes between them. LOTH is the first to speak.
Nellie, dearest! Nellie is your name, isn't it?
[Kisses him.] Call me something else … call me what you like best …
Dearest!…
The exchange of kisses and of mutual contemplation is repeated.
[Held tight in LOTH'S arms, resting her head on his shoulder, looking up at him with dim, happy eyes, whispers ecstatically.] Oh, how beautiful! How beautiful!
To die with you—thus …
[Passionately.] To live!… [She disengages herself from his embrace.] Why die now?… now …
Yon must not misunderstand me. Always, in happy moments, it has come over me with a sense of intoxication—the consciousness of the fact that it is in our power, in my power, to embrace—you understand?
To embrace death, if you desired it?
[Quite devoid of sentimentality.] Yes! And the thought of death has nothing horrible in it for me. On the contrary, it seems like the thought of a friend. One calls and knows surely that death will come. And so one can rise above so many, many things—above one's past, above one's future fate … [Looking at HELEN'S hand.] What a lovely hand you have.
[He caresses it.
Ah, yes!—so!…
[She nestles anew in his arms.
No, do you know, I haven't really lived—until now!
Do you think I have?… And I feel faint—faint with happiness. Dear God, how suddenly it all came …
Yes, it came all at once …
Listen, I feel this way: all the days of my life are like one day; but yesterday and to-day are like a year—a whole year!
Didn't I come till yesterday?
Of course not! Naturally! That's just it!… Oh, and you don't even know it!
And surely it seems to me …
Doesn't it? Like a whole, long year! Doesn't it? [Half jumping up.]Wait…! Don't you hear … [They move away from each other.] Oh, butI don't care one bit! I am so full of courage now.
[She remains seated and invites LOTH with her eyes to move nearer, which he does.
[In LOTH'S arms.] Dear, what are we going to do first?
Your step-mother, I suppose, would send me packing.
Oh, my step-mother … that won't matter … it doesn't even concern her!I do as I please! I have my mother's fortune, you must know.
Did you think on that account …
I am of age; father will have to give me my share.
You are not, then, on good terms with everyone here?—Where has your father gone to?
Gone? You have?… Oh, you haven't seen my father yet?
No; Hoffmann told me….
Surely, you saw him once.
Not that I know of. Where, dearest?
I…. [She bursts into tears.] No, I can't. I can't tell you … it's too, too fearful!
So fearful? But, Helen, is anything wrong with your father?
Oh, don't ask me! Not now, at least! Some time…!
I will not urge you to tell me anything, dear, that you don't voluntarily speak of. And, look, as far as the money is concerned … if the worst came … though I don't exactly earn superfluous cash with my articles—still, in the end, we could both manage to exist on it.
And I wouldn't be idle either, would I? But the other way is better. My inheritance Is more than enough.—And there's your life work … no, you're not to give that up under any circumstances … now less than ever …! Now you're to have your real chance to pursue it!
[Kissing her tenderly.] Dearest, best …
Oh, do you truly care…? Truly? Truly?
Truly.
You must say truly a hundred times.
Truly and truly and truthfully.
Oh, now, you're not playing fair!
I am, though. That truthfully is equal to a hundred trulys.
Oh? Is that the custom in Berlin?
No, but it is here in Witzdorf.
Oh! But now, look at my little finger and don't laugh.
Gladly.
Did you ever love any one before your first betrothed? Oh, now youarelaughing!
I will tell you in all seriousness, dearest; indeed, I think it is my duty…. In the course of my life a considerable number of women….
[With a quick and violent start, pressing her hand over his mouth.] For the love of…. Tell me that some day, later, when we are old, when the years have passed, when I shall say to you: "now!" Do you hear! Not before!
Just as you will.
Rather tell me something sweet now!… Listen: repeat after me:
What?
I have loved—
I have loved—
Always you only—
Always you only—
All the days of my life—
All the days of my life—
And will love you only as long as I live—
And will love you only as long as I live—and that is true so surely as I am an honest man.
[Joyfully.] I didn't add that!
But I did.
[They kiss each other.
[Hums very softly.] "Thou in my heart art lying …"
But now you must confess too.
Anything you like.
Confess now! Am I the first?
No.
Who?
[Laughing out in the fullness of her joy.] Willy Kahl!
[Laughing.] Who else?
Oh, no, there's no one else really. You must believe me … Truly there wasn't. Why should I tell you a falsehood?
So therewassomeone else?
[Passionately.] Oh, please, please, please, don't ask me now.
[She hides her face in her hands and weeps apparently without any reason.
But … but Nellie! I'm not insistent; I don't want to …
Later … I'll tell you later … not now!
As I said before, dearest.
There was some one—I want you to know—whom I … because … because among wicked people he seemed the least wicked. Oh, it is so different now. [Weeping against LOTH'S neck: stormily.] Ah, if I only didn't have to leave you at all any more! Oh, if I could only go away with you right here on the spot!
I suppose you have a very unhappy time in the house here?
Oh, dear!—It's just frightful—the things that happen here. It's a life like—that … like that of the beasts of the field—Oh, I would have died without you. I shudder to think of it!
I believe it would calm you, dearest, if you would tell me everything quite openly.
Yes, to be sure. But I don't think I can bear to. Not now, at least, not yet. And I'm really afraid to.
You were at boarding-school, weren't you?
My mother decided that I be sent—on her death-bed.
Was your sister there with you?
No, she was always at home … And so when, four years ago, I came back from school, I found a father—who … a step-mother—who … a sister … guess, can't you guess what I mean!
I suppose your step-mother is quarrelsome? Perhaps jealous? unloving?
My father…?
Well, in all probability he dances to her music. Perhaps she tyrannises over him?
Oh, if it were nothing else?… No! It is too frightful!—You can't possibly guess thatthat… my father … that it wasmyfather whom you …
Don't weep, Nellie!… Look, you almost make me feel as though I ought to insist that you tell …
No, no, it isn't possible. I haven't the strength!—not yet!
But you're wearing yourself out this way!
But I'm so ashamed, so boundlessly ashamed! Why, you will drive me from you in horror…! It's beyond anything…! It's loathsome!
Nellie, dear, you don't know me if you can think such things of me!Repulse you! Drive you from me! Do I seem such a brute to you?
My brother-in-law said that you would quite calmly … But no, no, you wouldn't? Would you?—You wouldn't just ruthlessly walk over me? Oh! you won't! You mustn't! I don't know whatwouldbecome of me!
But, dear, it's senseless to talk so. There's no earthly reason!
But if there were a reason, it might happen!
No! Not at all!
But if you could think of a reason?
There are reasons, to be sure; but they're not in question.
And what kind of reasons?
I would have to be ruthless only toward some one who would make me betray my own most ideal self.
And surely, I wouldn't want to do that! And yet I can't rid myself of the feeling—
What feeling, dearest?
Perhaps it's just because I'm nothing but a silly girl. There's so little to me—Why, I don't even know what it is—to have principles! Isn't that frightful? But I just simply love you so! And you're so good, and so great, and so very wise! I'm so afraid that you might, sometime, discover—when I say something foolish, or do something—that it's all a mistake, that I'm much too silly for you … I'm really as worthless and as silly as I can be!
What shall I say to all that? You're everything to me, just everything in the whole world. I can't say more!
And I'm very strong and healthy, too …
Tell me, are your parents in good health?
Indeed they are. That is, mother died in childbirth. But father is still well; in fact he must have a very strong constitution. But …
Well, you see. Everything is …
But if my parents were not strong—;
[Kissing HELEN.] But then, they are, dear.
But suppose they were not—?
MRS. KRAUSE pushes open a window in the house and calls out into the yard.
Hey! Girls! Gi—rls!
[From within the cow-shed.] Yes, Missis?
Run to Mueller's! It's startin'!
What! To the midwife, ye mean?
Are ye standin' on your ear?
[She slams the window.
LIESE runs out of the cow-shed with a little shawl over her head and then out of the yard.
[Calls.] Miss Helen! Oh, Miss Helen!
What do you suppose is—?
[Approaching the arbour.] Miss Helen!
Oh, I know. It's my sister who—You must go, 'round that way!
[LOTH withdraws rapidly by the right foreground. HELEN steps out from the arbour.
Oh, Miss, there you are at last!
What is it?
Ah—m—your sister.
[She whispers into HELEN'S ear.
My brother-in-law ordered that the doctor be sent for at any sign of—
Oh—m—dear Miss Helen—m—she doesn't really want a doctor. These doctors—m—oh, these doctors—m—with God's help …
MIELE comes from the house.
Miele, go at once for Dr. Schimmelpfennig!
[From the window, arrogantly.] Miele! You come up here!
[In a tone of command.] Miele, you go for the doctor! [MIELE withdraws into the house.] Well, then I must go myself …
[She goes into the house and comes back out at once carrying her straw hat.
It'll go wrong—m—If you call the doctor, dear Miss Helen,—m—it will surely go wrong!
HELEN passes her by. MRS. SPILLER withdraws into the house, shaking her head. As HELEN turns at the driveway KAHL is standing at the boundary fence.
[Calls out to HELEN.] What's the matter over at your place?
HELEN does not stop, nor does she deign to notice or answer KAHL.
[Laughing.] I guess ye got a pig killin'?
The same room, as in the first act. Time: toward two o'clock in the morning. The room is in complete darkness. Through the open middle door light penetrates into it from the illuminated hall. The light also falls clearly upon the wooden stairway that leads to the upper floor. The conversation in this act—with very few exceptions—is carried on in a muffled tone.
_EDWARD enters through the middle door, carrying a light. He lights the hanging lamp (it is a gas lamp) over the corner table. While he is thus employed, LOTHalso enters by the middle door.
O Lord! Such goin's on! It'd take a monster to be able to close a eye here!
I didn't even try to sleep. I have been writing.
You don't say! [He succeeds in lighting the lamp.] There! Well, sure, I guess it's hard enough, too … Maybe you'd like to have paper and ink, sir?
Perhaps that would be … If you would be so good, then, Mr. Edward?
[Placing pen and ink on the table.] I'm always thinkin' that any honest fellow has got to get all the work there's in every bone for every dirty penny. You can't even get your rest o' nights. [More and more confidentially.] But this crew here! They don't do one thing—a lazy, worthless crew, a—… I suppose, sir, that you've got to be at it early and late too, like all honest folks, for your bit o' bread.
I wish I didn't have to.
Me too, you betcher.
I suppose Miss Helen is with her sister?
Yes, sir, an', honestly, she's a good girl, she is; hasn't budged since it started.
[Looking at his watch.] The pains began at eleven o'clock in the morning. So they've already lasted fifteen hours—fifteen long hours—!
Lord, yes!—And that's what they calls the weaker sex. But she's just barely gaspin'.
And is Mr. Hoffmann upstairs, too?
Yes, an' I can tell you, he's goin' on like a woman.
Well, I suppose it isn't very easy to have to watch that.
You're right there, indeed. Dr. Schimmelpfennig came just now. There's a man for you: rough as rough can be—but sugar ain't nothing to his real feelings. But just tell me what's become of little, old Berlin in all this …
[He interrupts himself with aGee-rusa-lem!as HOFFMANN and the DOCTOR are seen coming down the stairs.
HOFFMANN and DR. SCHIMMELPFENNIG enter.
Surely—you will stay with us from now on.
Yes, I suppose I will stay now.
That's a very, very great consolation to me.—Will you have a glass of wine? Surely you'll drink a glass of wine, Doctor?
If you want to do something for me, have a cup of coffee prepared.
With pleasure. Edward! Coffee for the doctor! [EDWARD withdraws.] Are you…? Are you satisfied with the way things are going?
So long as your wife's strength keeps up there is, at all events, no direct danger. But why didn't you call in the young midwife? I remember having recommended her to you.
My mother-in-law…! What is one to do? And, to be frank with you, my wife has no confidence in the young woman either.
But your ladies place confidence in this old fossil? Well, I hope they'll… And I suppose you would like to go back upstairs?
Yes, honestly, I can't get much rest down here.
It would be better undoubtedly if you were to go somewhere—out of the house.
With the best will in the world, I—. [LOTH arises from the sofa in the dim foreground and approaches the two.] Hallo, Loth, there you are too!
[Surprised in the extreme.] Well, I'll be—!
I heard that you were here. I would have looked you up to-morrow without fail.
[They shake hands cordially. HOFFMANN takes the opportunity to mash down a glass of brandy at the side-board and then to creep back upstairs on tiptoe.
So you've evidently forgotten—ha, ha, ha—that ridiculous old affair?
[He lays aside his hat and cane.
Long ago, Schimmel!
Well, so have I, as you can well imagine. [They shake hands once more.]I've had so few pleasant surprises in this hole, that this one seemspositively queer to me. And it is strange that we should meet just here.Itis.
And you faded clear out of sight. Otherwise I'd have routed you out long ago.
Oh, I just dived below the surface like a seal. Made deep-sea investigations. In about a year and a half I hope to emerge once more. A man must be financially independent—do you know that?—In order to achieve anything useful.
So you, too, are making money here?
Naturally and as much as possible. What else is there to do here?
You might have let some one hear from you!
I beg your pardon. But if I had been heard from, I would have heard from you fellows—and I absolutely didn't want to hear. Nothingnothing. That would simply have kept me from exploiting my diggings here.
The two men walk slowly up and down the room.
I see. But then you mustn't be surprised to hear that … well, they all, without an exception, really gave you up as hopeless.
That's like them—the scamps! They'll be made to take notice.
Schimmel—otherwise the "rough husk"!
I wish you had had to live here among the farmers for six years.Hellhounds—every one of them.
I can imagine that.—But how in the world did you get to Witzdorf?
The way such things do happen! You remember I had to skin out from Jena that time.
Was that before my crash?
Yes, a short time after we'd given up living together. So I took up medicine at Zuerich, first simply so as to have something against a time of need. But then the thing began to interest me, and now I'm a doctor, heart and soul.
And about this place. How did you get here?
Very simply. When I got through I said to myself: first of all you've got to have a sufficient pile. I thought of America, South and North America, of Africa, Australia and the isles of the sea … In the end it occurred to me, however, that my escapade had become outlawed; and so I made up my mind to creep back into the old trap.
And how about your Swiss examinations?
Why, I simply had to go through the whole rigmarole once more.
Man! You passed the state medical examination twice over?
Yes, luckily I then discovered this fat pasture here.
Your toughness is certainly enviable.
All very well, unless one collapses suddenly.—Well, it wouldn't matter so greatly after all.
Have you a very large practice?
Oh, yes. Occasionally I don't get to bed till five o'clock in the morning. And at seven my consultation hour begins again.
EDWARD comes in, bringing coffee.
[Sitting down at the table, to EDWARD.] Thank you, Edward.—[To LOTH.]—The way I swill coffee is—uncanny.
You'd better give that up.
What is one to do? [He takes small swallows.] As I told you awhile ago—another year; then—all this stops. At least, I hope so.
Don't you intend to practice after that at all?
Don't think so. No—no more. [He pushes back the tray with the dishes and wipes his mouth.] By the way, let's see your hand. [LOTH holds up both his hands for inspection.] I see. You've taken no wife to your bosom yet. Haven't found one, I suppose. I remember you always wanted primaeval vigour in the woman of your choice on account of the soundness of the strain. And you're quite right, too. If one takes a risk, it ought to be a good one. Or maybe you've become less stringent in that respect.