Let me tell you, sir, that them people haven't the money to pay a barber, and as to a razor for themselves, that's altogether beyond them. What grows, grows. They haven't nothing to throw away on their outsides.
My good friend, you surely don't imagine that I would … [Aside toWELZEL.] Do you think I might offer the hairy one a glass of beer?
No, no; you mustn't do that. He wouldn't take it. He's got some queer ideas in that head o' his.
All right, then, I won't. With your permission, Miss. [He seats himself at ANNA'S table.] I declare, Miss, that I've not been able to take my eyes off your hair since I came in—such glossy softness, such a splendid quantity! [Ecstatically kisses his finger-tips.] And what a colour!… like ripe wheat. Come to Berlin with that hair and you'll create no end of a sensation. On my honour, with hair like that you may go to Court…. [Leans back, looking at it.] Glorious, simply glorious!
They've given her a fine name because of it.
And what may that be?
[Laughing quietly to herself.] Oh, don't listen to that!
The chestnut filly, isn't it?
Come now, we've had enough o' this. I'm not goin' to have the girl's head turned altogether. She's had a-plenty of silly notions put into it already. She'll hear of nothing under a count today, and to-morrow it'll be a prince.
Don't abuse the girl, father. There's no harm in wantin' to rise in the world. It's as well that people don't all think as you do, or nobody would get on at all. If Dreissiger's grandfather had been of your way of thinkin', they would be poor weavers still. And now they're rollin' in wealth. An' look at old Tromtra. He was nothing but a weaver, too, and now he owns twelve estates, an' he's been made a nobleman into the bargain.
Yes, Welzel, you must look at the thing fairly. Your wife's in the right this time. I can answer for that. I'd never be where I am, with seven workmen under me, if I had thought like you.
Yes, you understand the way to get on; that your worst enemy must allow.Before the weaver has taken to bed, you're gettin' his coffin ready.
A man must stick to his business if he's to get on.
No fear of you for that. You know before the doctor when death's on the way to knock at a weaver's door.
[Attempting to laugh, suddenly furious.] And you know better'n the police where the thieves are among the weavers, that keep back two or three bobbins full every week. It's rags you ask for but you don't say No, if there's a little yarn among them.
An' your corn grows in the churchyard. The more that are bedded on the sawdust, the better for you. When you see the rows o' little children's graves, you pats yourself on the belly and says you: This has been a good year; the little brats have fallen like cockchafers off the trees. I can allow myself a quart extra in the week again.
And supposin' this is all true, it still don't make me a receiver of stolen goods.
No; perhaps the worst you do is to send in an account twice to the rich fustian manufacturers, or to help yourself to a plank or two at Dreissiger's when there's building goin' on and the moon happens not to be shinin'.
[Turning his back.] Talk to any one you like, but not to me. [Then suddenly.] Hornig the liar!
Wiegand the coffin-jobber!
[To the rest of the company.] He knows charms for bewitching cattle.
If you don't look out, I'll try one of 'em on you.
[WIEGAND turns pale.
[Had gone out; now returns with the TRAVELLER'S coffee; in the act of putting it on the table.] Perhaps you would rather have it in the parlour, sir?
Most certainly not! [With a languishing look at ANNA.] I could sit here till I die.
Enter a YOUNG FORESTER and a PEASANT, the latter carrying a whip. They wish the others"Good Morning,"and remain standing at the counter.
Two brandies, if you please.
Good-morning to you, gentlemen.
[He pours out their beverage; the two touch glasses, take a mouthful, and then set the glasses down on the counter.
[To FORESTER.] Come far this morning, sir?
From Steinseiffersdorf—that's a good step.
Two old WEAVERS enter, and seat themselves beside ANSORGE, BAUMERT, and HORNIG.
Excuse me asking, but are you in Count Hochheim's service?
No. I'm in Count Keil's.
Yes, yes, of course—that was what I meant. One gets confused here among all the counts and barons and other gentlemen. It would take a giant's memory to remember them all. Why do you carry an axe, if I may ask?
I've just taken this one from a man who was stealing wood.
Yes, their lordships are mighty strict with us about a few sticks for the fire.
You must allow that if every one were to help himself to what he wanted …
By your leave, sir, but there's a difference made here as elsewhere between the big an' the little thieves. There's some here as deals in stolen wood wholesale, and grows rich on it. But if a poor weaver …
[Interrupts BAUMERT.] We're forbid to take a single branch; but their lordships, they take the very skin off of us—we've assurance money to pay, an' spinning-money, an' charges in kind—we must go here an' go there, an' do so an' so much field work, all willy-nilly.
That's just how it is—what the manufacturer leaves us, their lordships takes from us.
[Has taken a seat at the next table.] I've said it to his lordship hisself. By your leave, my lord, says I, it's not possible for me to work on the estate so many days this year. I comes right out with it. For why—my own bit of ground, my lord, it's been next to carried away by the rains. I've to work night and day if I'm to live at all. For oh, what a flood that was…! There I stood an' wrung my hands, an' watched the good soil come pourin' down the hill, into the very house! And all that dear, fine seed!… I could do nothin' but roar an' cry until I couldn't see out o' my eyes for a week. And then I had to start an' wheel eighty heavy barrow-loads of earth up that hill, till my back was all but broken.
[Roughly.] You weavers here make such an awful outcry. As if we hadn't all to put up with what Heaven sends us. An' if youarebadly off just now, whose fault is it but your own? What did you do when trade was good? Drank an' squandered all you made. If you had saved a bit then, you'd have it to fall back on now when times is bad, and not need to be goin' stealin' yarn and wood.
[Standing with several comrades in the lobby or outer room, calls in at the door.] What's a peasant but a peasant, though he lies in bed till nine?
The peasant an' the count, it's the same story with 'em both. Says the peasant when a weaver wants a house: I'll give you a little bit of a hole to live in, an' you'll pay me so much rent in money, an' the rest of it you'll make up by helpin' me to get in my hay an' my corn—and if that don't please you, why, then you may go elsewhere. He tries another, and to the second he says the same as to the first.
[Angrily.] The weaver's like a bone that every dog takes a gnaw at.
[Furious.] You starvin' curs, you're no good for anything. Can you yoke a plough? Can you draw a straight furrow or throw a bundle of sheaves on to a cart. You're fit for nothing but to idle about an' go after the women. A pack of scoundrelly ne'er-do-wells!
[He has paid and now goes out.
[The FORESTER follows, laughing. WELZEL, the joiner, and MRS. WELZEL laugh aloud; the TRAVELLER laughs to himself. Then there is a moment's silence.
A peasant like that's as stupid as his own ox. As if I didn't know all about the distress in the villages round here. Sad sights I've seen! Four and five lyin' naked on one sack of straw.
[In a mildly remonstrative tone.] Allow me to remark, my good man, that there's a great difference of opinion as to the amount of distress here in the Eulengebirge. If you can read….
I can read straight off, as well as you. An' I know what I've seen with my own eyes. It would be queer if a man that's travelled the country with a pack on his back these forty years an' more didn't know something about it. There was the Fullers, now. You saw the children scrapin' about among the dung-heaps with the peasants' geese. The people up there died naked, on the bare stone floors. In their sore need they ate the stinking weavers' glue. Hunger carried 'em off by the hundred.
You must be aware, since you are able to read, that strict investigation has been made by the Government, and that….
Yes, yes, we all know what that means. They send a gentleman that knows all about it already better nor if he had seen it, an' he goes about a bit in the village where the brook flows broad an' the best houses is. He don't want to dirty his shinin' boots. Thinks he to hisself: All the rest'll be the same as this. An' so he steps into his carriage, an' drives away home again, an' then writes to Berlin that there's no distress in the place at all. If he had but taken the trouble to go higher up into a village like that, to where the stream comes in, or across the stream on to the narrow side—or, better still, if he'd gone up to the little out-o'-the-way hovels on the hill above, some of 'em that black an' tumble-down as it would be the waste of a good match to set fire to 'em—it's another kind o' report he'd have sent to Berlin. They should ha' come to me, these government gentlemen that wouldn't believe there was no distress here. I would ha' shown 'em something. I'd have opened their eyes for 'em in some of these starvation holes.
[The strains of the Weavers' Song are heard, sung outside.
There they are, roaring at that devil's song again.
They're turning the whole place upside down.
You'd think there was something in the air.
JAEGER and BECKER arm in arm, at the head of a troop of young weavers, march noisily through the outer room and enter the bar.
Halt! To your places!
[The new arrivals sit down at the various tables, and begin to talk to other weavers already seated there.
[Calls out to BECKER.] What's up now, Becker, that you've got together a crowd like this?
[Significantly.] Who knows but something may be goin' to happen? Eh, Moritz?
Come, come, lads. Don't you be a-gettin' of yourselves into mischief.
Blood's flowed already. Would you like to see it?
[He pulls up his sleeve and shows bleeding tattoo-marks on the upper part of his arm. Many of the other young weavers do the same.
We've been at barber Schmidt's gettin' ourselves vaccinated.
Now the thing's explained. Little wonder there's such an uproar in the place, with a band of young rapscallions like you paradin' round.
[Consequentially, in a loud voice.] You may bring two quarts at once, Welzel! I pay. Perhaps you think I haven't got the needful. You're wrong, then. If we wanted we could sit an' drink your best brandy an' swill coffee till to-morrow morning with any bagman in the land.
[Laughter among the young weavers.
[Affecting comic surprise.] Is the young gentleman kind enough to take notice of me?
[Host, hostess, and their daughter, WIEGAND, and the TRAVELLER all laugh.
If the cap fits, wear it.
Your affairs seem to be in a thriving condition, young man, if I may be allowed to say so.
I can't complain. I'm a traveller in made-up goods. I go shares with the manufacturers. The nearer starvation the weaver is, the better I fare. His want butters my bread.
Well done, Moritz! You gave it him that time. Here's to you!
[WELZEL has brought the corn-brandy. On his way back to the counter he stops, turns round slowly, and stands, an embodiment of phlegmatic strength, facing the weavers.
[Calmly but emphatically.] You let the gentleman alone. He's done you no harm.
And we're doing him no harm.
[MRS. WELZEL has exchanged a few words with the TRAVELLER. She takes the cup with the remains of his coffee and carries it into the parlour. The TRAVELLER follows her amidst the laughter of the weavers.
[Singing.] "The Dreissigers the hangmen are, Servants no whit behind them."
Hush-sh! Sing that song anywhere else you like, but not in my house.
He's quite right. Stop that singin', lads.
[Roars.] But we must march past Dreissiger's, boys, and let him hear it ones more.
You'd better take care—you may march once too often!
[Laughter and cries ofHo, ho!
WITTIG has entered; a grey-haired old smith, bareheaded, with leather apron and wooden shoes, sooty from the smithy. He is standing at the counter waiting for his schnapps.
Let 'em go on with their doin's. The dogs as barks most, bites least.
Wittig, Wittig!
Here he is. What do you want with him?
"It's Wittig!"—"Wittig, Wittig!"—"Come here, Wittig."—"Sit beside us,Wittig."
Do you think I would sit beside a set of rascals like you?
Come and take a glass with us.
Keep your brandy to yourselves. I pay for my own drink. [Takes his glass and sits down beside BAUMERT and ANSORGE. Clapping the latter on the stomach.] What's the weavers' food so nice? Sauerkraut and roasted lice!
[Drunk with excitement.] But what would you say now if they'd made up their minds as how they would put up with it no longer.
[With pretended astonishment, staring open-mouthed at the old weaver.] Heinerle! you don't mean to tell me that that's you? [Laughs immoderately.] O Lord, O Lord! I could laugh myself to death. Old Baumert risin' in rebellion! We'll have the tailors at it next, and then there'll be a rebellion among the baa-lambs, and the rats and the mice. Damn it all, but we'll see some sport.
[He nearly splits with laughter.
You needn't go on like that, Wittig. I'm the same man I've always been. I still say 'twould be better if things could be put right peaceably.
Rot! How could it be done peaceably? Did they do it peaceably in France? Did Robespeer tickle the rich men's palms? No! It was: Away with them, every one! To the gilyoteen with 'em! Allongs onfong! You've got your work before you. The geese'll not fly ready roasted into your mouths.
If I could make even half a livin' …
The water's up to our chins now, Wittig.
We're afraid to go home. It's all the same whether we works or whether we lies abed; it's starvation both ways.
A man's like to go mad at home.
I've come to that pass now that I don't care how things goes.
[With increasing excitement.] "We've no peace anywhere."—"We've no spirit left to work."—"Up with us in Steenkunzendorf you can see a weaver sittin' by the stream washin' hisself the whole day long, naked as God made him. It's driven him clean out of his mind."
[Moved by the spirit, stands up and begins to "speak with tongues," stretching out his hand threateningly.] Judgement is at hand! Have no dealings with the rich and the great! Judgement is at hand! The Lord God of Sabaoth …
[Some of the weavers laugh. He is pulled down on to his seat.
That's a chap that can't stand a single glass—he gets wild at once.
[Jumps up again.] But they—they believe not in God, not in hell, not in heaven. They mock at religion….
Come, come now, that's enough!
You let him do his little bit o' preaching. There's many a one would be the better for takin' it to heart.
[In excited confusion.] "Let him alone!" "Let him speak!"
[Raising his voice.] But hell is opened, saith the Lord; its jaws are gaping wide, to swallow up all those that oppress the afflicted and pervert judgement in the cause of the poor. [Wild excitement.]
[Suddenly declaiming schoolboy fashion.]
When one has thought upon it well,It's still more difficult to tellWhy they the linen-weaver's work despise.
But we're fustian-weavers, man.
[Laughter.
The linen-weavers is ever so much worse off than you. They're wanderin' about among the hills like ghosts. You people here have still got the pluck left in you to kick up a row.
Do you suppose the worst's over here? It won't be long till the manufacturers drain away that little bit of strength they still has left in their bodies.
You know what he said: It will come to the weavers workin' for a bite of bread.
[Uproar.
Who said that?
Dreissiger said it.
The damned rascal should be hung up by the heels.
Look here, Wittig. You've always jawed such a lot about the French Revolution, and a good deal too about your own doings. A time may be coming, and that before long, when every one will have a chance to show whether he's a braggart or a true man.
[Flaring up angrily.] Say another word if you dare! Has you heard the whistle o' bullets? Has you done outpost duty in an enemy's country?
You needn't get angry about it. We're comrades. I meant no harm.
None of your comradeship for me, you impudent young fool.
Enter KUTSCHE, the policeman.
Hush—sh! Police!
[This calling goes on for some time, till at last there is complete silence, amidst which KUTSCHE takes his place at the central pillar table.
A small brandy, please.
[Again complete silence.]
I suppose you've come to see if we're all behavin' ourselves, Kutsche?
[Paying no attention to WITTIG.] Good-morning, Mr. Wiegand.
[Still in the corner in front of the counter.] Good morning t'you.
How's trade?
Thank you, much as usual.
The chief constable's sent him to see if we're spoilin' our stomach on these big wages we're gettin'.
[Laughter.
I say, Welzel, you will tell him how we've been feastin' on roast pork an' sauce an' dumplings and sauerkraut, and now we're sittin' at our champagne wine.
[Laughter.
The world's upside down with them to-day.
An' even if you had the champagne wine and the roast meat, you wouldn't be satisfied. I've to get on without champagne wine as well as you.
[Referring to KUTSCHE'S nose.] He waters his beet-root with brandy and gin. An' it thrives on it too.
[Laughter.
A p'liceman like that has a hard life. Now it's a starving beggar boy he has to lock up, then it's a pretty weaver girl he has to lead astray; then he has to get roarin' drunk an' beat his wife till she goes screamin' to the neighbours for help; and there's the ridin' about on horseback and the lyin' in bed till nine—nay, faith, but it's no easy job!
Jaw away; you'll jaw a rope round your neck in time. It's long been known what sort of a fellow you are. The magistrates knows all about that rebellious tongue o' yours, I know who'll drink wife and child into the poorhouse an' himself into gaol before long, who it is that'll go on agitatin' and agitatin' till he brings down judgment on himself and all concerned.
[Laughs bitterly.] It's true enough—no one knows what'll be the end of it. You may be right yet. [Bursts out in fury.] But if it does come to that, I know who I've got to thank for it, who it is that's blabbed to the manufacturers an' all the gentlemen round, an' blackened my character to that extent that they never give me a hand's turn of work to do—an' set the peasants an' the millers against me, so that I'm often a whole week without a horse to shoe or a wheel to put a tyre on. I know who's done it. I once pulled the damned brute off his horse, because he was givin' a little stupid boy the most awful flogging for stealin' a few unripe pears. But I tell you this, Kutsche, and you know me—if you get me put into prison, you may make your own will. If I hears as much as a whisper of it. I'll take the first thing as comes handy, whether it's a horseshoe or a hammer, a wheel-spoke or a pail; I'll get hold of you if I've to drag you out of bed from beside your wife, and I'll beat in your brains, as sure as my name's Wittig.
[He has jumped up and is going to rush at KUTSCHE.]
[Holding him back.] Wittig, Wittig! Don't lose your head!
[Has risen involuntarily, his face pale. He backs towards the door while speaking. The nearer the door the higher his courage rises. He speaks the last words on the threshold, and then instantly disappears.] What are you goin' on at me about? I didn't meddle with you. I came to say somethin' to the weavers. My business is with them an' not with you, and I've done nothing to you. But I've this to say to you weavers: The superintendent of police herewith forbids the singing of that song—Dreissiger's song, or whatever it is you calls it. And if the yelling of it on the streets isn't stopped at once, he'll provide you with plenty of time and leisure for goin' on with it in gaol. You may sing there, on bread an' water, to your hearts' content.
[Goes out.
[Roars after him.] He's no right to forbid, it—not if we was to roar till the windows shook an' they could hear us at Reichenbach—not if we sang till the manufacturers' houses tumbled about their ears an' all the superintendents' helmets danced on the top of their heads. It's nobody's business but our own.
[BECKER has in the meantime got up, made a signal for singing, and now leads off, the others joining in.
The justice to us weavers dealtIs bloody, cruel, and hateful;Our life's one torture, long drawn out;For Lynch law we'd be grateful.
[WELZEL attempts to quiet them, but they pay no attention to him.WIEGAND puts his hands to his ears and rushes off. During the singingof the next stanza the weavers rise and form, into procession behindBECKER and WITTIG, who have given pantomimic signs for a generalbreak-up.
Stretched on the rack, day after day,Hearts sick and bodies aching,Our heavy sighs their witness bearTo spirit slowly breaking.
[Most of the weavers sing the following stanza, out on the street,only a few young fellows, who are paying, being still in the bar. Atthe conclusion of the stanza no one is left in the room except WELZELand his wife and daughter, HORNIG, and OLD BAUMERT.
You villains all, you brood of hell,You fiends in fashion human,A curse will fall on all like youWho prey on man and woman.
[Phlegmatically collecting the glasses.] Their backs are up to-day, an' no mistake.
[To OLD BAUMERT, who is preparing to go.] What in the name of Heaven are they up to, Baumert?
They're goin' to Dreissiger's to make him add something on to the pay.
And are you joining in these foolish goings on?
I've no choice, Welzel. The young men may an' the old men must.
[Goes out rather shamefacedly.
It'll not surprise me if this ends badly.
To think that even old fellows like him are goin' right off their heads!
We all set our hearts on something!
_Peterswaldau.—Private room of DREISSIGER,the fustian manufacturer—luxuriously furnished in the chilly taste of the first half of this century. Ceiling, doors, and stove are white, and the wall paper, with its small, straight-lined floral pattern, is dull and cold in tone. The furniture is mahogany, richly-carved, and upholstered in red. On the right, between two windows with crimson damask curtains, stands the writing-table, a high bureau with falling flap. Directly opposite to this is the sofa, with the strong-box; beside it; in front of the sofa a table, with chairs and easy-chairs arranged about it. Against the back wall is a gun-rack. All three walls are decorated with bad pictures in gilt frames. Above the sofa is a mirror with a heavily gilt rococo frame. On the left an ordinary door leads into the hall. An open folding door at the back shows the drawing-room, over-furnished in the same style of comfortless ostentation. Two ladies, MRS. DREISSIGER and MRS. KITTELHAUS, the Pastor's wife, are seen in the drawing-room, looking at pictures. PASTOR KITTELHAUS is there too, engaged in conversation with WEINHOLD, the tutor, a theological graduate.
[A kindly little elderly man, enters the front room, smoking and chatting familiarly with the tutor, who is also smoking; he looks round and shakes his head in surprise at finding the room empty.] You are young, Mr. Weinhold, which explains everything. At your age we old fellows held—well, I won't say the same opinions—but certainly opinions of the same tendency. And there's something fine about youth—youth with its grand ideals. But unfortunately, Mr. Weinhold, they don't last; they are as fleeting as April sunshine. Wait till you are my age. When a man has said his say from the pulpit for thirty years—fifty-two times every year, not including saints' days—he has inevitably calmed down. Think of me, Mr. Weinhold, when you come to that pass.
[Nineteen, pale, thin, tall, with lanky fair hair; restless and nervous in his movements.] With all due respect, Mr. Kittelhaus…. I can't think … people have such different natures.
My dear Mr. Weinhold, however restless-minded and unsettled, a man may be—[in a tone of reproof]—and you are a case in point—however violently and wantonly he may attack the existing order of things, he calms down in the end. I grant you, certainly, that among our professional brethren individuals are to be found, who, at a fairly advanced age, still play youthful pranks. One preaches against the drink evil and founds temperance societies, another publishes appeals which undoubtedly read most effectively. But what good do they do? The distress among the weavers, where it does exist, is in no way lessened—but the peace of society is undermined. No, no; one feels inclined in such cases to say: Cobbler, stick to your last; don't take to caring for the belly, you who have the care of souls. Preach the pure Word of God, and leave all else to Him who provides shelter and food for the birds, and clothes the lilies of the field.—But I should like to know where our good host, Mr. Dreissiger, has suddenly disappeared to.
[MRS. DREISSIGER, followed by MRS. KITTELHAUS, now comes forward. She is a pretty woman of thirty, of a healthy, florid type. A certain discrepancy is noticeable between her deportment and way of expressing herself and her rich, elegant toilette.]
That's what I want to know too, Mr. Kittelhaus. But it's what William always does. No sooner does a thing come into his head than off he goes and leaves me in the lurch. I've said enough about it, but it does no good.
It's always the way with business men, my dear Mrs. Dreissiger.
I'm almost certain that something has happened downstairs.
DREISSIGER enters, hot and excited.
Well, Rosa, is coffee served?
[Sulkily.] Fancy your needing to run away again!
[Carelessly.] Ah! these are things you don't understand.
Excuse me—has anything happened to annoy you, Mr. Dreissiger?
Never a day passes without that, my dear sir. I am accustomed to it. What about that coffee, Rosa?
[MRS. DREISSIGER goes ill-humouredly and gives one or two violent tugs at the broad embroidered bell-pull.
I wish you had been downstairs just now, Mr. Weinhold. You'd have gained a little experience. Besides…. But now let us have our game of whist.
By all means, sir. Shake off the dust and burden of the day, Mr.Dreissiger; forget it in our company.
[Has gone to the window, pushed aside a curtain, and is looking out. Involuntarily.] Vile rabble!! Come here. Rosa! [She goes to the window.] Look … that tall red-haired fellow there!…
That's the man they call Red Becker.
Is he the man that insulted you the day before yesterday? You remember what you told me—when John was helping you into the carriage?
[Pouting, drawls.] I'm sure I don't know.
Come now, drop that offended air! I must know. I am thoroughly tired of their impudence. If he's the man, I mean to have him arrested. [The strains of the Weavers' Song are heard.] Listen to that! Just listen!
[Highly incensed.] Is there to be no end to this nuisance? I must acknowledge now that it is time for the police to interfere. Permit me. [He goes forward to the window.] See, see, Mr. Weinhold! These are not only young people. There are numbers of steady-going old weavers among them, men whom I have known for years and looked upon as most deserving and God-fearing. There they are, taking part in this unheard-of mischief, trampling God's law under foot. Do you mean to tell me that you still defend these people?
Certainly not, Mr. Kittelhaus. That is, sir …cum grano salis. For after all, they are hungry and they are ignorant. They are giving expression to their dissatisfaction in the only way they understand. I don't expect that such people….
[Short, thin, faded, more like an old maid than a married woman.] Mr. Weinhold, Mr. Weinhold, how can you?
Mr. Weinhold, I am sorry to be obliged to…. I didn't bring you into my house to give me lectures on philanthropy, and I must request that you will confine yourself to the education of my boys, and leave my other affairs entirely to me—entirely! Do you understand?
[Stands for a moment rigid and deathly pale, then bows, with a strained smile. In a low voice.] Certainly, of course I understand. I have seen this coming. It is my wish too.
[Goes out.
[Rudely.] As soon as possible then, please. We require the room.
William, William!
Have you lost your senses, Rosa, that you're taking the part of a man who defends a low, blackguardly libel like that song?
But, William, he didn't defend it.
Mr. Kittelhaus, did he defend it or did he not?
His youth must be his excuse, Mr. Dreissiger.
I can't understand it. The young man comes of such a good, respectable family. His father held a public appointment for forty years, without a breath on his reputation. His mother was overjoyed at his getting this good situation here. And now … he himself shows so little appreciation of it.
[Suddenly opens the door leading from the hall and shouts in.] Mr. Dreissiger, Mr. Dreissiger! they've got him! Will you come, please? They've caught one of 'em.
[Hastily.] Has some one gone for the police?
The superintendent's on his way upstairs.
[At the door.] Glad to see you, sir. We want you here.
[KITTELHAUS makes signs to the ladies that it will be better for them to retire. He, his wife, and MRS. DREISSIGER disappear into the drawing-room.
[Exasperated, to the POLICE SUPERINTENDENT, who has now entered.] I have at last had one of the ringleaders seized by my dyers. I could stand it no longer—their insolence was beyond all bounds—quite unbearable. I have visitors in my house, and these blackguards dare to…. They insult my wife whenever she shows herself; my boys' lives are not safe. My visitors run the risk of being jostled and cuffed. Is it possible that in a well-ordered community incessant public insult offered to unoffending people like myself and my family should pass unpunished? If so … then … then I must confess that I have other ideas of law and order.
[A man of fifty, middle height, corpulent, full-blooded. He wears cavalry uniform with a long sword and spurs.] No, no, Mr. Dreissiger … certainly not! I am entirely at your disposal. Make your mind easy on the subject. Dispose of me as you will. What you have done is quite right. I am delighted that you have had one of the ringleaders arrested. I am very glad indeed that a day of reckoning has come. There are a few disturbers of the peace here whom I have long had my eye on.
Yes, one or two raw lads, lazy vagabonds, that shirk every kind of work, and lead a life of low dissipation, hanging about the public-houses until they've sent their last half-penny down their throats. But I'm determined to put a stop to the trade of these professional blackguards once and for all. It's in the public interest to do so, not only my private interest.
Of course it is! Most undoubtedly, Mr. Dreissiger! No one can possibly blame you. And everything that lies in my power….
The cat-o'-nine tails is what should be taken to the beggarly pack.
You're right, quite right. We must institute an example.
KUTSCHE, the policeman, enters and salutes. The door is open, and the sound of heavy steps stumbling up the stair is heard.
I have to inform you, sir, that we have arrested a man.
[To SUPERINTENDENT.] Do you wish to see the fellow?
Certainly, most certainly. We must begin by having a look at him at closequarters. Oblige me, Mr. Dreissiger, by not speaking to him at present.I'll see to it that you get complete satisfaction, or my name's notHeide.
That's not enough for me, though. He goes before the magistrates. My mind's made up.
JAEGER is led in by five dyers, who have come straight from their work—faces, hands, and clothes stained with dye. The prisoner, his cap set jauntily on the side of his head, presents an appearance of impudent gaiety; he is excited by the brandy he has just drunk.
Hounds that you are!—Call yourselves working men!—Pretend to be comrades! Before I would do such a thing as lay hands on a mate, I'd see my hand rot off my arm!
[At a sign from the SUPERINTENDENT KUTSCHE orders the dyers to let go their victim. JAEGER straightens himself up, quite free and easy. Both doors are guarded.
[Shouts to JAEGER.] Off with your cap, lout! [JAEGER takes it off, but very slowly, still with an impudent grin on his face.] What's your name?
What's yours? I'm not your swineherd.
[Great excitement is produced among the audience by this reply.
This is too much of a good thing.
[Changes colour, is on the point of breaking out furiously, but controls his rage.] We'll see about this afterwards.—Once more, what's your name? [Receiving no answer, furiously.] If you don't answer at once, fellow, I'll have you flogged on the spot.
[Perfectly cheerful, not showing by so much as the twitch of an eyelid that he has heard the SUPERINTENDENT'S angry words, calls over the heads of those around him to a pretty servant girl, who has brought in the coffee and is standing open-mouthed with astonishment at the unexpected sight.] Hillo, Emmy, do you belong to this company now? The sooner you find your way out of it, then, the better. A wind may begin to blow here, an' blow everything away overnight.
[The girl stares at JAEGER, and as soon as she comprehends that it is to her he is speaking, blushes with shame, covers her eyes with her hands, and rushes out, leaving the coffee things in confusion on the table. Renewed excitement among those present.
[Half beside himself, to DREISSIGER.] Never in all my long service … a case of such shameless effrontery…. [JAEGER spits on the floor.
You're not in a stable, fellow! Do you understand?
My patience is at an end now. For the last time: What's your name?
KITTELHAUS who has been peering out at the partly opened drawing-room door, listening to what has been going on, can no longer refrain from coming forward to interfere. He is trembling with excitement.
His name is Jaeger, sir. Moritz … is it not? Moritz Jaeger. [ToJAEGER.] And, Jaeger, you know me.
[Seriously.] You are Pastor Kittelhaus.
Yes, I am your pastor, Jaeger! It was I who received you, a babe in swaddling clothes, into the Church of Christ. From my hands you took for the first time the body of the Lord. Do you remember that, and how I toiled and strove to bring God's Word home to your heart? Is this your gratitude?
[Like a scolded schoolboy. In a surly voice.] I paid my half-crown like the rest.
Money, money…. Do you imagine that the miserable little bit of money…. Such utter nonsense! I'd much rather you kept your money. Be a good man, be a Christian! Think of what you promised. Keep God's law. Money, money…!
I'm a Quaker now, sir. I don't believe in nothing.
Quaker! What are you talking about? Try to behave yourself, and don't use words you don't understand. Quaker, indeed! They are good Christian people, and not heathens like you.
Mr. Kittelhaus, I must ask you…. [He comes between the Pastor andJAEGER.] Kutsche! tie his hands!
[Wild yelling outside:"Jaeger. Jaeger! come out!"
[Like the others, slightly startled, goes instinctively to the window.] What's the meaning of this next?
Oh, I understand well enough. It means that they want to have the blackguard out among them again. But we're not going to oblige them. Kutsche, you have your orders. He goes to the lock-up.
[With the rope in his hand, hesitating.] By your leave, sir, but it'll not be an easy job. There's a confounded big crowd out there—a pack of raging devils. They've got Becker with them, and the smith….
Allow me one more word!—So as not to rouse still worse feeling, would it not be better if we tried to arrange things peaceably? Perhaps Jaeger will give his word to go with us quietly, or….
Quite impossible! Think of my responsibility. I couldn't allow such a thing. Come, Kutsche! lose no more time.
[Putting his hands together, and holding them, out.] Tight, tight, as tight as ever you can! It's not for long.
[KUTSCHE, assisted by the workmen, ties his hands.
Now off with you, march! [To DREISSIGER.] If you feel anxious, let six of the weavers go with them. They can walk on each side of him, I'll ride in front, and Kutsche will bring up the rear. Whoever blocks the way will be cut down.
[Cries from below:"Cock-a-doodle-doo-oo-oo! Bow, wow, wow!"
[With a threatening gesture in the direction of the window.] You rascals, I'll cock-a-doodle-doo and bow-wow you! Forward! March!
[He marches out first, with drawn sword; the others, with JAEGER, follow.
[Shouts as he goes.] An' Mrs. Dreissiger there may play the lady as proud as she likes, but for all that she's no better than us. Many a hundred times she's served my father with a halfpenny-worth of schnapps. Left wheel—march!
[Exit laughing.
[After a pause, with apparent calmness.] Well, Mr. Kittelhaus, shall we have our game now? I think there will be no further Interruption. [He lights a cigar, giving short laughs as he does so; when it is lighted, bursts into a regular fit of laughing.] I'm beginning now to think the whole thing very funny. That fellow! [Still laughing nervously.] It really is too comical: first came the dispute at dinner with Weinhold—five minutes after that he takes leave—off to the other end of the world; then this affair crops up—and now we'll proceed with our whist.
Yes, but … [Roaring is heard outside.] Yes, but … that's a terrible uproar they're making outside.
All we have to do is to go into the other room; it won't disturb us in the least there.
[Shaking his head.] I wish I knew what has come over these people. In so far I must agree with Mr. Weinhold, or at least till quite lately I was of his opinion, that the weavers were a patient, humble, easily-led class. Was it not your idea of them, too, Mr. Dreissiger?
Most certainly that is what they used to be—patient, easily managed, well-behaved and orderly people. They were that as long as these so-called humanitarians let them alone. But for ever so long now they've had the awful misery of their condition held up to them. Think of all the societies and associations for the alleviation of the distress among the weavers. At last the weaver believes in it himself, and his head's turned. Some of them had better come and turn it back again, for now he's fairly set a-going there's no end to his complaining. This doesn't please him, and that doesn't please him. He must have everything of the best.
[A loud roar of"Hurrah!"is heard from, the crowd.
So that with all their humanitarianism they have only succeeded in almost literally turning lambs over night into wolves.
I won't say that, sir. When you take time to think of the matter coolly, it's possible that some good may come of it yet. Such occurrences as this will not pass unnoticed by those in authority, and may lead them to see that things can't be allowed to go on as they are doing—that means must be taken to prevent the utter ruin of our home industries.
Possibly. But what is the cause, then, of this terrible falling off of trade?
Our best markets have been closed to us by the heavy import duties foreign countries have laid on our goods. At home the competition is a struggle of life and death, for we have no protection, none whatever.
[Staggers in, pale and breathless.] Mr. Dreissiger, Mr. Dreissiger!
[In the act of walking into the drawing-room, turns round, annoyed.] Well, Pfeifer, what now?
Oh, sir! Oh, sir!… It's worse than ever!
What are they up to next?
You're really alarming us—what is it?
[Still confused.] I never saw the like. Good Lord—The superintendent himself … they'll catch it for this yet.
What's the matter with you, in the devil's name? Is any one's neck broken?
[Almost crying with fear, screams.] They've set Moritz Jaeger free—they've thrashed the superintendent and driven him away—they've thrashed the policeman and sent him off too—without his helmet … his sword broken … Oh dear, oh dear!
I think you've gone crazy, Pfeifer.
This is actual riot.
[Sitting on a chair, his whole body trembling.] It's turning serious, Mr. Dreissiger! Mr. Dreissiger, it's serious now!
Well, if that's all the police …
Mr. Dreissiger, it's serious now!
Damn it all, Pfeifer, will you hold your tongue?
[Coming out of the drawing-room with MRS. KITTELHAUS.] This is really too bad, William. Our whole pleasant evening's being spoiled. Here's Mrs. Kittelhaus saying that she'd better go home.
You mustn't take it amiss, dear Mrs. Dreissiger, but perhaps, under the circumstances, itwouldbe better …
But, William, why in the world don't you go out and put a stop to it?
You go and see if you can do it. Try! Go and speak to them! [Standing in front of the pastor, abruptly.] Am I such a tyrant? Am I a cruel master?
Enter JOHN the coachman.
If you please, m'm, I've put to the horses. Mr. Weinhold's put Georgie and Charlie into the carriage. If it comes to the worst, we're ready to be off.
If what comes to the worst?
I'm sure I don't know, m'm. But I'm thinkin' this way: The crowd's gettin' bigger and bigger, an' they've sent the superintendent an' the p'liceman to the right-about.
It's gettin' serious now, Mr. Dreissiger! It's serious!
[With increasing alarm.] What's going to happen?—What do the people want?—They're never going to attack us, John?
There's some rascally hounds among 'em, ma'am.
It's serious now! serious!
Hold your tongue, fool!—Are the doors barred?
I ask you as a favour, Mr. Dreissiger … as a favour … I am determined to … I ask you as a favour … [To JOHN.] What demands are the people making?
[Awkwardly.] It's higher wages they're after, the blackguards.
Good, good!—I shall go out and do my duty. I shall speak seriously to these people.
Oh sir, please sir, don't do any such thing. Words is quite useless.
One little favour, Mr. Dreissiger. May I ask you to post men behind the door, and to have it closed at once after me?
O Joseph, Joseph! you're not really going out?
I am. Indeed I am. I know what I'm doing. Don't be afraid. God will protect me.
[MRS. KITTELHAUS presses his hand, draws back, and wipes tears from her eyes.
[While the dull murmur of a great, excited crowd is heard uninterruptedly outside.] I'll go … I'll go out as if I were simply on my way home. I shall see if my sacred office … if the people have not sufficient respect for me left to … I shall try … [He takes his hat and stick.] Forward, then, in God's name!
[Goes out accompanied by DREISSIGER, PFEIFER and JOHN.
Oh, dear Mrs. Dreissiger! [She bursts into tears and embraces her.] I do trust nothing will happen to him.
[Absently.] I don't know how it is, Mrs. Kittelhaus, but I … I can't tell you how I feel. I didn't think such a thing was possible. It's … it's as if it was a sin to be rich. If I had been told about all this beforehand, Mrs. Kittelhaus, I don't know but what I would rather have been left in my own humble position.
There are troubles and disappointments in every condition of life, Mrs.Dreissiger.
True, true, I can well believe that. And suppose we have more than other people … goodness me! we didn't steal it. It's been honestly got, every penny of it. It's not possible that the people can be goin' to attack us! If trade's bad, that's not William's fault, is it?
[A tumult of roaring is heard outside. While the two women stand gazing at each other, pale and startled, DREISSIGER rushes in.