[Flattered.] You do me too much honour—at least, for the present. Who said that, anyhow? A man sticks to a good thing, and that, naturally, brings its reward. But who was it said that?
It was over there in Jauer. Two gentlemen were conversing at the next table.
Aha! H-m. I have enemies. And what did they have to say?
Nothing of importance. But I heard from them that you had retired for the present to the estate of your parents-in-law.
People have a way of finding things out; haven't they? My dear friend, you'd never believe how a man in my position is spied on at every step. That's another one of the evils of wealth … But it is this way, you see: I'm expecting the confinement of my wife in the quiet and the healthy air here.
What do you do for a physician? Surely in such cases a good physician is of the highest importance. And here, in this village….
Ah, but that's just it! The physician here is an unusually capable one. And, do you know, I've found this out: in a doctor, conscientiousness counts for more than genius.
Perhaps it is an essential concomitant of a physician's genius.
Maybe so. Anyhow, our doctorhasa conscience. He's a bit of an idealist—more or less our kind. His success among the miners and the peasants is simply phenomenal! Sometimes, I must say, he isn't an easy man to bear, he's got a mixture of hardness and sentimentality. But, as I said before, I know how to value conscientiousness; no doubt about that. But before I forget … I do attach some importance to it … a man ought to know what he has to look out for … Listen!… Tell me … I see it in your face. Those gentlemen at the next table had nothing good to say of me? Tell me, please, what they did say.
I really ought not to do that, for I was going to beg one hundred crowns of you, literally beg, for there is hardly any chance of my ever being able to return them.
[Draws a cheque-book from his inner pocket, makes out a cheque and hands it to LOTH.] Any branch of the Imperial Bank will cash it … It's simply a pleasure….
Your promptness surpasses all expectation. Well, I accept it with, gratitude, and you know—it could be worse spent.
[Somewhat rhetorically.] A labourer is worthy of his hire. But now, Loth, have the goodness to tell me what the gentlemen in question….
I dare say they talked nonsense.
Tell me in spite of that, please. I'm simply interested, quite simply interested—that's all.
They discussed the fact that you had violently forced another man out of his position here—a contractor named Mueller.
Ofcourse! The same old story.
The man, they said, was betrothed to your present wife.
So he was. And what else?
I tell you these things just as I heard them, for I assume that it is of some importance to you to be acquainted with the exact nature of the slander.
Quite right. And so?
So far as I could make out this Mueller was said to have had the contract for the construction of a stretch of mountain railroad here.
Yes, with a wretched capital of ten thousand crowns. When he came to see that the money wouldn't go far enough, he was in haste to make a catch of one of the Witzdorf farmers' daughters; the honour was to have fallen to my wife.
They said that he had his arrangement with the daughter, and you had made yours with the father.—Next he shot himself, didn't he?—And you finished the construction of his section of the road and made a great deal of money out of it?
There's an element of truth in all that. Of course, I could give you a very different notion of how those things hung together. Perhaps they knew a few more of these edifying anecdotes.
There was one thing, I am bound to tell you, that seemed to excite them particularly: they computed what an enormous business you were doing in coal now, and they called you—well, it wasn't exactly flattering. In short they asserted that you had persuaded the stupid farmers of the neighbourhood, over some champagne, to sign a contract by which the exploitation of all the coal mined on their property was turned over to you at a ridiculously small rental.
[Touched on the raw, gets up.] I'll tell you something, Loth … Pshaw, why concern oneself with it at all. I vote that we think of supper. I'm savagely hungry—yes, quite savagely.
[He presses the button of an electric connection, the wire of which hangs down over the sofa in the form of a green cord. The ringing of an electric bell is heard.
Well, if you want to keep me here, then have the kindness … I'd like to brush up a bit first.
In a moment—everything that's necessary … [EDWARD, a servant in livery, enters.] Edward, take this gentleman to the guest chamber.
Very, well, sir.
[Pressing LOTH'S hand.] I wonder if you'd mind coming down to supper in about fifteen minutes—at most.
That's ample time. See you later.
Yes, see you later.
[EDWARD opens the door and lets LOTH precede him. Both go out. HOFFMANN scratches the back of his head, looks thoughtfully at the floor and then approaches the door at the right. He has just touched the knob when HELEN, who has entered hastily by the glass door, calls to him.
Brother! Who was that?
That was one of my college chums, in fact, the oldest of them, AlfredLoth.
[Quickly.] Has he gone again?
No; he's going to eat supper with us. Possibly … yes, possibly he may spend the night here.
Heavens! Then I shan't come to supper.
But Helen!
What is the use of my meeting cultivated people! I might just as well get as boorish as all the rest here!
Oh, these eternal fancies! In fact you will do me a real favour if you will order the arrangements for supper. Be so kind. I'd like to have things a bit festive, because I believe that he has something up his sleeve.
What do you mean by that: has something up his sleeve?
Mole's work … digging, digging.—You can't possibly understand that. Anyhow, I may be mistaken, for I've avoided touching on that subject so far. At all events, have everything as inviting as possible. That's the easiest way, after all, of accomplishing something with people … Champagne, of course. Have the lobsters come from Hamburg?
I believe they came this morning.
Very well. Then—lobsters! [A violent knocking is heard.] Come in!
[Enters with a box under his arm. His voice has a sing-song inflection.] A box.
Where from?
Ber-lin.
Quite right. No doubt the baby's outfit from Hertzog. [He looks at the package and takes the bill.] Yes, these are the things from Hertzog.
This whole box full. Oh, that's overdoing!
HOFFMANN pays the carrier.
[Still in his sing-song.] I wish you a good evening.
[Exit.
Why is that overdoing?
Why, because there's enough here to fit out at least three babies.
Did you take a walk with my wife?
What am I to do if she's so easily tired?
Nonsense! Easily tired! She makes me utterly wretched! An hour and a half … I wish, for goodness' sake, she would do as the doctor orders. What is the use of having a doctor, if….
Then put your foot down and get rid of that Spiller woman! What am I to do against an old creature like that who always confirms her in her own notions!
But what can I do—a man—a mere man? And, furthermore, you know my mother-in-law! Don't you?
[Bitterly.] I do.
Where is she now?
Spiller has been getting her up in grand style ever since Mr. Loth came.She will probably go through one of her performances at supper.
[Once more absorbed in his own thoughts and pacing the room, violently.] This is the last time, I give you my word, that I'm going to await such things in this house—the last time, so help me!
Yes, you're lucky. You can go where you please.
In my house the wretched relapse into that frightful vice would most certainly not have occurred.
Don't make me responsible for it. She did not get the brandy from me! Get rid of the Spiller woman, I tell you. Oh, if only I were a man!
[Sighing.] Oh, if only it were over and done with!—[Speaking from the door to the right.] Anyhow, sister, do me the favour and have the supper-table really appetising. I'll just attend to a little matter meanwhile.
[Rings the electric bell. MIELE enters.] Miele, set the table, and tell Edward to put champagne on ice and open four dozen oysters.
[With sullen impudence.] You c'n tell him yer-self. He don't take orders from me. He's always sayin' he was hired by Mr. Hoffmann.
Then, at least, send him in to me.
[MIELE goes. HELEN steps in front of the mirror and adjusts various details in her toilet. In the meantime EDWARD enters.
[Still before the mirror.] Edward, put champagne on ice and open oysters. Mr. Hoffmann wishes it.
Very well, Miss.
[As EDWARD leaves, a knocking is heard at the middle door.
[Startled.] Dear me! [Timidly.] Come in! [Louder and more firmly.] Come in!
[Enters without bowing.] Ah, I beg pardon. I didn't mean to intrude. My name is Loth.
HELEN bows. Her gesture smacks of the dancing school.
[His voice is heard through the closed door.] My dear people: don't be formal! I'll be with you in a moment. Loth, my sister-in-law, Helen Krause! And, sister, my friend, Alfred Loth! Please consider yourselves introduced.
Oh, what a way of….
I don't take it ill of him. As I have often been told, I am myself more than half a barbarian when correct manners are concerned. But if I intruded upon you, I….
Not in the least; oh, not in the least, believe me. [A pause of constraint.] Indeed, indeed, it is most kind of you to have looked up my brother-in-law. He often complains that … rather, regrets that the friends of his youth have forgotten him so entirely.
Yes, it just happened so this time. I've always been in Berlin and thereabouts and had no idea what had become of Hoffmann. I haven't been back in Silesia since my student days at Breslau.
And so you came upon him quite by chance.
Yes, quite—and, what is more, in the very spot where I've got to pursue my investigations.
Investigations in Witzdorf! In this wretched little hole. Ah, you're jesting. It isn't possible.
You say: wretched? Yet there is a very unusual degree of wealth here.
Oh, of course, in that respect….
I've been continually astonished. I can assure you that such farms are not to be found elsewhere; they seem literally steeped in abundance.
You are quite right. There's more than one stable here in which the cows and horses feed from marble mangers and racks of German silver! It is all due to the coal which was found under our fields and which turned the poor peasants rich almost in the twinkling of an eye. [She points to the picture in the background.] Do you see—my grandfather was a freight carter. The little property here belonged to him, but he could not get a living out of his bit of soil and so he had to haul freight. That's a picture of him in his blue blouse; they still wore blouses like that in those days. My father, when he was young, wore one too.—No! When I said "wretched" I didn't mean that. Only it's so desolate here. There's nothing, nothing for the mind. Life is empty … it's enough to kill one.
MIELE and EDWARD pass to and fro, busy laying the table to the right in the background.
Aren't there balls or parties once in a while?
Not even that! The farmers gamble, hunt, drink … What is there to be seen all the long day? [She has approached the window and points out.]Suchfigures, mainly.
H-m! Miners.
Some are going to the mine, some are coming from the mine: all day, all day … At least, I seem always to see them. Do you suppose I even care to go into the street alone? At most I slip through the back gate out into the fields. And they are such a rough set! The way they stare at one—so menacing and morose as if one were actually guilty of some crime. Sometimes, in winter, when we go sleighing, they come in the darkness, in great gangs, over the hills, through the storm, and, instead of making way, they walk stubbornly in front of the horses. Then, sometimes the farmers use the handles of their whips; it's the only way they can get through. And then the miners curse behind us. Ugh! I've been so terribly frightened sometimes!
And isn't it strange that I have come here for the sake of these very people of whom you are so much afraid.
Oh, surely not….
Quite seriously. These people interest me more than any one else here.
No one excepted?
No one.
Not even my brother-in-law?
No! For my interest in these people is different and of an altogether higher nature. But you must forgive me … You can't be expected to follow me there.
And why not? Indeed, I understand you very well … [She drops a letter inadvertently which LOTH stoops to pick up.] Don't bother … it's of no importance; only an indifferent boarding-school correspondence.
So you went to boarding-school?
Yes, in Herrnhut. You mustn't think that I'm so wholly … No, no, I do understand.
You see, these workingmen interest me for their own sake.
To be sure. And a miner like that is very interesting, if you look upon him in that way. Why, there are places where you never see one; but If you have them daily before your eyes …
Even if you have them daily before your eyes, Miss Krause. Indeed. I think that is necessary if one is to discover what is truly interesting about them.
Dear me! If it's so hard to discover—I mean what is interesting about them!
Well; it is interesting, for instance that these people, as you say, always look so menacing and so morose.
Why do you think thatthatis particularly interesting?
Because it is not the usual thing. The rest of us look that way only sometimes and by no means always.
Yes, but why do they always look so … so full of hatred and so surly?There must be some reason for that.
Just so. And it is this very reason that I am anxious to discover.
Oh, don't!… Now you're making fun of me! What good would it do you, even if you knew that?
One might perhaps find ways and means to remove the cause that makes these people so joyless and so full of hatred; one might perhaps make them happier.
[Slightly confused.] I must confess freely that now … And yet perhaps just now I begin to understand you a little. Only it is so strange, so new, so utterly new …
[Entering through the door at the right. He has a number of letters in his hand.] Well, here I am again.—Edward, see to it that these letters reach the post-office before eight o'clock. [He hands the letters to the servant, who withdraws.] Well, dear people, now we can eat! Outrageously hot here! September and such heat! [He lifts a bottle of champagne from the cooler.] Veuve Cliquot! Edward knows my secret passions! [He turns to LOTH.] You've had quite a lively argument, eh? [Approaches the table, which has now been laid and which groans under delicacies. Rubbing his hands.] Well, that looks very good indeed! [With a sly look in LOTH'S direction.] Don't you think it does?—By the way, sister! We're going to have company: William Kahl. He has been seen in the yard.
HELEN makes a gesture of disgust.
My dear girl! You almost act as if I … How can I help it? D'you supposeI invited him? [Heavy steps are heard in the outer hall.] Ah!"Misfortune strides apace!"
KAHL enters without having first knocked. He is twenty-four years old: a clumsy peasant who is evidently concerned, so far as possible, to make a show not only as a refined but, more especially, as a wealthy man. His features are coarse; his predominant expression is one of stupid cunning. He wears a green jacket, a gay velvet waist-coat, dark trousers and patent-leather top-boots. His head-covering is a green forester's hat with a cock's feather. His jacket has buttons of stag's horn and stag's teeth depend from his watch-chain. He stammers.
G-good evening everybody!
[He sees LOTH, is much embarrassed and, standing still, cuts a rather sorry figure.
[Steps up to him and shakes hands with him encouragingly.] Good evening, Mr. Kahl.
[Ungraciously.] Good evening.
[Strides with heavy steps diagonally across the room to HELEN and takes her hand.] Evenin' t'you, Nellie.
[To LOTH.] Permit me to introduce our neighbour's son, Mr. Kahl.
[KAHL grins and fidgets with his hat. Constrained silence.
Come, let's sit down, then. Is anybody missing? Ah, our mama! Miele, request Mrs. Krause to come to supper.
[MIELE leaves by the middle door.
[Is heard in the hall, calling out.] Missus! Missus!! You're to come down—to come'n eat!
[HELEN and HOFFMANN exchange a look of infinite comprehension and laugh. Then, by a common impulse, they look at LOTH.
[To LOTH.] Rustic simplicity!
MRS. KRAUSE appears, incredibly overdressed. Silk and costly jewels. Her dress and bearing betray hard arrogance, stupid pride and half-mad vanity.
Ah, there is mama! Permit me to introduce to you my friend Dr. Loth.
[Half-curtsies, peasant-fashion.] I take the liberty! [After a brief pause.] Eh, but Doctor, you mustn't bear me a grudge, no, you mustn't at all. I've got to excuse myself before you right away—[she speaks with increasing fluency]—excuse myself on account o' the way I acted a while ago. You know, y'understan', we' get a powerful lot o' tramps here right along … 'Tain't reasonable to believe the trouble we has with them beggars. And they steals exackly like magpies. It ain't as we're stingy. We don't have to be thinkin' and thinkin' before we spends a penny, no, nor before we spends a pound neither. Now, old Louis Krause's wife, she's a close one, worst kind you see, she wouldn't give a crittur that much! Her old man died o' rage because he lost a dirty little two-thousand, playin' cards. No, we ain't that kind. You see that sideboard over there. That cost me two hundred crowns, not countin' the freight even. Baron Klinkow hisself couldn't have nothin' better.
MRS. SPILLER has entered shortly after MRS. KRAUSE. She is small, slightly deformed and gotten up in her mistress's cast-off garments. While MRS. KRAUSE is speaking she looks up at her with a certain devout attention. She is about fifty-five years old. Every time she exhales her breath she utters a gentle moan, which is regularly audible, even when she speaks, as a soft—m.
[In a servile, affectedly melancholy, minor tone. Very softly.] His lordship has exactly the identical sideboard—m—.
[To MRS. KRAUSE.] Mama, don't you think we had better sit down first and then—
[Turns with lightning-like rapidity to HELEN and transfixes her with a withering look; harshly and masterfully.] Is that proper?
[She is about to sit down but remembers that grace has not been said. Mechanically she folds her hands without, however, mastering her malignity.
Come, Lord Jesus, be our guest. May thy gifts to us be blest.
[All take their seats noisily. The embarrassing situation is tided over by the passing and repassing of dishes, which takes some time.
[To LOTH.] Help yourself, old fellow, won't you? Oysters?
I'll try them. They're the first I've ever eaten.
[Has just sucked down an oyster noisily.] This season, you mean.
No, I mean at all.
[MRS. KRAUSE and MRS. SPILLER exchange a look.
[To KAHL, who is squeezing a lemon with his teeth.] Haven't seen you for two days, Mr. Kahl. Have you been busy shooting mice?
N-naw …
[To LOTH.] Mr. Kahl, I must tell you, is passionately fond of hunting.
M-m-mice is i-infamous amphibies.
[Bursts out.] It's too silly. He can't see anything wild or tame without killing it.
Las' night I sh-shot our ol' s-sow.
Then I suppose that shooting is your chief occupation.
Mr. Kahl, he just does that fer his own private pleasure.
Forest, game and women—as his Excellency the Minister von Schadendorf often used to say.
'N d-day after t-t'morrow we're g-goin' t' have p-pigeon sh-sh-shooting.
What is that—pigeon shooting?
Ah, I can't bear such things. Surely it's a very merciless sport. Rough boys who throw stones at window panes are better employed.
You go too far, Helen.
I don't know. According to my feeling it's far more sensible to break windows, than to tether pigeons to a post and then shoot bullets into them.
Well, Helen, after all, you must consider …
[Using his knife and fork with energy.] It is a shameful barbarity.
Aw!Themfew pigeons!
[To LOTH.] Mr. Kahl, you know, has m-more than two-hundred of them in his dove-cote.
All hunting is barbarity.
But an ineradicable one. Just now, for instance, five hundred live foxes are wanted in the market, and all foresters in this neighbourhood and in other parts of Germany are busy snaring the animals.
What are all those foxes wanted for?
They are sent to England, where they will enjoy the honour of being hunted from their very cages straight to death by members of the aristocracy.
Mohammedan or Christian—a beast's a beast.
May I pass you some lobster, mother?
I guess so. They're good this here season.
Madame has such a delicate palate.
[To LOTH.] I suppose you ain't ever et lobsters neither, Doctor?
Yes, I have eaten lobsters now and then—in the North, by the sea, inWarnemuende, where I was born.
[To KAHL.] Times an' times a person don't know whattoeat no more. Eh, William.
Y-y're r-right there, cousin, G-God knows.
[Is about to pour champagne into LOTH'S glass.] Champagne, sir.
[Covers his glass with his hand.] No, thank you.
Come now, don't be absurd.
What? Don't you drink?
No, Miss Krause.
Well, now, look here, old man. That is, you must admit, rather tiresome.
If I were to drink I should only grow more tiresome.
That is most interesting, Doctor.
[Untactfully.] That I grow even more tiresome when I drink wine?
[Somewhat taken aback.] No, oh, no. But that you do not drink … do not drink at all, I mean.
And why is that particularly interesting?
[Blushing.] It is not the usual thing.
[She grows redder and more embarrassed.
[Clumsily.] You are quite right, unhappily.
[To LOTH.] It costs us fifteen shillin's a bottle. You needn't be scared to drink it. We gets it straight from Rheims; we ain't givin' you nothin' cheap; we wouldn't want it ourselves.
Ah, you can believe—m-me, Doctor: if his Excellency, the Minister vonSchadendorf, had been able to keepsucha table …
I couldn't live without my wine.
[To LOTH.] Do tell us why you don't drink?
I'll do that very gladly, I …
Oh, pshaw, old fellow. [He takes the bottle from the servant in order to press the wine upon LOTH.] Just think how many merry hours we used to spend in the old days …
Please don't take the trouble …
Drink to-day—this one time.
It's quite useless.
As a special favour to me.
[HOFFMANN is about to pour the wine; LOTH resists. A slight conflict ensues.
No, no … as I said before … No!… no, thank you.
Don't be offended, but that, surely, is a mere foolish whim.
[To MRS. SPILLER.] A man that don't want nothin' has had enough.
[MRS. SPILLER nods resignedly.
Anyhow, if you let a man have his will what more can you do for him. ButI can tell you this much: without a glass of wine at dinner …
And a glass of beer at breakfast …
Very well; why not? A glass of beer is a very healthy thing.
And a nip of brandy now and then …
Ah, well, if one couldn't get that much out of life! You'll never succeed in making an ascetic of me. You can't rob life of every stimulus.
I'm not so sure of that. I am thoroughly content with the normal stimuli that reach my nervous system.
And a company that sit together with dry throats always has been and always will be a damnably weary and boresome one—with which, as a rule, I'd care to have very little to do.
An' all them aristocrats drinks a whole lot.
[Devoutly confirming her mistress' remark by an inclination of her body.] It is easy for gentlemen to drink a great deal of wine.
[To HOFFMANN.] My experience is quite to the contrary. As a rule, I am bored at a table where a great deal is drunk.
Oh, of course, it's got to be done in moderation.
What do you call moderation?
Well, so long as one is in possession of one's senses …
Aha! Then you do admit that, in general, the consumption of alcohol does endanger the possession of one's senses? And for that reason, you see, I find tavern parties such a bore.
Are you afraid of losing possession of your senses so easily?
T'-t'other d-day I drank a b-bottle o' R-Rhine-wine,an'another o' ch-champagne. An' on top o' that an-n-nother o' B-Bordeaux—an' I wan't drunk by half.
[To HOFFMANN.] Oh no. You know well enough that it was I who took you fellows home when you'd been taking too much. And I still have the same tough old system. No, I'm not afraid on that account.
Well, then, what is it?
Yes, why is it really that you don't drink? Do tell us!
[To HOFFMANN.] In order to satisfy you then: I do not drink to-day, if for no other reason but because I have given my word of honour to avoid spirituous liquors.
In other words, you've sunk to the level of a temperance fanatic.
I am a total abstainer.
And for how long, may one ask, have you gone in for this—
For life.
[Throws down his knife and fork and half starts up from his chair.] Well, I'll be … [He sits down again.] Now, frankly, you must forgive me, but I never thought you so—childish.
You may call it so if you please.
But how in the world did you get into that kind of thing?
Surely, for such a resolution you must have a very weighty cause—it seems so to me, at least.
Undoubtedly such a reason exists. You probably do not know, Miss Krause, nor you either, Hoffmann, what an appalling part alcohol plays in modern life … Read Bunge, if you desire to gain an idea of it. I happen to remember the statements of a writer named Everett concerning the significance of alcohol in the life of the United States. His facts cover a space of ten years. In these ten years, according to him, alcohol has devoured directly a sum of three thousand millions of dollars and indirectly of six hundred millions. It has killed three hundred thousand people, it has driven thousands of others into prisons and poor-houses; it has caused two thousand suicides at the least. It has caused the loss of at least ten millions through fire and violent destruction; it has rendered no less than twenty thousand women, widows, and no less than one million children, orphans. Worst of all, however, are the far-reaching effects of alcohol which extend to the third and fourth generation.—Now, had I pledged myself never to marry, I might perhaps drink, but as it is—My ancestors, as I happen to know, were all not only healthy and robust but thoroughly temperate people. Every movement that I make, every hardship that I undergo, every breath that I draw brings what I owe them more deeply home to me. And that, you see, is the point; I am absolutely determined to transmit undiminished to my posterity this heritage which is mine.
Look here, son-in-law, them miners o' ours do drink a deal too much. I guess that's true.
They swills like pigs.
And such, things are hereditary?
There are families who are ruined by it—families of dipsomaniacs.
[Half to MRS. KRAUSE; half to HELEN.] Your old man—he's goin' it pretty fast, too.
[White as a sheet, vehemently.] Oh, don't talk nonsense.
Eh, but listen to the impident hussy. You might think she was a princess! You're tryin' to play bein' a grand lady, I s'ppose! That's the way she goes fer her future husband. [To LOTH, pointing to KAHL.] That's him, you know; they're promised; it's all arranged.
[Jumping up.] Stop! or …Stop, mother, or I …
Well, I do declare! Say, Doctor, is that what you call eddication, eh? God knows, I treat her as if she was my own child, but that's a little too much.
[Soothingly.] Ah, mother, do me the favour….
No-o! I don't see why. Such a goose like that … That's an end o' all justice … such a sl…!
Oh, but mother, I must really beg of you to control—
[Doubly enraged.] Instead o' sich a crittur takin' a hand on the farm…. God forbid! She pulls her sheets 'way over her ears. But her Schillers and her Goethes and sich like stinkin' dogs—that can't do nothin' but lie; they c'n turn her head. It's enough to make you sick!
[She stops, quivering with rage.
[Trying to pacify her.] Well, well—she will be all right now … perhaps it wasn't quite right … perhaps….
[He beckons to HELEN, who in her excitement has drawn aside, and the girl, fighting down her tears, returns to her place.
[Interrupting the painful silence that has followed, to LOTH.] Ah, yes … what were we talking about? To be sure, of good old alcohol. [He raises his glass.] Well, mother, let us have peace. Come,—we'll drink a toast in peace, and honour alcohol by being peaceful. [MRS. KRAUSE, although somewhat rebelliously, clinks glasses with him.] What, Helen, and your glass is empty…. I say, Loth, you've made a proselyte.
Ah … no … I….
But, dear Miss Helen, that looks sus—
You weren't always so very particular.
[Pertly.] I simply have no inclination to drink to-day. That's all.
Oh, I beg your pardon, very humbly indeed … Let me see, what were we talking about?
We were saying that there were whole families of dipsomaniacs.
[Embarrassed anew.] To be sure, to be sure, but … er….
[Growing anger is noticeable in the behaviour of MRS. KRAUSE. KAHL is obviously hard put to it to restrain his laughter concerning something that seems to furnish him immense inner amusement. HELEN observes KAHL with burning eyes and her threatening glance has repeatedly restrained him from saying something that is clearly on the tip of his tongue. LOTH, peeling an apple with a good deal of equanimity, has taken no notice of all this.
What is more, you seem to be rather blessed with that sort of thing hereabouts.
[Almost beside himself.] Why? How? Blessed with what?
With drunkards, of course.
H-m! Do you think so … ah … yes … I dare say—the miners….
Not only the miners. Here, in the inn, where I stopped before I came to you, there sat a fellow, for instance, this way.
[He rests both elbows on the table, supports his head, with his hands and stares at the table.
Really?
[His embarrassment has now reached its highest point; MRS. KRAUSE coughs; HELEN still commands KAHL with her eyes. His whole body quivers with internal laughter, but he is still capable of enough self-command not to burst out.
I'm surprised that you don't know this, well, one might almost say, this matchless example of his kind. It's the inn next door to your house. I was told that the man is an immensely rich farmer of this place who literally spends his days and years in the same tap-room drinking whiskey. Of course he's a mere animal to-day. Those frightfully vacant, drink-bleared eyes with which he stared at me!
[KAHL, who has restrained himself up to this point, breaks out in coarse, loud, irrepressible laughter, so that LOTH and HOFFMANN, dumb with astonishment, stare at him.
[Stammering out through his laughter.] By the Almighty, that was…. Oh, sure, sure—that was the ol' man.
[Jumps up, horrified and indignant. She crushes her napkin and flings it on the table.] You are…. [With a gesture of utter loathing.] Oh, you are….
[She withdraws swiftly.
[Violently breaking through the constraint which arises from his consciousness of having committed a gross blunder.] Oh, pshaw!… It's too dam' foolish! I'm goin' my own ways. [He puts on his hat and says, without turning back:] Evenin'.
[Calls out after him.] Don' know's I c'n blame you, William. [She folds her napkin and calls:] Miele! [MIELE enters.] Clear the table! [To herself, but audibly.] Sich a goose!
[Somewhat angry.] Well, mother, honestly, I must say….
You go and…!
[Arises; exits quickly.
Madame—m—has had a good many domestic annoyances to-day—m—. I will now respectfully take my leave.
[She rises, prays silently with upturned eyes for a moment and thenleaves.
MIELE and EDWARD clear the table. HOFFMANN has arisen and comes to the foreground. He has a toothpick in his mouth. LOTH follows him.
Well, you see, that's the way women are.
I can't say that I understand what it was about.
It isn't worth mentioning. Things like that happen in the most refined families. It mustn't keep you from spending a few days with us….
I should like to have made your wife's acquaintance. Why doesn't she appear at all?
[Cutting off the end of a fresh cigar.] Well, in her condition, you understand … women won't abandon their vanity. Come, let's go and take a few turns in the garden.—Edward, serve coffee in the arbour!
Very well, sir.
[HOFFMANN and LOTH disappear by way of the conservatory. EDWARD leaves by way of the middle door and MIELE, immediately thereafter, goes out, carrying a tray of dishes, by the same door. For a few seconds the room is empty. Then enters
[Wrought up, with tear-stained eyes, holding her handkerchief against her mouth. From the middle door, by which she has entered, she takes a few hasty steps to the left and listens at the door of HOFFMANN'S room.] Oh, don't go! [Hearing nothing there, she hastens over to the door of the conservatory, where she also listens for a few moments with tense expression. Folding her hands and in a tone of impassioned beseeching.] Oh, don't go! Don't go!
It is about four o'clock in the morning. The windows in the inn are still lit. Through the gateway comes in the twilight of a pallid dawn which, in the course of the action, develops into a ruddy glow, and this, in its turn, gradually melts into bright daylight. Under the gateway, on the ground, sits BEIPST and sharpens his scythe. As the curtain rises, little more is visible than his dark outline which is defined against the morning sky, but one hears the monotonous, uninterrupted and regular beat of the scythe hammer on the anvil. For some minutes this is the only sound audible. Then follows the solemn silence of the morning, broken by the cries of roysterers who are leaving the inn. The inn-door is slammed with a crash. The lights in the windows go out. A distant barking of dogs is heard and a loud, confused crowing of cocks. On the path from the inn to the house a dark figure becomes visible which reels in zigzag lines toward the farmyard. It is FARMER KRAUSE, who, as always, has been the last to leave the inn.
[Has reeled against the fence, clings to it for support with both hands, and roars with a somewhat nasal, drunken voice back at the inn.] The garden'sh mine … the inn'sh mi-ine … ash of a' inn-keeper! Hi-hee! [After mumbling and growling unintelligibly he frees himself from the fence and staggers into the yard, where, luckily, he gets hold of the handles of a plough.] The farm'sh mi'ine. [He drivels, half singing.] Drink … o … lil' brother, drink … o … lil' brother … brandy'sh good t' give courash. Hi-hee—[roaring aloud]—ain' I a han'some man … Ain' I got a han'some wife?… Ain' I got a couple o' han'some gals?
[Comes swiftly from the house. It is plain that she has only slipped on such garments as, in her hurry, she could find.] Papa!… dear papa!! Do come in! [She supports him by one arm, tries to lead him and draw him toward the house.] Oh, do come … do please come … quick … quick … Come, oh, do,docome!
[Has straightened himself up and tries to stand erect. Fumbling with both hands he succeeds, with great pains, in extracting from his breeches-pocket a purse bursting with coins. As the morning brightens, it is possible to see the shabby garb of KRAUSE, which is in no respects better than that of the commonest field labourer. He is about fifty years old. His head is bare, his thin, grey hair is uncombed and matted. His dirty shirt is open down to his waist. His leathern breeches, tied at the ankles, were once yellow but are now shiny with dirt. They are held up by a single embroidered suspender. On his naked feet he wears a pair of embroidered bedroom slippers, the embroidery on which seems to be quite new. He wears neither coat nor waist-coat and his shirtsleeves are unbuttoned. After he has finally succeeded in extracting the purse, he holds it in his right hand and brings it down repeatedly on the palm of his left so that the coins ring and clatter, At the same time he fixes a lascivious look on his daughter.] Hi-hee! The money'sh mi-ine! Hey? How'd y' like couple o' crownsh?
Oh, merciful God! [She makes repeated efforts to drag him with her. At one of these efforts he embraces her with the clumsiness of a gorilla and makes several indecent gestures. HELEN utters suppressed cries for help.] Let go! This minute! Let go-o!! Oh, please, papa, Oh-o!! [She weeps, then suddenly cries out in an extremity of fear, loathing and rage:] Beast! Swine!
[She pushes him from her and KRAUSE falls to his full length on the ground. BEIPST comes limping up from his seat under the gateway. He and HELEN set about lifting KRAUSE.
[Stammers.] Drink … o … lil' brothersh … drrr …
[KRAUSE is half-lifted up and tumbles into the house, dragging BEIPST and HELEN with him. For a moment the stage remains empty. In the house voices are heard and the slamming of doors. A single window is lit, upon which BEIPST comes out of the house again. He strikes a match against his leathern breeches in order to light the short pipe that rarely leaves his mouth. While he is thus employed, KAHL is seen slinking out of the house. He is in his stocking feet, but has slung his coat loosely over his left arm and holds his bedroom slippers in his left hand. In his right hand he holds his hat and his collar in his teeth. When he has reached the middle of the yard, he sees the face of BEIPST turned upon him. For a moment he seems undecided; then he manages to grasp his hat and collar also with his left hand, dives into his breeches' pocket and going up to BEIPST presses a coin into the latter's hand.
There, you got a crown … but shut yer mouth!
[He hastens across the yard and climbs over the picket fence at the right.
[BEIPST has lit his pipe with a fresh match. He limps to the gate, sits down and begins sharpening his scythe anew. Again nothing is heard for a time but the monotonous hammer blows and the groans of the old man, which he interrupts by short oaths when his work will not go to his liking. It has grown considerably lighter.
[Steps out of the house door, stands still, stretches himself, and breathes deeply several times.] Ah! The morning air. [Slowly he goes toward the background until he reaches the gateway. To BEIPST.] Good morning! Up so early?
[Squinting at LOTH suspiciously. In a surly tone.] 'Mornin'. [A brief pause, whereupon BEIPST addresses his scythe which he pulls to and fro in his indignation.] Crooked beast! Well, are ye goin' to? Eksch! Well, well, I'll be …
[He continues to sharpen it.
[Has taken a seat between the handles of a cultivator.] I suppose there's hay harvesting to-day?
[Roughly.] Dam' fools go a-cuttin' hay this time o' year.
Well, but you're sharpening a scythe?
[To the scythe.] Eksch! You ol'…!
[A brief pause.]
Won't you tell me, though, why you are sharpening your scythe if it is not time for the hay harvest?
Eh? Don't you need a scythe to cut fodder?
So that's it. You're going to cut fodder?
Well, what else?
And is it cut every morning?
Well, d' you want the beasts to starve?
You must show me a little forbearance. You see, I'm a city man; and it isn't possible for me to know things about farming very exactly.
City folks! Eksh! All of 'em I ever saw thought they knew it all—better'n country folks.
That isn't the case with me.—Can you explain to me, for instance, what kind of an implement this is? I have seen one like it before, to be sure, but the name—
That thing that ye're sittin' on? Why, they calls that a cultivator.
To be sure—a cultivator. Is it used here?
Naw; more's the pity. He lets everything go to hell … all the land … lets it go, the farmer does. A poor man would like to have a bit o' land—you can't have grain growin' in your beard, you know. But no! He'd rather let it go to the devil! Nothin' grows excep' weeds an' thistles.
Well, but you can get those out with the cultivator, too. I know that the Icarians had them, too, in order to weed thoroughly the land that had been cleared.
Where's them I-ca … what d'you, call 'em?
The Icarians? In America.
They've got things like that there, too?
Certainly.
What kind of people is them I-I-ca…?
The Icarians? They are not a special people at all, but men of all nations who have united for a common purpose. They own a considerable tract of land in America which they cultivate together. They share both the work and the profits equally. None of them is poor and there are no poor people among them.