SCENE FOURTH
The House of Correction.—A corridor.—Diethelm, Rheinhold, Ruprecht, Helmuth, Gaston and Melchior
Diethelm
Here is a twenty pfennig piece!
Rheinhold
What shall we do with it?
Diethelm
I will lay it on the floor. Arrange yourselves about it. Who can get it can keep it.
Ruprecht
Won't you join us, Melchior?
Melchior
No, thank you.
Helmuth
The Joseph!
Gaston
He can't do anything else. He is here for recreation.
Melchior
(To himself.)
It is not wise for me to separate myself from them. They all have an eye on me. I must join them–or the creature goes to the devil–imprisonment drives it to suicide.–If I break my neck, all is well!–If I escape, that is good, too! I can only win. Ruprecht would become my friend. He has acquaintances here.–I had better give him the chapter of Judas' daughter-in-law, Thamar, of Moab, of Lot and his kindred, of Queen Vashti and of Abishag the Shunammite.–He has the unhappiest physiognomy of the lot of them.
Ruprecht
I have it!
Helmuth
I'll get it yet!
Gaston
The day after to-morrow, perhaps.
Helmuth
Right away!–Now!–O God! O God!–
All
Summa–Summa cum laude!!
Ruprecht
(Taking the money.)
Many thanks!
Helmuth
Here, you dog!
Ruprecht
You swine!
Helmuth
Gallows bird!
Ruprecht
(Hits him in the face.)
There! (
Runs away.
)
Helmuth
(Running after him.)
I'll strike you dead!
The Rest of Them
(Running after.)
Chase him! Chase him! Chase him! Chase him!
Melchior
(Alone, wandering toward the window.)
The lightning rod runs down there.–One would have to wind a pocket handkerchief about it.–When I think of them the blood always rushes to my head. And Moritz turns my feet to lead.–I'll go to a newspaper. If they pay me by space I'll be a free lance!–collect the news of the day–write–locals–ethical–psychophysical–one doesn't starve so easily nowadays. Public soup houses, Café Temperance–The house is sixty feet high and the cornice is crumbling–They hate me–they hate me because I rob them of liberty. Handle myself as I will, there remain misdemeanors–I dare only hope in the course of the year, gradually–It will be new moon in eight days. To-morrow I'll grease the hinges. By Sunday evening I must find out somehow who has the key.–Sunday evening, during prayers, a cataleptic fit–I hope to God nobody else will be sick!–Everything seems as clear to me as if it had happened. Over the window-frames I can reach easily—a swing—a clutch—but one must wind a handkerchief about it.–There comes the head inquisitor. (
Exit to the left
.)
(Dr. Prokrustes enters from the right with a locksmith.)
Dr. Prokrustes
The window is on the third floor and has stinging nettles planted under it, but what do the degenerates care for stinging nettles!–Last winter one of them got out of the trap door on the roof, and we had the whole trouble of capturing him, bringing him back, and locking him up again–
The Locksmith
Do you want the grating of wrought iron?
Dr. Prokrustes
Of wrought iron–riveted so they cannot meddle with it.
SCENE FIFTH
A bedchamber.—Frau Bergmann, Ina Müller and Doctor von Brausepulver. Wendla, in bed
Dr. von Brausepulver
How old are you, exactly?
Wendla
Fourteen and a half.
Dr. von Brausepulver
I have been ordering Blaud's pills for fifteen years and have noticed astonishing results in the majority of cases. I prefer them to cod liver oil and wine of iron. Begin with three or four pills a day, and increase the number just as soon as you are able. I ordered Fräulein Elfriede, Baroness von Witzleben to increase the number of them by one, every third day. The Baroness misunderstood me and increased the number every day by three. Scarcely three weeks later the Baroness was able to go to Pyrmont with her mother to complete her cure.–I will allow you to dispense with exhausting walks and extra meals; therefore, promise me, dear child, to take frequent exercise and to avoid unwholesome food as soon as the desire for it appears again. Then this palpitation of the heart will soon cease–and the headache, the chills, the giddiness–and this frightful indigestion. Fräulein Elfriede, Baroness von Witzleben, ate a whole roast chicken with new potatoes for her breakfast eight days after her convalescence.
Frau Bergmann
May I offer you a glass of wine, Doctor?
Dr. von Brausepulver
I thank you, dear Frau Bergmann, my carriage is waiting.–Do not take it so to heart. In a few weeks our dear little patient will be again as fresh and bright as a gazelle. Be of good cheer.–Good-day, Frau Bergmann, good-day, dear child, good-day, ladies–good-day.
(Frau Bergmann accompanies him to the door.)
Ina
(At the window.)
Now your plantains are in bloom again.–Can you see that from your bed?–A short display, hardly worth rejoicing over them, they come and go so quickly. I, too, must go right away now. Müller is waiting for me in front of the post-office, and I must go first to the dressmaker's. Mucki is to have his first trousers and Karl is to have new knit leggings for winter.
Wendla
Sometimes I feel so happy–all joy and sunshine. I had not guessed that it could go so well in one's heart! I want to go out, to go over the meadows in the twilight, to look for primroses along the river and to sit down on the banks and dream—Then comes the toothache, and I feel as if I had to die the next morning at daybreak; I grow hot and cold, it becomes dark before my eyes; and then the beast flutters inside.–As often as I wake up, I see Mother crying. Oh, that hurts me so.–I can't tell you how much, Ina!
Ina
Shall I lift your pillows higher?
Frau Bergmann
(Returning.)
He thinks the vomiting will soon cease; and then you can get up in peace–I, too, think it would be better if you got up soon, Wendla.
Ina
Possibly when I visit you the next time you will be dancing around the house again. Good-bye, Mother. I must positively go to the dressmaker's. God guard you, Wendla dear. (
Kisses her.
) A speedy, speedy recovery! (
Exit Ina.
)
Wendla
What did he tell you, Mother, when he was outside?
Frau Bergmann
He didn't say anything.–He said Fraülein von Witzleben was subject to fainting spells also. It is almost always so with chlorosis.
Wendla
Did he say that I have chlorosis, Mother?
Frau Bergmann
You are to drink milk and eat meat and vegetables when your appetite comes back.
Wendla
O, Mother, Mother, I believe I haven't chlorosis–
Frau Bergmann
You have chlorosis, child. Be calm, Wendla, be calm, you have chlorosis.
Wendla
No, Mother, no! I know it. I feel it. I haven't chlorosis. I have dropsy–
Frau Bergmann
You have chlorosis. He said positively that you have chlorosis. Calm yourself, girl. You will get better.
Wendla
I won't get better. I have the dropsy, I must die, Mother.–O, Mother, I must die!
Frau Bergmann
You must not die, child! You must not die—Great heavens, you must not die!
Wendla
But why do you weep so frightfully, then?
Frau Bergmann
You must not die, child! You haven't the dropsy, you have a child, girl! You have a child!–Oh, why did you do that to me!
Wendla
I haven't done anything to you.
Frau Bergmann
Oh don't deny it any more, Wendla!–I know everything. See, I didn't want to say a word to you.–Wendla, my Wendla–!
Wendla
But it's not possible, Mother. I'm not married yet!
Frau Bergmann
Great Almighty God–that's just it, that you are not married! That is the most frightful thing of all!–Wendla, Wendla, Wendla, what have you done!!
Wendla
God knows, I don't know any more! We lay in the hay–I have loved nobody in the world as I do you, Mother.
Frau Bergmann
My sweetheart–
Wendla
O Mother, why didn't you tell me everything!
Frau Bergmann
Child, child, let us not make each other's hearts any heavier! Take hold of yourself! Don't make me desperate, child. To tell
that
to a fourteen-year-old girl! See, I expected that about as much as I did the sun going out. I haven't acted any differently towards you than my dear, good mother did toward me.–Oh, let us trust in the dear God, Wendla; let us hope for compassion, and have compassion toward ourselves! See, nothing has happened yet, child. And if we are not cowardly now, God won't forsake us.–Be cheerful, Wendla, be cheerful!–One sits so at the window with one's hands in one's lap, while everything changes to good, and then one realizes that one almost wanted to break one's heart–Wa–why are you shivering?
Wendla
Somebody knocked.
Frau Bergmann
I didn't hear anything, dear heart. (
Goes and opens the door.
)
Wendla
But I heard it very plainly–Who is outside?
Frau Bergmann
Nobody–Schmidt's Mother from Garden street.–You come just at the right time, Mother Schmidt.
SCENE SIXTH
Men and women wine-dressers in the vineyard. The sun is setting behind the peaks of the mountains in the west. A clear sound of bells rises from the valley below. Hans Rilow and Ernest Röbel roll about in the dry grass of the highest plot under the overhanging rocks.
Ernest
I have overworked myself.
Hans
Don't let us be sad!–It's a pity the minutes are passing.
Ernest
One sees them hanging and can't manage any more–and to-morrow they are in the wine press.
Hans
Fatigue is as intolerable to me as hunger.
Ernest
Oh, I can't eat any more.
Hans
Just this shining muscatelle!
Ernest
My elasticity has its limit.
Hans
If I bend down the vine, we can sway it from mouth to mouth. Neither of us will have to disturb himself. We can bite off the grapes and let the branches fly back to the trunk.
Ernest
One hardly decides upon a thing, when, see, that vanishing power begins to darken.
Hans
Hence the flaming firmament–and the evening bells–I promise myself little more for the future.
Ernest
Sometimes I see myself already as a worthy pastor—with a good-natured little wife, a well-filled library and offices and dignities all about me. For six days one has to think, and on the seventh one opens one's mouth. When out walking, one gives one's hand to the school-girls and boys, and when one comes home the coffee steams, the cookies are brought out and the maids fetch apples through the garden door.–Can you imagine anything more beautiful?
Hans
I imagine half-closed eyelids, half-open lips and Turkish draperies.–I do not believe in pathos. Our elders show us long faces in order to hide their stupidity. Among themselves they call each other donkeys just as we do. I know that.–When I am a millionaire I'll erect a monument to God.–Imagine the future as a milkshake with sugar and cinnamon. One fellow upsets it and howls, another stirs it all together and sweats. Why not skim off the cream?–Or don't you believe that one can learn how?
Ernest
Let us skim!
Hans
What remains the hens will eat.–I have pulled my head out of so many traps already–
Ernest
Let us skim, Hans!–Why do you laugh?
Hans
Are you beginning again already?
Ernest
But one of us must begin.
Hans
Thirty years from now, on some evening like to-day, if we recall this one, perhaps it will seem too beautiful for expression.
Ernest
And how everything springs from self!
Hans
Why not?
Ernest
If by chance one were alone–one might like to weep!
Hans
Don't let us be sad! (
He kisses him on the mouth.
)
Ernest
(Returning the kiss.)
I left the house with the idea of just speaking to you and turning back again.
Hans
I waited for you.–Virtue is not a bad garment, but it requires an imposing figure.
Ernest
It fits us loosely as yet.–I should not have been content if I had not met you.–I love you, Hans, as I have never loved a soul–
Hans
Let us not be sad.–If we recall this in thirty years, perhaps we shall make fun of it.–And yet everything is so beautiful. The mountains glow; the grapes hang before our mouths and the evening breeze caresses the rocks like a playful flatterer.–
SCENE SEVENTH
A clear November night. The dry foliage of the bushes and trees rustles. Torn clouds chase each other beneath the moon–Melchior clambers over the churchyard wall.
Melchior
(Springing down inside.)
The pack won't follow me here.–While they are searching the brothels I can get my breath and discover how much I have accomplished.
Coat in tatters, pockets empty–I'm not safe from the most harmless.–I must try to get deeper into the wood to-morrow.
I have trampled down a cross–Even to-day the flowers are frozen!–The earth is cold all around–
In the domain of the dead!–
To climb out of the hole in the roof was not as hard as this road!–It was only there that I kept my presence of mind–
I hung over the abyss–everything was lost in it, vanished–Oh, if I could have stayed there.
Why she, on my account!–Why not the guilty!–Inscrutable providence!–I would have broken stones and gone hungry!–What is to keep me straight now?–Offense follows offense. I am swallowed up in the morass. I haven't strength left to get out of it–
I was not bad!–I was not bad!–I was not bad!–No mortal ever wandered so dejectedly over graves before.–Pah!–I won't lose courage! Oh, if I should go crazy–during this very night!
I must seek there among the latest ones!–The wind pipes on every stone in a different key–an anguishing symphony!–The decayed wreaths rip apart and swing with their long threads in bits about the marble crosses–A wood of scarecrows!–Scarecrows on every grave, each more gruesome than the other–as high as houses, from which the devil runs away.–The golden letters sparkle so coldly–The weeping willows groan and move their giant fingers over the inscriptions–
A praying angel–a tablet.
The clouds throw their shadows over it.–How the wind hurries and howls!–Like the march of an army it drives in from the east.–Not a star in the heavens–
Evergreen in the garden plot?–Evergreen?–A maiden–
HERE RESTS IN GOD
Wendla Bergmann, born May 5, 1878, died from Cholorosis, October 27, 1892
Blessed are the Pure of Heart
And I am her murderer. I am her murderer!–Despair is left me–I dare not weep here. Away from here!–Away–
Moritz Stiefel
(With his head under his arm, comes stamping over the graves.)
A moment, Melchior! The opportunity will not occur so readily again. You can't guess what depends upon the place and the time–
Melchior
Where do you come from?
Moritz
From over there–over by the wall. You knocked down my cross. I lie by the wall.–Give me your hand, Melchior.–
Melchior
You are not Moritz Stiefel!
Moritz
Give me your hand. I am convinced you will thank me. It won't be so easy again! This is an unusually fortunate encounter.–I came out especially–
Melchior
Don't you sleep?
Moritz
Not what you call sleep.–We sit on the church-tower, on the high gables of the roof–wherever we please.–
Melchior
Restless?
Moritz
Half happy.–We wander among the Mayflowers, among the lonely paths in the woods. We hover over gatherings of people, over the scene of accidents, gardens, festivals.–We cower in the chimneys of dwelling-places and behind the bed curtains.–Give me your hand.–We don't associate with each other, but we see and hear everything that is going on in the world. We know that everything is stupidity, everything that men do and contend for, and we laugh at it.
Melchior
What good does that do?
Moritz
What good does it have to do?–We are fit for nothing more, neither good nor evil. We stand high, high above earthly beings—each for himself alone. We do not associate with each other, because it would bore us. Not one of us cares for anything which he might lose. We are indifferent both to sorrow and to joy. We are satisfied with ourselves and that is all. We despise the living so heartily that we can hardly pity them. They amuse us with their doings, because, being alive, they are not worthy of compassion. We laugh at their tragedies—each by himself–and make reflections upon them.–Give me your hand! If you give me your hand, you will fall down with laughter over the sensation which made you give me your hand.
Melchior
Doesn't that disgust you?
Moritz
We are too high for that. We smile!–At my burial I was among the mourners. I had a right good time. That is sublimity, Melchior! I howled louder than any and slunk over to the wall to hold my belly from shaking with laughter. Our unapproachable sublimity is the only viewpoint which the trash understands–They would have laughed at me also before I swung myself off.
Melchior
I have no desire to laugh at myself.
Moritz
The living, as such, are not really worth compassion!–I admit I should not have thought so either. And now it is incomprehensible to me how one can be so naïve. I see through the fraud so clearly that not a cloud remains.–Why do you want to loiter now, Melchior! Give me your hand! In the turn of a head you will stand heaven high above yourself.–Your life is a sin of omission–
Melchior
Can you forget?
Moritz
We can do everything. Give me your hand! We can pity the young, who take their timidity for idealism, and the old, who break their hearts from stoical deliberation. We see the Kaiser tremble at a scurrilous ballad and the lazzaroni before the youngest policeman. We ignore the masks of comedians and see the poet in the shadow of the mask. We see happiness in beggars' rags and the capitalist in misery and toil. We observe lovers and see them blush before each other, foreseeing that they are deceived deceivers. We see parents bringing children into the world that they may be able to say to them: “How happy you are to have such parents!”–and see the children go and do likewise. We can observe the innocent girl in the qualms of her first love, and the five-groschen harlot reading Schiller.–We see God and the devil blaming each other, and cherish the unspeakable belief that both of them are drunk–Peace and joy, Melchior! You only need to reach me your little finger. You may become snow-white before you have such a favorable opportunity again!
Melchior
If I gave you my hand, Moritz, it would be from self-contempt.–I see myself outlawed. What lent me courage lies in the grave. I can no longer consider noble emotions as worthy.–And see nothing, nothing, that can save me now from my degradation.–To myself I am the most contemptible creature in the universe.
Moritz
What delays you?–
(A masked man appears.)
The Masked Man
(To Melchior.)
You are trembling from hunger. You are not fit to judge. (
To Moritz.
) You go!
Melchior
Who are you?
The Masked Man
I refuse to tell. (
To Moritz.
) Vanish!–What business have you here!–Why haven't you on your head?
Moritz
I shot myself.
The Masked Man
Then stay where you belong. You are done with! Don't annoy us here with your stink of the grave. It's inconceivable!–Look at your fingers! Pfu, the devil! They will crumble soon.
Moritz
Please don't send me away–
Melchior
Who are you, sir??
Moritz
Please don't send me away. Please don't. Let me stay here a bit with you; I won't disturb you in anything–It is so dreadful down there.
The Masked Man
Why do you gabble about sublimity, then?–You know that that is humbug–sour grapes! Why do you lie so diligently, you chimera? If you consider it so great a favor, you may stay, as far as I am concerned. But take yourself to leeward, my dear friend–and please keep your dead man's hand out of the game!
Melchior
Will you tell me once for all who you are, or not?
The Masked Man
No–I propose to you that you shall confide yourself to me. I will take care of your future success.
Melchior
You are–my father?
The Masked Man
Wouldn't you know your father by his voice?
Melchior
No.
The Masked Man
Your father seeks consolation at this moment in the sturdy arms of your mother.–I will open the world to you. Your momentary lack of resolution springs from your miserable condition. With a warm supper inside of you, you will make fun of it.
Melchior
(To himself.)
It can only be the devil! (
Aloud.
) After that of which I have been guilty, a warm supper cannot give me back my peace!
The Masked Man
That will follow the supper!–I can tell you this much, the girl had better have given birth. She was built properly. Unfortunately, she was killed by the abortives given by Mother Schmidt.–I will take you out among men. I will give you the opportunity to enlarge your horizon fabulously. I will make you thoroughly acquainted with everything interesting that the world has to offer.
Melchior
Who are you? Who are you?–I can't trust a man that I don't know.
The Masked Man
You can't learn to know me unless you trust me.
Melchior
Do you think so?
The Masked Man
Of course!–Besides, you have no choice.
Melchior
I can reach my hand to my friend here at any moment.
The Masked Man
Your friend is a charlatan. Nobody laughs who has a pfennig left in cash. The sublime humorist is the most miserable, most pitiable creature in creation.
Melchior
Let the humorist be what he may; you tell me who you are, or I'll reach the humorist my hand.
The Masked Man
What then?
Moritz
He is right, Melchior. I have boasted. Take his advice and profit by it. No matter how masked he is–he is, at least.
Melchior
Do you believe in God?
The Masked Man
Yes, conditionally.
Melchior
Will you tell me who discovered gunpowder?
The Masked Man
Berthold Schwarz–alias Konstantin Anklitzen.–A Franciscan monk at Freiburg in Breisgau, in 1330.
Moritz
What wouldn't I give if he had let it alone!
The Masked Man
You would only have hanged yourself then.
Melchior
What do you think about morals?
The Masked Man
You rascal, am I your schoolboy?
Melchior
Do I know what you are?
Moritz
Don't quarrel!–Please don't quarrel. What good does that do?–Why should we sit, two living men and a corpse, together in a churchyard at two o'clock in the morning if we want to quarrel like topers! It will be a pleasure to me to arbitrate between you. If you want to quarrel, I'll take my head under my arm and go!
Melchior
You are the same old 'fraid cat as ever.
The Masked Man
The phantom is not wrong. One shouldn't forget one's dignity.–By morals I understand the real product of two imaginary quantities. The imaginary quantities are “shall” and “will.” The product is called morals and leaves no doubt of its reality.
Moritz
If you had only told me that earlier! My morals hounded me to death. For the sake of my dear parents I killed myself. “Honor thy father and mother that thy days may be long in the land.” The text made a phenomenal fool of me.
The Masked Man
Give yourself up to no more illusions, dear friend. Your dear parents would have died as little from it as you did. Judged righteously, they would only have raged and stormed from the healthiest necessity.
Melchior
That may be right as far as it goes.–I can assure you, however, sir, that if I reach Moritz my h