HELEN

Ah ... no ... I....

MRS. SPILLER

But, dear Miss Helen, that looks sus—

HOFFMANN

You weren't always so very particular.

HELEN

[Pertly.] I simply have no inclination to drink to-day. That's all.

HOFFMANN

Oh, I beg your pardon, very humbly indeed ... Let me see, what were we talking about?

LOTH

We were saying that there were whole families of dipsomaniacs.

HOFFMANN

[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.

LOTH

What is more, you seem to be rather blessed with that sort of thing hereabouts.

HOFFMANN

[Almost beside himself.] Why? How? Blessed with what?

LOTH

With drunkards, of course.

HOFFMANN

H-m! Do you think so ... ah ... yes ... I dare say—the miners....

LOTH

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.

HOFFMANN

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.

LOTH

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.

KAHL

[Stammering out through his laughter.] By the Almighty, that was.... Oh, sure, sure—that was the ol' man.

HELEN

[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.

KAHL

[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'.

MRS. KRAUSE

[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!

HOFFMANN

[Somewhat angry.] Well, mother, honestly, I must say....

MRS. KRAUSE

You go and...!

[Arises; exits quickly.

MRS. SPILLER

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 then leaves.

MIELE and EDWARD clear the table. HOFFMANN has arisen and comes to the foreground. He has a toothpick in his mouth. LOTH follows him.

HOFFMANN

Well, you see, that's the way women are.

LOTH

I can't say that I understand what it was about.

HOFFMANN

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....

LOTH

I should like to have made your wife's acquaintance. Why doesn't she appear at all?

HOFFMANN

[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!

EDWARD

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

HELEN

[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!

THE CURTAIN FALLS



THE SECOND ACT

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.

FARMER KRAUSE

[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?

HELEN

[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, do come!

FARMER KRAUSE

[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?

HELEN

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.

FARMER 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.

KAHL

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.

LOTH

[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?

BEIPST

[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.

LOTH

[Has taken a seat between the handles of a cultivator.] I suppose there's hay harvesting to-day?

BEIPST

[Roughly.] Dam' fools go a-cuttin' hay this time o' year.

LOTH

Well, but you're sharpening a scythe?

BEIPST

[To the scythe.] Eksch! You ol'...!

[A brief pause.]

LOTH

Won't you tell me, though, why you are sharpening your scythe if it is not time for the hay harvest?

BEIPST

Eh? Don't you need a scythe to cut fodder?

LOTH

So that's it. You're going to cut fodder?

BEIPST

Well, what else?

LOTH

And is it cut every morning?

BEIPST

Well, d' you want the beasts to starve?

LOTH

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.

BEIPST

City folks! Eksh! All of 'em I ever saw thought they knew it all—better'n country folks.

LOTH

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—

BEIPST

That thing that ye're sittin' on? Why, they calls that a cultivator.

LOTH

To be sure—a cultivator. Is it used here?

BEIPST

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.

LOTH

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.

BEIPST

Where's them I-ca ... what d'you, call 'em?

LOTH

The Icarians? In America.

BEIPST

They've got things like that there, too?

LOTH

Certainly.

BEIPST

What kind of people is them I-I-ca...?

LOTH

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.

BEIPST

[Whose expression had become a little more friendly, assumes, during LOTH'S last speech, his former hostile and suspicious look. Without taking further notice of LOTH he has, during the last few moments, given his exclusive attention to his work.] Beast of a scythe!

[LOTH, still seated, first observes the old man with a quiet smile and then looks out into the awakening morning.

Through the gateway are visible far stretches of clover field and meadow. Between them meanders a brook whose course is marked by alders and willows. A single mountain peak towers on the horizon. All about, larks have begun their song, and their uninterrupted trilling floats, now from near, now from far, into the farm yard.

LOTH

[Getting up.] One ought to take a walk. The morning is magnificent.

[The clatter of wooden shoes is heard. Some one is rapidly coming down the stairs that lead from the stable loft. It is GUSTE.

GUSTE

[A rather stout maid-servant. Her neck is bare, as are her arms and legs below the knee. Her naked feet are stuck in wooden shoes. She carries a burning lantern.] Good morning father Beipst!

[BEIPST growls.]

GUSTE

[Shading her eyes with her hand looks after LOTH through the gate.] What kind of a feller is that?

BEIPST

[Embittered.] He can make fools o' beggars ... He can lie like a parson ... Jus' let him tell you his stories. [He gets up.] Get the wheelbarrows ready, girl!

GUSTE

[Who has been washing her legs at the well gets through before disappearing into the cow stable.] Right away, father Beipst.

LOTH

[Returns and gives BEIPST a tip.] There's something for you. A man can always use that.

BEIPST

[Thawing at once, quite changed and with sincere companionableness.] Yes, yes, you're right there, and I thank ye kindly.—I suppose you're the company of the son-in-law over there? [Suddenly very voluble.] You know, if you want to go walkin' out there, you know, toward the hill, then you want to keep to the left, real close to the left, because to the right, there's clefts. My son, he used to say, the reason of it was, he used to say, was because they didn't board the place up right, the miners didn't. They gets too little pay, he used to say, and then folks does things just hit or miss, in the shafts you know.—You see? Over yonder? Always to the left! There's holes on t'other side. It wasn't but only last year and a butter woman, just as she was, sudden, sunk down in the earth, I don't know how many fathoms down. Nobody knew whereto. So I'm tellin' you—go to the left, to the left and you'll be safe.

[A shot is heard. BEIPST starts up as though he had been struck and limps out a few paces into the open.

LOTH

Who, do you think, is shooting so early?

BEIPST

Who would it be excep' that rascal of a boy?

LOTH

What boy?

BEIPST

Will Kahl—our neighbour's son here ... You just wait, you! I've seen him, I tell you. He shoots larks.

LOTH

Why, you limp!

BEIPST

Yes, the Lord pity me. [He shakes a threatening fist toward the fields.] Eh, wait, you ... you...!

LOTH

What happened to your leg?

BEIPST

My leg?

LOTH

Yes.

BEIPST

Eh? Somethin' got into it.

LOTH

Do you suffer pain?

BEIPST

[Grasping his leg.] There's a tugging pain in it, a confounded pain.

LOTH

Do you see a doctor about it?

BEIPST

Doctors? Eh, you know, they're all monkeys—one like another. Only our doctor here—he's a mighty good man.

LOTH

And did he help you?

BEIPST

A little, maybe, when all's said. He kneaded my leg, you see, he squeezed it, an' he punched it. But no,'t'ain't on that account. He is ... well, I tell you, he's got compassion on a human bein', that's it. He buys the medicine an' asks nothin'. An' he'll come to you any time ...

LOTH

Still, you must have come by that trouble somehow. Or did you always limp?

BEIPST

Not a bit of it!

LOTH

Then I don't think I quite understand. There must have been some cause ...

BEIPST

How do I know? [Once more he raises a menacing fist.] You jus' wait, you—with your rattling!

KAHL

[Appears within his own garden. In his right hand he carries a rifle by the barrel, his left hand is closed. He calls across.] Good mornin', Doctor!

LOTH walks diagonally across the yard up to KAHL. In the meantime GUSTE as well as another maid-servant named LIESE have each made ready a wheel-barrow on which lie rakes and pitch-forks. They trundle their wheel-barrows past BEIPST out into the fields. The latter, sending menacing glances toward KAHL and making furtive gestures of rage, shoulders his scythe and limps after them. BEIPST and the maids disappear.

LOTH

[To KAHL.] Good morning.

KAHL

D'you want for to see somethin' fine?

[He stretches his closed hand across the fence.

LOTH

[Going nearer.] What have you there?

KAHL

Guess!

[He opens his hand at once.

LOTH

What? Is it really true—you shoot the larks. You good for nothing! Do you know that you deserve to be beaten for such mischief?

KAHL

[Stares at LOTH for some seconds in stupid amazement. Then, clenching his fist furtively he says:] You son of a...!

[And swinging around, disappears toward the right.

[For some moments the yard remains empty.]

HELEN steps from the house door. She wears a light-coloured summer dress and a large garden hat. She looks all around her, walks a few paces toward the gate-way, stands still and gazes out. Hereupon she saunters across the yard toward the right and turns into the path that leads to the inn. Great bundles of various tea-herbs are slung across the fence to dry. She stops to inhale their odours. She also bends downward the lower boughs of fruit trees and admires the low hanging, red-cheeked apples. When she observes LOTH coming toward her from the inn, a yet greater restlessness comes over her, so that she finally turns around and reaches the farm yard before LOTH. Here she notices that the dove-cote is still closed and goes thither through the little gate that leads into the orchard. While she is still busy pulling down the cord which, blown about by the wind, has become entangled somewhere, she is addressed by LOTH, who has come up in the meantime.

LOTH

Good morning, Miss Krause.

HELEN

Good morning. See, the wind has blown the cord up there!

LOTH

Let me help you.

[He also passes through the little gate, gets the cord down and opens the dove-cote. The pigeons flutter out.

HELEN

Thank you so much!

LOTH

[Has passed out by the little gate once more and stands there, leaning against the fence. HELEN is on the other side of it. After a brief pause.] Do you make a habit of rising so early?

HELEN

I was just going to ask you the same thing.

LOTH

I? Oh, no! But after the first night in a strange place it usually happens so.

HELEN

Why does that happen?

LOTH

I have never thought about it. To what end?

HELEN

Oh, wouldn't it serve some end?

LOTH

None, at least, that is apparent and practical.

HELEN

And so everything that you do or think must have some practical end in view.

LOTH

Exactly. Furthermore ...

HELEN

I would not have thought that of you.

LOTH

What, Miss Krause?

HELEN

It was with those very words that, day before yesterday, my stepmother snatched "The Sorrows of Werther" from my hand.

LOTH

It is a foolish book.

HELEN

Oh, don't say that.

LOTH

Indeed, I must repeat it, Miss Krause. It is a book for weaklings.

HELEN

That may well be.

LOTH

How do you come across just that book? Do you quite understand it?

HELEN

I hope I do—at least, in part. It rests me to read it. [After a pause.] But if it is a foolish book, as you say, could you recommend me a better one?

LOTH

Read ... well, let me see ... do you know Dahn's "Fight for Rome"?

HELEN

No, but I'll buy the book now. Does it serve a practical end?

LOTH

No, but a rational one. It depicts men not as they are but such as, some day, they ought to be. Thus it sets up an ideal for our imitation.

HELEN

[Deeply convinced.] Ah, that is noble. [A brief pause.] But perhaps you can tell me something else. The papers talk so much about Zola and Ibsen. Are they great authors?

LOTH

In the sense of being artists they are not authors at all, Miss Krause. They are necessary evils. I have a genuine thirst for the beautiful and I demand of art a clear, refreshing draught.—I am not ill; and what Zola and Ibsen offer me is medicine.

HELEN

[Quite involuntarily.] Ah, then perhaps, they might help me.

LOTH

[Who has become gradually absorbed in his vision of the dewy orchard and who now yields to it wholly.] How very lovely it is here. Look, how the sun emerges from behind the mountain peak.—And you have so many apples in your garden—a rich harvest.

HELEN

Three-fourths of them will be stolen this year just as last. There is such great poverty hereabouts.

LOTH

I can scarcely tell you how deeply I love the country. Alas, the greater part of my harvest must be sought in cities. But I must try to enjoy this country holiday thoroughly. A man like myself needs a bit of sunshine and refreshment more than most people.

HELEN

[Sighing.] More than others ... In what respect?

LOTH

It is because I am in the midst of a hard conflict, the end of which I will not live to see.

HELEN

But are we not all engaged in such a conflict?

LOTH

No.

HELEN

Surely we are all engaged in some conflict?

LOTH

Naturally, but in one that may end.

HELEN

It may. Yon are right. But why cannot the other end—I mean the one in which you are engaged, Mr. Loth?

LOTH

Your conflict, after all, can only be one for your personal happiness. And, so far as is humanly speaking possible, the individual can attain this. My struggle is a struggle for the happiness of all men. The condition of my happiness would be the happiness of all; nothing could content me until I saw an end of sickness and poverty, of servitude and spiritual meanness. I could take my place at the banquet table of life only as the last of its guests.

HELEN

[With deep conviction.] Ah, then you are a truly, truly good, man!

LOTH

[Somewhat embarrassed.] There is no merit in my attitude: it is an inborn one. And I must also confess that my struggle in the interest of progress affords me the highest satisfaction. And the kind of happiness I thus win is one that I estimate far more highly than the happiness which contents the ordinary self-seeker.

HELEN

Still there are very few people in whom such a taste is inborn.

LOTH

Perhaps it isn't wholly inborn. I think that we are constrained to it by the essential wrongness of the conditions of life. Of course, one must have a sense for that wrongness. There is the point. Now if one has that sense and suffers consciously under the wrongness of the conditions in question—why, then one becomes, necessarily, just what I am.

HELEN

Oh, if it were only clearer to me ... Tell me, what conditions, for instance, do you call wrong?

LOTH

Well, it is wrong, for instance, that he who toils in the sweat of his brow suffers want while the sluggard lives in luxury. It is wrong to punish murder in times of peace and reward it in times of war. It is wrong to despise the hangman and yet, as soldiers do, to bear proudly at one's side a murderous weapon whether it be rapier or sabre. If the hangman displayed his axe thus he would doubtless be stoned. It is wrong, finally, to support as a state religion the faith of Christ which teaches long-suffering, forgiveness and love, and, on the other hand, to train whole nations to be destroyers of their own kind. These are but a few among millions of absurdities. It costs an effort to penetrate to the true nature of all these things: one must begin early.

HELEN

But how did you succeed in thinking of all this? It seems so simple and yet one never thinks of it.

LOTH

In various ways: the course of my own personal development, conversation with friends, reading and independent thinking. I found out the first absurdity when I was a little boy. I once told a rather flagrant lie and my father flogged me most soundly. Shortly thereafter I took a railroad journey with my father and I discovered that my father lied, too, and seemed to take the action quite as a matter of course. I was five years old at that time and my father told the conductor that I was not yet four in order to secure free transportation for me. Again, our teacher said to us: be industrious, be honourable and you will invariably prosper in life. But the man had uttered folly, and I discovered that soon enough. My father was honourable, honest, and thoroughly upright, and yet a scoundrel who is alive and rich to-day cheated him of his last few thousands. And my father, driven by want, had to take employment under this very scoundrel who owned a large soap factory.

HELEN

People like myself hardly dare think of such a thing as wrong. At most one feels it to be so in silence. Indeed, one feels it often—and then—a kind of despair takes hold of one.

LOTH

I recall one absurdity which presented itself to me as such with especial clearness. I had always believed that murder is punished as a crime under whatever circumstances. After the incident in question, however, it grew to be clear to me that only the milder forms of murder are unlawful.

HELEN

How is that possible?

LOTH

My father was a boilermaster. We lived hard by the factory and our windows gave on the factory yard. I saw a good many things there. There was a workingman, for instance, who had worked in the factory for five years. He began to have a violent cough and to lose flesh ... I recall how my father told us about the man at table. His name was Burmeister and he was threatened with pulmonary consumption if he worked much longer in the soap factory. The doctor had told him so. But the man had eight children and, weak and emaciated as he was, he couldn't find other work anywhere. And so he had to stay In the soap factory and his employer was quite self-righteous because he kept him. He seemed to himself an extraordinarily humane person.—One August afternoon—the heat was frightful—Burmeister dragged himself across the yard with a wheelbarrow full of lime. I was just looking out of the window when I noticed him stop, stop again, and finally pitch over headlong on the cobblestones. I ran up to him—my father came, other workingmen came up, but he could barely gasp and his month was filled with blood. I helped carry him into the house. He was a mass of limy rags, reeking with all kinds of chemicals. Before we had gotten him into the house, he was dead.

HELEN

Ah, that is terrible.

LOTH

Scarcely a week later we pulled his wife out of the river into which the waste lye of our factory was drained. And, my dear young lady, when one knows things of that kind as I know them now—believe me—one can find no rest. A simple little piece of soap, which makes no one else in the world think of any harm, even a pair of clean, well-cared-for hands are enough to embitter one thoroughly.

HELEN

I saw something like that once. And oh, it was frightful, frightful!

LOTH

What was that?

HELEN

The son of a workingman was carried in here half-dead. It's about—three years ago.

LOTH

Had he been injured?

HELEN

Yes, over there in the Bear shaft.

LOTH

So it was a miner?

HELEN

Oh, yes. Most of the young men around here go to work in the mines. Another son of the same man was also a trammer and also met with an accident.

LOTH

And were they both killed?

HELEN

Yes, both ... Once the lift broke; the other time it was fire damp.—Old Beipst has yet a third son and he has gone down to the mine too since last Easter.

LOTH

Is it possible? And doesn't the father object?

HELEN

No, not at all. Only he is even more morose than he used to be. Haven't you seen him yet?

LOTH

How could I?

HELEN

Why, he sat near here this morning, under the gateway.

LOTH

Oh! So he works on the farm here?

HELEN

He has been with us for years.

LOTH

Does he limp?

HELEN

Yes, quite badly, indeed.

LOTH

Ah—ha! And what was it that happened to his leg?

HELEN

That's a delicate subject. You have met Mr. Kahl?... But I must tell you this story very softly. [She draws nearer to LOTH.] His father, you know, was just as silly about hunting as he is. When wandering apprentices came into his yard he shot at them—sometimes only into the air in order to frighten them. He had a violent temper too, and especially when he had been drinking. Well, I suppose Beipst grumbled one day—he likes to grumble, you know—and so the farmer snatched up his rifle and fired at him. Beipst, you know, used to be coachman at the Kahls.

LOTH

Outrage and iniquity wherever one goes.

HELEN

[Growing more uncertain and excited in her speech.] Oh, I've had my own thoughts often and often ... and I've felt so sick with pity for them all, for old Beipst and ... When the farmers are so coarse and brutish like—well, like Streckmann, who—lets his farm hands starve and feeds sweetmeats to the dogs. I've often felt confused in my mind since I came home from boarding-school ... I have my burden too!—But I'm talking nonsense. It can't possibly interest you, and you will only laugh at me to yourself.

LOTH

But, my dear Miss Krause, how can you think that? Why should I?

HELEN

How can you help it? You'll think anyhow: she's no better than the rest here!

LOTH

I think ill of no one.

HELEN

Oh, you can't make me believe that—ever!

LOTH

But what occasion have I given, you to make you ...

HELEN

[Almost in tears.] Oh, don't talk. You despise us; you may be sure that you do. Why, how can you help despising us—[tearfully]—even my brother-in-law, even me. Indeed, me above all, and you have—oh, you have truly good reasons for it!

[She quickly turns her back to LOTH, no longer able to master her emotion, and disappears through the orchard into the background. LOTH passes through the little gate and follows her slowly.

MRS. KRAUSE

[In morning costume, ridiculously over-dressed, comes out of the house. Her face is crimson with rage. She screams.] The low-lived hussy! Marie! Marie!! Under my roof! Out with the brazen hussy!

[She runs across the yard and disappears in the stable. MRS. SPILLER appears in the house-door; she is crocheting. From within the stable resound scolding and howling.

MRS. KRAUSE

[Comes out of the stable driving the howling maid before her.] Slut of a wench!—[The maid almost screams.]—Git out o' here this minute! Pack yer things 'n then git out!

THE MAID

[Catching sight of MRS. SPILLER, hurls her milking stool and pail from her.] That's your doin'! I'll git even with you!

[Sobbing, she runs up the stairs to the loft.

HELEN

[Joining MRS. KRAUSE.] Why, what did she do?

MRS. KRAUSE

[Roughly.] Any o' your business?

HELEN

[Passionately, almost weeping.] Yes, it is my business.

MRS. SPILLER

[Coming up quickly.] Dear Miss Helen, it's nothing fit for the ear of a young lady ...

MRS. KRAUSE

An' I'd like to know why not! She ain't made o' sugar. The wench lay abed with the hired man. Now you know it!

HELEN

[In a commanding voice.] The maid shall stay for all that!

MRS. KRAUSE

Wench!

HELEN

Good! Then I'll tell father that you spend your nights just the same way with William Kahl.

MRS. KRAUSE

[Strikes her full in the face.] There you got a reminder!

HELEN

[Deathly pale, but even more firmly.] And I say the maid shall stay! Otherwise I'll make it known—you ... with William Kahl ... your cousin, my betrothed ... I'll tell the whole world.

MRS. KRAUSE

[Her assurance breaking down.] Who can say it's so!

HELEN

I can. For I saw him this morning coming out of your bed-room ...

[She goes swiftly into the house.

[MRS. KRAUSE totters, almost fainting. MRS. SPILLER hurries to her with smelling-salts.

MRS. SPILLER

Oh, Madame, Madame!

MRS. KRAUSE

Sp—iller; the maid c'n ss-stay!

THE CURTAIN FALLS QUICKLY



THE THIRD ACT

Time: a few minutes after the incident between HELEN and her step-mother in the yard. The scene is that of the first act.

Dr. SCHIMMELPFENNIG sits at the table in the foreground to the left. He is writing a prescription. His slouch hat, cotton gloves and cane lie on the table before him. He is short and thick-set of figure; his hair is black and clings in small, firm curls to his head; his moustache is rather heavy. He wears a black coat after the pattern of the Jaeger reform garments. He has the habit of stroking or pulling his moustache almost uninterruptedly; the more excited he is, the more violent is this gesture. When he speaks to HOFFMANN his expression is one of enforced equanimity, but a touch of sarcasm hovers about the corners of his mouth. His gestures, which are thoroughly natural, are lively, decisive and angular. HOFFMANN walks up and down, dressed in a silk dressing-gown and slippers. The table in the background to the right is laid for breakfast: costly porcelain, dainty rolls, a decanter with rum, etc.

HOFFMANN

Are you satisfied with my wife's appearance, doctor?

DR. SCHIMMELPFENNIG

She's looking well enough. Why not?

HOFFMANN

And do you think that everything will pass favourably?

DR. SCHIMMELPFENNIG

I hope so.

HOFFMANN

[After a pause, with hesitation.] Doctor, I made up my mind—weeks ago—to ask your advice in a very definite matter as soon as I came here.

DR. SCHIMMELPFENNIG

[Who has hitherto talked and written at the same time, lays his pen aside, arises, and hands HOFFMANN the finished prescription.] Here ... I suppose you'll have that filled quite soon. [Taking up his hat, cane and gloves.] Your wife complains of headaches, and so—[looking into his hat and adopting a dry, business-like tone]—and so, before I forget: try, if possible, to make it clear to your wife that she is in a measure responsible for the new life that is to come into the world. I have already said something to her of the consequences of tight lacing.

HOFFMANN

Certainly, doctor ... I'll do my very best to make it clear to her that ...

DR. SCHIMMELPFENNIG

[Bowing somewhat awkwardly.] Good morning. [He is about to go but stops again.] Ah, yes, you wanted my advice ...

[He regards HOFFMANN coldly.

HOFFMANN

If you can spare me a little while ... [With a touch of affectation.] You know about the frightful death of my first boy. You were near enough to watch it. You know also what my state of mind was.—One doesn't believe it at first, but—time does heal!... And, after all, I have cause to be grateful now, since it seems that my dearest wish is about to be fulfilled. You understand that I must do everything, everything—it has cost me sleepless nights and yet I don't know yet, not even yet, just what I must do to guard the unborn child from the terrible fate of its little brother. And that is what I wanted to ask ...

DR. SCHIMMELPFENNIG

[Dryly and business-like.] Separation from the mother is the indispensable condition of a healthy development.

HOFFMANN

So it is that! Do you mean complete separation?... Is the child not even to be in the same house with its mother?

DR. SCHIMMELPFENNIG

Not if you are seriously concerned for the preservation of your child. And your wealth permits you the greatest freedom of movement in this respect.

HOFFMANN

Yes, thank God. I have already bought a villa with a very large park in the neighbourhood of Hirschberg. Only I thought that my wife too ...

DR. SCHIMMELPFENNIG

[Pulls at his moustache and stares at the floor. Thoughtfully.] Why don't you buy a villa somewhere else for your wife?

[HOFFMANN shrugs his shoulders.

DR. SCHIMMELPFENNIG

[As before.] Could you not, perhaps, engage the interest of your sister-in-law for the task of bringing up this child?

HOFFMANN

If you knew, doctor, how many obstacles ... and, after all, she is a young, inexperienced girl, and a mother is a mother.

DR. SCHIMMELPFENNIG

You have my opinion. Good morning.

HOFFMANN

[Overwhelming the doctor with excessive courtesy.] Good morning. I am extremely grateful to you ...

[Both withdraw through the middle door.

HELEN enters. Her handkerchief is pressed to her mouth; she is sobbing, beside herself, and lets herself fall on the sofa in the foreground to the left. After a few moments, HOFFMANN reenters, his hands full of newspapers.

HOFFMANN

Why, what is that? Tell me, sister, are things to go on this way much longer? Since I came here not a day has passed on which I haven't seen you cry.

HELEN

Oh!—what do you know? If you had any sense for such things you'd be surprised that you ever saw me when I didn't cry!

HOFFMANN

That isn't clear to me.

HELEN

Oh, but it is to me!

HOFFMANN

Look here, something must have happened!

HELEN

[Jumps up and stamps her foot.] Ugh ... but I won't bear it any longer ... it's got to stop! I won't endure such things any more! I don't see why ... I ...

[Her sobs choke her.

HOFFMANN

Won't you tell me at least what the trouble is, so that I ...

HELEN

[Bursting out with renewed passion.] I don't care what happens to me! Nothing worse could. I've got a drunkard for a father, a beast—with whom his ... his own daughter isn't safe.—An adulterous step-mother who wants to turn me over to her lover ... And this whole life.—No, I don't see that anyone can force me to be bad in spite of myself. I'm going away! I'll run away! And if the people here won't let me go, then ... rope, knife, gun ... I don't care! I don't want to take to drinking brandy like my sister.

HOFFMANN

[Frightened, grasps her arm.] Nellie, keep still, I tell you; keep still about that.

HELEN

I don't care; I don't care one bit! I ... I'm ashamed of it all to the very bottom of my soul. I wanted to learn something, to be something, to have a chance—and what am I now?

HOFFMANN

[Who has not released her arm, begins gradually to dram the girl over toward the sofa. The tone of his voice now takes on an excessive softness, an exaggerated, vibrant gentleness.] Nellie! Ah, I know right well that you have many things to suffer here. But be calm...! You need not tell one who knows. [He puts his right hand caressingly upon her shoulder and brings his face close to hers.] I can't bear to see you weep. Believe me—it hurts me. But don't, don't see things in a worse light than is needful—; and then: have you forgotten, that we are both—you and I—so to speak—in the same position?—I have gotten into this peasant atmosphere—do I fit into it? As little as you do yourself, surely.

HELEN

If my—dear little mother had suspected this—when she ... when she directed—that I should be—educated at Herrnhut! If she had rather ... rather left me at home, then at least ... at least I wouldn't have known anything else, and I would have grown up in this corruption, But now ...

HOFFMANN

[Has gently forced HELEN down upon the sofa and now sits, pressed close, beside her. In his consolations the sensual element betrays itself more and more strongly.] Nellie! Look at me; let those things be. Let me be your consolation, I needn't talk to you about your sister. [He embraces her more firmly. Passionately and feelingly.] Oh, if she were what you are!... But as it is ... tell me: what can she be to me? Did you ever hear of a man, Nellie, of a cultured man whose wife—[he almost whispers]—is a prey to such an unhappy passion? One is afraid to utter it aloud: a woman—and—brandy ... Now, do you think I am any happier?... Think of my little Freddie! Well, am I, when all's said, any better off than you are?... [With increasing passion.] And so, you see, fate has done us one kindness anyhow. It has brought us together. And we belong together. Our equal sorrows have predestined us to be friends. Isn't it so, Nellie?

[He puts his arms wholly around her. She permits it but with an expression which shows that she forces herself to mere endurance. She has grown quite silent and seems, with quivering tension of soul, to be awaiting some certainty, some consummation that is inevitably approaching.

HOFFMANN

[Tenderly.] You should consent to my plan; you should leave this house and live with us. The baby that is coming needs a mother. Come and be a mother to it; otherwise—[passionately moved and sentimentally]—it will have no mother. And then: bring a little, oh, only a very little brightness into my life! Do that! Oh, do that!

[He is about to lean his head upon her breast. She jumps up, indignant. In her expression are revealed contempt, surprise, loathing and hatred.

HELEN

Oh, but you are, you are ... Now I know you thoroughly! Oh, I've felt it dimly before. But now I am certain.

HOFFMANN

[Surprised, put out of countenance.] What? Helen ... you're unique—really.

HELEN

Now I know that you're not by one hair's breadth better ... indeed, you're much worse—the worst of them all here!

HOFFMANN

[Arises. With assumed coldness.] D'you know, your behaviour to-day is really quite peculiar.

HELEN

[Approaches him.] You have just one end in view. [Almost whispering.] But you have very different weapons from father and from my stepmother, or from my excellent betrothed—oh, quite different. They are all lambs, all of them, compared to you. Now, now, suddenly, that has become clear as day to me.

HOFFMANN

[With hypocritical indignation.] Helen, you seem really not to be in your right mind; you're, suffering under a delusion.... [He interrupts himself and strikes his forehead.] Good Lord, of course! I see it all. You have ... it's very early in the day, to be sure, but I'd wager ... Helen! Have you been talking to Alfred Loth this morning?

HELEN

And why should I not have been talking to him? He is the kind of man before whom we should all be hiding in shame if things went by rights.

HOFFMANN

So I was right!... That's it ... Aha ... well, to be sure ... then I have no further cause for surprise. So he actually used the opportunity to go for his benefactor a bit. Of course, one should really be prepared for things of that kind.

HELEN

Do you know, I think that is really caddish.

HOFFMANN

I'm inclined to think so myself.

HELEN

He didn't breathe one syllable, not one, about you.

HOFFMANN

[Slurring HELEN'S argument.] If things have reached that pass, then it is really my duty, my duty, I say, as a relative toward an inexperienced young girl like you ...

HELEN

Inexperienced girl! What is the use of this pretence?

HOFFMANN

[Enraged.] Loth came into this house on my responsibility. Now I want you to know that he is, to put it mildly, an exceedingly dangerous fanatic—this Mr. Loth.

HELEN

To hear you saying that of Mr. Loth strikes me as so absurd, so laughably absurd!

HOFFMANN

And he is a fanatic, furthermore, who has the gift of muddling the heads not only of women, but even of sensible people,

HELEN

Well, now, you see, that again strikes me as so absurd. I only exchanged a few words with Mr. Loth and ever since I feel a clearness about things that does me so much good ...

HOFFMANN

[In a rebukeful tone.] What I tell you is by no means absurd!

HELEN

One has to have a sense for the absurd, and that's what you haven't.

HOFFMANN

[In the same manner.] That isn't what we're discussing. I assure you once more that what I tell you is not at all absurd, but something that I must ask you to take as actually true ... I have my own experience to guide me. Notions like that befog one's mind; one rants of universal brotherhood, of liberty and equality and, of course, transcends every convention and every moral law.... In those old days, for the sake of this very nonsense, we were ready to walk over the bodies of our parents to gain our ends ... Heaven knows it. And he, I tell you, would be prepared, in a given case, to do the same thing to-day.

HELEN

And how many parents, do you suppose, walk year in and out over the bodies of their children without anybody's ...

HOFFMANN

[Interrupting her.] That is nonsense! Why, that's the end of all.... I tell you to take care, in every ... I tell you emphatically, in every respect. You won't find a trace of moral scrupulousness in that quarter.

HELEN

Oh, dear, how absurd that sounds again. I tell you, when once you begin to take notice of things like that ... it's awfully interesting.

HOFFMANN

You may say what you please. I have warned you. Only I will tell you quite in confidence: at the time of that incident I very nearly got into the same damnable mess myself.

HELEN

But if he's such a dangerous man, why were you sincerely delighted yesterday when he ...

HOFFMANN

Good Lord, I knew him when I was young. And how do you know that I didn't have very definite reasons for ...

HELEN

Reasons? Of what kind?

HOFFMANN

Never mind.—Though, if he came; to-day, and if I knew what I do know to-day—

HELEN

What is it that you know? I've told you already that he didn't utter one word about you.

HOFFMANN

Well, you may depend on it that if that had been the case, I would have thought it all over very carefully, and would probably have taken good care not to keep him here. Loth is now and always will be a man whose acquaintance compromises you. The authorities have an eye on him.

HELEN

Why? Has he committed a crime?

HOFFMANN

The less said about it the better. Just let this assurance be sufficient for you: to go about the world to-day, entertaining his opinions, is far worse and, above all, far more dangerous than stealing.

HELEN

I will remember.—But now—listen! After all your talk about Mr. Loth, you needn't ask me any more what I think of you.—Do you hear?

HOFFMANN

[With cold cynicism.] Do you suppose that I'm so greatly concerned to know that? [He presses the electric button.] And, anyhow, I hear him coming in.

LOTH enters.

HOFFMANN

Hallo! Did you sleep well, old man?

LOTH

Well, but not long. Tell me this, though: I saw a gentleman leaving the house a while ago.

HOFFMANN

Probably the doctor. He was here a while ago. I told you about him, didn't I?—this queer mixture of hardness and sentimentality.

HELEN gives instructions to EDWARD, who has just entered. He leaves and returns shortly, serving tea and coffee.

LOTH

This mixture, as you call him, happened to resemble an old friend of my student days most remarkably. In fact, I could have taken my oath that it was a certain—Schimmelpfennig.

HOFFMANN

[Sitting down at the breakfast table.] That's quite right—Schimmelpfennig.

LOTH

Quite right? You mean?

HOFFMANN

That his name is really Schimmelpfennig.

LOTH

Who? The doctor here?

HOFFMANN

Yes, certainly, the doctor.

LOTH

Now that is really strange enough. Then of course, it's he?

HOFFMANN

Well, you see, beautiful souls find each other on sea and shore. You'll pardon me, won't you, if I begin? We were just about to sit down to breakfast. Do take a seat yourself. You haven't had breakfast anywhere else, have you?

LOTH

No.

HOFFMANN

Very well. Then sit down. [Remaining seated himself he draws out a chair for LOTH hereupon addressing EDWARD, who enters with tea and coffee.] Ah, by the way, is Mrs. Krause coming down?

EDWARD

The madame and Mrs. Spiller are taking their breakfast upstairs.

HOFFMANN

Why, that has never before ...

HELEN

[Pushing the dishes to rights.] Never mind. There's a reason.

HOFFMANN

Is that so?... Loth, help yourself!... Egg? Tea?

LOTH

I wonder if I could have a glass of milk?

HOFFMANN

With all the pleasure in the world.

HELEN

Edward, tell Miele to get some fresh milk.

HOFFMANN

[Peeling an egg.] Milk—brrr! Horrible! [Helping himself to salt and pepper.] By the way, Loth, what brings you into these parts? Up to now I've forgotten to ask you.

LOTH

[Spreading butter on a roll.] I would like to study the local conditions.

HOFFMANN

[Looking up sharply.] That so?... What kind of conditions?

LOTH

To be precise: I want to study the condition of your miners.

HOFFMANN

Ah! In general that condition is a very excellent one, surely.

LOTH

Do you think so?—That would be a very pleasant fact ... Before I forget, however. You can be of some service to me in the matter. You will deserve very well of political economy, if you ...

HOFFMANN

I? How exactly?

LOTH

Well, you have the sole agency for the local mines?

HOFFMANN

Yes; and what of it?

LOTH

It will be very easy for you, in that case, to obtain permission for me to inspect the mines. That is to say: I would like to go down into them daily for at least a month, in order that I may gain a fairly accurate notion of the management.

HOFFMANN

[Carelessly.] And then, I suppose, you will describe what you've seen down there?

LOTH

Yes, my work is to be primarily descriptive.

HOFFMANN

I'm awfully sorry, but I've nothing to do with that side of things. So you just want to write about the miners, eh?

LOTH

That question shows how little of an economist you are.

HOFFMANN

[Whose vanity is stung.] I beg your pardon! I hope you don't think ... Why? I don't see why that isn't a legitimate question?... And, anyhow: it wouldn't be surprising. One can't know everything.

LOTH

Oh, calm yourself. The matter stands simply thus: if I am to study the situation of the miners in this district, it is of course unavoidably necessary that I touch upon all the factors that condition their situation.

HOFFMANN

Writings of that kind are sometimes full of frightful exaggerations.

LOTH

That is a fault which I hope to guard against.

HOFFMANN

That will be very praiseworthy. [He has several times already cast brief and searching glances at HELEN, who hangs with naive devoutness upon LOTH'S lips. He does so again now and continues.] I say ... it's just simply too queer for anything—how things will suddenly pop into a man's mind. I wonder how things like that are brought about in the brain?

LOTH

What is it that has occurred to you so suddenly?

HOFFMANN

It's about you.—I thought of your be—... No, maybe it's tactless to speak of your heart's secrets in the presence of a young lady.

HELEN

Perhaps it would be better for me to....

LOTH

Please stay. Miss Krause! By all means stay, at least as far as I'm concerned. I've seen for some time what he's aiming at. There's nothing in the least dangerous about it. [To HOFFMANN.] You're thinking of my betrothal, eh?

HOFFMANN

Since you mention it yourself, yes. I was, as a matter of fact, thinking of your betrothal to Anna Faber.

LOTH

That was broken off, naturally, when I was sent to prison.

HOFFMANN

That wasn't very nice of your....

LOTH

It was, at least, honest in her! The letter in which she broke with me showed her true face. Had she shown that before she would have spared herself and me, too, a great deal.

HOFFMANN

And since that time your affections haven't taken root anywhere?

LOTH

No.

HOFFMANN

Of course! I suppose you've capitulated along the whole line—forsworn marriage as well as drink, eh? Ah, well, a chacun son gout.

LOTH

It's not my taste that decides in this matter, but perhaps my fate. I told you once before, I believe, that I have made no renunciation in regard to marriage. What I fear is this, that I won't find a woman who is suitable for me,

HOFFMAN

That's a big order, Loth!

LOTH

I'm quite serious, though. It may be that one grows too critical as the years go on and possesses too little healthy instinct. And I consider instinct the best guarantee of a suitable choice.

HOFFMANN

[Frivolously.] Oh, it'll be found again some day—[laughing]—the necessary instinct, I mean.

LOTH

And, after all, what have I to offer a woman? I doubt more and more whether I ought to expect any woman to content herself with that small part of my personality which does not belong to my life's work. Then, too, I'm afraid of the cares which a family brings.

HOFFMANN

Wh-at? The cares of a married man? Haven't you a head, and arms, eh?

LOTH

Obviously. But, as I've tried to tell you, my productive power belongs, for the greater part, to my life's work and will always belong to it. Hence it is no longer mine. Then, too, there would be peculiar difficulties ...

HOFFMANN

Listen! Hasn't some one been sounding a gong?

LOTH

You consider all I've said mere phrase-making?

HOFFMANN

Honestly, it does sound a little hollow. After all, other people are not necessarily savages, even if they are married. But some men act as though they had a monopoly of all the good deeds that are to be done in the world.

LOTH

[With some heat.] Not at all! I'm not thinking of such a thing. If you hadn't abandoned your life's work, your happy material situation would be of the greatest assistance ...

HOFFMANN

[Ironically.] So that would be one of your demands, too?

LOTH

Demands? How? What?

HOFFMANN

I mean that, in marrying, you would have an eye on money.

LOTH

Unquestionably.

HOFFMANN

And then—if I know you at all—there's quite a list of demands still to come.

LOTH

So there is. The woman, for instance, must have physical and mental health. That's a conditio sine qua non.

HOFFMANN

[Laughing.] Better and better! I suppose then that a previous medical examination of the lady would be necessary.

LOTH

[Quite seriously.] You must remember that I make demands upon myself too.

HOFFMANN

[More and more amused.] I know, I know! I remember your going through all the literature of love once in order to determine quite conscientiously whether that which you felt at that time for a certain lady was really the tender passion. So, let's hear a few more of your demands.

LOTH

My wife, for instance, would have to practice renunciation.

HELEN

If ... if ... Ah, I don't know whether it's right to ... but I merely wanted to say that women, as a rule, are accustomed to renounce.

LOTH

For heaven's sake! You understand me quite wrongly. I did not mean renunciation in the vulgar sense. I would demand renunciation only in so far, or, rather, I would simply ask my wife to resign voluntarily and gladly that part of myself which belongs to my chosen work. No, no, in regard to every thing else, it is my wife who is to make demands—to demand all that her sex has forfeited in the course of thousands of years.

HOFFMANN

Oho, oho! Emancipation of woman! Really, that sudden turn was admirable—now you are in the right channel. Fred Loth, or the agitator in a vest-pocket edition. How would you formulate your demands in this respect, or rather: to what degree would yam wife have to be emancipated?—It really amuses me to hear you talk! Would she have to smoke cigars? Wear breeches?

LOTH

Hardly that. I would want her, to be sure, to have risen above certain social conventions. I should not want her, for instance, to hesitate, if she felt genuine love for me, to be the first to make the avowal.

HOFFMANN

[Has finished his breakfast. He jumps up in half-humorous, half-serious indignation.] Do you know? That ... that is a really shameless demand. And I prophesy, too, that you'll go about with it unfulfilled to your very end—unless you prefer to drop it first.

HELEN

[Mastering her deep emotion with difficulty.] If you gentlemen will excuse me now—the household ... You know [to HOFFMANN] that mama is upstairs and so ...

HOFFMANN

Don't let us keep you.

HELEN bows and withdraws.

HOFFMANN

[Holding a match case in his hand and walking over to the cigar-box which stands on the table.] There's no doubt ... you do get a man excited ... it's almost uncanny. [He takes a cigar from the box and sits down on the sofa in the foreground, left. He cuts off the end of his cigar, and, during what follows, he holds the cigar in his left, the severed end between the fingers of his right hand.] In spite of all that ... it does amuse me. And then, you don't know how good it feels to pass a few days in the country this way, away from all business matters. If only to-day this confounded ... how late is it anyhow? Unfortunately I have to go into town to a dinner to-day. It couldn't be helped: I had to give this banquet. What are you going to do as a business man? Tit for tat. The mine officials are used to that sort of thing.—Well, I've got time enough to smoke another cigar—quite in peace, too.

[He carries the cigar end to a cuspidor, sits down on the sofa again and lights his cigar.]

LOTH

[Stands at the table and turns the leaves of a deluxe volume.] "The Adventures of Count Sandor."

HOFFMANN

You'll find that trash among all the farmers in the neighbourhood.

LOTH

[Still turning the leaves.] How old is your sister-in-law?

HOFFMANN

She was twenty-one last August.

LOTH

Is she in delicate health?

HOFFMANN

Don't know. I hardly think so, though. Does she make that impression on you?

LOTH

She really looks rather worried than ill.

HOFFMANN

Well, if you consider all the miseries with her step-mother ...

LOTH

She seems to be rather excitable, too.

HOFFMANN

In such an environment ... I should like to see any one who wouldn't become excitable.

LOTH

She seems to possess a good deal of energy.

HOFFMANN

Stubbornness.

LOTH

Deep feeling, too?

HOFFMANN

Too much at times ...

LOTH

But if the conditions here are so unfortunate for her, why doesn't your sister-in-law live with your family?

HOFFMANN

You'd better ask her that! I've often enough made her the offer. Women have these fancies, that's all. [Holding the cigar in his mouth, HOFFMANN takes out a note-book and adds a fete items.] You'll forgive me, won't you, if I have to leave you alone after a while?

LOTH

Assuredly.

HOFFMANN

How long do you think of stay—

LOTH

I mean to look for a lodging very soon. Where does Schimmelpfennig live? The best thing would be to go to see him. He would probably be able to secure one for me. I hope that I'll soon find a suitable place, otherwise I'll spend the night at the inn next door.

HOFFMANN

Why should you? Of course you'll stay with us till morning, at least. To be sure, I'm only a guest in this house myself, otherwise I'd naturally ask you to ... you understand?

LOTH

Perfectly.

HOFFMANN

But do tell me, were you really quite serious when you said ...

LOTH

That I would spend the night at an inn...?

HOFFMANN

Nonsense ... Of course not!... I mean what you mentioned a while ago—that business about your ridiculous descriptive essay?

LOTH

Why not?

HOFFMANN

I must confess that I thought you were jesting. [He gets up and speaks confidentially and half-humorously.] Now, you don't mean to say you're really capable of undermining the ground here where a friend of yours has been fortunate enough to get a firm foothold?

LOTH

You may take my word for it, Hoffmann; I had no idea that you were here. If I had known that ...

HOFFMANN

[Jumps up, delighted.] Very well, then; very well. If that's the way things are. And I assure you I'm more than glad that I was not mistaken in you. So now you do know that I am here. It goes without saying that I'll make up to you all your travelling expenses and all extras. No, you needn't be so excessively delicate. It's simply my duty as a friend ... Now I recognise my excellent old friend again. But I tell you: for a time I had very serious suspicions of you ... Now you ought to know this, however. Frankly, I'm not as bad as I sometimes pretend to be, not by any means. I have always honoured you, you and your sincere, single-minded efforts. And I'm the last man to fail to attach weight to certain demands of the exploited, oppressed masses, demands which are, most unfortunately, only too well justified.—Oh, you may smile. I'll go further and confess that there is just one party in parliament that has any true ideals, and that's the party to which you belong! Only—as I said before—we must go slowly, slowly!—not try to rush things through. Everything is coming, surely coming about exactly as it ought to. Only patience! Patience ...

LOTH

One must have patience. That is certain. But one isn't justified on that account in folding one's hands in idleness.

HOFFMANN

Exactly my opinion.—As a matter of fact my thoughts have oftener been in accord with you than my words. It's a bad habit of mine, I admit, I fell into it in intercourse with people to whom I didn't always want to show my hand.... Take the question, of woman, for instance ... You expressed a good many things quite strikingly. [He has, in the meantime, approached the telephone, taken up the receiver and now speaks alternately into the telephone and to LOTH.] My little sister-in-law, by the way, was all ear ... [Into the telephone.] Frank! I want the carriage in ten minutes ... [To LOTH.] You made an impression on her ... [Into the telephone.] What—oh, nonsense!—well, that beats everything ... Then hitch up the black horses at once ... [To LOTH.] And why shouldn't you?... [Into the telephone.] Well, upon my...! To the milliner, you say? The madame? The ma—! Well, very well, then. But at once! Oh, very well! Yes! What's the—! [He presses the button of the servants' bell. To LOTH.] You just wait. Give me a chance to heap up the necessary mountain of shekels, and maybe you'll see something happen ... [EDWARD has entered.] Edward, my leggings, my walking-coat! [EDWARD withdraws.] Maybe something will happen then that you fellows wouldn't believe of me now ... If, at the end of two or three days—you must stay with us so long by all means—I'd consider it a real insult if you didn't—[he slips out of his dressing-gown]—if, at the end of two or three days, you're ready to go. I'll drive you over to the train.

EDWARD enters carrying gaiters and walking-coat.

HOFFMANN

[Permitting himself to be helped on with the coat.] So-o! [Sitting down on a chair.] Now the boots. [After he has pulled on one of them.] There's number one!

LOTH

Perhaps you didn't quite understand me after all.

HOFFMANN

Surely, that's quite possible. A fellow gets out of touch with things. Nothing but musty business affairs. Edward, hasn't the mail come yet? Wait a minute!—Do go up into my room. You'll find a document in a blue cover on the left side of my desk. Get that and put it into the carriage.

EDWARD goes through the door at the right, reappears through the middle-door and then withdraws.

LOTH

I simply meant that you hadn't understood me in one particular respect.

HOFFMANN

[Worrying his foot into the other shoe.] Ouch! There! [He rises and stamps his feet.] There we are. Nothing is more disagreeable than tight shoes ... What were you saying just now?

LOTH

You were speaking of my departure ...

HOFFMANN

Well?

LOTH

But I thought I had explained that I must stay here for a specific purpose.

HOFFMANN

[In extreme consternation and thoroughly indignant at once.] Look here!... That comes near being caddish!—Don't you know what you owe me as your friend?

LOTH

Not, I hope, the betrayal of my cause!

HOFFMANN

[Beside himself.] Well then—in that case—I haven't the slightest motive for treating you as a friend. And so I tell you that I consider your appearance and demeanour here—to put it mildly—incredibly impudent.

LOTH

[Quite calmly.] Perhaps you'll explain what gives you the right to use such epithets ...

HOFFMANN

Yon want an explanation of that? That is going to an extreme! Not to feel a thing like that it's necessary to have a rhinoceros-hide instead of skin on one's back! You come here, enjoy my hospitality, thresh out a few of your thread-bare phrases, turn my sister-in-law's head, go on about old friendship and other pleasant things, and then you tell me quite coolly: you're going to write a descriptive pamphlet about the local conditions. Why, what do you take me to be, anyhow? D'you suppose I don't know that these so-called essays are merely shameless libels?... You want to write a denunciation like that, and about our coal district, of all places! Are you so blind that you can't see whom such a rag would harm most keenly? Only me, of course! I tell you, the trade that you demagogues drive ought to be more firmly stamped out than has been done up to now! What is it you do? You make the miners discontented, presumptuous; you stir them up, embitter them, make them rebellious, disobedient, wretched! Then you delude them with promises of mountains of gold, and, in the meantime, grab out of their pockets the few pennies that keep them from starving!

LOTH

Do you consider yourself unmasked now?

HOFFMANN

[Brutally.] Oh, pshaw! You ridiculous, pompous wind-bag! What do you suppose I care about being unmasked by you?—Go to work! Leave off this silly drivelling!—Do something! Get ahead! I don't need to sponge on any one for two-hundred marks!

[He rushes out through the middle door.

For several moments LOTH looks calmly after him. Then, no less calmly, he draws a card case out of his inner pocket, takes a slip of paper therefrom—HOFFMANN'S cheque—and tears it through several times. Then he drops the scraps slowly into the coal-bin. Hereupon he takes his hat and cane and turns to go. At this moment HELEN appears on the threshold of the conservatory.

HELEN

[Softly.] Mr. Loth!

LOTH

[Quivers and turns.] Ah, it is you.—Well, then I can at least say farewell to you.

HELEN

[In spite of herself.] Did you feel the need of doing that?

LOTH

Yes! I did feel it, indeed. Probably, if you were in there, you heard what has taken place here, and—in that case....

HELEN

I heard everything.

LOTH

In that case it won't astonish you to see me this house with so little ceremony.

HELEN

No-o! I do understand—! But I should like you to feel less harshly toward my brother-in-law. He always repents very quickly. I have often....

LOTH

Quite possibly. But for that very reason what he has said just now probably expresses his true opinion of me.—In fact, it is undoubtedly his real opinion.

HELEN

Do you seriously believe that?

LOTH

Oh, yes, quite seriously. And so.... [He walks toward her and takes her hand.] I hope that life will be kind to you. [He turns but at once stops again.] I don't know...! or rather:—[he looks calmly and directly into HELEN'S face]—I do know, I know—at this moment the knowledge becomes clear—that it is not so easy for me to go away from here ... and ... yes ... and ... well, yes...!

HELEN

But if I begged you—begged you truly—from my heart ... to stay a little longer—

LOTH

So you do not share Hoffmann's opinion?

HELEN

No!—and that—that is just what I wanted to be sure—quite sure to tell you, before ... before—you—went.

LOTH

[Grasps her hand once more.] It helps me much to hear you say that.

HELEN

[Struggling with herself. Her excitement mounts rapidly and to the point of unconsciousness. She stammers out half-chokingly.] And more, oh, more I wanted to ... to tell you ... that I esteem and ... and ... honour you as ... I've done no ... man before ... that I trust ... you ... that I'm ready to ... to prove that ... that I feel toward you ...

[She sinks, swooning into his arms.

LOTH

Helen!

THE CURTAIN DROPS QUICKLY



THE FOURTH ACT

The farmyard, as in the second act. Time: a quarter of an hour after HELEN'S avowal.

MARIE and GOLISCH the cowherd drag a wooden chest down the stairs that lead to the loft. LOTH comes from the house. He is dressed for travelling and goes slowly and thoughtfully diagonally across the yard. Before he turns into the path that leads to the inn, he comes upon HOFFMANN, who is hurrying toward him through the gateway.

HOFFMANN

[In top hat and kid gloves.] Don't be angry with me. [He obstructs LOTH'S way and grasps both of his hands.] I take it all back herewith ... Mention any reparation you demand ... I am ready to give you any!... I'm most truly, most sincerely sorry.

LOTH

That helps neither of us very much.

HOFFMANN

Oh, if you would just ... Look here, now...! A man can't well do more than that. I assure you that my conscience gave me no rest! I turned back just before reaching Jauer.... That should convince you of the seriousness of my feeling. Where were you going?

LOTH

To the inn—for the moment.

HOFFMANN

Oh, that's an affront you simply can't offer me ... no, you mustn't—simply, I believe that I did hurt you badly, of course. And probably it's not the kind of thing that can be wiped out with just a few words. Only don't rob me of any chance ... of every possibility to prove to you ... D'you hear? Now turn back and stay at least—at least until to-morrow. Or till ... till I come back. I want to talk it all over with you at leisure. You can't refuse me that favour.

LOTH

If you set so much store by it all....

HOFFMANN

A great deal!... on my honour!... I care immensely. So come, come! Don't run away!

[He leads LOTH, who offers no further resistance, back into the house.

The dismissed maid and the boy have, in the meantime, placed the chest on a wheelbarrow and GOLISCH has put on the shoulder strap.

MARIE

[Slipping a coin into GOLISCH'S hand.] There's somethin' fer you.

GOLISCH

[Refusing it.] Keep yer penny.

MARIE

Aw! Ye donkey!

GOLISCH

Well, I don't care.

[He takes the coin and puts it into his leathern purse.

MRS. SPILLER

[Appears at one of the windows of the house and calls out:] Marie.

MARIE

What d'ye want now?

MRS. SPILLER

[Appearing almost immediately at the door of the house.] The madame's willing to keep you, if you promise....

MARIE

A stinkin' lot I'll promise her. Go on, Golisch!

MRS. SPILLER

[Approaching.] The madame is willing to increase your wages, if you.... [Whispering suddenly.] What d'ye care, girl! She just gits kinder rough now an' then.

MARIE

[Furiously.] She c'n keep her dirty money to herself!—[Tearfully.] I'd rather starve! [She follows GOLISCH, who has preceded her with the wheelbarrow.] Naw, just to think of it!—It's enough to make you....

[She disappears, as does MRS. SPILLER.

Through the great gate comes BAER called HOPPING BAER. He is a lank fellow with a vulture's neck and goitre. His feet and head are bare. His breeches, badly ravelled at the bottom, scarcely reach below the knee. The top of his head is bald. Such hair as he has, brown, dusty, and clotted, hangs down over his shoulders. His gait is ostrich-like. By a cord he draws behind him a child's toy waggon full of sand. His face is beardless. His whole appearance shows him to be a god-forsaken peasant lad in the twenties.

BAER

[With a strangely bleating voice.] Sa—a—and! Sa—a—and!

He crosses the yard and disappears between the house and the stables. HOFFMANN and HELEN come from the house. HELEN is pale and carries an empty glass in her hand.

HOFFMANN

[To HELEN.] Entertain him a bit! You understand? Don't let him go. I should hate to have him.—Injured vanity like that!... Good-bye!... Oh, maybe I oughtn't to go at all? How is Martha doing?—I've got a queer kind of feeling as if pretty soon.... Nonsense!—Good-bye! ... awful hurry!... [Calls out.] Franz! Give the horses their heads!

[Leaves rapidly through the main gate.

HELEN goes to the pump, fills her glass and empties it at one draught. She empties half of another glass. She then sets the glass on the pump and then strolls slowly, looking backward from time to time, through the gate-may. BAER emerges from between the house and the stables and stops with his waggon before the house door, where MIELE takes some sand from him. In the meantime KAHL has become visible at the right, beyond the dividing fence. He is in conversation with MRS. SPILLER, who is on the hither side of the fence and therefore close to the entrance of the yard. As the conversation proceeds, both walk slowly along the fence.

MRS. SPILLER

[Mildly agonised.] Ah yes—m—Mr. Kahl! I have—m—many a time thought of—m—you when ... when our—m—dear Miss Helen ... She is so to—m—speak betrothed to you and so—m—ah! I—m—must say ... in my time...!

KAHL

[Mounts a rustic bench under the oak-tree and fastens a bird trap to the lowest branch.] When is th-that b-beast of a doctor goin' to git out o' here? Ha?

MRS. SPILLER

Ah, Mr. Kahl! I don't—m—think so very soon.—Ah, Mr. Kahl, I—m—have, so to speak, come—m—down in the world, but I—m—know—m—what refinement is. In this respect, Mr. Kahl, I—must say—dear Miss Helen isn't—m—acting quite right toward you. No—m—in that respect, so to speak—m—I've never had anything with which to—m—reproach myself—m—my conscience, dear Mr. Kahl, is as pure in that—m—respect—so to speak, as new-fallen snow.

BAER has finished the sale of his sand and, at this moment, passes by KAHL in order to leave the yard.

KAHL

[Discovers BAER and calls out.] Heres hopping Baer! Hop a bit!

BAER takes a, huge leap.

KAHL

[Bellowing with laughter.] Here, hopping Baer! Hop again!

MRS. SPILLER

Well—m—Mr. Kahl, what I want to say is—m—I have the best—m—intentions toward you. You ought to observe very—m—carefully. Something—m—is going on between our young lady and—m—

KAHL

If I could j-jist git my d-dogs on that son of a—... Jist once!

MRS. SPILLER

[Mysteriously.] And I'm afraid you—m—don't know what kind of an individual that—m—is. Oh, I am so—m—truly sorry for our dear young lady. The wife of the bailiff—she has it straight from the office, I think. He is said to be a—m—really dangerous person. The woman said her husband had—m—orders, just think! actually—m—to keep his eye on him.

LOTH comes from the house and looks about.

MRS. SPILLER

You see, now he is going—m—after our young lady. Oh, it's too sad—m—for anything.

KAHL

Aw! You wait an' see!

[Exit.

MRS. SPILLER goes to the door of the house. In passing LOTH she makes a deep bow. Then she disappears into the house.

LOTH disappears slowly through the gateway. The coachman's wife, an emaciated, worried, starved woman, emerges from between the house and the stables. She carries a large pot hidden under her apron and slinks off toward the cow-shed, looking about fearfully at every moment. She disappears into the door of the stable. The two MAIDS, each before her a wheel-barrow laden with clover, enter by the gate. BEIPST, his pipe in his mouth and his scythe across his shoulder, follows them, LIESE has wheeled her barrow in front of the left, AUGUSTE hers in front of the right door of the barn, and both begin to carry great armfuls of clover into the building.

LIESE

[Coming back out of the stable.] Guste! D'ye know, Marie is gone.

AUGUSTE

Aw, don' tell me!

LIESE

Go in there'n ask the coachman's wife. She's gittin' her a drop o' milk.

BEIPST

[Hangs up his scythe on the wall.] Ye'd better not let that Spiller creature get wind o' it.

AUGUSTE

Oh, Lord, no! Who'd think o' it!

LIESE

A poor woman like that with eight—

AUGUSTE

Eight little brats. They wants to be fed!

LIESE

An' they wouldn't give her a drop o' milk even. It's low, that's what I calls it.

AUGUSTE

Where is she milkin'?

LIESE

Way back there.

BEIPST

[Fills his pipe. Holding his tobacco-pouch with his teeth he mumbles.] Ye say Marie's gone?

LIESE

Yes, it's true an' certain. The parson's hired man slept with her.

BEIPST

[Replacing the tobacco-pouch in his pocket.] Everybody feels that way sometimes—even a woman. [He lights his pipe and disappears through the gateway. In going:] I'm goin' fer a bit o' breakfast.

THE COACHMAN'S WIFE

[Hiding the pot full of milk carefully under her apron, sticks her head out of the stable door.] Anybody in sight?

LIESE

Ye c'n come if ye'll hurry. There ain't nobody. Come! Hurry!

THE COACHMAN'S WIFE

[Passing by the maids.] It's fer the nursin' baby.

LIESE

[Calling out after her.] Hurry! Some one's comin'.

THE COACHMAN'S WIFE disappears between the house and the stable.

AUGUSTE

It's only the young Miss.

The maids now finish unloading their wheelbarrows and then thrust them under the doorway. They both go into the cow-shed.

HELEN and LOTH enter by the gate.

LOTH

A disgusting fellow—this Kahl—an insolent sneak.

HELEN

I think in the arbour in front—[They pass through the small gate into the little garden by the house and into the arbour.] It's my favourite place, I'm less disturbed there than anywhere if, sometimes, I want to read something.

LOTH

It's a pretty place.—Really. [Both sit down in the arbour, consciously keeping at some distance from one another. An interval of silence. Then LOTH.] You have very beautiful and abundant hair.

HELEN

Yes, my brother-in-law says so too. He thought he had scarcely seen anyone with so much—not even in the city ... The braid at the top is as thick as my wrist ... When I let it down, it reaches to my knees. Feel it. It's like silk, isn't it?

LOTH

It is like silk.

[A tremour passes through him. He bends down and kisses her hair.

HELEN

[Frightened.] Ah, don't. If ...

LOTH

Helen! Were you in earnest a while ago?

HELEN

Oh, I am so ashamed—so deeply ashamed. What have I done? Why, I've thrown myself at you. That's what I've done. I wonder what you take me for?

LOTH

[Draws nearer to her and takes her hand in his.] Ah, you mustn't let that trouble you.

HELEN

[Sighing.] Oh, if Sister Schmittgen knew of that—I dare not imagine it.

LOTH

Who is Sister Schmittgen?

HELEN

One of my teachers at boarding-school.

LOTH

How can you worry about Sister Schmittgen!

HELEN

She was very good.

[Laughing heartily to herself suddenly.

LOTH

Why do you laugh all at once?

HELEN

[Half between respect and jest.] Oh, when she stood in the choir and sang—she had only one long tooth left—then she was supposed to sing: "Trouble yourselves not, my people!"—and it always sounded like: "'Rouble, 'rouble yourselves not, my people!" It was too funny. And we always had to laugh so ... when it sounded through the chapel: "'Rouble, 'rouble!" [She laughs more and more heartily. LOTH becomes infected by her mirth. She seems so sweet to him at this moment that he wants to take the opportunity to put his arms about her. HELEN wards him off.] An, no! no! Just think! I threw myself at you!

LOTH

Oh, don't say such things!

HELEN

But it isn't my fault; you have only yourself to blame for it. Why do you demand ...

LOTH puts his arm about her once more and draws her closer to him. At first she resists a little, then she yields and gazes, with frank blessedness, into the joyous face of LOTH which bends above her. Involuntarily, in the awkwardness of her very timidity, she kisses his mouth. Both grow red; then LOTH returns her kiss. His caress is long and heartfelt. A giving and taking of kisses—silent and eloquent at once—is, for a time, all that passes between them. LOTH is the first to speak.

LOTH

Nellie, dearest! Nellie is your name, isn't it?

HELEN

[Kisses him.] Call me something else ... call me what you like best ...

LOTH

Dearest!...

The exchange of kisses and of mutual contemplation is repeated.

HELEN

[Held tight in LOTH'S arms, resting her head on his shoulder, looking up at him with dim, happy eyes, whispers ecstatically.] Oh, how beautiful! How beautiful!

LOTH

To die with you—thus ...

HELEN

[Passionately.] To live!... [She disengages herself from his embrace.] Why die now?... now ...

LOTH

Yon must not misunderstand me. Always, in happy moments, it has come over me with a sense of intoxication—the consciousness of the fact that it is in our power, in my power, to embrace—you understand?

HELEN

To embrace death, if you desired it?

LOTH

[Quite devoid of sentimentality.] Yes! And the thought of death has nothing horrible in it for me. On the contrary, it seems like the thought of a friend. One calls and knows surely that death will come. And so one can rise above so many, many things—above one's past, above one's future fate ... [Looking at HELEN'S hand.] What a lovely hand you have.

[He caresses it.

HELEN

Ah, yes!—so!...

[She nestles anew in his arms.

LOTH

No, do you know, I haven't really lived—until now!

HELEN

Do you think I have?... And I feel faint—faint with happiness. Dear God, how suddenly it all came ...

LOTH

Yes, it came all at once ...

HELEN

Listen, I feel this way: all the days of my life are like one day; but yesterday and to-day are like a year—a whole year!

LOTH

Didn't I come till yesterday?

HELEN

Of course not! Naturally! That's just it!... Oh, and you don't even know it!

LOTH

And surely it seems to me ...

HELEN

Doesn't it? Like a whole, long year! Doesn't it? [Half jumping up.] Wait...! Don't you hear ... [They move away from each other.] Oh, but I don't care one bit! I am so full of courage now.

[She remains seated and invites LOTH with her eyes to move nearer, which he does.

HELEN

[In LOTH'S arms.] Dear, what are we going to do first?

LOTH

Your step-mother, I suppose, would send me packing.

HELEN

Oh, my step-mother ... that won't matter ... it doesn't even concern her! I do as I please! I have my mother's fortune, you must know.

LOTH

Did you think on that account ...

HELEN

I am of age; father will have to give me my share.

LOTH

You are not, then, on good terms with everyone here?—Where has your father gone to?

HELEN

Gone? You have?... Oh, you haven't seen my father yet?

LOTH

No; Hoffmann told me....

HELEN

Surely, you saw him once.

LOTH

Not that I know of. Where, dearest?

HELEN

I.... [She bursts into tears.] No, I can't. I can't tell you ... it's too, too fearful!

LOTH

So fearful? But, Helen, is anything wrong with your father?

HELEN

Oh, don't ask me! Not now, at least! Some time...!

LOTH

I will not urge you to tell me anything, dear, that you don't voluntarily speak of. And, look, as far as the money is concerned ... if the worst came ... though I don't exactly earn superfluous cash with my articles—still, in the end, we could both manage to exist on it.

HELEN

And I wouldn't be idle either, would I? But the other way is better. My inheritance Is more than enough.—And there's your life work ... no, you're not to give that up under any circumstances ... now less than ever ...! Now you're to have your real chance to pursue it!

LOTH

[Kissing her tenderly.] Dearest, best ...

HELEN

Oh, do you truly care...? Truly? Truly?

LOTH

Truly.

HELEN

You must say truly a hundred times.

LOTH

Truly and truly and truthfully.

HELEN

Oh, now, you're not playing fair!

LOTH

I am, though. That truthfully is equal to a hundred trulys.

HELEN

Oh? Is that the custom in Berlin?

LOTH

No, but it is here in Witzdorf.

HELEN

Oh! But now, look at my little finger and don't laugh.

LOTH

Gladly.

HELEN

Did you ever love any one before your first betrothed? Oh, now you are laughing!

LOTH

I will tell you in all seriousness, dearest; indeed, I think it is my duty.... In the course of my life a considerable number of women....

HELEN

[With a quick and violent start, pressing her hand over his mouth.] For the love of.... Tell me that some day, later, when we are old, when the years have passed, when I shall say to you: "now!" Do you hear! Not before!

LOTH

Just as you will.

HELEN

Rather tell me something sweet now!... Listen: repeat after me:

LOTH

What?

HELEN

I have loved—

LOTH

I have loved—

HELEN

Always you only—

LOTH

Always you only—

HELEN

All the days of my life—

LOTH

All the days of my life—

HELEN

And will love you only as long as I live—

LOTH

And will love you only as long as I live—and that is true so surely as I am an honest man.

HELEN

[Joyfully.] I didn't add that!

LOTH

But I did.

[They kiss each other.

HELEN

[Hums very softly.] "Thou in my heart art lying ..."

LOTH

But now you must confess too.

HELEN

Anything you like.

LOTH

Confess now! Am I the first?

HELEN

No.

LOTH

Who?

HELEN

[Laughing out in the fullness of her joy.] Willy Kahl!

LOTH

[Laughing.] Who else?

HELEN

Oh, no, there's no one else really. You must believe me ... Truly there wasn't. Why should I tell you a falsehood?

LOTH

So there was someone else?

HELEN

[Passionately.] Oh, please, please, please, don't ask me now.

[She hides her face in her hands and weeps apparently without any reason.

LOTH

But ... but Nellie! I'm not insistent; I don't want to ...

HELEN

Later ... I'll tell you later ... not now!

LOTH

As I said before, dearest.

HELEN

There was some one—I want you to know—whom I ... because ... because among wicked people he seemed the least wicked. Oh, it is so different now. [Weeping against LOTH'S neck: stormily.] Ah, if I only didn't have to leave you at all any more! Oh, if I could only go away with you right here on the spot!

LOTH

I suppose you have a very unhappy time in the house here?

HELEN

Oh, dear!—It's just frightful—the things that happen here. It's a life like—that ... like that of the beasts of the field—Oh, I would have died without you. I shudder to think of it!

LOTH

I believe it would calm you, dearest, if you would tell me everything quite openly.

HELEN

Yes, to be sure. But I don't think I can bear to. Not now, at least, not yet. And I'm really afraid to.

LOTH

You were at boarding-school, weren't you?

HELEN

My mother decided that I be sent—on her death-bed.

LOTH

Was your sister there with you?

HELEN

No, she was always at home ... And so when, four years ago, I came back from school, I found a father—who ... a step-mother—who ... a sister ... guess, can't you guess what I mean!

LOTH

I suppose your step-mother is quarrelsome? Perhaps jealous? unloving?

HELEN

My father...?

LOTH

Well, in all probability he dances to her music. Perhaps she tyrannises over him?

HELEN

Oh, if it were nothing else?... No! It is too frightful!—You can't possibly guess that that ... my father ... that it was my father whom you ...

LOTH

Don't weep, Nellie!... Look, you almost make me feel as though I ought to insist that you tell ...

HELEN

No, no, it isn't possible. I haven't the strength!—not yet!

LOTH

But you're wearing yourself out this way!

HELEN

But I'm so ashamed, so boundlessly ashamed! Why, you will drive me from you in horror...! It's beyond anything...! It's loathsome!

LOTH

Nellie, dear, you don't know me if you can think such things of me! Repulse you! Drive you from me! Do I seem such a brute to you?

HELEN

My brother-in-law said that you would quite calmly ... But no, no, you wouldn't? Would you?—You wouldn't just ruthlessly walk over me? Oh! you won't! You mustn't! I don't know what would become of me!

LOTH

But, dear, it's senseless to talk so. There's no earthly reason!

HELEN

But if there were a reason, it might happen!

LOTH

No! Not at all!

HELEN

But if you could think of a reason?

LOTH

There are reasons, to be sure; but they're not in question.

HELEN

And what kind of reasons?

LOTH

I would have to be ruthless only toward some one who would make me betray my own most ideal self.

HELEN

And surely, I wouldn't want to do that! And yet I can't rid myself of the feeling—

LOTH

What feeling, dearest?

HELEN

Perhaps it's just because I'm nothing but a silly girl. There's so little to me—Why, I don't even know what it is—to have principles! Isn't that frightful? But I just simply love you so! And you're so good, and so great, and so very wise! I'm so afraid that you might, sometime, discover—when I say something foolish, or do something—that it's all a mistake, that I'm much too silly for you ... I'm really as worthless and as silly as I can be!

LOTH

What shall I say to all that? You're everything to me, just everything in the whole world. I can't say more!

HELEN

And I'm very strong and healthy, too ...

LOTH

Tell me, are your parents in good health?

HELEN

Indeed they are. That is, mother died in childbirth. But father is still well; in fact he must have a very strong constitution. But ...

LOTH

Well, you see. Everything is ...

HELEN

But if my parents were not strong—;

LOTH

[Kissing HELEN.] But then, they are, dear.

HELEN

But suppose they were not—?

MRS. KRAUSE pushes open a window in the house and calls out into the yard.

MRS. KRAUSE

Hey! Girls! Gi—rls!

LIESE

[From within the cow-shed.] Yes, Missis?

MRS. KRAUSE

Run to Mueller's! It's startin'!

LIESE

What! To the midwife, ye mean?

MRS. KRAUSE

Are ye standin' on your ear?

[She slams the window.

LIESE runs out of the cow-shed with a little shawl over her head and then out of the yard.

MRS. SPILLER

[Calls.] Miss Helen! Oh, Miss Helen!

HELEN

What do you suppose is—?

MRS. SPILLER

[Approaching the arbour.] Miss Helen!

HELEN

Oh, I know. It's my sister who—You must go, 'round that way!

[LOTH withdraws rapidly by the right foreground. HELEN steps out from the arbour.

MRS. SPILLER

Oh, Miss, there you are at last!

HELEN

What is it?

MRS. SPILLER

Ah—m—your sister.

[She whispers into HELEN'S ear.

HELEN

My brother-in-law ordered that the doctor be sent for at any sign of—

MRS. SPILLER

Oh—m—dear Miss Helen—m—she doesn't really want a doctor. These doctors—m—oh, these doctors—m—with God's help ...

MIELE comes from the house.

HELEN

Miele, go at once for Dr. Schimmelpfennig!

MRS. KRAUSE

[From the window, arrogantly.] Miele! You come up here!

HELEN

[In a tone of command.] Miele, you go for the doctor! [MIELE withdraws into the house.] Well, then I must go myself ...

[She goes into the house and comes back out at once carrying her straw hat.

MRS. SPILLER

It'll go wrong—m—If you call the doctor, dear Miss Helen,—m—it will surely go wrong!

HELEN passes her by. MRS. SPILLER withdraws into the house, shaking her head. As HELEN turns at the driveway KAHL is standing at the boundary fence.

KAHL

[Calls out to HELEN.] What's the matter over at your place?

HELEN does not stop, nor does she deign to notice or answer KAHL.

KAHL

[Laughing.] I guess ye got a pig killin'?

CURTAIN



THE FIFTH ACT

The same room, as in the first act. Time: toward two o'clock in the morning. The room is in complete darkness. Through the open middle door light penetrates into it from the illuminated hall. The light also falls clearly upon the wooden stairway that leads to the upper floor. The conversation in this act—with very few exceptions—is carried on in a muffled tone.

_EDWARD enters through the middle door, carrying a light. He lights the hanging lamp (it is a gas lamp) over the corner table. While he is thus employed, LOTH _also enters by the middle door._

EDWARD

O Lord! Such goin's on! It'd take a monster to be able to close a eye here!

LOTH

I didn't even try to sleep. I have been writing.

EDWARD

You don't say! [He succeeds in lighting the lamp.] There! Well, sure, I guess it's hard enough, too ... Maybe you'd like to have paper and ink, sir?

LOTH

Perhaps that would be ... If you would be so good, then, Mr. Edward?

EDWARD

[Placing pen and ink on the table.] I'm always thinkin' that any honest fellow has got to get all the work there's in every bone for every dirty penny. You can't even get your rest o' nights. [More and more confidentially.] But this crew here! They don't do one thing—a lazy, worthless crew, a—... I suppose, sir, that you've got to be at it early and late too, like all honest folks, for your bit o' bread.

LOTH

I wish I didn't have to.

EDWARD

Me too, you betcher.

LOTH

I suppose Miss Helen is with her sister?

EDWARD

Yes, sir, an', honestly, she's a good girl, she is; hasn't budged since it started.

LOTH

[Looking at his watch.] The pains began at eleven o'clock in the morning. So they've already lasted fifteen hours—fifteen long hours—!

EDWARD

Lord, yes!—And that's what they calls the weaker sex. But she's just barely gaspin'.

LOTH

And is Mr. Hoffmann upstairs, too?

EDWARD

Yes, an' I can tell you, he's goin' on like a woman.

LOTH

Well, I suppose it isn't very easy to have to watch that.

EDWARD

You're right there, indeed. Dr. Schimmelpfennig came just now. There's a man for you: rough as rough can be—but sugar ain't nothing to his real feelings. But just tell me what's become of little, old Berlin in all this ...

[He interrupts himself with a Gee-rusa-lem! as HOFFMANN and the DOCTOR are seen coming down the stairs.

HOFFMANN and DR. SCHIMMELPFENNIG enter.

HOFFMANN

Surely—you will stay with us from now on.

DR. SCHIMMELPFENNIG

Yes, I suppose I will stay now.

HOFFMANN

That's a very, very great consolation to me.—Will you have a glass of wine? Surely you'll drink a glass of wine, Doctor?

DR. SCHIMMELPFENNIG

If you want to do something for me, have a cup of coffee prepared.

HOFFMANN

With pleasure. Edward! Coffee for the doctor! [EDWARD withdraws.] Are you...? Are you satisfied with the way things are going?

DR. SCHIMMELPFENNIG

So long as your wife's strength keeps up there is, at all events, no direct danger. But why didn't you call in the young midwife? I remember having recommended her to you.

HOFFMANN

My mother-in-law...! What is one to do? And, to be frank with you, my wife has no confidence in the young woman either.

DR. SCHIMMELPFENNIG

But your ladies place confidence in this old fossil? Well, I hope they'll ... And I suppose you would like to go back upstairs?

HOFFMANN

Yes, honestly, I can't get much rest down here.

DR. SCHIMMELPFENNIG

It would be better undoubtedly if you were to go somewhere—out of the house.

HOFFMANN

With the best will in the world, I—. [LOTH arises from the sofa in the dim foreground and approaches the two.] Hallo, Loth, there you are too!

DR. SCHIMMELPFENNIG

[Surprised in the extreme.] Well, I'll be—!

LOTH

I heard that you were here. I would have looked you up to-morrow without fail.

[They shake hands cordially. HOFFMANN takes the opportunity to mash down a glass of brandy at the side-board and then to creep back upstairs on tiptoe.

DR. SCHIMMELPFENNIG

So you've evidently forgotten—ha, ha, ha—that ridiculous old affair?

[He lays aside his hat and cane.

LOTH

Long ago, Schimmel!

DR. SCHIMMELPFENNIG

Well, so have I, as you can well imagine. [They shake hands once more.] I've had so few pleasant surprises in this hole, that this one seems positively queer to me. And it is strange that we should meet just here. It is.

LOTH

And you faded clear out of sight. Otherwise I'd have routed you out long ago.

DR. SCHIMMELPFENNIG

Oh, I just dived below the surface like a seal. Made deep-sea investigations. In about a year and a half I hope to emerge once more. A man must be financially independent—do you know that?—In order to achieve anything useful.