TRAVELLER

Most certainly not! [With a languishing look at ANNA.] I could sit here till I die.

Enter a YOUNG FORESTER and a PEASANT, the latter carrying a whip. They wish the others "Good Morning," and remain standing at the counter.

PEASANT

Two brandies, if you please.

WELZEL

Good-morning to you, gentlemen.

[He pours out their beverage; the two touch glasses, take a mouthful, and then set the glasses down on the counter.

TRAVELLER

[To FORESTER.] Come far this morning, sir?

FORESTER

From Steinseiffersdorf—that's a good step.

Two old WEAVERS enter, and seat themselves beside ANSORGE, BAUMERT, and HORNIG.

TRAVELLER

Excuse me asking, but are you in Count Hochheim's service?

FORESTER

No. I'm in Count Keil's.

TRAVELLER

Yes, yes, of course—that was what I meant. One gets confused here among all the counts and barons and other gentlemen. It would take a giant's memory to remember them all. Why do you carry an axe, if I may ask?

FORESTER

I've just taken this one from a man who was stealing wood.

OLD BAUMERT

Yes, their lordships are mighty strict with us about a few sticks for the fire.

TRAVELLER

You must allow that if every one were to help himself to what he wanted ...

OLD BAUMERT

By your leave, sir, but there's a difference made here as elsewhere between the big an' the little thieves. There's some here as deals in stolen wood wholesale, and grows rich on it. But if a poor weaver ...

FIRST OLD WEAVER

[Interrupts BAUMERT.] We're forbid to take a single branch; but their lordships, they take the very skin off of us—we've assurance money to pay, an' spinning-money, an' charges in kind—we must go here an' go there, an' do so an' so much field work, all willy-nilly.

ANSORGE

That's just how it is—what the manufacturer leaves us, their lordships takes from us.

SECOND OLD WEAVER

[Has taken a seat at the next table.] I've said it to his lordship hisself. By your leave, my lord, says I, it's not possible for me to work on the estate so many days this year. I comes right out with it. For why—my own bit of ground, my lord, it's been next to carried away by the rains. I've to work night and day if I'm to live at all. For oh, what a flood that was...! There I stood an' wrung my hands, an' watched the good soil come pourin' down the hill, into the very house! And all that dear, fine seed!... I could do nothin' but roar an' cry until I couldn't see out o' my eyes for a week. And then I had to start an' wheel eighty heavy barrow-loads of earth up that hill, till my back was all but broken.

PEASANT

[Roughly.] You weavers here make such an awful outcry. As if we hadn't all to put up with what Heaven sends us. An' if you are badly off just now, whose fault is it but your own? What did you do when trade was good? Drank an' squandered all you made. If you had saved a bit then, you'd have it to fall back on now when times is bad, and not need to be goin' stealin' yarn and wood.

FIRST YOUNG WEAVER

[Standing with several comrades in the lobby or outer room, calls in at the door.] What's a peasant but a peasant, though he lies in bed till nine?

FIRST OLD WEAVER

The peasant an' the count, it's the same story with 'em both. Says the peasant when a weaver wants a house: I'll give you a little bit of a hole to live in, an' you'll pay me so much rent in money, an' the rest of it you'll make up by helpin' me to get in my hay an' my corn—and if that don't please you, why, then you may go elsewhere. He tries another, and to the second he says the same as to the first.

BAUMERT

[Angrily.] The weaver's like a bone that every dog takes a gnaw at.

PEASANT

[Furious.] You starvin' curs, you're no good for anything. Can you yoke a plough? Can you draw a straight furrow or throw a bundle of sheaves on to a cart. You're fit for nothing but to idle about an' go after the women. A pack of scoundrelly ne'er-do-wells!

[He has paid and now goes out.

[The FORESTER follows, laughing. WELZEL, the joiner, and MRS. WELZEL laugh aloud; the TRAVELLER laughs to himself. Then there is a moment's silence.

HORNIG

A peasant like that's as stupid as his own ox. As if I didn't know all about the distress in the villages round here. Sad sights I've seen! Four and five lyin' naked on one sack of straw.

TRAVELLER

[In a mildly remonstrative tone.] Allow me to remark, my good man, that there's a great difference of opinion as to the amount of distress here in the Eulengebirge. If you can read....

HORNIG

I can read straight off, as well as you. An' I know what I've seen with my own eyes. It would be queer if a man that's travelled the country with a pack on his back these forty years an' more didn't know something about it. There was the Fullers, now. You saw the children scrapin' about among the dung-heaps with the peasants' geese. The people up there died naked, on the bare stone floors. In their sore need they ate the stinking weavers' glue. Hunger carried 'em off by the hundred.

TRAVELLER

You must be aware, since you are able to read, that strict investigation has been made by the Government, and that....

HORNIG

Yes, yes, we all know what that means. They send a gentleman that knows all about it already better nor if he had seen it, an' he goes about a bit in the village where the brook flows broad an' the best houses is. He don't want to dirty his shinin' boots. Thinks he to hisself: All the rest'll be the same as this. An' so he steps into his carriage, an' drives away home again, an' then writes to Berlin that there's no distress in the place at all. If he had but taken the trouble to go higher up into a village like that, to where the stream comes in, or across the stream on to the narrow side—or, better still, if he'd gone up to the little out-o'-the-way hovels on the hill above, some of 'em that black an' tumble-down as it would be the waste of a good match to set fire to 'em—it's another kind o' report he'd have sent to Berlin. They should ha' come to me, these government gentlemen that wouldn't believe there was no distress here. I would ha' shown 'em something. I'd have opened their eyes for 'em in some of these starvation holes.

[The strains of the Weavers' Song are heard, sung outside.

WELZEL

There they are, roaring at that devil's song again.

WIEGAND

They're turning the whole place upside down.

MRS. WELZEL

You'd think there was something in the air.

JAEGER and BECKER arm in arm, at the head of a troop of young weavers, march noisily through the outer room and enter the bar.

JAEGER

Halt! To your places!

[The new arrivals sit down at the various tables, and begin to talk to other weavers already seated there.

HORNIG

[Calls out to BECKER.] What's up now, Becker, that you've got together a crowd like this?

BECKER

[Significantly.] Who knows but something may be goin' to happen? Eh, Moritz?

HORNIG

Come, come, lads. Don't you be a-gettin' of yourselves into mischief.

BECKER

Blood's flowed already. Would you like to see it?

[He pulls up his sleeve and shows bleeding tattoo-marks on the upper part of his arm. Many of the other young weavers do the same.

BECKER

We've been at barber Schmidt's gettin' ourselves vaccinated.

HORNIG

Now the thing's explained. Little wonder there's such an uproar in the place, with a band of young rapscallions like you paradin' round.

JAEGER

[Consequentially, in a loud voice.] You may bring two quarts at once, Welzel! I pay. Perhaps you think I haven't got the needful. You're wrong, then. If we wanted we could sit an' drink your best brandy an' swill coffee till to-morrow morning with any bagman in the land.

[Laughter among the young weavers.

TRAVELLER

[Affecting comic surprise.] Is the young gentleman kind enough to take notice of me?

[Host, hostess, and their daughter, WIEGAND, and the TRAVELLER all laugh.

JAEGER

If the cap fits, wear it.

TRAVELLER

Your affairs seem to be in a thriving condition, young man, if I may be allowed to say so.

JAEGER

I can't complain. I'm a traveller in made-up goods. I go shares with the manufacturers. The nearer starvation the weaver is, the better I fare. His want butters my bread.

BECKER

Well done, Moritz! You gave it him that time. Here's to you!

[WELZEL has brought the corn-brandy. On his way back to the counter he stops, turns round slowly, and stands, an embodiment of phlegmatic strength, facing the weavers.

WELZEL

[Calmly but emphatically.] You let the gentleman alone. He's done you no harm.

YOUNG WEAVERS

And we're doing him no harm.

[MRS. WELZEL has exchanged a few words with the TRAVELLER. She takes the cup with the remains of his coffee and carries it into the parlour. The TRAVELLER follows her amidst the laughter of the weavers.

YOUNG WEAVERS

[Singing.] "The Dreissigers the hangmen are, Servants no whit behind them."

WELZEL

Hush-sh! Sing that song anywhere else you like, but not in my house.

FIRST OLD WEAVER

He's quite right. Stop that singin', lads.

BECKER

[Roars.] But we must march past Dreissiger's, boys, and let him hear it ones more.

WIEGAND

You'd better take care—you may march once too often!

[Laughter and cries of Ho, ho!

WITTIG has entered; a grey-haired old smith, bareheaded, with leather apron and wooden shoes, sooty from the smithy. He is standing at the counter waiting for his schnapps.

WITTIG

Let 'em go on with their doin's. The dogs as barks most, bites least.

OLD WEAVERS

Wittig, Wittig!

WITTIG

Here he is. What do you want with him?

OLD WEAVERS

"It's Wittig!"—"Wittig, Wittig!"—"Come here, Wittig."—"Sit beside us, Wittig."

WITTIG

Do you think I would sit beside a set of rascals like you?

JAEGER

Come and take a glass with us.

WITTIG

Keep your brandy to yourselves. I pay for my own drink. [Takes his glass and sits down beside BAUMERT and ANSORGE. Clapping the latter on the stomach.] What's the weavers' food so nice? Sauerkraut and roasted lice!

OLD BAUMERT

[Drunk with excitement.] But what would you say now if they'd made up their minds as how they would put up with it no longer.

WITTIG

[With pretended astonishment, staring open-mouthed at the old weaver.] Heinerle! you don't mean to tell me that that's you? [Laughs immoderately.] O Lord, O Lord! I could laugh myself to death. Old Baumert risin' in rebellion! We'll have the tailors at it next, and then there'll be a rebellion among the baa-lambs, and the rats and the mice. Damn it all, but we'll see some sport.

[He nearly splits with laughter.

OLD BAUMERT

You needn't go on like that, Wittig. I'm the same man I've always been. I still say 'twould be better if things could be put right peaceably.

WITTIG

Rot! How could it be done peaceably? Did they do it peaceably in France? Did Robespeer tickle the rich men's palms? No! It was: Away with them, every one! To the gilyoteen with 'em! Allongs onfong! You've got your work before you. The geese'll not fly ready roasted into your mouths.

OLD BAUMERT

If I could make even half a livin' ...

FIRST OLD WEAVER

The water's up to our chins now, Wittig.

SECOND OLD WEAVER

We're afraid to go home. It's all the same whether we works or whether we lies abed; it's starvation both ways.

FIRST OLD WEAVER

A man's like to go mad at home.

OLD ANSORGE

I've come to that pass now that I don't care how things goes.

OLD WEAVERS

[With increasing excitement.] "We've no peace anywhere."—"We've no spirit left to work."—"Up with us in Steenkunzendorf you can see a weaver sittin' by the stream washin' hisself the whole day long, naked as God made him. It's driven him clean out of his mind."

THIRD OLD WEAVER

[Moved by the spirit, stands up and begins to "speak with tongues," stretching out his hand threateningly.] Judgement is at hand! Have no dealings with the rich and the great! Judgement is at hand! The Lord God of Sabaoth ...

[Some of the weavers laugh. He is pulled down on to his seat.

WELZEL

That's a chap that can't stand a single glass—he gets wild at once.

THIRD OLD WEAVER

[Jumps up again.] But they—they believe not in God, not in hell, not in heaven. They mock at religion....

FIRST OLD WEAVER

Come, come now, that's enough!

BECKER

You let him do his little bit o' preaching. There's many a one would be the better for takin' it to heart.

VOICES

[In excited confusion.] "Let him alone!" "Let him speak!"

THIRD OLD WEAVER

[Raising his voice.] But hell is opened, saith the Lord; its jaws are gaping wide, to swallow up all those that oppress the afflicted and pervert judgement in the cause of the poor. [Wild excitement.]

THIRD OLD WEAVER

[Suddenly declaiming schoolboy fashion.]

When one has thought upon it well, It's still more difficult to tell Why they the linen-weaver's work despise.

BECKER

But we're fustian-weavers, man.

[Laughter.

HORNIG

The linen-weavers is ever so much worse off than you. They're wanderin' about among the hills like ghosts. You people here have still got the pluck left in you to kick up a row.

WITTIG

Do you suppose the worst's over here? It won't be long till the manufacturers drain away that little bit of strength they still has left in their bodies.

BECKER

You know what he said: It will come to the weavers workin' for a bite of bread.

[Uproar.

SEVERAL OLD AND YOUNG WEAVERS

Who said that?

BECKER

Dreissiger said it.

A YOUNG WEAVER

The damned rascal should be hung up by the heels.

JAEGER

Look here, Wittig. You've always jawed such a lot about the French Revolution, and a good deal too about your own doings. A time may be coming, and that before long, when every one will have a chance to show whether he's a braggart or a true man.

WITTIG

[Flaring up angrily.] Say another word if you dare! Has you heard the whistle o' bullets? Has you done outpost duty in an enemy's country?

JAEGER

You needn't get angry about it. We're comrades. I meant no harm.

WITTIG

None of your comradeship for me, you impudent young fool.

Enter KUTSCHE, the policeman.

SEVERAL VOICES

Hush—sh! Police!

[This calling goes on for some time, till at last there is complete silence, amidst which KUTSCHE takes his place at the central pillar table.

KUTSCHE

A small brandy, please.

[Again complete silence.]

WITTIG

I suppose you've come to see if we're all behavin' ourselves, Kutsche?

KUTSCHE

[Paying no attention to WITTIG.] Good-morning, Mr. Wiegand.

WIEGAND

[Still in the corner in front of the counter.] Good morning t'you.

KUTSCHE

How's trade?

WIEGAND

Thank you, much as usual.

BECKER

The chief constable's sent him to see if we're spoilin' our stomach on these big wages we're gettin'.

[Laughter.

JAEGER

I say, Welzel, you will tell him how we've been feastin' on roast pork an' sauce an' dumplings and sauerkraut, and now we're sittin' at our champagne wine.

[Laughter.

WELZEL.

The world's upside down with them to-day.

KUTSCHE

An' even if you had the champagne wine and the roast meat, you wouldn't be satisfied. I've to get on without champagne wine as well as you.

BECKER

[Referring to KUTSCHE'S nose.] He waters his beet-root with brandy and gin. An' it thrives on it too.

[Laughter.

WITTIG

A p'liceman like that has a hard life. Now it's a starving beggar boy he has to lock up, then it's a pretty weaver girl he has to lead astray; then he has to get roarin' drunk an' beat his wife till she goes screamin' to the neighbours for help; and there's the ridin' about on horseback and the lyin' in bed till nine—nay, faith, but it's no easy job!

KUTSCHE

Jaw away; you'll jaw a rope round your neck in time. It's long been known what sort of a fellow you are. The magistrates knows all about that rebellious tongue o' yours, I know who'll drink wife and child into the poorhouse an' himself into gaol before long, who it is that'll go on agitatin' and agitatin' till he brings down judgment on himself and all concerned.

WITTIG

[Laughs bitterly.] It's true enough—no one knows what'll be the end of it. You may be right yet. [Bursts out in fury.] But if it does come to that, I know who I've got to thank for it, who it is that's blabbed to the manufacturers an' all the gentlemen round, an' blackened my character to that extent that they never give me a hand's turn of work to do—an' set the peasants an' the millers against me, so that I'm often a whole week without a horse to shoe or a wheel to put a tyre on. I know who's done it. I once pulled the damned brute off his horse, because he was givin' a little stupid boy the most awful flogging for stealin' a few unripe pears. But I tell you this, Kutsche, and you know me—if you get me put into prison, you may make your own will. If I hears as much as a whisper of it. I'll take the first thing as comes handy, whether it's a horseshoe or a hammer, a wheel-spoke or a pail; I'll get hold of you if I've to drag you out of bed from beside your wife, and I'll beat in your brains, as sure as my name's Wittig.

[He has jumped up and is going to rush at KUTSCHE.]

OLD AND YOUNG WEAVERS

[Holding him back.] Wittig, Wittig! Don't lose your head!

KUTSCHE

[Has risen involuntarily, his face pale. He backs towards the door while speaking. The nearer the door the higher his courage rises. He speaks the last words on the threshold, and then instantly disappears.] What are you goin' on at me about? I didn't meddle with you. I came to say somethin' to the weavers. My business is with them an' not with you, and I've done nothing to you. But I've this to say to you weavers: The superintendent of police herewith forbids the singing of that song—Dreissiger's song, or whatever it is you calls it. And if the yelling of it on the streets isn't stopped at once, he'll provide you with plenty of time and leisure for goin' on with it in gaol. You may sing there, on bread an' water, to your hearts' content.

[Goes out.

WITTIG

[Roars after him.] He's no right to forbid, it—not if we was to roar till the windows shook an' they could hear us at Reichenbach—not if we sang till the manufacturers' houses tumbled about their ears an' all the superintendents' helmets danced on the top of their heads. It's nobody's business but our own.

[BECKER has in the meantime got up, made a signal for singing, and now leads off, the others joining in.

The justice to us weavers dealt Is bloody, cruel, and hateful; Our life's one torture, long drawn out; For Lynch law we'd be grateful.

[WELZEL attempts to quiet them, but they pay no attention to him. WIEGAND puts his hands to his ears and rushes off. During the singing of the next stanza the weavers rise and form, into procession behind BECKER and WITTIG, who have given pantomimic signs for a general break-up.

Stretched on the rack, day after day, Hearts sick and bodies aching, Our heavy sighs their witness bear To spirit slowly breaking.

[Most of the weavers sing the following stanza, out on the street, only a few young fellows, who are paying, being still in the bar. At the conclusion of the stanza no one is left in the room except WELZEL and his wife and daughter, HORNIG, and OLD BAUMERT.

You villains all, you brood of hell, You fiends in fashion human, A curse will fall on all like you Who prey on man and woman.

WELZEL

[Phlegmatically collecting the glasses.] Their backs are up to-day, an' no mistake.

HORNIG

[To OLD BAUMERT, who is preparing to go.] What in the name of Heaven are they up to, Baumert?

BAUMERT

They're goin' to Dreissiger's to make him add something on to the pay.

WELZEL

And are you joining in these foolish goings on?

OLD BAUMERT

I've no choice, Welzel. The young men may an' the old men must.

[Goes out rather shamefacedly.

HORNIG

It'll not surprise me if this ends badly.

WELZEL

To think that even old fellows like him are goin' right off their heads!

HORNIG

We all set our hearts on something!

END OF THE THIRD ACT



THE FOURTH ACT

_Peterswaldau.—Private room of DREISSIGER, _the fustian manufacturer—luxuriously furnished in the chilly taste of the first half of this century. Ceiling, doors, and stove are white, and the wall paper, with its small, straight-lined floral pattern, is dull and cold in tone. The furniture is mahogany, richly-carved, and upholstered in red. On the right, between two windows with crimson damask curtains, stands the writing-table, a high bureau with falling flap. Directly opposite to this is the sofa, with the strong-box; beside it; in front of the sofa a table, with chairs and easy-chairs arranged about it. Against the back wall is a gun-rack. All three walls are decorated with bad pictures in gilt frames. Above the sofa is a mirror with a heavily gilt rococo frame. On the left an ordinary door leads into the hall. An open folding door at the back shows the drawing-room, over-furnished in the same style of comfortless ostentation. Two ladies, MRS. DREISSIGER and MRS. KITTELHAUS, the Pastor's wife, are seen in the drawing-room, looking at pictures. PASTOR KITTELHAUS is there too, engaged in conversation with WEINHOLD, the tutor, a theological graduate._

KITTELHAUS

[A kindly little elderly man, enters the front room, smoking and chatting familiarly with the tutor, who is also smoking; he looks round and shakes his head in surprise at finding the room empty.] You are young, Mr. Weinhold, which explains everything. At your age we old fellows held—well, I won't say the same opinions—but certainly opinions of the same tendency. And there's something fine about youth—youth with its grand ideals. But unfortunately, Mr. Weinhold, they don't last; they are as fleeting as April sunshine. Wait till you are my age. When a man has said his say from the pulpit for thirty years—fifty-two times every year, not including saints' days—he has inevitably calmed down. Think of me, Mr. Weinhold, when you come to that pass.

WEINHOLD

[Nineteen, pale, thin, tall, with lanky fair hair; restless and nervous in his movements.] With all due respect, Mr. Kittelhaus.... I can't think ... people have such different natures.

KITTELHAUS

My dear Mr. Weinhold, however restless-minded and unsettled, a man may be—[in a tone of reproof]—and you are a case in point—however violently and wantonly he may attack the existing order of things, he calms down in the end. I grant you, certainly, that among our professional brethren individuals are to be found, who, at a fairly advanced age, still play youthful pranks. One preaches against the drink evil and founds temperance societies, another publishes appeals which undoubtedly read most effectively. But what good do they do? The distress among the weavers, where it does exist, is in no way lessened—but the peace of society is undermined. No, no; one feels inclined in such cases to say: Cobbler, stick to your last; don't take to caring for the belly, you who have the care of souls. Preach the pure Word of God, and leave all else to Him who provides shelter and food for the birds, and clothes the lilies of the field.—But I should like to know where our good host, Mr. Dreissiger, has suddenly disappeared to.

[MRS. DREISSIGER, followed by MRS. KITTELHAUS, now comes forward. She is a pretty woman of thirty, of a healthy, florid type. A certain discrepancy is noticeable between her deportment and way of expressing herself and her rich, elegant toilette.]

MRS. DREISSIGER

That's what I want to know too, Mr. Kittelhaus. But it's what William always does. No sooner does a thing come into his head than off he goes and leaves me in the lurch. I've said enough about it, but it does no good.

KITTELHAUS

It's always the way with business men, my dear Mrs. Dreissiger.

WEINHOLD

I'm almost certain that something has happened downstairs.

DREISSIGER enters, hot and excited.

DREISSIGER

Well, Rosa, is coffee served?

MRS. DREISSIGER

[Sulkily.] Fancy your needing to run away again!

DREISSIGER

[Carelessly.] Ah! these are things you don't understand.

KITTELHAUS

Excuse me—has anything happened to annoy you, Mr. Dreissiger?

DREISSIGER

Never a day passes without that, my dear sir. I am accustomed to it. What about that coffee, Rosa?

[MRS. DREISSIGER goes ill-humouredly and gives one or two violent tugs at the broad embroidered bell-pull.

DREISSIGER

I wish you had been downstairs just now, Mr. Weinhold. You'd have gained a little experience. Besides.... But now let us have our game of whist.

KITTELHAUS

By all means, sir. Shake off the dust and burden of the day, Mr. Dreissiger; forget it in our company.

DREISSIGER

[Has gone to the window, pushed aside a curtain, and is looking out. Involuntarily.] Vile rabble!! Come here. Rosa! [She goes to the window.] Look ... that tall red-haired fellow there!...

KITTELHAUS

That's the man they call Red Becker.

DREISSIGER

Is he the man that insulted you the day before yesterday? You remember what you told me—when John was helping you into the carriage?

MRS. DREISSIGER

[Pouting, drawls.] I'm sure I don't know.

DREISSIGER

Come now, drop that offended air! I must know. I am thoroughly tired of their impudence. If he's the man, I mean to have him arrested. [The strains of the Weavers' Song are heard.] Listen to that! Just listen!

KITTELHAUS

[Highly incensed.] Is there to be no end to this nuisance? I must acknowledge now that it is time for the police to interfere. Permit me. [He goes forward to the window.] See, see, Mr. Weinhold! These are not only young people. There are numbers of steady-going old weavers among them, men whom I have known for years and looked upon as most deserving and God-fearing. There they are, taking part in this unheard-of mischief, trampling God's law under foot. Do you mean to tell me that you still defend these people?

WEINHOLD

Certainly not, Mr. Kittelhaus. That is, sir ... cum grano salis. For after all, they are hungry and they are ignorant. They are giving expression to their dissatisfaction in the only way they understand. I don't expect that such people....

MRS. KITTELHAUS

[Short, thin, faded, more like an old maid than a married woman.] Mr. Weinhold, Mr. Weinhold, how can you?

DREISSIGER

Mr. Weinhold, I am sorry to be obliged to.... I didn't bring you into my house to give me lectures on philanthropy, and I must request that you will confine yourself to the education of my boys, and leave my other affairs entirely to me—entirely! Do you understand?

WEINHOLD

[Stands for a moment rigid and deathly pale, then bows, with a strained smile. In a low voice.] Certainly, of course I understand. I have seen this coming. It is my wish too.

[Goes out.

DREISSIGER

[Rudely.] As soon as possible then, please. We require the room.

MRS. DREISSIGER

William, William!

DREISSIGER

Have you lost your senses, Rosa, that you're taking the part of a man who defends a low, blackguardly libel like that song?

MRS. DREISSIGER

But, William, he didn't defend it.

DREISSIGER

Mr. Kittelhaus, did he defend it or did he not?

KITTELHAUS

His youth must be his excuse, Mr. Dreissiger.

MRS. KITTELHAUS

I can't understand it. The young man comes of such a good, respectable family. His father held a public appointment for forty years, without a breath on his reputation. His mother was overjoyed at his getting this good situation here. And now ... he himself shows so little appreciation of it.

PFEIFER

[Suddenly opens the door leading from the hall and shouts in.] Mr. Dreissiger, Mr. Dreissiger! they've got him! Will you come, please? They've caught one of 'em.

DREISSIGER

[Hastily.] Has some one gone for the police?

PFEIFER

The superintendent's on his way upstairs.

DREISSIGER

[At the door.] Glad to see you, sir. We want you here.

[KITTELHAUS makes signs to the ladies that it will be better for them to retire. He, his wife, and MRS. DREISSIGER disappear into the drawing-room.

DREISSIGER

[Exasperated, to the POLICE SUPERINTENDENT, who has now entered.] I have at last had one of the ringleaders seized by my dyers. I could stand it no longer—their insolence was beyond all bounds—quite unbearable. I have visitors in my house, and these blackguards dare to.... They insult my wife whenever she shows herself; my boys' lives are not safe. My visitors run the risk of being jostled and cuffed. Is it possible that in a well-ordered community incessant public insult offered to unoffending people like myself and my family should pass unpunished? If so ... then ... then I must confess that I have other ideas of law and order.

SUPERINTENDENT

[A man of fifty, middle height, corpulent, full-blooded. He wears cavalry uniform with a long sword and spurs.] No, no, Mr. Dreissiger ... certainly not! I am entirely at your disposal. Make your mind easy on the subject. Dispose of me as you will. What you have done is quite right. I am delighted that you have had one of the ringleaders arrested. I am very glad indeed that a day of reckoning has come. There are a few disturbers of the peace here whom I have long had my eye on.

DREISSIGER

Yes, one or two raw lads, lazy vagabonds, that shirk every kind of work, and lead a life of low dissipation, hanging about the public-houses until they've sent their last half-penny down their throats. But I'm determined to put a stop to the trade of these professional blackguards once and for all. It's in the public interest to do so, not only my private interest.

SUPERINTENDENT

Of course it is! Most undoubtedly, Mr. Dreissiger! No one can possibly blame you. And everything that lies in my power....

DREISSIGER

The cat-o'-nine tails is what should be taken to the beggarly pack.

SUPERINTENDENT

You're right, quite right. We must institute an example.

KUTSCHE, the policeman, enters and salutes. The door is open, and the sound of heavy steps stumbling up the stair is heard.

KUTSCHE

I have to inform you, sir, that we have arrested a man.

DREISSIGER

[To SUPERINTENDENT.] Do you wish to see the fellow?

SUPERINTENDENT

Certainly, most certainly. We must begin by having a look at him at close quarters. Oblige me, Mr. Dreissiger, by not speaking to him at present. I'll see to it that you get complete satisfaction, or my name's not Heide.

DREISSIGER

That's not enough for me, though. He goes before the magistrates. My mind's made up.

JAEGER is led in by five dyers, who have come straight from their work—faces, hands, and clothes stained with dye. The prisoner, his cap set jauntily on the side of his head, presents an appearance of impudent gaiety; he is excited by the brandy he has just drunk.

JAEGER

Hounds that you are!—Call yourselves working men!—Pretend to be comrades! Before I would do such a thing as lay hands on a mate, I'd see my hand rot off my arm!

[At a sign from the SUPERINTENDENT KUTSCHE orders the dyers to let go their victim. JAEGER straightens himself up, quite free and easy. Both doors are guarded.

SUPERINTENDENT

[Shouts to JAEGER.] Off with your cap, lout! [JAEGER takes it off, but very slowly, still with an impudent grin on his face.] What's your name?

JAEGER

What's yours? I'm not your swineherd.

[Great excitement is produced among the audience by this reply.

DREISSIGER

This is too much of a good thing.

SUPERINTENDENT

[Changes colour, is on the point of breaking out furiously, but controls his rage.] We'll see about this afterwards.—Once more, what's your name? [Receiving no answer, furiously.] If you don't answer at once, fellow, I'll have you flogged on the spot.

JAEGER

[Perfectly cheerful, not showing by so much as the twitch of an eyelid that he has heard the SUPERINTENDENT'S angry words, calls over the heads of those around him to a pretty servant girl, who has brought in the coffee and is standing open-mouthed with astonishment at the unexpected sight.] Hillo, Emmy, do you belong to this company now? The sooner you find your way out of it, then, the better. A wind may begin to blow here, an' blow everything away overnight.

[The girl stares at JAEGER, and as soon as she comprehends that it is to her he is speaking, blushes with shame, covers her eyes with her hands, and rushes out, leaving the coffee things in confusion on the table. Renewed excitement among those present.

SUPERINTENDENT

[Half beside himself, to DREISSIGER.] Never in all my long service ... a case of such shameless effrontery.... [JAEGER spits on the floor.

DREISSIGER

You're not in a stable, fellow! Do you understand?

SUPERINTENDENT

My patience is at an end now. For the last time: What's your name?

KITTELHAUS who has been peering out at the partly opened drawing-room door, listening to what has been going on, can no longer refrain from coming forward to interfere. He is trembling with excitement.

KITTELHAUS

His name is Jaeger, sir. Moritz ... is it not? Moritz Jaeger. [To JAEGER.] And, Jaeger, you know me.

JAEGER

[Seriously.] You are Pastor Kittelhaus.

KITTELHAUS

Yes, I am your pastor, Jaeger! It was I who received you, a babe in swaddling clothes, into the Church of Christ. From my hands you took for the first time the body of the Lord. Do you remember that, and how I toiled and strove to bring God's Word home to your heart? Is this your gratitude?

JAEGER

[Like a scolded schoolboy. In a surly voice.] I paid my half-crown like the rest.

KITTELHAUS

Money, money.... Do you imagine that the miserable little bit of money.... Such utter nonsense! I'd much rather you kept your money. Be a good man, be a Christian! Think of what you promised. Keep God's law. Money, money...!

JAEGER

I'm a Quaker now, sir. I don't believe in nothing.

KITTELHAUS

Quaker! What are you talking about? Try to behave yourself, and don't use words you don't understand. Quaker, indeed! They are good Christian people, and not heathens like you.

SUPERINTENDENT

Mr. Kittelhaus, I must ask you.... [He comes between the Pastor and JAEGER.] Kutsche! tie his hands!

[Wild yelling outside: "Jaeger. Jaeger! come out!"

DREISSIGER

[Like the others, slightly startled, goes instinctively to the window.] What's the meaning of this next?

SUPERINTENDENT

Oh, I understand well enough. It means that they want to have the blackguard out among them again. But we're not going to oblige them. Kutsche, you have your orders. He goes to the lock-up.

KUTSCHE

[With the rope in his hand, hesitating.] By your leave, sir, but it'll not be an easy job. There's a confounded big crowd out there—a pack of raging devils. They've got Becker with them, and the smith....

KITTELHAUS

Allow me one more word!—So as not to rouse still worse feeling, would it not be better if we tried to arrange things peaceably? Perhaps Jaeger will give his word to go with us quietly, or....

SUPERINTENDENT

Quite impossible! Think of my responsibility. I couldn't allow such a thing. Come, Kutsche! lose no more time.

JAEGER

[Putting his hands together, and holding them, out.] Tight, tight, as tight as ever you can! It's not for long.

[KUTSCHE, assisted by the workmen, ties his hands.

SUPERINTENDENT

Now off with you, march! [To DREISSIGER.] If you feel anxious, let six of the weavers go with them. They can walk on each side of him, I'll ride in front, and Kutsche will bring up the rear. Whoever blocks the way will be cut down.

[Cries from below: "Cock-a-doodle-doo-oo-oo! Bow, wow, wow!"

SUPERINTENDENT

[With a threatening gesture in the direction of the window.] You rascals, I'll cock-a-doodle-doo and bow-wow you! Forward! March!

[He marches out first, with drawn sword; the others, with JAEGER, follow.

JAEGER

[Shouts as he goes.] An' Mrs. Dreissiger there may play the lady as proud as she likes, but for all that she's no better than us. Many a hundred times she's served my father with a halfpenny-worth of schnapps. Left wheel—march!

[Exit laughing.

DREISSIGER

[ After a pause, with apparent calmness.] Well, Mr. Kittelhaus, shall we have our game now? I think there will be no further Interruption. [He lights a cigar, giving short laughs as he does so; when it is lighted, bursts into a regular fit of laughing.] I'm beginning now to think the whole thing very funny. That fellow! [Still laughing nervously.] It really is too comical: first came the dispute at dinner with Weinhold—five minutes after that he takes leave—off to the other end of the world; then this affair crops up—and now we'll proceed with our whist.

KITTELHAUS

Yes, but ... [Roaring is heard outside.] Yes, but ... that's a terrible uproar they're making outside.

DREISSIGER

All we have to do is to go into the other room; it won't disturb us in the least there.

KITTELHAUS

[Shaking his head.] I wish I knew what has come over these people. In so far I must agree with Mr. Weinhold, or at least till quite lately I was of his opinion, that the weavers were a patient, humble, easily-led class. Was it not your idea of them, too, Mr. Dreissiger?

DREISSIGER

Most certainly that is what they used to be—patient, easily managed, well-behaved and orderly people. They were that as long as these so-called humanitarians let them alone. But for ever so long now they've had the awful misery of their condition held up to them. Think of all the societies and associations for the alleviation of the distress among the weavers. At last the weaver believes in it himself, and his head's turned. Some of them had better come and turn it back again, for now he's fairly set a-going there's no end to his complaining. This doesn't please him, and that doesn't please him. He must have everything of the best.

[A loud roar of "Hurrah!" is heard from, the crowd.

KITTELHAUS

So that with all their humanitarianism they have only succeeded in almost literally turning lambs over night into wolves.

DREISSIGER

I won't say that, sir. When you take time to think of the matter coolly, it's possible that some good may come of it yet. Such occurrences as this will not pass unnoticed by those in authority, and may lead them to see that things can't be allowed to go on as they are doing—that means must be taken to prevent the utter ruin of our home industries.

KITTELHAUS

Possibly. But what is the cause, then, of this terrible falling off of trade?

DREISSIGER

Our best markets have been closed to us by the heavy import duties foreign countries have laid on our goods. At home the competition is a struggle of life and death, for we have no protection, none whatever.

PFEIFER

[Staggers in, pale and breathless.] Mr. Dreissiger, Mr. Dreissiger!

DREISSIGER

[In the act of walking into the drawing-room, turns round, annoyed.] Well, Pfeifer, what now?

PFEIFER

Oh, sir! Oh, sir!... It's worse than ever!

DREISSIGER

What are they up to next?

KITTELHAUS

You're really alarming us—what is it?

PFEIFER

[Still confused.] I never saw the like. Good Lord—The superintendent himself ... they'll catch it for this yet.

DREISSIGER

What's the matter with you, in the devil's name? Is any one's neck broken?

PFEIFER

[Almost crying with fear, screams.] They've set Moritz Jaeger free—they've thrashed the superintendent and driven him away—they've thrashed the policeman and sent him off too—without his helmet ... his sword broken ... Oh dear, oh dear!

DREISSIGER

I think you've gone crazy, Pfeifer.

KITTELHAUS

This is actual riot.

PFEIFER

[Sitting on a chair, his whole body trembling.] It's turning serious, Mr. Dreissiger! Mr. Dreissiger, it's serious now!

DREISSIGER

Well, if that's all the police ...

PFEIFER

Mr. Dreissiger, it's serious now!

DREISSIGER

Damn it all, Pfeifer, will you hold your tongue?

MRS. DREISSIGER

[Coming out of the drawing-room with MRS. KITTELHAUS.] This is really too bad, William. Our whole pleasant evening's being spoiled. Here's Mrs. Kittelhaus saying that she'd better go home.

KITTELHAUS

You mustn't take it amiss, dear Mrs. Dreissiger, but perhaps, under the circumstances, it would be better ...

MRS. DREISSIGER

But, William, why in the world don't you go out and put a stop to it?

DREISSIGER

You go and see if you can do it. Try! Go and speak to them! [Standing in front of the pastor, abruptly.] Am I such a tyrant? Am I a cruel master?

Enter JOHN the coachman.

JOHN

If you please, m'm, I've put to the horses. Mr. Weinhold's put Georgie and Charlie into the carriage. If it comes to the worst, we're ready to be off.

MRS. DREISSIGER

If what comes to the worst?

JOHN

I'm sure I don't know, m'm. But I'm thinkin' this way: The crowd's gettin' bigger and bigger, an' they've sent the superintendent an' the p'liceman to the right-about.

PFEIFER

It's gettin' serious now, Mr. Dreissiger! It's serious!

MRS. DREISSIGER

[With increasing alarm.] What's going to happen?—What do the people want?—They're never going to attack us, John?

JOHN

There's some rascally hounds among 'em, ma'am.

PFEIFER

It's serious now! serious!

DREISSIGER

Hold your tongue, fool!—Are the doors barred?

KITTELHAUS

I ask you as a favour, Mr. Dreissiger ... as a favour ... I am determined to ... I ask you as a favour ... [To JOHN.] What demands are the people making?

JOHN

[Awkwardly.] It's higher wages they're after, the blackguards.

KITTELHAUS

Good, good!—I shall go out and do my duty. I shall speak seriously to these people.

JOHN

Oh sir, please sir, don't do any such thing. Words is quite useless.

KITTELHAUS

One little favour, Mr. Dreissiger. May I ask you to post men behind the door, and to have it closed at once after me?

MRS. KITTELHAUS

O Joseph, Joseph! you're not really going out?

KITTELHAUS

I am. Indeed I am. I know what I'm doing. Don't be afraid. God will protect me.

[MRS. KITTELHAUS presses his hand, draws back, and wipes tears from her eyes.

KITTELHAUS

[While the dull murmur of a great, excited crowd is heard uninterruptedly outside.] I'll go ... I'll go out as if I were simply on my way home. I shall see if my sacred office ... if the people have not sufficient respect for me left to ... I shall try ... [He takes his hat and stick.] Forward, then, in God's name!

[Goes out accompanied by DREISSIGER, PFEIFER and JOHN.

MRS. KITTELHAUS

Oh, dear Mrs. Dreissiger! [She bursts into tears and embraces her.] I do trust nothing will happen to him.

MRS. DREISSIGER

[Absently.] I don't know how it is, Mrs. Kittelhaus, but I ... I can't tell you how I feel. I didn't think such a thing was possible. It's ... it's as if it was a sin to be rich. If I had been told about all this beforehand, Mrs. Kittelhaus, I don't know but what I would rather have been left in my own humble position.

MRS. KITTELHAUS

There are troubles and disappointments in every condition of life, Mrs. Dreissiger.

MRS. DREISSIGER

True, true, I can well believe that. And suppose we have more than other people ... goodness me! we didn't steal it. It's been honestly got, every penny of it. It's not possible that the people can be goin' to attack us! If trade's bad, that's not William's fault, is it?

[A tumult of roaring is heard outside. While the two women stand gazing at each other, pale and startled, DREISSIGER rushes in.

DREISSIGER

Quick, Rosa—put on something, and get into the carriage. I'll be after you this moment.

[He rushes to the strong-box, and takes out papers and various articles of value.

Enter JOHN.

JOHN

We're ready to start. But come quickly, before they gets round to the back door.

MRS. DREISSIGER

[In a transport of fear, throwing her arms around JOHN'S neck.] John, John, dear, good John! Save us, John. Save my boys! Oh, what is to become of us?

DREISSIGER

Rosa, try to keep your head. Let John go.

JOHN

Yes, yes, ma'am! Don't you be frightened. Our good horses'll soon leave them all behind; an' whoever doesn't get out of the way'll be driven over.

MRS. KITTELHAUS

[In helpless anxiety.] But my husband ... my husband? But, Mr. Dreissiger, my husband?

DREISSIGER

He's in safety now, Mrs. Kittelhaus. Don't alarm yourself; he's all right.

MRS. KITTELHAUS

Something dreadful has happened to him. I know it. You needn't try to keep it from me.

DREISSIGER

You mustn't take it to heart—they'll be sorry for it yet. I know exactly whose fault it was. Such an unspeakable, shameful outrage will not go unpunished. A community laying hands on its own pastor and maltreating him—abominable! Mad dogs they are—raging brutes—and they'll be treated as such. [To his wife who still stands petrified.] Go, Rosa, go quickly! [Heavy blows at the lower door are heard.] Don't you hear? They've gone stark mad! [The clatter of window-panes being smashed on the ground-floor is heard.] They've gone crazy. There's nothing for it but to get away as fast as we can.

[Cries of "Pfeifer, come out!"—"We want Pfeifer!"—"Pfeifer, come out!" are heard.

MRS. DREISSIGER

Pfeifer, Pfeifer, they want Pfeifer!

PFEIFER

[Dashes in.] Mr. Dreissiger, there are people at the back gate already, and the house door won't hold much longer. The smith's battering at it like a maniac with a stable pail.

[The cry sounds louder and clearer: "Pfeifer! Pfeifer! Pfeifer! come out!" MRS. DREISSIGER rushes off as if pursued. MRS. KITTELHAUS follows. PFEIFER listens, and changes colour as he hears what the cry is. A perfect panic of fear seizes him; he weeps, entreats, whimpers, writhes, all at the same moment. He overwhelms DREISSIGER with childish caresses, strokes his cheeks and arms, kisses his hands, and at last, like a drowning man, throws his arms round him and prevents him moving.

PFEIFER

Dear, good, kind Mr. Dreissiger, don't leave me behind. I've always served you faithfully. I've always treated the people well. I couldn't give 'em more wages than the fixed rate. Don't leave me here—they'll do for me! If they finds me, they'll kill me. O God! O God! My wife, my children!

DREISSIGER

[Making his way out, vainly endeavouring to free himself from PFEIFER'S clutch.] Can't you let me go, fellow? It'll be all right; it'll be all right.

For a few seconds the room is empty. Windows are shattered in the drawing-room. A loud crash resounds through the house, followed by a roaring "Hurrah!" For an instant there is silence. Then gentle, cautious steps are heard on the stair, then timid, hushed ejaculations: "To the left!"—"Up with you!"—"Hush!"—"Slow, slow!"—"Don't shove like that!"—"It's a wedding we're goin' to!"—"Stop that crowdin'!"—"You go first!"—"No, you go!"

Young weavers and weaver girls appear at the door leading from the hall, not daring to enter, but each trying to shove the other in. In the course of a few moments their timidity is overcome, and the poor, thin, ragged or patched figures, many of them sickly-looking, disperse themselves through DREISSIGER'S room and the drawing-room, first gazing timidly and curiously at everything, then beginning to touch things. Girls sit down on the sofas, whole groups admire themselves in the mirrors, men stand up on chairs, examine the pictures and take them down. There is a steady influx of miserable-looking creatures from the hall.

FIRST OLD WEAVER

[Entering.] No, no, this is carryin' it too far. They've started smashin' things downstairs. There's no sense nor reason in that. There'll be a bad end to it. No man in his wits would do that. I'll keep clear of such goings on.

JAEGER, BECKER, WITTIG carrying a wooden pail, BAUMERT, and a number of other old and young weavers, rush in as if in pursuit of something, shouting hoarsely.

JAEGER

Where has he gone?

BECKER

Where's the cruel brute?

BAUMERT

If we can eat grass he may eat sawdust.

WITTIG

We'll hang him when we catch him.

FIRST YOUNG WEAVER

We'll take him by the legs and fling him out at the window, on to the stones. He'll never get up again.

SECOND YOUNG WEAVER

[Enters.] He's off!

ALL

Who?

SECOND YOUNG WEAVER

Dreissiger.

BECKER

Pfeifer too?

VOICES

Let's get hold o' Pfeifer! Look for Pfeifer!

BAUMERT

Yes, yes! Pfeifer! Tell him there's a weaver here for him to starve.

[Laughter.

JAEGER

If we can't lay hands on that brute Dreissiger himself ... we'll make him poor!

BAUMERT

As poor as a church mouse ... we'll see to that!

[All, bent on the work of destruction, rush towards the drawing-room door.

BECKER

[Who is leading, turns round and stops the others.] Halt! Listen to me! This is nothing but a beginnin'. When we're done here, we'll go straight to Bielau, to Dittrich's, where the steam power-looms is. The whole mischief's done by them factories.

OLD ANSORGE

[Enters from hall. Takes a few steps, then stops and looks round, scarcely believing his eyes; shakes his head, taps his forehead.] Who am I? Weaver Anton Ansorge. Has he gone mad, Old Ansorge? My head's goin' round like a humming-top, sure enough. What's he doin' here. He'll do whatever he's a mind to. Where is Ansorge? [He taps his forehead repeatedly.] Something's wrong! I'm not answerable! I'm off my head! Off with you, off with you, rioters that you are! Heads off, legs off, hands off! If you takes my house, I takes your house. Forward, forward!

[Goes yelling into the drawing-room, followed by a yelling, laughing mob.

END OF THE FOURTH ACT



FIFTH ACT

Langen-Bielau,—OLD WEAVER HILSE'S workroom. On the left a small window, in front of which stands the loom. On the right a bed, with a table pushed close to it. Stove, with stove-bench, in the right-hand corner. Family worship is going on. HILSE, his old, blind, and almost deaf wife, his son GOTTLIEB, and LUISE, GOTTLIEB'S wife, are sitting at the table, on the bed and wooden stools. A winding-wheel and bobbins on the floor between table and loom. Old spinning, weaving, and winding implements are disposed of on the smoky rafters; hanks of yarn are hanging down. There is much useless lumber in the low narrow room. The door, which is in the back wall, and leads into the big outer passage, or entry-room of the house, stands open. Through another open door on the opposite side of the passage, a second, in most respects similar weaver's room is seen. The large passage, or entry-room of the house, is paved with stone, has damaged plaster, and a tumble-down wooden stair-case leading to the attics; a washing-tub on a stool is partly visible; linen of the most miserable description and poor household utensils lie about untidily. The light falls from the left into all three apartments.

OLD HILSE is a bearded man of strong build, but bent and wasted with age, toil, sickness, and hardship. He is an old soldier, and has lost an arm. His nose is sharp, his complexion ashen-grey, and he shakes; he is nothing but skin and bone, and has the deep-set, sore weaver's eyes.

OLD HILSE

[Stands up, as do his son and daughter-in-law; prays.] O Lord, we know not how to be thankful enough to Thee, for that Thou hast spared us this night again in Thy goodness ... an' hast had pity on us ... an' hast suffered us to take no harm. Thou art the All-merciful, an' we are poor, sinful children of men—that bad that we are not worthy to be trampled under Thy feet. Yet Thou art our loving Father, an' Thou will look upon us an' accept us for the sake of Thy dear Son, our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. "Jesus' blood and righteousness, Our covering is and glorious dress." An' if we're sometimes too sore cast down under Thy chastening—when the fire of Thy purification burns too ragin' hot—oh, lay it not to our charge; forgive us our sin. Give us patience, heavenly Father, that after all these sufferin's we may be made partakers of Thy eternal blessedness. Amen.

MOTHER HILSE

[Who has been bending forward, trying hard to hear.] What a beautiful prayer you do say, father!

[LUISE goes off to the washtub, GOTTLIEB to the room on the other side of the passage.

OLD HILSE

Where's the little lass?

LUISE

She's gone to Peterswaldau, to Dreissiger's. She finished all she had to wind last night.

OLD HILSE

[Speaking very loud.] You'd like the wheel now, mother, eh?

MOTHER HILSE

Yes, father, I'm quite ready.

OLD HILSE

[Setting it down before her.] I wish I could do the work for you.

MOTHER HILSE

An' what would be the good o' that, father? There would I be, sittin' not knowin' what to do.

OLD HILSE

I'll give your fingers a wipe, then, so that they'll not grease the yarn.

[He wipes her hands with a rag.

LUISE

[At her tub.] If there's grease on her hands, it's not from what she's eaten.

OLD HILSE

If we've no butter, we can eat dry bread—when we've no bread, we can eat potatoes—when there's no potatoes left, we can eat bran.

LUISE

[Saucily.] An' when that's all eaten, we'll do as the Wenglers did—we'll find out where the skinner's buried some stinking old horse, an' we'll dig it up an' live for a week or two on rotten carrion—how nice that'll be!

GOTTLIEB

[From the other room.] There you are, lettin' that tongue of yours run away with you again.

OLD HILSE

You should think twice, lass, before you talk that godless way. [He goes to his loom, calls.] Can you give me a hand, Gottlieb?—there's a few threads to pull through.

LUISE

[From her tub.] Gottlieb, you're wanted to help father.

[GOTTLIEB comes in, and he and his father set themselves to the troublesome task of "drawing and slaying," that is, pulling the strands of the warp through the "heddles" and "reed" of the loom. They have hardly begun to do this when HORNIG appears in the outer room.

HORNIG

[At the door.] Good luck to your work!

HILSE AND HIS SON

Thank you, Hornig.

OLD HILSE

I say, Hornig, when do you take your sleep? You're on your rounds all day, an' on watch all night.

HORNIG

Sleep's gone from me nowadays.

LUISE

Glad to see you, Hornig!

OLD HILSE

An' what's the news?

HORNIG

It's queer news this mornin'. The weavers at Peterswaldau has taken the law into their own hands, an' chased Dreissiger an' his whole family out of the place.

LUISE

[Perceptibly agitated.] Hornig's at his lies again.

HORNIG

No, missus, not this time, not to-day.—I've some beautiful pinafores in my cart,—No, it's God's truth I'm tellin' you. They've sent him to the right-about. He came down to Reichenbach last night, but, Lord love you! they daren't take him in there, for fear of the weavers—off he had to go again, all the way to Schweidnitz.

OLD HILSE

[Has been carefully lifting threads of the web and approaching them to the holes, through which, from the other side, GOTTLIEB pushes a wire hook, with which he catches them and draws them through.] It's about time you were stoppin' now, Hornig!

HORNIG

It's as sure as I'm a livin' man. Every child in the place'll soon tell you the same story.

OLD HILSE

Either your wits are a-wool-gatherin' or mine are.

HORNIG

Not mine. What I'm tellin' you's as true as the Bible. I wouldn't believe it myself if I hadn't stood there an' seen it with my own eyes—as I see you now, Gottlieb. They've wrecked his house from the cellar to the roof. The good china came flyin' out at the garret windows, rattlin' down the roof. God only knows how many pieces of fustian are lying soakin' in the river! The water can't get away for them—it's running over the banks, the colour of washin'-blue with all the indigo they've poured out at the windows. Clouds of sky-blue dust was flyin' along. Oh, it's a terrible destruction they've worked! And it's not only the house ... it's the dye-works too ... an' the stores! They've broken the stair rails, they've torn up the fine flooring—smashed the lookin'-glasses—cut an' hacked an' torn an' smashed the sofas an' the chairs.—It's awful—it's worse than war.

OLD HILSE

An' you would have me believe that my fellow weavers did all that?

[He shakes his head incredulously.

[Other tenants of the house have collected at the door and are listening eagerly.

HORNIG

Who else, I'd like to know? I could put names to every one of 'em. It was me took the sheriff through the house, an' I spoke to a whole lot of 'em, an' they answered me back—quite friendly like. They did their business with little noise, but my word! they did it well. The sheriff spoke to 'em, and they answered him mannerly, as they always do. But there wasn't no stoppin' of them. They hacked on at the beautiful furniture as if they was workin' for wages.

OLD HILSE

You took the sheriff through the house?

HORNIG

An' what would I be frightened of? Every one knows me. I'm always turnin' up, like a bad penny. But no one has anything agin' me. They're all glad to see me. Yes, I went the rounds with him, as sure as my name's Hornig. An' you may believe me or not as you like, but my heart's sore yet from the sight—an' I could see by the sheriff's face that he felt queer enough too. For why? Not a livin' word did we hear—they was doin' their work and holdin' their tongues. It was a solemn an' a woeful sight to see the poor starvin' creatures for once in a way takin' their revenge.

LUISE

[With irrepressible excitement, trembling, wiping her eyes with her apron.] An' right they are! It's only what should be!

VOICES AMONG THE CROWD AT THE DOOR

"There's some of the same sort here."—"There's one no farther away than across the river."—"He's got four horses in his stable an' six carriages, an' he starves his weavers to keep 'em."

OLD HILSE

[Still incredulous.] What was it set them off?

HORNIG

Who knows? who knows? One says this, another says that.

OLD HILSE

What do they say?

HORNIG

The story as most of 'em tells is that it began with Dreissiger sayin' that if the weavers was hungry they might eat grass. But I don't rightly know.

[Excitement at the door, as one person repeats this to the other, with signs of indignation.

OLD HILSE

Well now, Hornig—if you was to say to me: Father Hilse, says you, you'll die to-morrow, I would answer back: That may be—an' why not? You might even go to the length of saying: You'll have a visit to-morrow from the King of Prussia. But to tell me that weavers, men like me an' my son, have done such things as that—never! I'll never in this world believe it.

MIELCHEN

[A pretty girl of seven, with long, loose flaxen hair, carrying a basket on her arm, comes running in, holding out a silver spoon to her mother.] Mammy, mammy! look what I've got! An' you're to buy me a new frock with it.

LUISE

What d'you come tearing in like that for, girl? [With increased excitement and curiosity.] An' what's that you've got hold of now? You've been runnin' yourself out o' breath, an' there—if the bobbins aren't in her basket yet? What's all this about?

OLD HILSE

Mielchen, where did that spoon come from?

LUISE

She found it, maybe.

HORNIG

It's worth its seven or eight shillin's at least.

OLD HILSE

[In distressed excitement.] Off with you, lass—out of the house this moment—unless you want a lickin'! Take that spoon back where you got it from. Out you go! Do you want to make thieves of us all, eh? I'll soon drive that out o' you.

[He looks round for something to beat her with.

MIELCHEN

[Clinging to her mother's skirts, crying.] No, grandfather, no! don't lick me! We—we did find it. All the other bob—bobbin ... girls has ... has some too.

LUISE

[Half frightened, half excited.] I was right, you see. She found it. Where did you find it, Mielchen?

MIELCHEN

[Sobbing.] At—at Peterswal—dau. We—we found them in front of—in front of Drei—Dreissiger's house.

OLD HILSE

This is worse an' worse! Get off with you this moment, unless you want me to help you.

MOTHER HILSE

What's all the to-do about?

HORNIG

I'll tell you what, father Hilse. The best way'll be for Gottlieb to put on his coat an' take the spoon to the police-office.

OLD HILSE

Gottlieb, put on year coat.

GOTTLIEB

[Pulling it on, eagerly.] Yes, an' I'll go right in to the office an' say they're not to blame us for it, for how c'n a child like that understand about it? an' I brought the spoon back at once. Stop your crying now, Mielchen!

[The crying child is taken into the opposite room by her mother, who shuts her in and comes back.

HORNIG

I believe it's worth as much as nine shillin's.

GOTTLIEB

Give us a cloth to wrap it in, Luise, so that it'll take no harm. To think of the thing bein' worth all that money!

[Tears come into his eyes while he is wrapping up the spoon.

LUISE

If it was only ours, we could live on it for many a day.

OLD HILSE

Hurry up, now! Look sharp! As quick as ever you can. A fine state o' matters, this! Get that devil's spoon out o' the house.

[GOTTLIEB goes off with the spoon.

HORNIG

I must be off now too.

[He goes, is seen talking to the people in the entry-room before he leaves the house.

SURGEON SCHMIDT

[A jerky little ball of a man, with a red, knowing face, comes into the entry-room.] Good-morning, all! These are fine goings on! Take care! take care! [Threatening with his finger.] You're a sly lot—that's what you are. [At HILSE'S door without coming in.] Morning, father Hilse. [To a woman in the outer room.] And how are the pains, mother? Better, eh? Well, well. And how's all with you, father Hilse? [Enters.] Why the deuce! what's the matter with mother?

LUISE

It's the eye veins, sir—they've dried up, so as she can't see at all now.

SURGEON SCHMIDT

That's from the dust and weaving by candlelight. Will you tell me what it means that all Peterswaldau's on the way here? I set off on my rounds this morning as usual, thinking no harm; but it wasn't long till I had my eyes opened. Strange doings these! What in the devil's name has taken possession of them, Hilse? They're like a pack of raging wolves. Riot—why, it's revolution! they're getting refractory—plundering and laying waste right and left ... Mielchen! where's Mielchen? [MIELCHEN, her face red with crying, is pushed in by her mother.] Here, Mielchen, put your hand into my coat pocket. [MIELCHEN does so.] The ginger-bread nuts are for you. Not all at once, though, you baggage! And a song first! The fox jumped up on a ... come, now ... The fox jumped up ... on a moonlight ... Mind, I've heard what you did. You called the sparrows on the churchyard hedge a nasty name, and they're gone and told the pastor. Did any one ever hear the like? Fifteen hundred of them agog—men, women, and children. [Distant bells are heard.] That's at Reichenbach— alarm-bells! Fifteen hundred people! Uncomfortably like the world coming to an end!

OLD HILSE

An' is it true that they're on their way to Bielau?

SURGEON SCHMIDT

That's just what I'm telling you, I've driven through the middle of the whole crowd. What I'd have liked to do would have been to get down and give each of them a pill there and then. They were following on each other's heels like misery itself, and their singing was more than enough to turn a man's stomach. I was nearly sick, and Frederick was shaking on the box like an old woman. We had to take a stiff glass at the first opportunity. I wouldn't be a manufacturer, not though I could drive my carriage and pair. [Distant singing.] Listen to that! It's for all the world as if they were beating at some broken old boiler. We'll have them here in five minutes, friends. Good-bye! Don't you be foolish. The troops will be upon them in no time. Keep your wits about you. The Peterswaldau people have lost theirs. [Bells ring close at hand.] Good gracious! There are our bells ringing too! Every one's going mad.

[He goes upstairs.

GOTTLIEB

[Comes back. In the entry-room, out of breath.] I've seen 'em, I've seen 'em! [To a woman.] They're here, auntie, they're here! [At the door.] They're here, father, they're here! They've got bean-poles, an' ox-goads, an' axes. They're standin' outside the upper Dittrich's kickin' up an awful row. I think he's payin' 'em money. O Lord! whatever's goin' to happen? What a crowd! Oh, you never saw such a crowd! Dash it all—if once they makes a rush, our manufacturers'll be hard put to it.

OLD HILSE

What have you been runnin' like that for? You'll go racin' till you bring on your old trouble, and then we'll have you on your back again, strugglin' for breath.

GOTTLIEB

[Almost joyously excited.] I had to run, or they would ha' caught me an' kept me. They was all roarin' to me to join 'em. Father Baumert was there too, and says he to me: You come an' get your sixpence with the rest—you're a poor starvin' weaver too. An' I was to tell you, father, from him, that you was to come an' help to pay out the manufacturers for their grindin' of us down. [Passionately.] Other times is comin', he says. There's goin' to be a change of days for us weavers. An' we're all to come an' help to bring it about. We're to have our half-pound o' meat on Sundays, and now and again on a holiday sausage with our cabbage. Yes, things is to be quite different, by what he tells me.

OLD HILSE

[With repressed indignation.] An' that man calls hisself your godfather! and he bids you take part in such works o' wickedness? Have nothing to do with them, Gottlieb. They've let themselves be tempted by Satan, an' it's his works they're doin'.

LUISE

[No longer able to restrain her passionate excitement, vehemently.] Yes, Gottlieb, get into the chimney corner, an' take a spoon in your hand, an' a dish o' skim milk on your knee, an' pat on a petticoat an' say your prayers, and then father'll be pleased with you. And he sets up to be a man!

[Laughter from the people in the entry-room.

OLD HILSE

[Quivering with suppressed rage.] An' you set up to be a good wife, 'eh? You calls yourself a mother, an' let your evil tongue run away with you like that? You think yourself fit to teach your girl, you that would egg on your husband to crime an' wickedness?

LUISE

[Has lost all control of herself.] You an' your piety an' religion—did they serve to keep the life in my poor children? In rags an' dirt they lay, all the four—it didn't as much as keep 'em dry. Yes! I sets up to be a mother, that's what I do—an' if you'd like to know it, that's why I'd send all the manufacturers to hell—because I'm a mother!—Not one of the four could I keep in life! It was cryin' more than breathin' with me from the time each poor little thing came into the world till death took pity on it. The devil a bit you cared! You sat there prayin' and singin', and let me run about till my feet bled, tryin' to get one little drop o' skim milk. How many hundred nights has I lain an' racked my head to think what I could do to cheat the churchyard of my little one? What harm has a baby like that done that it must come to such a miserable end—eh? An' over there at Dittrich's they're bathed in wine an' washed in milk. No! you may talk as you like, but if they begins here, ten horses won't hold me back. An' what's more—if there's a rush on Dittrich's, you'll see me in the forefront of it—an' pity the man as tries to prevent me—I've stood it long enough, so now you know it.

OLD HILSE

You're a lost soul—there's no help for you.

LUISE

[Frenzied.] It's you that there's no help for! Tatter-breeched scarecrows—that's what you are—an' not men at all. Whey-faced gutter-scrapers that take to your heels at the sound of a child's rattle. Fellows that says "thank you" to the man as gives you a hidin'. They've not left that much blood in you as that you can turn red in the face. You should have the whip taken to you, an' a little pluck flogged into your rotten bones.

[She goes out quickly.

[Embarrassed pause.]

MOTHER HILSE

What's the matter with Liesl, father?

OLD HILSE

Nothin', mother! What should be the matter with her?

MOTHER HILSE

Father, is it only me that's thinkin' it, or is the bells ringin'?

OLD HILSE

It'll be a funeral, mother.

MOTHER HILSE

An' I've got to sit waitin' here yet. Why must I be so long a-dyin', father? [Pause.]

OLD HILSE

[Leaves his work, holds himself up straight; solemnly.] Gottlieb!—you heard all your wife said to us. Look here, Gottlieb! [He bares his breast.] Here they cut out a bullet as big as a thimble. The King knows where I lost my arm. It wasn't the mice as ate it. [He walks up and down.] Before that wife of yours was ever thought of, I had spilled my blood by the quart for King an' country. So let her call what names she likes—an' welcome! It does me no harm—Frightened? Me frightened? What would I be frightened of, will you tell me that? Of the few soldiers, maybe, that'll be comin' after the rioters? Good gracious me! That would be a lot to be frightened at! No, no, lad; I may be a bit stiff in the back, but there's some strength left in the old bones; I've got the stuff in me yet to make a stand against a few rubbishin' bay'nets.—An' if it came to the worst! Willin', willin' would I be to say good-bye to this weary world. Death'd be welcome—welcomer to me to-day than to-morrow. For what is it we leave behind? That old bundle of aches an' pains we call our body, the care an' the oppression we call by the name o' life. We may be glad to get away from it,—But there's something to come after, Gottlieb!—an' if we've done ourselves out o' that too—why, then it's all over with us!

GOTTLIEB

Who knows what's to come after? Nobody's seen it.

OLD HILSE

Gottlieb! don't you be throwin' doubts on the one comfort us poor people have. Why has I sat here an' worked my treadle like a slave this forty year an' more?—sat still an' looked on at him over yonder livin' in pride an' wastefulness—why? Because I have a better hope, something as supports me in all my troubles. [Points out at the window.] You have your good things in this world—I'll have mine in the next. That's been my thought. An' I'm that certain of it—I'd let myself be torn to pieces. Have we not His promise? There's a Day of Judgment comin'; but it's not us as are the judges—no: Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord.

[A cry of "Weavers, come out!" is heard outside the window.

OLD HILSE

Do what you will for me. [He seats himself at his loom.] I stay here.

GOTTLIEB

[After a short struggle.] I'm going to work too—come what may.

[Goes out.

[The Weavers' Song is heard, sung by hundreds of voices quite close at hand; it sounds like a dull, monotonous wail.

INMATES OF THE HOUSE

[In the entry-room.] "Oh, mercy on us! there they come swarmin' like ants!"—"Where can all these weavers be from?"—"Don't shove like that, I want to see too."—"Look at that great maypole of a woman leadin' on in front!"—"Gracious! they're comin' thicker an' thicker."

HORNIG

[Comes into the entry-room from outside.] There's a theayter play for you now! That's what you don't see every day. But you should go up to the other Dittrich's an' look what they've done there. It's been no half work. He's got no house now, nor no factory, nor no wine-cellar, nor nothin'. They're drinkin' out o' the bottles—not so much as takin' the time to get out the corks. One, two, three, an' off with the neck, an' no matter whether they cuts their mouths or not. There's some of 'em runnin' about bleedin' like stuck pigs.—Now they're goin' to do for Dittrich here.

[The singing has stopped.

INMATES OF THE HOUSE

There's nothin' so very wicked like about them.

HORNIG

You wait a bit! you'll soon see! All they're doin' just now is makin' up their minds where they'll begin. Look, they're inspectin' the palace from every side. Do you see that little stout man there, him with the stable pail? That's the smith from Peterswaldau—an' a dangerous little chap he is. He batters in the thickest doors as if they were made o' pie-crust. If a manufacturer was to fall into his hands it would be all over with him!

HOUSE INMATES

"That was a crack!"—"There went a stone through the window!"—"There's old Dittrich, shakin' with fright."—"He's hangin' out a board."—"Hangin' out a board?"—"What's written on it?"—"Can't you read?"—"It'd be a bad job for me if I couldn't read!"—"Well, read it, then!"—"'You—shall have—full—satis-fac-tion! You—you shall have full satisfaction.'"

HORNIG

He might ha' spared hisself the trouble—that won't help him. It's something else they've set their minds on here. It's the factories. They're goin' to smash up the power-looms. For it's them that is ruinin' the hand-loom weaver. Even a blind man might see that. No! the good folks knows what they're after, an' no sheriff an' no p'lice superintendent'll bring them to reason—much less a bit of a board. Him as has seen 'em at work already knows what's comin'.

HOUSE INMATES

"Did any one ever see such a crowd!"—"What can these be wantin'?"—[Hastily.] "They're crossin' the bridge!"—[Anxiously.] "They're never comin' over on this side, are they?"—[In excitement and terror.] "It's to us they're comin'! They're comin' to us! They're comin' to fetch the weavers out o' their houses!"

[General flight. The entry-room is empty. A crowd of dirty, dusty rioters rush in, their faces scarlet with brandy, and excitement; tattered, untidy-looking, as if they had been up all night. With the shout: "Weavers, come out!" they disperse themselves through the house. BECKER and several other young weavers, armed with cudgels and poles, come into OLD HILSE'S room. When they see the old man at his loom they start, and cool down a little.

BECKER

Come, father Hilse, stop that. Leave your work to them as wants to work. There's no need now for you to be doin' yourself harm. You'll be well taken care of.

FIRST YOUNG WEAVER

You'll never need to go hungry to bed again.

SECOND YOUNG WEAVER

The weaver's goin' to have a roof over his head an' a shirt on his back once more.

OLD HILSE

An' what's the devil sendin' you to do now, with your poles an' axes?

BECKER

These are what we're goin' to break on Dittrich's back.

SECOND YOUNG WEAVER

We'll heat 'em red hot an' stick 'em down the manufacturers' throats, so as they'll feel for once what burnin' hunger tastes like.

THIRD YOUNG WEAVER

Come along, father Hilse! We'll give no quarter.

SECOND YOUNG WEAVER

No one had mercy on us—neither God nor man. Now we're standin' up for our rights ourselves.

OLD BAUMERT enters, somewhat shaky on the legs, a newly killed cock under his arm.

OLD BAUMERT

[Stretching out his arms.] My brothers—we're all brothers! Come to my arms, brothers!

[Laughter.

OLD HILSE

And that's the state you're in, Willem?

OLD BAUMERT

Gustav, is it you? My poor starvin' friend. Come to my arms, Gustav!

OLD HILSE

[Mutters.] Let me alone.

OLD BAUMERT

I'll tell you what, Gustav. It's nothin' but luck that's wanted. You look at me. What do I look like? Luck's what's wanted. Don't I look like a lord? [Pats his stomach.] Guess what's in there! There's food fit for a prince in that belly. When luck's with him a man gets roast hare to eat an' champagne wine to drink.—I'll tell you all something: We've made a big mistake—we must help ourselves.

ALL

[Speaking at once.] We must help ourselves, hurrah!

OLD BAUMERT

As soon as we gets the first good bite inside us we're different men. Damn it all! but you feels the power comin' into you till you're like an ox, an' that wild with strength that you hit out right an' left without as much as takin' time to look. Dash it, but it's grand!

JAEGER

[At the door, armed with an old cavalry sword.] We've made one or two first-rate attacks.

BECKER

We knows how to set about it now. One, two, three, an' we're inside the house. Then, at it like lightnin'—bang, crack, shiver! till the sparks are flyin' as if it was a smithy.

FIRST YOUNG WEAVER

It wouldn't be half bad to light a bit o' fire.

SECOND YOUNG WEAVER

Let's march to Reichenbach an' burn the rich folks' houses over their heads!

JAEGER

That would be nothin' but butterin' their bread, Think of all the insurance money they'd get.

[Laughter.

BECKER

No, from here we'll go to Freiburg, to Tromtra's.

JAEGER

What would you say to givin' all them as holds Government appointments a lesson? I've read somewhere as how all our troubles come from them birocrats, as they calls them.

SECOND YOUNG WEAVER

Before long we'll go to Breslau, for more an' more'll be joinin' us.

OLD BAUMERT

[To HILSE.] Won't you take a drop, Gustav?

OLD HILSE

I never touches it.

OLD BAUMERT

That was in the old world; we're in a new world to-day, Gustav.

FIRST YOUNG WEAVER

Christmas comes but once a year.

[Laughter.

OLD HILSE

[Impatiently.] What is it you want in my house, you limbs of Satan?

OLD BAUMERT

[A little intimidated, coaxingly.] I was bringin' you a chicken, Gustav. I thought it would make a drop o' soup for mother.

OLD HILSE

[Embarrassed, almost friendly.] Well, you can tell mother yourself.

MOTHER HILSE

[Who has been making efforts to hear, her hand at her ear, motions them off.] Let me alone. I don't want no chicken soup.

OLD HILSE

That's right, mother. An' I want none, an' least of all that sort. An' let me say this much to you, Baumert: The devil stands on his head for joy when he hears the old ones jabberin' and talkin' as if they was infants. An' to you all I say—to every one of you: Me and you, we've got nothing to do with each other. It's not with my will that you're here. In law an' justice you've no right to be in my house.

A VOICE

Him that's not with us is against us.

JAEGER

[Roughly and threateningly.] You're on the wrong track, old chap, I'd have you remember that we're not thieves.

A VOICE

We're hungry men, that's all.

FIRST YOUNG WEAVER

We wants to live—that's all. An' so we've cut the rope we was hung up with.

JAEGER

And we was in our right! [Holding his fist in front of the old man's face.] Say another word, and I'll give you one between the eyes.

BECKER

Come, now, Jaeger, be quiet. Let the old man alone.—What we say to ourselves, father Hilse, is this: Better dead than begin the old life again.

OLD HILSE

Have I not lived that life for sixty years an' more?

BECKER

That doesn't help us—there's got to be a change.

OLD HILSE

On the Judgment Day.

BECKER

What they'll not give us willingly we're goin' to take by force.

OLD HILSE

By force. [Laughs.] You may as well go an' dig your graves at once. They'll not be long showin' you where the force lies. Wait a bit, lad!

JAEGER

Is it the soldiers you're meanin'? We've been soldiers too. We'll soon do for a company or two of 'em.

OLD HILSE

With your tongues, maybe. But supposin' you did—for two that you'd beat off, ten'll come back.

VOICES

[Call through the window.] The soldiers are comin! Look out!

[General, sudden silence. For a moment a faint sound of fifes and drums is heard; in the ensuing silence a short, involuntary exclamation: "The devil! I'm off!" followed by general laughter.

BECKER

Who was that? Who speaks of runnin' away?

JAEGER

Which of you is it that's afraid of a few paltry helmets? You have me to command you, and I've been in the trade. I knows their tricks.

OLD HILSE

An' what are you goin' to shoot with? Your sticks, eh?

FIRST YOUNG WEAVER

Never mind that old chap; he's wrong in the upper storey.

SECOND YOUNG WEAVER

Yes, he's a bit off his head.

GOTTLIEB

[Has made his way unnoticed among the rioters; catches hold of the speaker.] Would you give your impudence to an old man like him?

SECOND YOUNG WEAVER

Let me alone. 'Twasn't anything bad I said.

OLD HILSE

[Interfering.] Let him jaw, Gottlieb. What. would you be meddlin' with him for? He'll soon see who it is that's been off his head to-day, him or me.

BECKER

Are you comin', Gottlieb?

OLD HILSE

No, he's goin' to do no such thing.

LUISE

[Comes into the entry-room, calls.] What are you puttin' off your time with prayin' hypocrites like them for? Come quick to where you're wanted! Quick! Father Baumert, run all you can! The major's speakin' to the crowd from horseback. They're to go home. If you don't hurry up, it'll be all over.

JAEGER

[As he goes out.] That's a brave husband o' yours.

LUISE

Where is he? I've got no husband!

[Some of the people in the entry-room sing:

Once on a time a man so small, Heigh-ho, heigh! Set his heart on a wife so tall, Heigh diddle-di-dum-di!

WITTIG, THE SMITH

[Comes downstairs, still carrying the stable pail; stops on his way through the entry-room.] Come On! all of you that is not cowardly scoundrels!—hurrah!

[He dashes out, followed by LUISE, JAEGER, and others, all shouting "Hurrah!"

BECKER

Good-bye, then, father Hilse; well see each other again.

[Is going.

OLD HILSE

I doubt that. I've not five years to live, and that'll be the soonest you'll get out.

BECKER

[Stops, not understanding.] Out o' what, father Hilse?

OLD HILSE

Out o' prison—where else?

BECKER

[Laughs wildly.] Do you think I'd mind that? There's bread to be had there anyhow!

[Goes out.

OLD BAUMERT

[Has been cowering on a low stool, painfully beating his brains; he now gets up.] It's true, Gustav, as I've had a drop too much. But for all that I knows what I'm about. You think one way in this here matter; I think another. I say Becker's right: even if it ends in chains an' ropes—we'll be better off in prison than at home. You're cared for there, an' you don't need to starve. I wouldn't have joined 'em, Gustav, if I could ha' let it be; but once in a lifetime a man's got to show what he feels. [Goes slowly towards the door.] Good-bye, Gustav. If anything happens, mind you put in a word for me in your prayers.

[Goes out.

[The rioters are now all gone. The entry-room, gradually fills again with curious onlookers from the different rooms of the house. OLD HILSE knots at his web. GOTTLIEB has taken an axe from behind the stove and is unconsciously feeling its edge. He and the old man are silently agitated. The hum and roar of a great crowd penetrate into the room.

MOTHER HILSE

The very boards is shakin', father—what's goin' on? What's goin' to happen to us?

[Pause.]

OLD HILSE

Gottlieb!

GOTTLIEB

What is it?

OLD HILSE

Let that axe alone.

GOTTLIEB

Who's to split the wood, then?

[He leans the axe against the stove.

[Pause.]

MOTHER HILSE

Gottlieb, you listen, to what father says to you.

[Some one sings outside the window:

Our little man does all that he can, Heigh-ho, heigh! At home he cleans the pots an' the pan, Heigh-diddle-di-dum-di!

[Passes on.

GOTTLIEB

[Jumps up, shakes his clenched fist at the window.] Beast! Don't drive me crazy!

[A volley of musketry is heard.

MOTHER HILSE

[Starts and trembles.] Good Lord! Is that thunder again?

OLD HILSE

[Instinctively folding his hands.] Oh, our Father in heaven! defend the poor weavers, protect my poor brothers.

[A short pause ensues.

OLD HILSE

[To himself, painfully agitated.] There's blood flowin' now.

GOTTLIEB

[Had started up and grasped the axe when the shooting was heard; deathly pale, almost beside himself with excitement.] An' am I to lie to heel like a dog still?

A GIRL

[Calls from the entry-room.] Father Hilse, father Hilse! get away from the window. A bullet's just flown in at ours upstairs.

[Disappears.

MIELCHEN

[Puts her head in at the window, laughing.] Gran'father, gran'father, they've shot with their guns. Two or three's been knocked down, an' one of 'em's turnin' round and round like a top, an' one's twistin' hisself like a sparrow when its head's bein' pulled of. An' oh, if you saw all the blood that came pourin'—!

[Disappears.

A WEAVER'S WIFE

Yes, there's two or three'll never get up again.

AN OLD WEAVER

[In the entry-room.] Look out! They're goin' to make a rush on the soldiers.

A SECOND WEAVER

[Wildly.] Look, look, look at the women! skirts up, an' spittin' in the soldiers' faces already!

A WEAVER'S WIFE

[Calls in.] Gottlieb, look at your wife. She's more pluck in her than you. She's jumpin' about in front o' the bay'nets as if she was dancin' to music.

[Four men carry a wounded rioter through the entry-room. Silence, which is broken by some one saying in a distinct voice, "It's weaver Ulbrich." Once more silence for a few seconds, when the same voice is heard again: "It's all over with him; he's got a bullet in his ear." The men are heard climbing the wooden stair. Sudden shouting outside: "Hurrah, hurrah!"

VOICES IN THE ENTRY-ROOM

"Where did they get the stones from?"—"Yes, it's time you were off!"—"From the new road."—"Ta-ta, soldiers!"—"It's rainin' paving-stones."

[Shrieks of terror and loud roaring outside, taken up by those in the entry-room. There is a cry of fear, and the house door is shut with a bang.

VOICES IN THE ENTRY-ROOM

"They're loadin' again."—"They'll fire another volley this minute."—"Father Hilse, get away from that window."

GOTTLIEB

[Clutches the axe.] What! is we mad dogs? Is we to eat powder an' shot now instead o' bread? [Hesitating an instant to the old man.] Would you have me sit here an' see my wife shot? Never! [As he rushes out.] Look out! I'm coming!

OLD HILSE

Gottlieb, Gottlieb!

MOTHER HILSE

Where's Gottlieb gone?

OLD HILSE

He's gone to the devil.

VOICES FROM THE ENTRY-ROOM

Go away from the window, father Hilse.

OLD HILSE

Not I! Not if you all goes crazy together! [To MOTHER HILSE, with rapt excitement.] My heavenly Father has placed me here. Isn't that so, mother? Here we'll sit, an' do our bounden duty—ay, though the snow was to go on fire.

[He begins to weave.

[Rattle of another volley. OLD HILSE, mortally wounded, starts to his feet and then falls forward over the loom. At the same moment loud shouting of "Hurrah!" is heard. The people who till now have been standing in the entry-room dash out, joining in the cry. The old woman repeatedly asks: "Father, father, what's wrong with you?" The continued shouting dies away gradually in the distance. MIELCHEN comes rushing in.

MIELCHEN

Gran'father, gran'father, they're drivin' the soldiers out o' the village; they've got into Dittrich's house, an' they're doin' what they did at Dreissiger's. Gran'father! [The child grows frightened, notices that something has happened, puts her finger in her mouth, and goes up cautiously to the dead man.] Gran'father!

MOTHER HILSE

Come now, father, can't you say something? You're frightenin' me.

THE END



THE BEAVER COAT

A THIEVES' COMEDY



LIST OF CHARACTERS

VON WEHRHAHN, Justice.

KRUEGER, Capitalist in a small way.

DR. FLEISCHER.

PHILIP, his son.

MOTES.

MRS. MOTES.

MRS. WOLFF, Washerwoman.

JULIUS WOLFF, her husband.

LEONTINE, ADELAIDE, her daughters.

WULKOW, Lighterman.

GLASENAPP, Clerk in the Justice's court.

MITTELDORF, Constable.

Scene of the action: anywhere in the neighbourhood of Berlin.



THE FIRST ACT

A small, blue-tinted kitchen with low ceiling; a window at the left; at the right a door of rough boards leading out into the open; in the rear mall an empty casing from which the door has been lifted.—In the left corner a flat oven, above which hang kitchen utensils in a wooden frame; in the right corner oars and other boating implements. Rough, stubby pieces of hewn wood lie in a heap under the window. An old kitchen bench, several stools, etc.—Through the empty casing in the rear a second room is visible. In it stands a high, neatly, made bed; above it hang cheap photographs in still cheaper frames, small chromolithographs, etc. A chair of soft mood stands with its back against the bed.—It is winter and moonlight. On the oven a tallow-candle is burning in a candle-stick of tin. LEONTINE WOLFF has fallen asleep on a stool by the oven and rests her head and arms on it. She is a pretty, fair girl of seventeen in the working garb of a domestic servant. A woolen shawl is tied over her cotton jacket.—For several seconds there is silence. Then someone is heard trying to unlock the door from without. But the key is in the lock and a knocking follows.

MRS. WOLFF

[Unseen, from without.] Adelaide! Adelaide! [There is no answer and a loud knocking is heard at the window.] Are you goin' to open or not?

LEONTINE

[Drowsily.] No, no, I'm not goin' to be abused that way!

MRS. WOLFF

Open, girl, or I'll come in through the window!

[She raps violently at the panes.

LEONTINE

[Waking up.] Oh, it's you, mama! I'm coming now!

[She unlocks the door from within.

MRS. WOLFF

[Without laying down a sack which she carries over her shoulder.] What are you doin' here?

LEONTINE

[Sleepily.] Evenin', mama.

MRS. WOLFF

How did you get in here, eh?

LEONTINE

Well, wasn't the key lyin' on the goat shed?

MRS. WOLFF

But what do you want here at home?

LEONTINE

[Awkwardly affected and aggrieved.] So you don't want me to come no more at all?

MRS. WOLFF

Aw, you just go ahead and put on that way! I'm so fond o' that! [She lets the sack drop from her shoulder.] You don't know nothin', I s'ppose, about how late it's gettin'? You hurry and go back to your mistress.

LEONTINE

It matters a whole lot, don't it, if I get back there a little too late?

MRS. WOLFF

You want to be lookin' out, y'understand? You see to it that you go, or you'll catch it!