Chapter VIII (2)

_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