Chapter VIII (4)

But you are strange!... And you say you're not distrustful! Or perhaps they're worrying you, torturing you terribly here--more than ever ... At all events we'll leave this very night. I am ready. And so, as soon as you are--we can go.

HELEN

[_Falling around his neck with a cry of joyous gratitude._] Dear--dearest!

[_She kisses him madly and hurries out._

_DR. SCHIMMELPFENNIG comes in through the middle door and catches a
glimpse of HELEN disappearing into the conservatory._

DR. SCHIMMELPFENNIG

Who was that?--Ah, yes! [_To himself._] Poor thing!

[_He sits down beside the table with a sigh, finds his old cigar,
throws it aside, takes a new cigar from the case and starts to knock
it gently against the edge of the table. Thoughtfully he looks away
across it._

LOTH

[_Watching him._] That's just the way you used to loosen every cigar before smoking it eight years ago.

DR. SCHIMMELPFENNIG

It's possible--[_When he has lit and begun to smoke the cigar._] Listen to me!

LOTH

Yes; what is it?

DR. SCHIMMELPFENNIG

I take it that, so soon as the affair is over, you'll come along with me.

LOTH

Can't be done. I'm sorry.

DR. SCHIMMELPFENNIG

Once in a while, you know, one does feel like talking oneself out thoroughly.

LOTH

I feel that need quite as much, as you do. But you can see from just that how utterly out of my power it is to go ...

DR. SCHIMMELPFENNIG

But suppose I give you my emphatic and, in a way, solemn assurance that there is a specific, an extremely important matter that I'd like--no, that I must discuss with you to-night, Loth!

LOTH

Queer! You don't expect me to take that in deadly earnest. Surely not!--You've waited to discuss that matter so many years and now it can't wait one more day? You know me--I'm not pretending.

DR. SCHIMMELPFENNIG

So I am right! Well, well ...

[_He gets up and walks about._

LOTH

What are you right about?

DR. SCHIMMELPFENNIG

[_Standing still before LOTH _and looking straight into his eyes._] So there is really something between you and Helen Krause?

LOTH

Who said--?

DR. SCHIMMELPFENNIG

How in the world did you fall in with this family?

LOTH

How do you know that, Schimmel?

DR. SCHIMMELPFENNIG

It wasn't _so_ hard to guess.

LOTH

Well then, for heaven's sake, don't say a word, because ...

DR. SCHIMMELPFENNIG

So you're quite regularly betrothed?

LOTH

Call it that. At all events, we're agreed.

DR. SCHIMMELPFENNIG

But what I want to know is: how did you fall in with this particular family?

LOTH

Hoffmann's an old college friend of mine. Then, too, he was a member--though only a corresponding one--of my colonisation society.

DR. SCHIMMELPFENNIG

I heard about that business at Zuerich.--So he was associated with you. That explains the wretched half-and-half creature that he is.

LOTH

That describes him, no doubt.

DR. SCHIMMELPFENNIG

He isn't even _that_, really.--But, look here, Loth! Is that your honest intention? I mean this thing with the Krause girl.

LOTH

Of course it is! Can you doubt it? You don't think me such a scoundrel--?

DR. SCHIMMELPFENNIG

Very well! Don't exert yourself! You've probably changed in all this long time. And why not? It needn't be entirely a disadvantage. A little bit of humour couldn't harm you. I don't see why one must look at all things in that damnably serious way.

LOTH

I take things more seriously than ever. [_He gets up and walks up and down with SCHIMMELPFENNIG, always keeping slightly behind the latter._] You can't possibly know, and I can't possibly explain to you, what this thing means to me.

DR. SCHIMMELPFENNIG

Hm!

LOTH

Man, you have no notion of the condition I'm in. One doesn't know it by simply longing for it. If one did, one would simply go mad with yearning.

DR. SCHIMMELPFENNIG

Let the devil try to understand how you fellows come by this senseless yearning.

LOTH

You're not safe against an attack yourself yet.

DR. SCHIMMELPFENNIG

I'd like to see that!

LOTH

You talk as a blind man would of colour.

DR. SCHIMMELPFENNIG

I wouldn't give a farthing for that bit of intoxication. Ridiculous! And to build a life-long union on such a foundation. I'd rather trust a heap of shifting sand.

LOTH

Intoxication! Pshaw! To call it that is simply to show your utter blindness to it. Intoxication is fleeting. I've had such spells, I admit. This happens to be something different.

DR. SCHIMMELPFENNIG

Hm!

LOTH

I'm perfectly sober all through it. Do you imagine that I surround my darling with a kind of a--well, how shall I put it--a kind of an aureole? Not In the least. She lias her faults; she isn't remarkably beautiful, at least--well, she's certainly not exactly homely either. Judging her quite objectively--of course it's entirely a matter of taste--I haven't seen such a sweet girl before in my life. So when you talk of mere intoxication--nonsense! I am as sober as possible. But, my friend, this is the remarkable thing: I simply can't imagine myself without her any longer. It seems to me like an amalgam, as when two metals are so intimately welded together that you can't say any longer, here's the one, there's the other. And it all seems so utterly inevitable. In short--maybe I'm talking rot--or what I say may seem rot to you, but so much is certain: a man who doesn't know _that_ is a kind of cool-blooded fishy creature. That's the kind of creature I was up till now, and that's the kind of wretched thing you are still.

DR. SCHIMMELPFENNIG

That's a very complete set of symptoms. Queer how you fellows always slide up to the very ears into the particular things that you've long ago rejected theoretically--like yourself into marriage. As long as I've known you, you've struggled with this unhappy mania for marriage.

LOTH

It's instinct with me, sheer instinct. God knows, I can wriggle all I please--there it is.

DR. SCHIMMELPFENNIG

When all's said and done one can fight down even an instinct.

LOTH

Certainly, if there's a good reason, why not?

DR. SCHIMMELPFENNIG

Is there any good reason for marrying?

LOTH

I should say there is. It has a purpose; it has for me! You don't know how I've succeeded in struggling along hitherto. I don't want to grow sentimental. Perhaps I didn't feel it quite so keenly either; perhaps I wasn't so clearly conscious of it as I am now, that in all my endeavour I had taken on something desolate, something machine-like. No spirit, no fire, no life! Heaven knows whether I had any faith left! And all that has come back to me to-day--with such strange fullness, such primal energy, such joy ... Pshaw, what's the use ... You don't understand.

DR. SCHIMMELPFENNIG

The various things you fellows need to keep you going--faith, love, hope. I consider all that trash. The thing is simply this: humanity lies in its death throes and we're merely trying to make the agony as bearable as we can by administering narcotics.

LOTH

Is that your latest point of view?

DR. SCHIMMELPFENNIG

It's five or six years old by this time and I see no reason to change it.

LOTH

I congratulate you on it.

DR. SCHIMMELPFENNIG

Thank you.

_A long pause ensues._

DR. SCHIMMELPFENNIG

[_After several disquieted and unsuccessful beginnings._] The trouble is just this. I feel that I'm responsible ... I absolutely owe you an elucidation. I don't believe that you will be able to marry Helen Krause.

LOTH

[_Frigidly._] Oh, is that what you think?

DR. SCHIMMELPFENNIG

Yes, that's my opinion. There are obstacles present which just you would ...

LOTH

Look here! Don't for heaven's sake have any scruples on that account. The conditions, as a matter of fact, aren't so complicated as all that. At bottom they're really terribly simple.

DR. SCHIMMELPFENNIG

Simply terrible, you'd better say.

LOTH

I was referring simply to the obstacles.

DR. SCHIMMELPFENNIG

So was I, very largely. But take it all in all, I can't imagine that you really know the conditions as they are.

LOTH

Please, Schimmel, express yourself more clearly.

DR. SCHIMMELPFENNIG

You must absolutely have dropped the chief demand which you used to make in regard to marriage, although you did give me to understand that you laid as much weight as ever on the propagation of a race sound in mind and body.

LOTH

Dropped my demand...? Dropped it? But why should I?

DR. SCHIMMELPFENNIG

I see. Then there's nothing else left me but to ... Then you don't know the conditions here. You do not know, for instance, that Hoffmann had a son who perished through alcoholism at the age of three.

LOTH

Wha ... what d'you say?

DR. SCHIMMELPFENNIG

I'm sorry, Loth, but I've got to tell you. You can do afterward as you please. But the thing was no joke. They were visiting here just as they are now. They sent for me--half an hour too late. The little fellow had bled to death long before I arrived.

_LOTH drinks in the DOCTOR'S _words with every evidence of profound
and terrible emotion._

DR. SCHIMMELPFENNIG

The silly little chap grabbed for the vinegar bottle, thinking his beloved rum was in it. The bottle fell and the child tumbled on the broken glass. Down here, you see, the _vena saphena_, was completely severed.

LOTH

Whose, _whose_ child was that?

DR. SCHIMMELPFENNIG

The child of Hoffmann and of the same woman who again, up there ... And she drinks too, drinks to the point of unconsciousness, drinks whatever she can get hold of!

LOTH

So it's not, it's not inherited from Hoffmann?

DR. SCHIMMELPFENNIG

Not at all. That's the tragic aspect of the man! He suffers under it as much as he is capable of suffering. To be sure, he knew that he was marrying into a family of dipsomaniacs. The old farmer simply spends his life in the tavern.

LOTH

Then, to be sure--I understand many things--No, everything, rather ... everything! [_After a heavy silence._] Then her life here, Helen's life, is a ... how shall I express it? I have no words for it; it's ...

DR. SCHIMMELPFENNIG

Utterly horrible. I can judge of that. And I understood from the beginning how you should cling to her. But, as I said ...

LOTH

It's enough. I understand ... But doesn't...? Couldn't one perhaps persuade Hoffmann to do something? She ought to be removed from all this foulness.

DR. SCHIMMELPFENNIG

Hoffmann?

LOTH

Yes, Hoffmann.

DR. SCHIMMELPFENNIG

You don't know him. I don't believe that he has ruined her already, but he has ruined her reputation even now.

LOTH

[_Flaring up._] If that's true, I'll murder...! D'you really believe that? Do you think Hoffmann capable...?

DR. SCHIMMELPFENNIG

Of anything! I think him capable of anything that might contribute to his own pleasure.

LOTH

Then she is--the purest creature that ever breathed ...

_LOTH slowly takes up his hat and cane and hangs his mallet over his
shoulder._

DR. SCHIMMELPFENNIG

What do you think of doing, Loth?

LOTH

... I mustn't meet her ...

DR. SCHIMMELPFENNIG

So you're determined?

LOTH

Determined to what?

DR. SCHIMMELPFENNIG

To break the connection.

LOTH

How is it possible for me to be other than determined?

DR. SCHIMMELPFENNIG

I may add, as a physician, that cases are known in which such inherited evils have been suppressed. And of course you would give your children a rational up-bringing.

LOTH

Such cases may be known.

DR. SCHIMMELPFENNIG

And the chances are not so small but that ...

LOTH

That kind of thing can't help me, Schimmel. There are just three possibilities in this affair: Either I marry her and then ... no, that way out simply doesn't exist. Or--the traditional bullet. Of course, that would mean rest, at least. But we haven't reached that point yet awhile; can't indulge in that luxury just yet. And so: live! fight!--Farther, farther! [_His glance falls on the table and he observes the writing-materials that have been placed there by EDWARD. He sits down, hesitates and says:_] And yet...?

DR. SCHIMMELPFENNIG

I promise you that I'll represent the situation to her as clearly as possible.

LOTH

Yes, yes! You see--I can't do differently. [_He writes, places his paper in an envelope and addresses it. Then he arises and shakes hands with SCHIMMELPFENNIG._] For the rest--I depend on you.

DR. SCHIMMELPFENNIG

You're coming over to my house, aren't, you? Let my coachman drive you right over.

LOTH

Look here! Oughtn't one to try, at least, to get her out of the power of this ... this person? ... As things are she is sure to become his victim.

DR. SCHIMMELPFENNIG

My dear, good fellow! I'm sorry for you. But shall I give you a bit of advice? Don't rob her of the--little that you still leave her.

LOTH

[_With a deep sigh._] Maybe you're right--perhaps certainly.

_Hasty steps are heard descending the stairs. In the next moment
HOFFMANN rushes in._

HOFFMANN

Doctor, I beg you, for heaven's sake ... she is fainting ... the pains have stopped ... won't you at last ...

DR. SCHIMMELPFENNIG

I'm coming up. [_To LOTH significantly._] We'll see each other later. Mr. Hoffmann, I must request you ... any interference or disturbance might prove fatal ... I would much prefer to have you stay here.

HOFFMANN

You ask a great deal, but ... well!

DR. SCHIMMELPFENNIG

No more than is right.

[_He goes._

_HOFFMANN remains behind._

HOFFMANN

[_Observing LOTH._] I'm just trembling in every limb from the excitement. Tell me, are you leaving?

LOTH

Yes.

HOFFMANN

Now in the middle of the night?

LOTH

I'm only going as far as Schimmelpfennig's.

HOFFMANN

Ah, yes. Well ... as things have shaped themselves, it's of course no pleasure staying with us any longer ... So, good luck!

LOTH

I thank you for your hospitality.

HOFFMANN

And how about that plan of yours?

LOTH

What plan?

HOFFMANN

I mean that essay of yours, that economic description of our district. I ought to say ... in fact, as a friend, I would beg of you as insistently as possible ...

LOTH

Don't worry about that any more. I'll be far away from here by to-morrow.

HOFFMANN

That is really--

[_He interrupts himself._

LOTH

Kind of you, you were going to say.

HOFFMANN

Oh, I don't know. Well, in a certain respect, yes! And anyhow you must forgive me; I'm so frightfully upset. Just count on me. Old friends are always the best! Good-bye, good-bye.

[_He leaves through the middle door._

LOTH

[_Before going to the door, turns around once more with a long glance as if to imprint the whole room on his memory. Then to himself:_] I suppose I can go now ...

[_After a last glance he leaves._

_The room remains empty for some seconds. The sound of muffled voices
and the noise of footfalls is heard. Then HOFFMANN appears. As soon
as he has closed the door behind him, he takes out his note-book and
runs over some account with exaggerated calm. He interrupts himself,
listens, becomes restless again, advances to the door and listens
there. Suddenly some one runs down the stair and HELEN bursts in._

HELEN

[_Still without._] Brother! [_At the door._] Brother!

HOFFMANN

What's the _matter_?

HELEN

Be brave: still-born!

HOFFMANN

O my God!

[_He rushes out._

HELEN _alone._

_She looks about her and calls softly:_ Alfred! Alfred! _As she
receives no answer, she calls out again more quickly:_ Alfred!
Alfred! _She has hurried to the door of the conservatory through
which she gazes anxiously. She goes into the conservatory, but
reappears shortly._ Alfred! _Her disquiet increases. She peers out of
the window._ Alfred! _She opens the window and mounts a chair that
stands before it. At this moment there resounds clearly from the yard
the shouting of the drunken farmer, her father, who is coming home
from the inn,_ Hay-hee! Ain' I a han'some feller? Ain' I got a
fine-lookin' wife? Ain' I got a couple o' han'some gals? Hay-hee!
_HELEN utters a short cry and runs, like a hunted creature, toward
the middle door. From there she discovers the letter which LOTH has
left lying on thee table. She runs to it, tears it open, feverishly
takes in the contents, of which she audibly utters separate words._
"Insuperable!" ... "Never again." ... _She lets the letter fall and
sways._ It's over! _She steadies herself, holds her head with both
hands and cries out in brief and piercing despair._ It's over! _She
rushes out through the--middle door. The farmer's voice without,
drawing nearer._ Hay-hee! Ain' the farm mine? Ain' I got a han'some
wife? Ain' I a han'some feller? _HELEN, still seeking LOTH
half-madly, comes from the conservatory and meets EDWARD, who has
come to fetch something from HOFFMANN'S room. She addresses him:_
Edward! _He answers:_ Yes, Miss Krause. _She continues:_ I'd like to
... like to ... Dr. Loth ... _EDWARD answers:_ Dr. Loth drove away in
Dr. Schimmelpfennig's carriage. _He disappears into HOFFMANN'S room._
True! _HELEN cries out and holds herself erect with difficulty. In
the next moment a desperate energy takes hold of her. She runs to the
foreground and seizes the hunting knife with its belt which is
fastened to the stag's antlers above the sofa. She hides the weapon
and stays quietly in the dark foreground until EDWARD, coming from
HOFFMANN'S room, has disappeared through the middle door. The
farmer's voice resounds more clearly from moment to moment._ Hay-hee!
Ain' I a han'some feller? _At this sound, as at a signal, HELEN
starts and runs, in her turn, into HOFFMANN'S room. The main room is
empty but one continues to hear the farmer's voice:_ Ain' I got the
finest teeth? Ain' I got a fine farm? _MIELE comes through the middle
door and looks searchingly about. She calls:_ Miss Helen! Miss Helen!
_Meanwhile the farmer's voice:_ The money 'sh mi-ine! _Without
further hesitation MIELE has disappeared into HOFFMANN'S room, the
door of which she leaves open. In the next moment she rushes out with
every sign of insane terror. Screaming she spins around
twice--thrice--screaming she flies through the middle door. Her
uninterrupted screaming, softening as it recedes, is audible for
several seconds. Last there is heard the opening and resonant
slamming of the heavy house door, the tread of the farmer stumbling
about in the hall, and his coarse, nasal, thick-tongued drunkard's
voice echoes through the room:_ Hay-hee! Ain' I got a couple o'
han'some gals?

CURTAIN

THE WEAVERS

_I DEDICATE THIS DRAMA TO MY FATHER

ROBERT HAUPTMANN.

You, dear father, know what feelings lead me to dedicate this work to
you, and I am not called upon to analyse them here.

Your stories of my grandfather, who in his young days sat at the
loom, a poor weaver like those here depicted, contained the germ of
my drama. Whether it possesses the vigour of life or is rotten at the
core, it is the best, "so poor a man as Hamlet is" can offer.

Your

GERHART_

COMPLETE LIST OF CHARACTERS

DREISSIGER, _fustian manufacturer._

MRS. DREISSIGER.

PFEIFER, _manager in DREISSIGER'S employment._

NEUMANN, _cashier in DREISSIGER'S employment._

AN APPRENTICE _in DREISSIGER'S employment._

JOHN, _coachman in DREISSIGER'S employment._

A MAID _in DREISSIGER'S employment._

WEINHOLD, _tutor to DREISSIGER'S sons._

PASTOR KITTELHAUS.

MRS. KITTELHAUS.

HEIDE, _Police Superintendent._

KUTSCHE, _policeman._

WELZEL, _publican._

MRS. WELZEL.

ANNA WELZEL.

WIEGAND, _joiner._

A COMMERCIAL TRAVELLER.

A PEASANT.

A FORESTER.

SCHMIDT, _surgeon._

HORNIG, _rag dealer._

WITTIG, _smith._

WEAVERS.

BECKER.

MORITZ JAEGER.

OLD BAUMERT.

MOTHER BAUMERT.

BERTHA BAUMERT

EMMA BAUMERT

FRITZ, EMMA'S _son (four years old)._

AUGUST BAUMERT.

OLD ANSORGE.

MRS. HEINRICH.

OLD HILSE.

MOTHER HILSE.

GOTTLIEB HILSE.

LUISE, GOTTLIEB'S _wife._

MIELCHEN, _their daughter (six years old)._

REIMANN, _weaver._

HELEN, _weaver._

A WEAVER'S WIFE.

_A number of weavers, young and old, of both sexes._

The action passes in the Forties, at Kaschbach, Peterswaldau and Langenbielau, in the Eulengebirge.

THE FIRST ACT

_A large whitewashed room on the ground floor of DREISSIGER'S house
at Peterswaldau, where the weavers deliver their finished webs and
the fustian is stored. To the left are uncurtained windows, in the
back mall there is a glass door, and to the right another glass door,
through which weavers, male and female, and children, are passing in
and out. All three walls are lined with shelves for the storing of
the fustian. Against the right wall stands a long bench, on which a
number of weavers have already spread out their cloth. In the order
of arrival each presents his piece to be examined by PFEIFER,
DREISSIGER'S manager, who stands, with compass and magnifying-glass,
behind a large table, on which the web to be inspected is laid. When
PFEIFER has satisfied himself, the weaver lays the fustian on the
scale, and an office apprentice tests its weight. The same boy stores
the accepted pieces on the shelves. PFEIFER calls out the payment due
in each case to NEUMANN, the cashier, who is seated at a small
table._

_It is a sultry day towards the end of May. The clock is on the
stroke of twelve. Most of the waiting work-people have the air of
standing before the bar of justice, in torturing expectation of a
decision that means life or death to them. They are marked too by the
anxious timidity characteristic of the receiver of charity, who has
suffered many humiliations, and, conscious that he is barely
tolerated, has acquired the habit of self-effacement. Add to this a
rigid expression on every face that tells of constant, fruitless
brooding. There is a general resemblance among the men. They have
something about them of the dwarf, something of the schoolmaster. The
majority are flat-breasted, short-minded, sallow, and poor
looking--creatures of the loom, their knees bent with much silting.
At a, first glance the women show fewer typical traits. They look
over-driven, worried, reckless, whereas the men still make some show
of a pitiful self-respect; and their clothes are ragged, while the
men's are patched and mended. Some of the young girls are not without
a certain charm, consisting in a wax-like pallor, a slender figure,
and large, projecting, melancholy eyes._

NEUMANN

[_Counting out money._] Comes to one and seven-pence halfpenny.

WEAVER'S WIFE

[_About thirty, emaciated, takes up the money with trembling fingers._] Thank you, sir.

NEUMANN

[_Seeing that she does not move on._] Well, something wrong this time, too?

WEAVER'S WIFE

[_Agitated, imploringly._] Do you think I might have a few pence in advance, sir? I need it that bad.

NEUMANN

And I need a few pounds. If it was only a question of needing it--! [_Already occupied in counting out another weaver's money, gruffly._] It's Mr. Dreissiger who settles about pay in advance.

WEAVER'S WIFE

Couldn't I speak to Mr. Dreissiger himself, then, sir?

PFEIFER

[_Now manager, formerly weaver. The type is unmistakable, only he is well fed, well dressed, clean shaven; also takes snuff copiously. He calls out roughly._] Mr. Dreissiger would have enough to do if he had to attend to every trifle himself. That's what we are here for. [_He measures, and then examines through the magnifying-glass._] Mercy on us! what a draught! [_Puts a thick muffler round his neck._] Shut the door, whoever comes in.

APPRENTICE

[_Loudly to PFEIFER._] You might as well talk to stocks and stones.

PFEIFER

That's done!--Weigh! [_The weaver places his web on the scales._] If you only understood your business a little better! Full of lumps again.... I hardly need to look at the cloth to see them. Call yourself a weaver, and "draw as long a bow" as you've done there!

_BECKER has entered. A young, exceptionally powerfully-built weaver;
offhand, almost bold in manner. PFEIFER, NEUMANN, and the APPRENTICE
exchange looks of mutual understanding as he comes in._

BECKER

Devil take it! This is a sweatin' job, and no mistake.

FIRST WEAVER

[_In a low voice._] This blazin' heat means rain.

[_OLD BAUMERT forces his way in at the glass door on the right,
through which the crowd of weavers can be seen, standing shoulder to
shoulder, waiting their turn. The old man stumbles forward and lays
his bundle on the bench, beside BECKER'S. He sits down by it, and
wipes the sweat from his face._

OLD BAUMERT

A man has a right to a rest after that.

BECKER

Rest's better than money.

OLD BAUMERT

Yes, but we _needs_ the money too. Good mornin' to you, Becker!

BECKER

Mornin', father Baumert! Goodness knows how long we'll have to stand here again.

FIRST WEAVER

That don't matter. What's to hinder a weaver waitin' for an hour, or for a day? What else is he there for?

PFEIFER

Silence there! We can't hear our own voices.

BECKER

[_In a low voice._] This is one of his bad days.

PFEIFER

[_To the weaver standing before him._] How often have I told you that you must bring cleaner cloth? What sort of mess is this? Knots, and straw, and all kinds of dirt.

REIMANN

It's for want of a new picker, sir.

APPRENTICE

[_Has weighed the piece._] Short weight, too.

PFEIFER

I never saw such weavers. I hate to give out the yarn to them. It was another story in my day! I'd have caught it finely from my master for work like that. The business was carried on in different style then. A man had to know his trade--that's the last thing that's thought of nowadays. Reimann, one shilling.

REIMANN

But there's always a pound allowed for waste.

PFEIFER

I've no time. Next man!--What have you to show?

HEIBER

[_Lays his web on the table. While PFEIFER is examining it, he goes close up to him; eagerly in a low tone._] Beg pardon, Mr. Pfeifer, but I wanted to ask you, sir, if you would perhaps be so very kind an' do me the favour an' not take my advance money off this week's pay.

PFEIFER

[_Measuring and examining the texture; jeeringly._] Well! What next, I wonder? This looks very much as if half the weft had stuck to the bobbins again.

HEIBER

[_Continues._] I'll be sure to make it all right next week, sir. But this last week I've had to put in two days' work on the estate. And my missus is ill in bed....

PFEIFER

[_Giving the web to be weighed._] Another piece of real slop-work. [_Already examining a new web._] What a selvage! Here it's broad, there it's narrow; here it's drawn in by the wefts goodness knows how tight, and there it's torn out again by the temples. And hardly seventy threads weft to the inch. What's come of the rest? Do you call this honest work? I never saw anything like it.

[_HEIBER, repressing tears, stands humiliated and helpless._

BECKER

[_In a low voice to BAUMERT._] To please that brute you'd have to pay for extra yarn out o' your own pocket.

WEAVER'S WIFE

[_Who has remained standing near the cashier's table, from time to time looking round appealingly, takes courage and once more turns imploringly to the cashier._] I don't know what's to come o' me, sir, if you won't give me a little advance this time ... O Lord, O Lord!

PFEIFER

[_Calls across._] It's no good whining, or dragging the Lord's name into the matter. You're not so anxious about Him at other times. You look after your husband and see that he's not to be found so often lounging in the public-house. We can give no pay in advance. We have to account for every penny. It's not our money. People that are industrious, and understand their work, and do it in the fear of God, never need their pay in advance. So now you know.

NEUMANN

If a Bielau weaver got four times as much pay, he would squander it four times over and be in debt into the bargain.

WEAVER'S WIFE

[_In a loud voice, as if appealing to the general sense of justice._] No one can't call me idle, but I'm not fit now for what I once was. I've twice had a miscarriage. And as to John, he's but a poor creature. He's been to the shepherd at Zerlau, but he couldn't do him no good, and ... you can't do more than you've strength for.... We works as hard as ever we can. This many a week I've been at it till far on into the night. An' we'll keep our heads above water right enough if I can just get a bit o' strength into me. But you must have pity on us, Mr. Pfeifer, sir. [_Eagerly, coaxingly._] You'll please be so very kind as to let me have a few pence on the next job, sir?

PFEIFER

[_Paying no attention._] Fiedler, one and twopence.

WEAVER'S WIFE

Only a few pence, to buy bread with. We can't get no more credit. We've a lot o' little ones.

NEUMANN

[_Half aside to the APPRENTICE, in a serio-comic-tone._] "Every year brings a child to the linen-weaver's wife, heigh-ho, heigh-ho, heigh."

APPRENTICE

[_Takes up the rhyme, half singing._] "And the little brat it's blind the first weeks of its life, heigh-ho, heigh-ho, heigh."

REIMANN

[_Not touching the money which the cashier has counted out to him._] We've always got one and fourpence for the web.

PFEIFER

[_Calls across._] If our terms don't suit you, Reimann, you have only to say so. There's no scarcity of weavers--especially of your sort. For full weight we give full pay.

REIMANN

How anything can be wrong with the weight o' this...!

PFEIFER

You bring a piece of fustian with no faults in it, and there will be no fault in the pay.

REIMANN

It's clean impossible that there's too many knots in this web.

PFEIFER

[_Examining._] If you want to live well, then be sure you weave well.

HEIBER

[_Has remained standing near PFEIFER, so as to seize on any favourable opportunity. He laughs at PFEIFER'S little witticism, then steps forward and again addresses him._] I wanted to ask you, sir, if you would perhaps have the great kindness not to take my advance of sixpence off to-day's pay? My missus has been bedridden since February, She can't do a hand's turn for me, an' I've to pay a bobbin girl. An' so ...

PFEIFER

[_Takes a pinch of snuff._] Heiber do you think I have no one to attend to but you? The others must have their turn.

REIMANN

As the warp was given me I took it home and fastened it to the beam. I can't bring back no better yarn than I gets.

PFEIFER

If you're not satisfied, you need come for no more. There are plenty ready to tramp the soles off their shoes to get it.

NEUMANN

[_To REIMANN._] Don't you want your money?

REIMANN

I can't bring myself to take such pay.

NEUMANN

[_Paying no further attention to REIMANN._] Heiber, one shilling. Deduct sixpence for pay it advance. Leaves sixpence.

HEIBER

[_Goes up to the table, looks at the money, stands shaking his head as if unable to believe his eyes, then slowly takes it up._] Well, I never!-- [_Sighing._] Oh dear, oh dear!

OLD BAUMERT

[_Looking into HEIBER'S face._] Yes, Franz, that's so! There's matter enough for sighing.

HEIBER

[_Speaking with difficulty._] I've a girl lyin' sick at home too, an' she needs a bottle of medicine.

OLD BAUMERT

What's wrong with her?

HEIBER

Well, you see, she's always been a sickly bit of a thing. I don't know ... I needn't mind tellin' you--she brought her trouble with her. It's in her blood, and it breaks out here, there, and everywhere.

OLD BAUMERT

It's always the way. Let folks be poor, and one trouble comes to them on the top of another. There's no help for it and there's no end to it.

HEIBER

What are you carryin' in that cloth, fatter. Baumert?

OLD BAUMERT

We haven't so much as a bite in the house, and so I've had the little dog killed. There's not much on him, for the poor beast was half starved. A nice little dog he was! I couldn't kill him myself. I hadn't the heart to do it.

PFEIFER

[_Has inspected BECKER'S web and calls._] Becker, one and threepence.

BECKER

That's what you might give to a beggar; it's not pay.

PFEIFER

Every one who has been attended to must clear out. We haven't room to turn round in.

BECKER

[_To those standing near, without lowering his voice._] It's a beggarly pittance, nothing else. A man works his treadle from early morning till late at night, an' when he's bent over his loom for days an' days, tired to death every evening, sick with the dust and the heat, he finds he's made a beggarly one and threepence!

PFEIFER

No impudence allowed here.

BECKER

If you think I'll hold my tongue for your tellin', you're much mistaken.

PFEIFER

[_Exclaims._] We'll see about that! [_Rushes to the glass door and calls into the office._] Mr. Dreissiger, Mr. Dreissiger, will you be good enough to come here?

_Enter DREISSIGER. About forty, full-bodied, asthmatic. Looks
severe._

DREISSIGER

What is it, Pfeifer?

PFEIFER

[_Spitefully._] Becker says he won't be told to hold his tongue.

DREISSIGER

[_Draws himself up, throws back his head, stares at BECKER; his nostrils tremble._] Oh, indeed!--Becker. [_To PFEIFER.] Is he the man?...

[_The clerks nod._

BECKER

[_Insolently._] Yes, Mr. Dreissiger, yes! [_Pointing to himself._] This is the man. [_Pointing to DREISSIGER._] And that's a man too!

DREISSIGER

[_Angrily._] Fellow, how dare you?

PFEIFER

He's too well off. He'll go dancing on the ice once too often, though.

BECKER

[_Recklessly._] You shut up, you Jack-in-the-box. Your mother must have gone dancing once too often with Satan to have got such a devil for a son.

DREISSIGER

[_Now in a violent passion, roars._] Hold your tongue this moment, sir, or ...

[_He trembles and takes a fere steps forward._

BECKER

[_Holding his ground steadily._] I'm not deaf. My hearing's quite good yet.

DREISSIGER

[_Controls himself, asks in an apparently cool business tone._] Was this fellow not one of the pack...?

PFEIFER

He's a Bielau weaver. When there's any mischief going, they're sure to be in it.

DREISSIGER

[_Trembling._] Well, I give you all warning: if the same thing happens again as last night--a troop of half-drunken cubs marching past my windows singing that low song ...

BECKER

Is it "Bloody Justice" you mean?

DREISSIGER

You know well enough what I mean. I tell you that if I hear it again I'll get hold of one of you, and--mind, I'm not joking--before the justice he shall go. And if I can find out who it was that made up that vile doggerel ...

BECKER

It's a grand song, that's what it is!

DREISSIGER

Another word and I send for the police on the spot, without more ado. I'll make short work with you young fellows. I've got the better of very different men before now.

BECKER

I believe you there. A real thoroughbred manufacturer will get the better of two or three hundred weavers in the time it takes you to turn round--swallow 'em up, and not leave as much as a bone. He's got four stomachs like a cow, and teeth like a wolf. That's nothing to him at all!

DREISSIGER

[_To his clerks._] That man gets no more work from us.

BECKER

It's all the same to me whether I starve at my loom or by the roadside.

DREISSIGER

Out you go, then, this moment!

BECKER

[_Determinedly._] Not without my pay.

DREISSIGER

How much is owing to the fellow, Neumann?

NEUMANN

One and threepence.

DREISSIGER

[_Takes the money hurriedly ont of the cashier's hand, and flings it on the table, so that some of the coins roll off on to the floor._] There you are, then; and now, out of my sight with you!

BECKER

Not without my pay.

DREISSIGER

Don't you see it lying there? If you don't take it and go ... It's exactly twelve now ... The dyers are coming out for their dinner ...

BECKER

I gets my pay into my hand--here--that's where!

[_Points with the fingers of his right hand at the palm of his left._

DREISSIGER

[_To the APPRENTICE._] Pick up the money, Tilgner.

[_The APPRENTICE lifts the money and puts it into BECKER'S hand._

BECKER

Everything in proper order.

[_Deliberately takes an old purse out of his pocket and puts the
money into it._

DREISSIGER

[_As BECKER still does not move away._] Well? Do you want me to come and help you?

[_Signs of agitation are observable among the crowd of weavers. A
long, loud sigh is heard, and then a fall. General interest is at
once diverted to this new event._

DREISSIGER

What's the matter there?

CHORUS OF WEAVERS AND WOMEN

"Some one's fainted."--"It's a little sickly boy."--"Is it a fit, or what?"

DREISSIGER

What do you say? Fainted?

[_He goes nearer._

OLD WEAVER

There he lies, any way.

[_They make room. A boy of about eight is seen lying on the floor as
if dead._

DREISSIGER

Does any one know the boy?

OLD WEAVER

He's not from our village.

OLD BAUMERT

He's like one of weaver Heinrich's boys. [_Looks at him more closely._] Yes, that's Heinrich's little Philip.

DREISSIGER

Where do they live?

OLD BAUMERT

Up near us in Kaschbach, sir. He goes round playin' music in the evenings, and all day he's at the loom. They've nine children an' a tenth a coming.

CHORUS OF WEAVERS AND WOMEN

"They're terrible put to it."--"The rain comes through their roof."--"The woman hasn't two shirts among the nine."

OLD BAUMERT

[_Taking the boy by the arm._] Now then, lad, what's wrong with you? Wake up, lad.

DREISSIGER

Some of you help me, and we'll get him up. It's disgraceful to send a sickly child this distance. Bring some water, Pfeifer.

WOMAN

[_Helping to lift the boy._] Sure you're not goin' to be foolish and die, lad!

DREISSIGER

Brandy, Pfeifer, brandy will be better.

BECKER

[_Forgotten by all, has stood looking on. With his hand on the door-latch, he now calls loudly and tauntingly._] Give him something to eat, an' he'll soon be all right.

[_Goes out._

DREISSIGER

That fellow will come to a bad end.--Take him under the arm, Neumann. Easy now, easy; we'll get him into my room. What?

NEUMANN

He said something, Mr. Dreissiger. His lips are moving.

DREISSIGER

What--what is it, boy?

BOY

[_Whispers._] I'm h-hungry.

WOMAN

I think he says--

DREISSIGER

We'll find out. Don't stop. Let us get him into my room. He can lie on the sofa there, We'll hear what the doctor says.

_DREISSIGER, NEUMANN, and the woman lead the boy into the office. The
weavers begin to behave like school-children when their master has
left the classroom. They stretch themselves, whisper, move from one
foot to the other, and in the course of a few moments are conversing
loudly._

OLD BAUMERT

I believe as how Becker was right.

CHORUS OF WEAVERS AND WOMEN

"He did say something like that."--"It's nothin' new here to fall down from hunger."--"God knows what's to come of 'em in winter if this cuttin' down o' wages goes on."--"An' this year the potatoes aren't no good at all."--"Things'll get worse and worse till we're all done for together."

OLD BAUMERT

The best thing a man could do would be to put a rope round his neck and hang hisself on his own loom, like weaver Nentwich. [_To another old weaver._] Here, take a pinch. I was at Neurode yesterday. My brother-in-law, he works in the snuff factory there, and he give me a grain or two. Have you anything good in your kerchief?

OLD WEAVER

Only a little pearl barley. I was coming along behind Ulbrich the miller's cart, and there was a slit in one of the sacks. I can tell you we'll be glad of it.

OLD BAUMERT

There's twenty-two mills in Peterswaldau, but of all they grind, there's never nothin' comes our way.

OLD WEAVER

We must keep up heart. There's always somethin' comes to help us on again.

HEIBER

Yes, when we're hungry, we can pray to all the saints to help us, and if that don't fill our bellies we can put a pebble in our mouths and suck it. Eh, Baumert?

_Re-enter DREISSIGER, PFEIFER, AND NEUMANN._

DREISSIGER

It was nothing serious. The boy is all right again. [_Walks about excitedly, panting._] But all the same it's a disgrace. The child's so weak that a puff of wind would blow him over. How people, how any parents can be so thoughtless is what passes my comprehension. Loading him with two heavy pieces of fustian to carry six good miles! No one would believe it that hadn't seen it. It simply means that I shall have to make a rule that no goods brought by children will be taken over. [_He walks up and down silently for a few moments._] I sincerely trust such a thing will not occur again.--Who gets all the blame for it? Why, of course the manufacturer. It's entirely our fault. If some poor little fellow sticks in the snow in winter and goes to sleep, a special correspondent arrives post-haste, and in two days we have a blood-curdling story served up in all the papers. Is any blame laid on the father, the parents, that send such a child?--Not a bit of it. How should they be to blame? It's all the manufacturer's fault--he's made the scapegoat. They flatter the weaver, and give the manufacturer nothing but abuse--he's a cruel man, with a heart like a stone, a dangerous fellow, at whose calves every cur of a journalist may take a bite. He lives on the fat of the land, and pays the poor weavers starvation wages. In the flow of his eloquence the writer forgets to mention that such a man has his cares too and his sleepless nights; that he runs risks of which the workman never dreams; that he is often driven distracted by all the calculations he has to make, and all the different things he has to take into account; that he has to struggle for his very life against competition; and that no day passes without some annoyance or some loss. And think of the manufacturer's responsibilities, think of the numbers that depend on him, that look to him for their daily bread. No, No! none of you need wish yourselves in my shoes--you would soon have enough of it. [_After a moment's reflection._] You all saw how that fellow, that scoundrel Becker, behaved. Now he'll go and spread about all sorts of tales of my hard-heartedness, of how my weavers are turned off for a mere trifle, without a moment's notice. Is that true? Am I so very unmerciful?

CHORUS OF VOICES

No, sir.

DREISSIGER

It doesn't seem to me that I am. And yet these ne'er-do-wells come round singing low songs about us manufacturers--prating about hunger, with enough in their pockets to pay for quarts of bad brandy. If they would like to know what want is, let them go and ask the linen-weavers: they can tell something about it. But you here, you fustian-weavers, have every reason to thank God that things are no worse than they are. And I put it to all the old, industrious weavers present: Is a good workman able to gain a living in my employment, or is he not?

MANY VOICES

Yes, sir; he is, sir.

DREISSIGER

There now! You see! Of course such a fellow as that Becker can't. I advise you to keep these young lads in check. If there's much more of this sort of thing, I'll shut up shop--give up the business altogether, and then you can shift for yourselves, get work where you like--perhaps Mr. Becker will provide it.

FIRST WEAVER'S WIFE

[_Has come close to DREISSIGER, and removes a little dust from his coat with creeping servility._] You've been an' rubbed agin something, sir.

DREISSIGER

Business is as bad as it can be just now, you know that yourselves. Instead of making money, I am losing it every day. If, in spite of this, I take care that my weavers are kept in work, I look for some little gratitude from them. I have thousands of pieces of cloth in stock, and don't know if I'll ever be able to sell them. Well, now, I've heard how many weavers hereabouts are out of work, and--I'll leave Pfeifer to give the particulars--but this much I'll tell you, just to show you my good will.... I can't deal out charity all round; I'm not rich enough for that; but I can give the people who are out of work the chance of earning at any rate a little. It's a great business risk I run by doing it, but that's my affair. I say to myself: Better that a man should work for a bite of bread than that, he should starve altogether, Am I not right?

CHORUS OF VOICES

Yes, yes, sir.

DREISSIGER

And therefore I am ready to give employment to two hundred more weavers. Pfeifer will tell you on what conditions.

[_He turns to go._

FIRST WEAVER'S WIFE

[_Comes between him and the door, speaks hurriedly, eagerly, imploringly._] Oh, if you please, sir, will you let me ask you if you'll be so good ... I've been twice laid up for ...

DREISSIGER

[_Hastily._] Speak to Pfeifer, good woman. I'm too late as it is.

[_Passes on, leaving her standing._

REIMANN

[_Stops him again. In an injured, complaining tone._] I have a complaint to make, if you please, sir. Mr. Pfeifer refuses to ... I've always got one and two-pence for a web ...

DREISSIGER

[_Interrupts him._] Mr. Pfeifer's my manager. There he is. Apply to him.

HEIBER

[_Detaining DREISSIGER; hurriedly and confusedly._] O sir, I wanted to ask if you would p'r'aps, if I might p'r'aps ... if Mr. Pfeifer might ... might ...

DREISSIGER

What is it you want?

HEIBER

That advance pay I had last time, sir; I thought p'r'aps you would kindly ...

DREISSIGER

I have no idea what you are talking about.

HEIBER

I'm awful hard up, sir, because ...

DREISSIGER

These are things Pfeifer must look into--I really have not the time. Arrange the matter with Pfeifer.

[_He escapes into the office._

[_The supplicants look helplessly at one another, sigh, and take
their places again among the others._

PFEIFER

[_Resuming his task of inspection._] Well, Annie, let as see what yours is like.

OLD BAUMERT

How much is we to get for the web, then, Mr. Pfeifer?

PFEIFER

One shilling a web.

OLD BAUMERT

Has it come to that!

[_Excited whispering and murmuring among the weavers._

END OF THE FIRST ACT

THE SECOND ACT

_A small room in the house of WILHELM ANSORGE, weaver and cottager in
the village of Kaschbach, in the Eulengebirge._

_In this room, which does not measure six feet from the dilapidated
wooden floor to the smoke-blackened rafters, sit four people. Two
young girls, EMMA and BERTHA BAUMERT, are working at their looms;
MOTHER BAUMERT, a decrepit old woman, sits on a stool beside the bed,
with a winding-wheel in front of her; her idiot son AUGUST sits on a
foot-stool, also winding. He is twenty, has a small body and head,
and long, spider-like legs and arms._

_Faint, rosy evening light makes its way through two small windows in
the right wall, which have their broken panes pasted over with paper
or stuffed with straw. It lights up the flaxen hair of the girls,
which falls loose on their slender white necks and thin bare
shoulders, and their coarse chemises. These, with a short petticoat
of the roughest linen, form their whole attire. The warm glow falls
on the old woman's face, neck, and breast--a face worn away to a
skeleton, with shrivelled skin and sunken eyes, red and watery with
smoke, dust, and working by lamplight--a long goitre neck, wrinkled
and sinewy--a hollow breast covered with faded, ragged shawls._

_Part of the right wall is also lighted up, with stove, stove-bench,
bedstead, and one or two gaudily coloured sacred prints. On the stove
rail rags are hanging to dry, and behind the stove is a collection of
worthless lumber. On the bench stand some old pots and cooking
utensils, and potato parings are laid out on it, on paper, to dry.
Hanks of yarn and reels hang from the rafters; baskets of bobbins
stand beside the looms. In the back wall there is a low door without
fastening. Beside it a bundle of willow wands is set up against the
wall, and beyond them lie some damaged quarter-bushel baskets._

_The room is full of sound--the rhythmic thud of the looms, shaking
floor and walls, the click and rattle of the shuttles passing back
and forward, and the steady whirr of the winding-wheels, like the hum
of gigantic bees._

MOTHER BAUMERT

[_In a querulous, feeble voice, as the girls stop weaving and bend over their webs._] Got to make knots again already, have you?

EMMA

[_The elder of the two girls, about twenty-two, tying a broken thread_] It's the plagueyest web, this!

BERTHA

[_Fifteen._] Yes, it's real bad yarn they've given us this time.

EMMA

What can have happened to father? He's been away since nine.

MOTHER BAUMERT

That he has! yes. Where in the wide world c'n he be?

BERTHA

Don't you worry yourself, mother.

MOTHER BAUMERT

I can't help it, Bertha lass.

[_EMMA begins to weave again._

BERTHA

Stop a minute, Emma!

EMMA

What is it!

BERTHA

I thought I heard some one.

EMMA

It'll be Ansorge comin' home.

_Enter FRITZ, a little, barefooted, ragged boy of four._

FRITZ

[_Whimpering._] I'm hungry, mother.

EMMA

Wait, Fritzel, wait a bit! Gran'father'll be here very soon, an' he's bringin' bread along with him, an' coffee too.

FRITZ

But I'm awful hungry, mother.

EMMA

Be a good boy now, Fritz. Listen to what I'm tellin' you. He'll be here this minute. He's bringin' nice bread an' nice corn-coffee; an' when we stops workin' mother'll take the tater peelin's and carry them to the farmer, and the farmer'll give her a drop o' good buttermilk for her little boy.

FRITZ

Where's grandfather gone?

EMMA

To the manufacturer, Fritz, with a web.

FRITZ

To the manufacturer?

EMMA

Yes, yes, Fritz, down to Dreissiger's at Peterswaldau.

FRITZ

Is it there he gets the bread?

EMMA

Yes; Dreissiger gives him money, and then he buys the bread.

FRITZ

Does he give him a heap of money?

EMMA

[_Impatiently._] Oh, stop that chatter, boy.

[_She and BERTHA go on weaving for a time, and then both stop again._

BERTHA

August, go and ask Ansorge if he'll give us a light.

[_AUGUST goes out accompanied by FRITZ._

MOTHER BAUMERT

[_Overcome by her childish apprehension, whimpers._] Emma! Bertha! where c'n the man be stay-in'?

BERTHA

Maybe he looked in to see Hauffe.

MOTHER BAUMERT

[_Crying._] What if he's sittin' drinkin' in the public-house?

EMMA

Don't cry, mother! You know well enough father's not the man to do that.

MOTHER BAUMERT

[_Half distracted by a multitude of gloomy forebodings._] What ... what ... what's to become of us if he don't come home? if he drinks the money, an' don't bring us nothin' at all? There's not so much as a handful o' salt in the house--not a bite o' bread, nor a bit o' wood for the fire.

BERTHA

Wait a bit, mother! It's moonlight just now. We'll take August with us and go into the wood and get some sticks.

MOTHER BAUMERT

Yes, an' be caught by the forester.

_ANSORGE, an old weaver of gigantic stature, who has to bend down to
get into the room, puts his head and shoulders in at the door. Long,
unkempt hair and beard._

ANSORGE

What's wanted?

BERTHA

Light, if you please.

ANSORGE

[_In a muffled voice, as if speaking' in a sick-room._] There's good daylight yet.

MOTHER BAUMERT

Is we to sit in the dark next?

ANSORGE

I've to do the same mayself.

[_Goes out._

BERTHA

It's easy to see that he's a miser.

EMMA

Well, there's nothin' for it but to sit an' wait his pleasure.

_Enter MRS. HEINRICH, a woman of thirty, heavy with child; an
expression of torturing anxiety and apprehension on her worn face._

MRS. HEINRICH

Good evenin' t'you all.

MOTHER BAUMERT

Well, Jenny, and what's your news?

MRS. HEINRICH

[_Who limps._] I've got a piece o' glass into my foot.

BERTHA

Come an' sit down, then, an' I'll see if I c'n get it out.

[_MRS. HEINRICH seats herself, BERTHA kneels down, in front of her,
and examines her foot._

MOTHER BAUMERT

How are ye all at home, Jenny?

MRS. HEINRICH

[_Breaks out despairingly._] Things is in a terrible way with us!

[_She struggles in vain, against a rush of tears; then weeps
silently._

MOTHER BAUMERT

The best thing as could happen to the likes o' us, Jenny, would be if God had pity on us an' took us away out o' this weary world.

MRS. HEINRICH

[_No longer able to control herself, screams, still crying._] My children's starvin'. [_Sobs and moans._] I don't know what to do no more! I c'n work till I drops--I'm more dead'n alive--things don't get different! There's nine hungry mouths to fill! We got a bit o' bread last night, but it wasn't enough even for the two smallest ones. Who was I to give it to, eh? They all cried; Me, me, mother! give it to me!... An' if it's like this while I'm still on my feet, what'll it be when I've to take to bed? Our few taters was washed away. We haven't a thing to put in our mouths.

BERTHA

[_Has removed the bit of glass and washed the wound._] We'll put a rag round it. Emma, see if you can find one.

MOTHER BAUMERT

We're no better off'n you, Jenny.

MRS. HEINRICH