Chapter XIII: Act III: Room in a peasant's house (1)

_The_ PLAYWRIGHT. _The_ MACHINIST.

MACHIN.

Then do you really think that will do any good?

PLAYWR.

I beg, I entreat you, do not refuse my request; my only hope depends on it.

LEUTNER.

Why, what's this again? How did these people ever get into Gottlieb's room?

SCHLOSS.

I won't rack my brains about anything more.

MACHIN.

But, dear friend, you certainly do ask too much, to have all this done in such a hurry, entirely on the spur of the moment.

PLAYWR.

I believe you are against me, too; you also rejoice in my misfortune.

MACHIN.

Not in the least.

PLAYWRIGHT (_falls down before him_).

Then prove it to me by yielding to my request; if the disapproval of the audience breaks out so loudly again, then at a motion from me let all the machines play; as it is, the second act has already closed quite differently from the way it reads in my manuscript.

MACHIN.

What's this now? Why, who raised the curtain?

PLAYWR.

It never rains but it pours! I am lost! (_He rushes in embarrassment behind the scenes._)

MACHIN.

There never has been such a confusion on any evening.

[_Exit. A pause._]

WIESENER.

I say, does that belong to the play?

NEIGHBOR.

Of course--why that motivates the transformation to follow.

FISCHER.

This evening ought certainly to be described in the theatre almanac.

KING (_behind the scenes_).

No, I will not appear, on no condition; I cannot bear to have any one laugh at me.

PLAYWR.

But you--dearest friend--it can't be changed now.

JACKPUD.

Well, I will try my luck. (_He steps forward and bows comically to the audience._)

MÜLLER.

Why, what is Jackpudding doing in the peasant's room now?

SCHLOSS.

I suppose he wants to deliver a ridiculous monologue.

JACKPUD.

Pardon me if I make bold to say a few words which do not exactly belong to the play.

FISCHER.

Oh, you should keep perfectly quiet, we're tired of you even in the play; moreover, now so very--

SCHLOSS.

A Jackpudding dares to talk to us?

JACKPUD.

Why not? For if people laugh at me, I am not hurt at all; why, it would be my warmest wish to have you laugh at me. So do not hesitate.

LEUTNER.

That is pretty funny!

JACKPUD.

Naturally, what scarcely befits the king is all the more fitting for me; hence he would not appear, but left this important announcement to me.

MÜLLER.

But we do not wish to hear anything.

JACKPUD.

My dear German countrymen--

SCHLOSS.

I believe the setting of the play is in Asia.

JACKPUD.

But now, you see, I am talking to you merely as an actor to the spectators.

SCHLOSS.

People, it's all over with me now; I am crazy.

JACKPUD.

Do be pleased to hear that the former scene, which you just saw, is not part of the play at all.

FISCHER.

Not part of the play? Then how does it get in there?

JACKPUD.

The curtain was raised too soon. It was a private discussion which would not have taken place on the stage at all if it were not so horribly crowded behind the scenes. Now if you were deceived, it is of course so much the worse; then just be kind enough to eradicate this delusion again; for from now on, do you understand me, only after I have gone away, will the act really begin. Between you and me, all the preceding has nothing to do with it at all. But you are to be compensated; much is coming soon which is very essential to the plot. I have spoken to the playwright myself and he has assured me of it.

FISCHER.

Yes, your playwright is just the fellow.

JACKPUD.

He's good for nothing, isn't it so? Well, I am glad after all, that there is still some one else who has the same taste as I--

THE PIT.

All of us, all of us!

JACKPUD.

Your obedient servant; it is too great an honor by far. Yes, God knows, he is a wretched writer--only to give a bad example; what a miserable part he has given me! Where, pray, am I witty and funny? I appear in so few scenes, and I believe, if I hadn't stepped forward even now, by a lucky chance, I should not have appeared again at all.

PLAYWRIGHT (_rushing forward_).

Impudent fellow--

JACKPUD.

Look, he is even jealous of the small part I am playing now.

PLAYWRIGHT (_on the other side of the stage with a bow_).

Worthy friends! I never should have dared to give this man a more important part since I know your taste--

JACKPUDDING (_on the other side_).

_Your_ taste? Now you see his jealousy--and they have all just declared that my taste is the same as theirs.

PLAYWR.

I wished, by means of the present play, only to prepare you for even more extravagant products of the imagination.

ALL IN THE PIT.

How? What?

JACKPUD.

Of course for plays in which I would have no part to act at all.

PLAYWR.

For the development of this matter must advance step by step.

JACKPUD.

Don't believe a word he says!

PLAYWR.

Now I withdraw, not to interrupt the course of the play any longer.

[_Exit._]

JACKPUD.

Adieu, until we meet again. (_Exit, returns again quickly._) _Apropos_--another thing--the discussion which has just taken place among us is not part of the play either.

[_Exit._]

THE PIT (_laughs_).

JACKPUDDING (_returns again quickly_).

Let us finish the wretched play today; make believe you do not notice at all how bad it is; as soon as I get home I'll sit down and write one for you that you will certainly like.

[_Exit, some applause._]

(_Enter_ GOTTLIEB _and_ HINZE)

GOTTLIEB.

Dear Hinze, it is true you are doing much for me, but I still cannot understand what good it is going to do me.

HINZE.

Upon my word, I want to make you happy.

GOTTLIEB.

Happiness must come soon, very soon, otherwise it will be too late; it is already half past seven and the comedy ends at eight.

HINZE.

Say, what the devil does that mean?

GOTTLIEB.

Oh, I was lost in thought--See! I meant to say, how beautifully the sun has risen. The accursed prompter speaks so indistinctly; and then if you want to extemporize once in a while, it always goes wrong.

HINZE (_quietly_).

Do bethink yourself, otherwise the whole play will break in a thousand pieces.

SCHLOSS.

I wish somebody would tell me why I can no longer understand anything.

FISCHER.

My intelligence is at a standstill too.

GOTTLIEB.

So my fortune is yet to be determined today?

HINZE.

Yes, dear Gottlieb, even before the sun sets. See, I love you so much that I would run through fire for you--and you doubt my sincerity?

WIESENER.

Did you hear that? He is going to run through fire. Ah, fine, here we get the scene from the _Magic Flute_ too, with the fire and the water!

NEIGHBOR.

But cats do not go into the water.

WIESENER.

Why so much the greater is the cat's love for his master, you see; that's just what the author wants to make us understand.

HINZE.

Now what would you like to become in the world, anyhow?

GOTTLIEB.

Oh, I don't know, myself.

HINZE.

Perhaps you'd like to become a prince, or a king?

GOTTLIEB.

That, better than anything.

HINZE.

And do you also feel the strength within you to make a nation happy?

GOTTLIEB.

Why not? If only I am once happy myself.

HINZE.

Well, then content yourself. I swear to you, you shall mount the throne.

[_Exit._]

GOTTLIEB.

It would have to come about mysteriously--still, of course, so many unexpected things happen in the world.

[_Exit._]

BÖTTICH.

Do notice the infinite refinement with which the cat always holds his cane.

FISCHER.

You've been a bore to us for the longest while; you are even more tiresome than the play.

SCHLOSS.

You even add to the confusion in our heads.

MÜLLER.

You talk constantly and do not know what you want.

MANY VOICES.

Out! Out! He's a nuisance! (_A crowd;_ BÖTTICHER _finds himself compelled to leave the theatre._)

FISCHER.

He with his talk about refinement!

SCHLOSS.

He always vexes me when he considers himself a connoisseur.

_An open field_

HINZE (_with knapsack and bag_).

I have become quite accustomed to hunting. Every day I catch partridges, rabbits and the like, and the dear little animals are getting more and more practice in being caught. (_He spreads out his bag._) Now the season of the nightingales is over, I do not hear a single one singing.

[_Enter the two lovers._]

HE.

Go, you bore me.

SHE.

I am disgusted with you.

HE.

A fine kind of love!

SHE.

Wretched hypocrite, how you have deceived me!

HE.

What has become of your infinite tenderness?

SHE.

And your faithfulness?

HE.

Your rapture?

SHE.

Your infatuation?

BOTH.

The devil has taken it! That comes of marrying.

HINZE.

The hunt has never yet been so disturbed--if you would be pleased to notice that this open field is clearly too confined for your sorrows, and climb up some mountain.

HE.

Insolent wretch! (_Boxes_ HINZE _on the ear._)

SHE.

Boor! (_Also boxes_ HINZE _on the ear._)

HINZE (_purrs_).

SHE.

It seems best to me that we be parted again.

HE.

I am at your bidding.

[_Exit the lovers._]

HINZE.

Nice people, these so-called human beings. Just look, two partridges; I will carry them off quickly. Now, fortune, make haste, for I myself am almost getting impatient. Now I have no longer any desire to eat the partridges. It's probably thus, that, by mere habit, we can implant in our nature every possible virtue.

[_Exit._]

_Hall in the Palace_

_The_ KING _on his throne with the_ PRINCESS; LEANDER _in a lecturer's chair; opposite him_ JACKPUDDING _in another lecturer's chair; in the centre of the hall a costly hat, decorated with gold and precious stones, is fastened on a high pole. The entire court is present._

KING.

Never yet has a person rendered such services to his country as this amiable Count of Carabas. Our historian has already almost filled a thick volume, so often has the Count presented me with pretty and delicious gifts, sometimes even twice a day, through his hunter. My appreciation of his kindness is boundless and I desire nothing more earnestly than to find at some time the opportunity of discharging to some extent the great debt I owe him.

PRINCESS.

Dearest father, would your majesty not most graciously permit the learned disputation to begin? My heart yearns for this mental activity.

KING.

Yes, it may begin now. Court scholar--court fool--you both know that to the one who gains the victory in this disputation is allotted that costly hat; for this very reason have I had it set up here, so that you may have it always before your eyes and never be in want of quick wit.

[LEANDER _and_ JACKPUDDING _bow_.]

LEANDER.

The theme of my assertion is, that a recently published play by the name of _Puss in Boots_ is a good play.

JACKPUD.

That is just what I deny.

LEANDER.

Prove that it is bad.

JACKPUD.

Prove that it is good.

LEUTNER.

What's this again? Why that's the very play they are giving here, if I am not mistaken.

MÜLLER.

No other.

SCHLOSS.

Do tell me whether I am awake and have my eyes open.

LEANDER.

The play, if not perfectly excellent, is still to be praised in several respects.

JACKPUD.

Not one respect.

LEANDER.

I assert that it displays wit.

JACKPUD.

I assert that it displays none.

LEANDER.

You are a fool; how can you pretend to judge concerning wit?

JACKPUD.

And you are a scholar; what can you pretend to understand about wit?

LEANDER.

Several characters are well-sustained.

JACKPUD.

Not a single one.

LEANDER.

Then, even if I concede else, the audience is well drawn in it.

JACKPUD.

An audience never has a character.

LEANDER.

I am almost amazed at this boldness.

JACKPUD (_to the pit_).

Isn't he a foolish fellow? Here we are, hand and glove with each other and sympathize in our views on taste, and he wishes to assert in opposition to my opinion, that at least the audience in _Puss in Boots_ is well drawn.

FISCHER.

The audience? Why no audience appears in the play.

JACKPUD.

That's even better! So, then, no audience is presented in it at all?

MÜLLER.

Why not a bit of it, unless he means the several kinds of fools that appear.

JACKPUD.

Now, do you see, scholar! What these gentlemen down there are saying must certainly be true.

LEANDER.

I am getting confused, but still I won't yield the victory to you.

[_Enter_ HINZE.]

JACKPUD.

Sir Hunter, a word! (HINZE _approaches, they whisper._)

HINZE. If it's nothing more than that. (_He takes off his boots, climbs up the pole, then takes the hat, jumps down, then puts his boots on again._)

JACKPUD.

Victory! Victory!

KING.

The deuce! How clever the hunter is!

LEANDER.

I only regret that I have been vanquished by a fool, that learning must acknowledge foolishness as its superior.

KING.

Keep still; you wanted the hat, he wanted the hat; so again I see no difference. But what have you brought, hunter?

HINZE.

The Count of Carabas commends himself most respectfully to your majesty and sends you these two partridges.

KING.

Too much! too much! I am sinking under the burden of gratitude! Long since should I have done my duty and visited him; today I will delay no longer. Have my royal carriage prepared at once--eight horses in front--I want to go driving with my daughter. You, Hunter, are to show us the way to the castle of the count.

[_Exit with retinue._]

HINZE. JACKPUDDING

HINZE.

What was your disputation about, anyhow?

JACKPUD.

I asserted that a certain play, which, moreover, I am not acquainted with at all, _Puss in Boots_, is a wretched play.

HINZE.

So?

JACKPUD.

Adieu, Sir Hunter.

[_Exit._]

HINZE (_alone_).

I'm all in the dumps. I, myself, helped the fool win a victory against a play in which I myself am taking the leading part. Fate! Fate! Into what complications do you so often lead us mortals? But be that as it may. If I only succeed in putting my beloved Gottlieb on the throne, I will gladly forget all my other troubles. The king wishes to visit the count? Now that is another bad situation which I must clear up; now the great, important day has arrived on which I need you so particularly, you boots. Now do not desert me; all must be determined today.

[_Exit._]

FISCHER.

Do tell me what this is--the play itself--it appears again as a play in the play.

SCHLOSS.

Without much ceremony, I am crazy--didn't I say at once, that is the enjoyment of art which you are said to have here?

LEUTNER.

No tragedy has ever affected me as this farce has.

_In front of the tavern_

THE HOST (_reaping corn with a scythe_).

This is hard work! Well, of course people cannot be deserting every day either. I only wish the harvest were over. After all, life consists of nothing but work; now draw beer, then clean glasses, then pour it out--now even reap. Life means work--and here some learned folk are even so wicked, in their books, as to try to put sleep out of fashion, because one does not live enough for one's time. But I am a great friend of sleep.

[_Enter_ HINZE.]

HINZE.

Whoever wants to hear something wonderful, listen to me now! How I have been running!--first from the royal palace to Gottlieb, second with Gottlieb to the palace of the Bugbear where I left him, third from there back again to the king, fourth I am now racing ahead of the king's coach like a courier and showing him the way. Hey! good friend!

HOST.

Who's that? Countryman, you must probably be a stranger, for the people in this neighborhood know that I do not sell any beer about this time; I need it for myself; when one does work like mine, one must also fortify one's self. I am sorry, but I cannot help you.

HINZE.

I do not want any beer, I never drink beer; I only want to say a few words to you.

HOST.

You must certainly be a regular idler, to attempt to disturb industrious people in their occupation.

HINZE.

I do not wish to disturb you. Just listen: the neighboring king will drive by here, he will probably step out of his carriage and inquire to whom these villages belong. If your life is dear to you, if you do not wish to be hanged or burned, then be sure to answer: to the Count of Carabas.

HOST.

But, Sir, we are subject to the law.

HINZE.

I know that well enough, but, as I said, if you do not wish to die, this region here belongs to the Count of Carabas.

[_Exit._]

HOST.

Many thanks! Now this would be the finest kind of opportunity for me to get out of ever having to work again. All I need do is to say to the king--the country belongs to the Bugbear. But no, idleness breeds vice: _Ora et labora_ is my motto.

[_A fine carriage with eight horses, many servants behind; it stops; the_ KING _and_ PRINCESS _step out._]

PRINCESS.

I am somewhat curious to see the Count.

KING.

So am I, my daughter. Good day, my friend. To whom do these villages here belong?

HOST (_aside_).

He asks as though he were ready to have me hanged at once.--To the Count of Carabas, your majesty.

KING.

A beautiful country. But I always thought the country must look altogether different if I should cross the border, judging from the maps. Do help me a bit. (_He climbs up a tree quickly._)

PRINCESS.

What are you doing, my royal father?

KING.

I like open views on beautiful landscapes.

PRINCESS.

Can you see far?

KING.

Oh, yes, and if it were not for those annoying mountains, you would see even further. Oh, my, the tree is full of caterpillars! (_He climbs down again._)

PRINCESS.

That is because it is a scene in nature which has not yet been idealized; imagination must first ennoble it.

KING.

I wish you could take the caterpillars off me by means of imagination. But get in, we must drive ahead.

PRINCESS.

Farewell, good, innocent peasant. (_They get into the carriage; it drives on._)

HOST.

How the world has changed! If you read in old books or listen to old people's stories, they always got louis d'ors or something like that if they spoke to a king or a prince. Such a king would formerly never dare to open his mouth if he did not press gold pieces into your hand at once. But now! How, pray, is one to make one's fortune unexpectedly, if the chance is over even with kings? Innocent peasant! I wish to God I didn't owe anything--that comes of the new sentimental descriptions of country life. Such a king is powerful and envies people of our station. I must only thank God that he did not hang me. The strange hunter was our Bugbear himself after all. At least it will now appear in the paper, I suppose, that the king has spoken to me graciously. [_Exit._]

_Another region_

KUNZ (_reaping corn_).

Bitter work! And if at least I were doing it for myself--but this compulsory villainage! Here one must do nothing but sweat for the Bugbear and he does not even thank one. Of course they always say in this world that laws are necessary to keep the people in order, but what need there is here of _our Law_ who devours all of us, I cannot understand.

[HINZE _comes running_.]

HINZE.

Now I have blisters-on my soles already--well, it doesn't matter, Gottlieb, Gottlieb must get the throne for it. Hey, good friend!

KUNZ.

Who's _this_ fellow?

HINZE.

The king will drive by here directly. If he asks you to whom all this belongs, you must answer--to the Count of Carabas; otherwise you will be chopped into a thousand million pieces. For the welfare of the public, the law desires it thus.

FISCHER.

For the welfare of the public?

SCHLOSS.

Naturally, for otherwise the play would never end.

HINZE.

Your life is probably dear to you.

[_Exit._]

KUNZ.

That's just how the edicts always sound. Well, I don't mind saying that, if only no new taxes result from it. One must trust no innovation.

[_The coach drives up and stops; the_ KING _and the_ PRINCESS _step out._]

KING.

A fine landscape, too. We have already seen a great deal of very fine country. To whom does this land belong?

KUNZ.

To the Count of Carabas.

KING.

He has splendid estates, that must be true--and so near mine; daughter, that seems to be a good match for you. What is your opinion?

PRINCESS.

You embarrass me, my father. What new things one sees while traveling, though. Do tell me, pray, good peasant, why do you cut down the straw like that?

KUNZ (_laughing_).

Why, this is the harvest, Mam'selle Queen--the corn.

KING.

Corn? What do you use that for, pray?

KUNZ (_laughing_).

Bread is baked from that.

KING.

Pray, daughter, for heaven's sake, bread is baked of it! Who would ever think of such tricks! Nature is something marvelous, after all. Here, good friend, get a drink, it is warm today. (_He steps in again with the_ PRINCESS; _the carriage drives away._)

KUNZ.

If he wasn't a king, you'd almost think he was stupid. Doesn't know what corn is! Well, you learn new things every day, of course. Here he has given me a shining piece of gold and I'll fetch myself a can of good beer at once. [_Exit._]

_Another part of the country, beside a river_

GOTTLIEB.

Now here I've been standing two hours already, waiting for my friend, Hinze. And he's not coming yet. There he is! But how he's running--he seems all out of breath.

[HINZE _comes running._]

HINZE.

Well, friend Gottlieb, take off your clothes quickly?

GOTTLIEB.

My clothes?

HINZE.

And then jump into the water here--

GOTTLIEB.

Into the water?

HINZE.

And then I will throw the clothing into the bush--

GOTTLIEB.

Into the bush?

HINZE.

And then you are provided for!

GOTTLIEB.

I agree with you; if I am drowned and my clothes gone, I am well enough provided for.

HINZE.

There is no time for joking--

GOTTLIEB.

I am not joking at all. Is that what I had to wait here for?

HINZE.

Undress!

GOTTLIEB.

Well, I'll do anything to please you.

HINZE.

Come, you are only to take a little bath. (_Exit with_ GOTTLIEB. _Then he comes back with the clothing which he throws into a bush._) Help! Help! Help!

[_The carriage. The_ KING _looks out of the coach door._]

KING.

What is it, Hunter? Why do you shout so?

HINZE.

Help, your majesty, the Count of Carabas is drowned!

KING.

Drowned!

PRINCESS (_in the carriage_).

Carabas!

KING.

My daughter in a faint! The Count drowned!

HINZE.

Perhaps he can still be saved; he is lying there in the water.

KING.

Servants! Try everything, anything to preserve the noble man.

SERVANT.

We have rescued him, your majesty.

HINZE.

Misfortune upon misfortune, my king! The Count was bathing here in the clear water and a rogue stole his clothing.

KING.

Unstrap my trunk at once--give him some of my clothes. Cheer up, daughter, the Count is rescued.

HINZE.

I must hurry.

[_Exit._]

GOTTLIEB (_in the king's clothing_).

Your majesty--

KING.

Here is the Count! I recognize him by my clothing! Step in, my best friend--how are you? Where do you get all the rabbits? I cannot compose myself for joy! Drive on, coachman!

[_The carriage drives off quickly._]

SERVANT.

None but the hangman could come up so quickly--now I have the pleasure of running behind on foot, and besides I'm just as wet as a cat.

LEUTNER.

How many more times, pray, will the carriage appear?

WIESENER.

Neighbor! Why, you are asleep!

NEIGHBOR.

Not at all--a fine play.

_Palace of the Bugbear_

_The_ BUGBEAR _appears as a rhinoceros; a poor peasant stands before him._

PEASANT.

May it please your honor--

BUGBEAR.

There must be justice, my friend.

PEASANT.

I cannot pay just now.

BUGBEAR.

Be still, you have lost the case; the law demands money and your punishment; consequently your land must be sold. There is nothing else to be done and this is for the sake of justice.

[_Exit peasant._]

BUGBEAR (_who is re-transformed into an ordinary bugbear_).

These people would lose all respect if they were not compelled to fear in this way.

[_An officer enters, bowing profusely._]

OFFICER.

May it please you, honored sir--I--

BUGBEAR.

What's your trouble, my friend?

OFFICER.

With your kindest permission, I tremble and quiver in your honor's formidable presence.

BUGBEAR.

Oh, this is far from my most terrible form.

OFFICER.

I really came--in matters--to beg you to take my part against my neighbor. I had also brought this purse with me--but the presence of Lord Law is too frightful for me.

BUGBEAR (_suddenly changes into a mouse and sits in a corner_).

OFFICER.

Why, where has the Bugbear gone?

BUGBEAR (_in a delicate voice_).

Just put the money down there on the table; I will sit here to avoid frightening you.

OFFICER.

Here. (_He lays the money down_.) Oh, this justice is a splendid thing--how can one be afraid of such a mouse!

[_Exit_.]

BUGBEAR (_assumes his natural form_).

A pretty good purse--of course one must sympathize with human weakness.

[_Enter_ HINZE.]

HINZE.

With your permission--(_aside_) Hinze, you must pluck up courage--(_aloud_) Your Excellency!

BUGBEAR.

What do you wish?

HINZE.

I am a scholar traveling through this region and wished to take the liberty of making your excellency's acquaintance.

BUGBEAR.

Very well, then, make my acquaintance.

HINZE.

You are a mighty prince; your love of justice is known all over the world.

BUGBEAR.

Yes, I don't doubt it. Do sit down!

HINZE.

They tell many wonderful things about Your Highness--

BUGBEAR.

Yes, people always want something to talk about and so the reigning monarchs must be the first to be discussed.

HINZE.

But still, there is one thing I cannot believe, that Your Excellency can transform yourself into an elephant and a tiger.

BUGBEAR.

I will give you an example of it at once. (_He changes into a lion_.)

HINZE (_draws out a portfolio, trembling_).

Permit me to make note of this marvel--but now would you also please resume your natural charming form? Otherwise I shall die of fear.

BUGBEAR (_in his own form_).

Those are tricks, friend! Don't you think so?

HINZE.

Marvelous! But another thing--they also say you can transform yourself into very small animals--with your permission, that is even far more incomprehensible to me; for, do tell me, what becomes of your large body then?

BUGBEAR.

I will do that too.

[_He changes into a mouse_. HINZE _leaps after him, the Bugbear flees into another room_, HINZE _after him_.]

HINZE (_coming back_).

Freedom and Equality! The Law is devoured! Now indeed the Tiers--_Etat_! Gottlieb will surely secure the government.

SCHLOSS.

Why, a revolutionary play after all? Then for heaven's sake, you surely shouldn't stamp!

[_The stamping continues_, WIESENER _and several others applaud_, HINZE _creeps into a corner and finally even leaves the stage. The playwright is heard quarreling behind the scenes and then enters_.]

PLAYWR.

What am I to do? The play will be over directly--everything would perhaps have run smoothly--now just in this moral scene I had expected so much applause. If this were only not so far away from the king's palace, I would fetch the peacemaker; he explained to me at the end of the second act all the fables of Orpheus--but am I not a fool? I became quite confused--why, this is the theatre here, and the peacemaker must be somewhere behind the scenes--I will look for him--I must find him--he shall save me! (_Exit, returns again quickly_.) He is not _there_, Sir Peacemaker! An empty echo mocks me--he has deserted me, his playwright. Ha! there I see him--he must come forward.

[_The pauses are always filled by stamping in the pit and the playwright delivers this monologue in recitative, so that the effect is rather melodramatic_.]

PEACEMAKER (_behind the scenes_).

No, I will not appear.

PLAYWR.

But why not, pray?

PEACEMAK.

Why, I have already undressed.

PLAYWR.

That doesn't matter. (_He pushes him forward by force_.)

PEACEMAKER (_appearing in his ordinary dress, with, the set of bells_).

Well, you may take the responsibility. (_He plays on the bells and sings_.)

These sacred halls of beauty
Revenge have never known.
For love guides back to duty
The man who vice has sown.
Then he is led by friendly hand,
Glad and content, to a better land.

[_The pit begins to applaud; meanwhile the scene is changed, the fire and water taken from the_ MAGIC FLUTE _begin to play, above appears the open temple of the sun, the sky is clear and Jupiter sits within it, beneath Hell with Terkaleon, cobalds and witches on the stage, many lights, etc. The audience applauds excessively, everything is astir_.]

WIESENER.

Now the cat has only to go through fire and water and then the play is finished.

[_Enter the_ KING, _the_ PRINCESS, GOTTLIEB, HINZE _and servants_.]

HINZE.

This is the palace of the Count of Carabas. Why, the dickens, how this has changed!

KING.

A beautiful palace!

HINZE.

As long as matters _have_ gone thus far (_taking Gottlieb by the hand_) you must first walk through the fire here and then through the water there.

GOTTLIEB (_walks through fire and water to the sound of flute and drum_.)

HINZE.

You have stood the test; now, my prince, you are altogether worthy of the government.

GOTTLIEB.

Governing, Hinze, is a curious matter.

KING.

Accept, now, the hand of my daughter.

PRINCESS.

How happy I am!

GOTTLIEB.

I, likewise. But, my king, I would desire to reward my servant.

KING.

By all means; I herewith raise him to the nobility. (_He hangs an order about the cat's neck_.) What is his actual name?

GOTTLIEB.

Hinze. By birth he is of but a lowly family--but his merits exalt him.

LEANDER (_quickly stepping forward_).

After the King I rode with due submission,
And now implore his Majesty's permission
To close with laudatory lines poetic
This play so very wondrous and prophetic.
In praise of cats my grateful anthem soars--
The noblest of those creatures on all fours
Who daily bring contentment to our doors.
In Egypt cats were gods, and very nice is
The Tom-cat who was cousin to Great Isis.
They still protect our cellar, attic, kitchen,
And serve the man who this world's goods is rich in.
Our homes had household gods of yore to grace them.
If cats be gods, then with the Lares place them!

[_Drumming. The curtain falls_.]

FAIR ECKBERT (1796)

BY LUDWIG TIECK

TRANSLATED BY PAUL B. THOMAS

In a region of the Hartz Mountains there lived a knight whom people generally called simply Fair Eckbert. He was about forty years old, scarcely of medium height, and short, very fair hair fell thick and straight over his pale, sunken face. He lived very quietly unto himself, and was never implicated in the feuds of his neighbors; people saw him but rarely outside the encircling wall of his little castle. His wife loved solitude quite as much as he, and both seemed to love each other from the heart; only they were wont to complain because Heaven seemed unwilling to bless their marriage with children.

Very seldom was Eckbert visited by guests, and even when he was, almost no change on their account was made in the ordinary routine of his life. Frugality dwelt there, and Economy herself seemed to regulate everything. Eckbert was then cheerful and gay--only when he was alone one noticed in him a certain reserve, a quiet distant melancholy.

Nobody came so often to the castle as did Philip Walther, a man to whom Eckbert had become greatly attached, because he found in him very much his own way of thinking. His home was really in Franconia, but he often spent more than half a year at a time in the vicinity of Eckbert's castle, where he busied himself gathering herbs and stones and arranging them in order. He had a small income, and was therefore dependent upon no one. Eckbert often accompanied him on his lonely rambles, and thus a closer friendship developed between the two men with each succeeding year.

There are hours in which it worries a man to keep from a friend a secret, which hitherto he has often taken great pains to conceal. The soul then feels an irresistible impulse to impart itself completely, and reveal its innermost self to the friend, in order to make him so much the more a friend. At these moments delicate souls disclose themselves to each other, and it doubtless sometimes happens that the one shrinks back in fright from its acquaintance with the other.

One foggy evening in early autumn Eckbert was sitting with his friend and his wife, Bertha, around the hearth-fire. The flames threw a bright glow out into the room and played on the ceiling above. The night looked in darkly through the windows, and the trees outside were shivering in the damp cold. Walther was lamenting that he had so far to go to get back home, and Eckbert proposed that he remain there and spend half the night in familiar talk, and then sleep until morning in one of the rooms of the castle. Walther accepted the proposal, whereupon wine and supper were brought in, the fire was replenished with wood, and the conversation of the two friends became more cheery and confidential.

After the dishes had been cleared off, and the servants had gone out, Eckbert took Walther's hand and said:

"Friend, you ought once to let my wife tell you the story of her youth, which is indeed strange enough."

"Gladly," replied Walther, and they all sat down again around the hearth. It was now exactly midnight, and the moon shone intermittently through the passing clouds.

"You must forgive me," began Bertha, "but my husband says your thoughts are so noble that it is not right to conceal anything from you. Only you must not regard my story as a fairy-tale, no matter how strange it may sound.

"I was born in a village, my father was a poor shepherd. The household economy of my parents was on a humble plane--often they did not know where they were going to get their bread. But what grieved me far more than that was the fact that my father and mother often quarreled over their poverty, and cast bitter reproaches at each other. Furthermore I was constantly hearing about myself, that I was a simple, stupid child, who could not perform even the most trifling task. And I was indeed extremely awkward and clumsy; I let everything drop from my hands, I learned neither to sew nor to spin, I could do nothing to help about the house. The misery of my parents, however, I understood extremely well. I often used to sit in the corner and fill my head with notions--how I would help them if I should suddenly become rich, how I would shower them with gold and silver and take delight in their astonishment. Then I would see spirits come floating up, who would reveal subterranean treasures to me or give me pebbles which afterward turned into gems. In short, the most wonderful fantasies would occupy my mind, and when I had to get up to help or carry something, I would show myself far more awkward than ever, for the reason that my head would be giddy with all these strange notions.

"My father was always very cross with me, because I was such an absolutely useless burden on the household; so he often treated me with great cruelty, and I seldom heard him say a kind word to me. Thus it went along until I was about eight years old, when serious steps were taken to get me to do and to learn something. My father believed that it was sheer obstinacy and indolence on my part, so that I might spend my days in idleness. Enough--he threatened me unspeakably, and when this turned out to be of no avail, he chastised me most barbarously, adding that this punishment was to be repeated every day because I was an absolutely useless creature.

"All night long I cried bitterly--I felt so entirely forsaken, and I pitied myself so that I wanted to die. I dreaded the break of day, and did not know what to do. I longed for any possible kind of ability, and could not understand at all why I was more stupid than the other children of my acquaintance. I was on the verge of despair.

"When the day dawned, I got up, and, scarcely realizing what I was doing, opened the door of our little cabin. I found myself in the open field, soon afterward in a forest, into which the daylight had hardly yet shone. I ran on without looking back; I did not get tired, for I thought all the time that my father would surely overtake me and treat me even more cruelly on account of my running away.

"When I emerged from the forest again the sun was already fairly high, and I saw, lying ahead of me, something dark, over which a thick mist was resting. One moment I was obliged to scramble over hills, the next to follow a winding path between rocks. I now guessed that I must be in the neighboring mountains, and I began to feel afraid of the solitude. For, living in the plain, I had never seen any mountains, and the mere word mountains, whenever I heard them talked about, had an exceedingly terrible sound to my childish ear. I hadn't the heart to turn back--it was indeed precisely my fear which drove me onwards. I often looked around me in terror when the wind rustled through the leaves above me, or when a distant sound of chopping rang out through the quiet morning. Finally, when I began to meet colliers and miners and heard a strange pronunciation, I nearly fainted with fright.

"You must forgive my prolixity. As often as I tell this story I involuntarily become garrulous, and Eckbert, the only person to whom I have told it, has spoiled me by his attention.

"I passed through several villages and begged, for I now felt hungry and thirsty. I helped myself along very well with the answers I gave to questions asked me. I had wandered along in this way for about four days, when I came to a small foot-path which led me farther from the highway. The rocks around me now assumed a different, far stranger shape. They were cliffs, and were piled up on one another in such a way that they looked as if the first gust of wind would hurl them all together into a heap. I did not know whether to go on or not. I had always slept over night either in out-of-the-way shepherds' huts, or else in the open woods, for it was just then the most beautiful season of the year. Here I came across no human habitations whatever, nor could I expect to meet with any in this wilderness. The rocks became more and more terrible--I often had to pass close by dizzy precipices, and finally even the path under my feet came to an end. I was absolutely wretched; I wept and screamed, and my voice echoed horribly in the rocky glens. And now night set in; I sought out a mossy spot to lie down on, but I could not sleep. All night long I heard the most peculiar noises; first I thought it was wild beasts, then the wind moaning through the rocks, then again strange birds. I prayed, and not until toward morning did I fall asleep.

"I woke up when the daylight shone in my face. In front of me there was a rock. I climbed up on it, hoping to find a way out of the wilderness, and perhaps to see some houses or people. But when I reached the top, everything, as far as my eye could see, was like night about me--all overcast with a gloomy mist. The day was dark and dismal, and not a tree, not a meadow, not even a thicket could my eye discern, with the exception of a few bushes which, in solitary sadness, had shot up through the crevices in the rocks. It is impossible to describe the longing I felt merely to see a human being, even had it been the most strange-looking person before whom I should inevitably have taken fright. At the same time I was ravenously hungry. I sat down and resolved to die. But after a while the desire to live came off victorious; I got up quickly and walked on all day long, occasionally crying out. At last I was scarcely conscious of what I was doing; I was tired and exhausted, had hardly any desire to live, and yet was afraid to die.

"Toward evening the region around me began to assume a somewhat more friendly aspect. My thoughts and wishes took new life, and the desire to live awakened in all my veins. I now thought I heard the swishing of a mill in the distance; I redoubled my steps, and how relieved, how joyous I felt when at last I actually reached the end of the dreary rocks! Woods and meadows and, far ahead, pleasant mountains lay before me again. I felt as if I had stepped out of hell into paradise; the solitude and my helplessness did not seem to me at all terrible now.

"Instead of the hoped-for mill, I came upon a water-fall, which, to be sure, considerably diminished my joy. I dished up some water from the river with my hand and drank. Suddenly I thought I heard a low cough a short distance away. Never have I experienced so pleasant a surprise as at that moment; I went nearer and saw, on the edge of the forest, an old woman, apparently resting. She was dressed almost entirely in black; a black hood covered her head and a large part of her face. In her hand she held a walking-stick.

"I approached her and asked for help; she had me sit down beside her and gave me bread and some wine. While I was eating she sang a hymn in a shrill voice, and when she had finished she said that I might follow her.

"I was delighted with this proposal, strange as the voice and the personality of the old woman seemed to me. She walked rather fast with her cane, and at every step she distorted her face, which at first made me laugh. The wild rocks steadily receded behind us--we crossed a pleasant meadow, and then passed through a fairly long forest. When we emerged from this, the sun was just setting, and I shall never forget the view and the feelings of that evening. Everything was fused in the most delicate red and gold; the tree-tops stood forth in the red glow of evening, the charming light was spread out over the fields, the forest and the leaves of the trees were motionless, the clear sky looked like an open paradise, and the evening bells of the villages rang out with a strange mournfulness across the lea. My young soul now got its first presentment of the world and its events. I forgot myself and my guide; my spirit and my eyes were wandering among golden clouds.

"We now climbed a hill, which was planted with birchtrees, and from its summit looked down into a little valley, likewise full of birches. In the midst of the trees stood a little hut. A lively barking came to our ears, and presently a spry little dog was dancing around the old woman and wagging his tail. Presently he came to me, examined me from all sides, and then returned with friendly actions to the old woman.

"When we were descending the hill I heard some wonderful singing, which seemed to come from the hut. It sounded like a bird, and ran

O solitude
Of lonely wood,
Where none intrude,
Thou bringest good
For every mood,
O solitude!

"These few words were repeated over and over; if I were to attempt to describe the effect, it was somewhat like the blended notes of a bugle and a shawm.

"My curiosity was strained to the utmost. Without waiting for the old woman's invitation, I walked into the hut with her. Dusk had already set in. Everything was in proper order; a few goblets stood in a cupboard, some strange-looking vessels lay on a table, and a bird was hanging in a small, shiny cage by the window. And he, indeed, it was that I had heard singing. The old woman gasped and coughed, seemingly as if she would never get over it. Now she stroked the little dog, now talked to the bird, which answered her only with its usual words. Furthermore, she acted in no way as if I were present. While I was thus watching her, a series of shudders passed through my body; for her face was constantly twitching and her head shaking, as if with age, and in such a way that it was impossible for one to tell how she really looked.

"When she finally ceased coughing she lighted a candle, set a very small table, and laid the supper on it. Then she looked around at me and told me to take one of the woven cane chairs. I sat down directly opposite her, and the candle stood between us. She folded her bony hands and prayed aloud, all the time twitching her face in such a way that it almost made me laugh. I was very careful, however, not to do anything to make her angry.

"After supper she prayed again, and then showed me to a bed in a tiny little side-room--she herself slept in the main room. I did not stay awake long, for I was half dazed. I woke up several times during the night, however, and heard the old woman coughing and talking to the dog, and occasionally I heard the bird, which seemed to be dreaming and sang only a few isolated words of its song. These stray notes, united with the rustling of the birches directly in front of my window, and also with the song of the far-off nightingale, made such a strange combination that I felt all the time, not as if I were awake, but as if I were lapsing into another, still stranger, dream.

"In the morning the old woman woke me up and soon afterward gave me some work to do; I had, namely, to spin, and I soon learned how to do it; in addition I had to take care of the dog and the bird. I was not long in getting acquainted with the housekeeping, and came to know all the objects around. I now began to feel that everything was as it should be; I no longer thought that there was anything strange about the old woman, or romantic about the location of her home, or that the bird was in any way extraordinary. To be sure, I was all the time struck by his beauty; for his feathers displayed every possible color, varying from a most beautiful light blue to a glowing red, and when he sang he puffed himself out proudly, so that his feathers shone even more gorgeously.

"The old woman often went out and did not return until evening. Then I would go with the dog to meet her and she would call me child and daughter. Finally I came to like her heartily; for our minds, especially in childhood, quickly accustom themselves to everything. In the evening hours she taught me to read; I soon learned the art, and afterward it was a source of endless pleasure to me in my solitude, for she had a few old, hand-written books which contained wonderful stories.

"The memory of the life I led at that time still gives me a strange feeling even now. I was never visited by any human being, and felt at home only in that little family circle; for the dog and the bird made the same impression on me which ordinarily only old and intimate friends create. Often as I used it at that time, I have never been able to recall the dog's strange name.

"In this way I had lived with the old woman for four years, and I must have been at any rate about twelve years old when she finally began to grow more confidential and revealed a secret to me. It was this: every day the bird laid one egg, and in this egg there was always a pearl or a gem. I had already noticed that she often did something in the cage secretly, but had never particularly concerned myself about it. She now charged me with the task of taking out these eggs during her absence, and of carefully preserving them in the vessels. She would leave food for me and stay away quite a long time--weeks and months. My little spinning-wheel hummed, the dog barked, the wonderful bird sang, and meanwhile everything was so quiet in the region round about that I cannot recall a single high wind or a thunder-storm during the entire time. Not a human being strayed thither, not a wild animal came near our habitation. I was happy, and sang and worked away from one day to the next. Man would perhaps be right happy if he could thus spend his entire life, unseen by others.

"From the little reading that I did I formed quite wonderful impressions of the world and of mankind. They were all drawn from myself and the company I lived in; thus, if whimsical people were spoken of I could not imagine them other than the little dog, beautiful women always looked like the bird, and all old women were as my wonderful old friend. I had also read a little about love, and in my imagination I figured in strange tales. I formed a mental picture of the most beautiful knight in the world and adorned him with all sorts of excellences, without really knowing, after all my trouble, what he looked like. But I could feel genuine pity for myself if he did not return my love, and then I would make long, emotional speeches to him, sometimes aloud, in order to win him. You smile--we are all now past this period of youth.

"I now liked it rather better when I was alone, for I was then myself mistress of the house. The dog was very fond of me and did everything I wanted him to do, the bird answered all my questions with his song, my wheel was always spinning merrily, and so in the bottom of my heart I never felt any desire for a change. When the old woman returned from her wanderings she would praise my diligence, and say that her household was conducted in a much more orderly manner since I belonged to it. She was delighted with my development and my healthy look. In short, she treated me in every way as if I were a daughter.

"'You are a good child,' she once said to me in a squeaky voice. 'If you continue thus, it will always go well with you. It never pays to swerve from the right course--the penalty is sure to follow, though it may be a long time coming.' While she was saying this I did not give a great deal of heed to it, for I was very lively in all my movements. But in the night it occurred to me again, and I could not understand what she had meant by it. I thought her words over carefully--I had read about riches, and it finally dawned on me that her pearls and gems might perhaps be something valuable. This idea presently became still clearer to me--but what could she have meant by the right course? I was still unable to understand fully the meaning of her words.

"I was now fourteen years old. It is indeed a misfortune that human beings acquire reason, only to lose, in so doing, the innocence of their souls. In other words I now began to realize the fact that it depended only upon me to take the bird and the gems in the old woman's absence, and go out into the world of which I had read. At the same time it was perhaps possible that I might meet my wonderfully beautiful knight, who still held a place in my imagination.

"At first this thought went no further than any other, but when I would sit there spinning so constantly, it always came back against my will and I became so deeply absorbed in it that I already saw myself dressed up and surrounded by knights and princes. And whenever I would thus lose myself, I easily grew very sad when I glanced up and found myself in my little, narrow home. When I was about my business, the old woman paid no further attention to me.