Chapter XIV: Act I: The FORESTER'S house at Düsterwalde

_In the back of the room a folding door and a closet; at either side ordinary doors. On the right, a window; on the left, in the rear, the stove; more to the front a cuckoo-clock; then a rack where several rifles are hanging, among them two double-barreled ones, hunter's bags and similar utensils; and a book shelf on which are a Bible and hymn-books._

SCENE I

_Behind the scenes musicians are heard playing._ WEILER, _looking about him, slowly through the centre door; the_ FORESTER'S _wife at the same time from the left with an air of being very busy. Then_ ANDREW, WILLIAM, _and finally_ MARY.

SOPHY. There, the musicians have come already. I wonder where I put the cellar-key. The musicians must have something to drink. You here, Weiler?

WEILER.

Yes, I'm here. But where is the old man--the forester?

SOPHY.

My husband? Isn't he outside?

WEILER.

I want to see him about the wood-cutters.

SOPHY.

Can't you wait?

WEILER.

Wait? Bless you, no. I have my hands full.

SOPHY.

Then get along with you!

WEILER (_quietly filling his short clay pipe with tobacco_).

Yes.

SOPHY.

Is he perhaps already with Herr Stein--

WEILER.

Yes; the sand was already strewn on Tuesday. And the garlands outside at the door. If I do not mistake we are today celebrating the engagement of Miss Mary to Mr. Robert Stein? Then they will be even more chummy when he can say "my father-in-law, Mr. Stein." And that is by no means all. Now Stein has also bought the estate where Ulrich is forester. The fat lawyer from town fixed up the deeds yesterday. And this morning Stein got out of bed as proprietor of Düsterwalde.

SOPHY.

The table here--

WEILER (_while they carry the table together, on the left_).

Won't Ulrich have an easy time of it, now that his old friend has become his master, and is going to be his father-in-law into the bargain!

SOPHY.

Nearer the stove. We must get in one more table.

WEILER (_chuckling to himself_).

Regular ale-house politicians those two, Stein and Ulrich. Every day they have a row.

SOPHY.

What are you talking there about a row? They're only fooling.

[_Exit in a hurry; reënters immediately afterward_.]

WEILER (_going as far as the door, gesticulating behind her_).

Fooling? Don't you believe it! The one is hot-headed, the other obstinate. Ever since there was talk of buying the estate, the clearing of the forest has been the daily apple of discord. Rich people always pretend to know something, even if they don't know the first thing. Now Stein thinks that by cutting down every other row of trees in the forest the first would have more light and room for growing. Maybe Godfrey has hunted that up in some old book. But when he comes with that theory to Ulrich he strikes the wrong man. Only day before yesterday I thought they were going to eat each other up, so that nothing would remain of either of them. Stein says: "The forest will be _cleared_." The forester: "The forest will _not_ be cleared." Stein: "But it _shall_ be cleared." The forester: "It _shall not_ be cleared." Stein jumps up, buttons his coat, two buttons at a time, knocks down two chairs, and is gone. Well, I thought, that is the end of the friendship! But Lord bless my soul! That happened the night before last, and early yesterday morning--it was scarcely dawn--who comes whistling from the castle and knocks at the forester's window, as though nothing had happened? That's Stein. And who has already been waiting for a quarter of an hour and grunts forth from under his white moustache, "I'm coming?" That's Ulrich. And now both of them, without asking each other's pardon, go together out into the forest, as though there never had been a quarrel! Nobody takes any notice of it any longer. At night they quarrel, in the morning they go together into the forest, as though it could not be otherwise. But does he treat his boy any differently? Robert? Does he? Didn't he want to leave home half a dozen times? And afterward he is too good. Queer business that!

[During the last words he has retreated step by step before the table which ANDREW and WILLIAM are carrying in and placing against the table which already stands on the left in the direction from the footlights to the back of stage.]

SOPHY.

Put it here. That's it. And now chairs, boys. From the upper room. Weiler might--

[ANDREW and WILLIAM exeunt.]

WEILER (in a hurry, making ready to go).

Well, if Weiler did not have his hands full! Outside with the wood-cutters--then with the fir-seed and with the salt--there--I don't know where my head's standing with all the work. And the old man--

[A pantomime expressive of ULRICH'S severity.]

SOPHY.

Well, I don't want to be to blame if you neglect anything.

[Exit.]

WEILER (very calmly).

All right!

[Laying his finger against his nose.]

But I wonder whether he will still always be the first to patch up differences? I mean Stein. Now that he is the forester's master? Well; I don't want to prophesy, but--the master is always right because he is the master. Humph! I wish something serious would come to pass. At any rate, I am getting tired of merry faces again.

[Enter ANDREW and WILLIAM, carrying chairs.]

SOPHY. Seven, eight, nine, ten, chairs.

[Counts once more, softly.]

Correct!

WEILER.

That was a queer expression that Godfrey had on his face yesterday, Mr. Andrew. I bet you had another quarrel with him.

SOPHY.

With that vindictive brutal fellow?

[_She sets the table._]

ANDREW.

Who can live in peace with him?

SOPHY.

Well, what's done can't be undone. But you'd better look out for him.

WEILER.

So say I. For there is not a muscle in that fellow's body which is not wicked.

ANDREW.

I am not afraid of him.

SOPHY.

Come, William; run into the garden. Get me some crown-imperials, snap-dragons, larkspurs--something big, so that it will look like something in the glass. The Steins will soon be here with Mr. Möller, the bookkeeper.

WEILER.

The old bachelor--

SOPHY.

Just look, Andrew, whether cousin Wilkens isn't coming yet.

[_ANDREW and WILLIAM exeunt._]

WEILER.

Wilkens is coming too?

SOPHY (with emphasis).

Mr. Wilkens? He will not stay away when his niece's daughter announces her engagement.

WEILER.

No, indeed. He has money, has Mr. Wilkens. The richest farmer for miles around. I also was Mr. Weiler once, before my creditors closed up my coffee store. Then they jammed the "Mr." in the door and there it is still. Now people say simply "Weiler"--"Weiler might"--"As long as Weiler is here," etc. Sometimes, when I am in the humor, I get angry over it. A strange pleasure, to get angry, but it is a pleasure. Hey! There comes the bride-to-be.

[_MARY appears; during the following dialogue the women set the table._]

WEILER.

My! Like a squirrel!

SOPHY.

Weiler means to pay you a compliment, Mary. He has a peculiar manner.

WEILER.

That is true. It does not matter whether the flattery is coarse or fine. If a woman only notices that one means to flatter her, she is satisfied. It is just as when boys stroke a kitten. Whether they pet it gently or roughly, whether it likes it or not, it cannot help purring.

MARY.

And I presume you mean to pet me with this comparison.

WEILER.

If you feel obliged to purr it must have been a petting.

MARY (looking out of the window).

He is coming, mother.

SOPHY.

Who? Robert?

WEILER.

I had better be off to my wood-cutters. Otherwise the old man will make a row.

[Exit.]

SOPHY (calling after him).

If you cannot come in I will save your portion. An uncomfortable fellow! And it is not likely that he will acquire polite manners at this late day. That is a relic of his better days. And for that reason your father is indulgent with him because they were old comrades. Godfrey also was one of them. When he had wasted his property in drink he fell in with Stein.

[_Surveying the table_.]

Here at the head the father of the bridegroom; next to him your father; then the good droll pastor. If it had not been for him, Robert would have gone long ago.

MARY.

Mother, at that time Robert was so wild, so impetuous--

SOPHY.

You are right. At that time the pastor and we could scarcely keep him. [_Counts once more the afore-mentioned persons_.] Then here Mr. Möller; and there your godfather, my cousin Mr. Wilkens; then I myself here; there Robert and you; finally, at the foot, Andrew and William. How the time passes! If I think back to my engagement day! Then I was not as happy as I am today.

MARY.

Mother, I wonder whether every girl that is to become a bride feels as I do? SOPHY. Not every one has such good cause to be glad as you have.

MARY.

But is it gladness that I feel? I am so depressed, mother, so--

SOPHY.

Of course. You are like the flower on which clings a dewdrop. It hangs its head, and yet the dew is no burden.

MARY.

I feel as if it were wrong of me to leave my father, even if it is to go with Robert.

SOPHY.

The Bible says, "A woman shall leave father and mother and cleave to her husband."--But my case was quite different from yours. Your father was a stately man, no longer quite young, but tall and straight like a pine. At that time his beard was still black as coal. Many a girl that would gladly have married him set her cap at him; that I knew. But to me he seemed too serious, too severe. He took everything so seriously, and he cared nothing for amusements. It was no easy matter to accommodate myself to him. I never had to worry about the means of subsistence; and if I should say that he ever treated me harshly, I should be telling a lie; even if he pretended to be harsh.

MARY.

And that was all you had expected? Was that all.

SOPHY.

As if the good Lord could grant everything that is dreamt of by the heart of a girl who herself does not know what she desires! But here comes Robert. We will be quite merry, so that no gloomy thoughts will come to him.

SCENE II

_Enter_ ROBERT.

ROBERT.

Good morning, mother dear. Good morning, Mary.

SOPHY.

Good morning, Mr. Bridegroom-to-be.

ROBERT.

How glad I am to see you so cheerful. But you Mary? You are sad, Mary? And I am so joyful, so over-joyful. The whole morning I have been in the forest. Where the bushes glistened brightest with the dew, there I penetrated, so that the moist branches should strike my heated face. There I threw myself down on the grass. But I could not stay anywhere. It seemed that nothing could relieve me but weeping aloud. And you--at other times as blithe and gay as a deer--you are sad? Sad on this day?

SOPHY. She surely is glad, dear Robert. But you have known her ever since she was a little child; when others proclaim their happiness, she hides hers in silence. MARY. No, Robert. Sad I surely am not. I only have a feeling of solemnity; it has been upon me the whole morning. Wherever I go, it seems to me as though I were in church. And--

ROBERT.

And what?

MARY.

And that now my life is soon to be broken off behind me, as if it were sinking away from under me, and that a new life is to begin, one so entirely new--don't be offended, good Robert! This to me is so strange--gives me such a feeling of anxiety!

ROBERT.

A new life? A life so entirely new? Why, Mary, it is still the old life, only more beautiful. It is still the dear old tree under which we are sitting, only it is in bloom now.

MARY.

Besides, the thought that I am to leave my father and my mother! The old I see passing away, the new I do not see coming; the old I must leave, the new I cannot reach.

ROBERT.

Must you indeed leave your father? Do we not all remain together? Has not my father for this very reason bought the estate of Düsterwalde?

SOPHY.

That is the anxiety which comes over one in spring; one knows not whence it comes, nor why. And yet in spring one knows that everything will become more and more beautiful, and still one feels anxious. One is merely afraid of happiness. Now that my dearest wishes are about to be fulfilled--do I not experience the same sensation? I might almost wish that a roast were burnt, or that a piece of the fine china were broken. Happiness is like the sun: There must be a little shade if man is to be comfortable. I will just go to see whether a little shade of that sort has not been cast in the kitchen.

[_Exit to the left_.]

MARY (_after she and_ ROBERT _have been standing in silence facing each other_).

Is anything wrong with you, Robert?

ROBERT.

With me? No. Perhaps--

MARY.

You are still angry with your father? And he is so good!

ROBERT.

That is just the trouble, that he is so good. Oh, his kindness is almost more difficult to bear than his violent temper! His anger only hurts, his kindness humiliates; over against his anger I set my pride--but what can I set against his kindness?

MARY.

And you wanted to go away, you wicked Robert, and leave us all!

ROBERT.

I wanted to go, but I am still here. Oh! That was a wretched time! I despaired of everything; of you, Mary; of myself; but all that is now past. There must be a little shade, only not too much. Let us go out, Mary. It is so close here in the house. The musicians shall play us the merriest piece they know. [_They are about to go_.]

SCENE III

_The same. Enter the_ FORESTER, _his Wife behind him. As soon as_ MARY _sees the_ FORESTER, _she leaves_ ROBERT _and embraces her father_.

FORESTER.

Get out, wench! [_Tearing himself free_.] Is this the sun's ray after a rainy day, that the gadflies come buzzing about one's head? Have you filled Robert's ears with lamentations, you women folks? You silly girl there!

[_Pushes_ MARY _from him_.]

I have something to say to Robert. I have been looking for you, Mr. Stein.

ROBERT.

Mr. Stein? No longer Robert?

FORESTER.

Everything has its due season, familiar speech and formal speech. When the women folks are gone--

SOPHY.

Don't worry, we'll retreat, you old bear. Don't be afraid to talk.

FORESTER.

All right. As soon as you are out.

ROBERT (_leads her out_).

Don't be angry, mother dear.

SOPHY.

If I were to mind him, I should never cease being angry.

FORESTER.

Close the door! Do you hear?

SOPHY.

Hush, hush!

FORESTER.

Who is master here? Confound it!

SCENE IV

_The_ FORESTER; ROBERT. _The_ FORESTER, _when they are alone becomes embarrassed, and walks up and down for some time_.

ROBERT.

You wished to say--

FORESTER.

Quite right--

[_Wipes the perspiration from his forehead_.]

Well; sit down, Mr. Stein.

ROBERT.

These preparations--

[FORESTER _points to a chair at the end of the table_. ROBERT _seats himself_.]

FORESTER (_takes the Bible from the shelf, seats himself opposite_)

ROBERT,(_puts on his spectacles, opens the book and clears his throat_).

Proverbs, chapter 31, verse 10: "Who can find a virtuous woman? for her price is far above rubies. The heart of her husband doth safely trust in her, so that he shall have no need of spoil. She will do him good and not evil all the days of her life." [7]

[_Short pause; then he calls brusquely toward_ _the window, while he remains seated_.]

William, be careful out there! And then further on, verse 30. You'll trample down all the boxweed, confound you! "Favor is deceitful, and beauty is vain; but a woman that feareth the Lord, she shall be praised."--Robert!

ROBERT (_starting_).

Father Ulrich--

FORESTER.

Again, Ecclesiasticus, verse so and so--Mr. Stein--

ROBERT.

Once more "Mister."

FORESTER.

I see I shall have to use the familiar form of address. Otherwise I shall not be able to speak my mind.--Robert--

ROBERT.

You are so solemn!

FORESTER.

Solemn? Perhaps so. But this affair is enough to make one solemn. I am not a heathen.

[_Strikes an attitude_.] So you are decided with God's help, Robert--

ROBERT. Well--

FORESTER.

Hang it!--Don't look at me that way!--You intend to marry, Robert?

ROBERT (_rises, surprised_).

Why, you know that--

FORESTER.

That's true. But there must be some sort of introduction. Never mind, sit down. However, you must give me a chance to finish what I have to say. On other occasions I am not afraid to talk, but now that I am about to preach a sermon, it strikes me just as if I were to see the pastor in his cassock trying to chase a hare.

[_Relieved_.]

Now, then; at last I have struck the trail. Suppose a stag from Lützdorf is roaming about. You understand, Robert? Now give me your attention. This fork here represents the stag. Right here, do you see? Here is the salt-cellar: that's you. And the wind blows from the direction of that plate. What are you going to do now in order to stalk the stag? Hey?

[_Trying to assist him_.]

You--well?

ROBERT.

I must--

FORESTER (_nodding assent_).

You must--

[_Makes a pantomime_.]

ROBERT.

I must get to the windward of him.

FORESTER.

Get to the windward. Correct. Do you begin to see what I am driving at? You must get to the windward of him. That's it! Do you see now? That is the reason why I had to have a talk with you.

[_Solemnly_.]

You must get to the windward of the stag.

[_Rises_.]

And now--make her happy--Robert--my Mary.

[_About to go_.]

ROBERT.

But what has all this to do with Mary?

FORESTER.

Why, you have not yet understood me? Look here! The stag must not have an inkling that you are very anxious about him; and much less a woman. You make too much fuss about the women. Children must not know how dearly one loves them; anything but that! But women even less so. In reality, they are nothing but grown-up children, only more shrewd. And the children are already shrewd enough.--Sit down, Robert, I must tell you something.

[_They sit at the edge of the table, facing the audience_.]

When that Mary of mine was four years old--no taller than this--I once came home later than usual. "Where is Mary?" I ask. One child says: "In her room;" the other: "In front of the house. She'll be here pretty soon." But one guess was as far from the truth as the other. Evening comes, night comes--Mary does not appear. I go outside. In the garden, in the adjoining shrubbery, on the rocks of the dell, in the whole forest--not a trace of Mary. In the meantime my wife is looking for her at your house, then at every house in the village, but nowhere can she find a trace of Mary. Can it be possible that some one should have kidnapped her? Why, she was as beautiful as a wax-doll, my Mary. The whole night I never touched my bed. Even at that time Mary was everything to me. The next morning I alarm the entire village. Not a person fails to respond. All were passionately fond of Mary. At least I wished to bury the corpse. In the dell, you know, the thicket of firs--under the cliffs where on the other side of the brook the old footpath runs high along the rocks-next to it the willows. This time I crawl through the whole thicket. In the midst of it is the small open meadows; there at last I see something red and white. Praised be heaven! It is she--and neither dead nor ill, no, safe and sound in the green grass; and after her sleep her little cheeks were as red as peonies, Robert. But--

[_He looks about him and lowers his voice_.]

I hope she is not listening.

[_Draws closer to_ ROBERT; _whenever he forgets himself, he immediately lowers his voice_.]

I say: "Is it you, really?" "Of course," she says, and rubs her eyes so that they sparkle. "And you are alive," I say; "and did not die," I say, "of hunger and fear?" I say. "Half a day and a whole, night alone in the forest, in the very thickest of the forest! Come," I say, "that in the meantime mother may not die of anxiety," I say. Says she: "Wait a while, father." "But, why and for what?" "Till the child comes again," says she. "And let us take it with us, please, father. It is a dear child." "But who, in all the world, is this child?" I ask. "The one that came to me," says she, "when I ran away from you a little while ago after the yellow butterfly, and when all at once I was quite alone in the forest and wanted to cry and call after you, and who picked berries for me and played with me so nicely." "A little while ago?" I say. "Did not the night come since then?" I say. But she would not believe that. We looked for the child and--naturally did not find it. Men no longer have faith in anything, but I know what I know. Do you understand, Robert? Say nothing. It seems to me I were committing a sacrilege if I should say it right out. There, shake hands with me without saying anything. All right, Robert.--For heaven's sake, don't let her hear what we are saying about her.

[_Goes softly to the door; looks out_.] MARY (_outside_).

Do you want anything, father?

FORESTER (_nods secretly toward_ ROBERT, _then brusquely_).

Nothing. And don't you come in again before I--

[_Comes back; speaks just above a whisper_.]

Do you see? That's the way to treat her. You make far too much fuss about that girl. She is [_still more softly_] a girl that any father might be proud of, and I think she is going to be a wife after God's own heart. I have such a one. Do you see, I don't mind telling you, because I know you are not going to repeat it to her. For she must not know it; otherwise all my pains would go for nothing. And pains it certainly cost me till I got her so far; pains, I tell you. I advise you not to spoil my girl, whom I have gone to so much trouble to bring up properly.

ROBERT.

You may think,--but I don't understand you at all.

FORESTER.

There's just the rub! You don't do it purposely. But, confound it! Don't make such a fuss over the girl, do you hear? If you go on this way, she will have you in her pocket within a month. The women always want to rule; all their thoughts and aspirations tend to that end, without being themselves aware of it. And when they finally do rule, they are unhappy in spite of it; I know more than one instance of this. I only look inside the door, and I know for certain what sort of figure the man cuts. I only look at the cattle. If the dog or the cat is not well trained, neither are the children; and the wife still less. Hey? My wife does not yet know me as far as that here [_points to his heart_] is concerned. And if she should ever get hold of that secret--then good-by, authority! The wife may be an angel, but the man must act like a bear. And especially a huntsman. That's part of the business, just as much as the moustache and the green coat.

ROBERT.

But could it not be possible that--

FORESTER (_eagerly_). No, Robert. Once and for all, no! There is no way out of it. Either he trains her, or she trains him.--For example; let me give you only one instance how to go about it. My wife cannot see any human being suffer; now the poor wretches come in troops, and I should like to know what is to come of it all, if I were to praise her to her face. Therefore I grumble and swear like a trooper, but at the same time I gradually withdraw, so that she has full liberty. And when I notice that she is through, then I come along again, as if by accident, and keep on grumbling and swearing. Then people say: "The Hereditary Forester is harder on the poor than the devil himself, but his wife and his girl, they are angels from heaven." And they say this so that I should hear it; and hear it I do. But I pretend not to notice it, and laugh in my sleeve; and to keep up appearances I bluster all the more.--It seems the guests are arriving. Robert, my wife, and my girl, my Mary--if I at some time--you understand me, Robert. Give me your hand. God is looking down on us.

[_Wipes his eyes_.]

The deuce! Confound it! Don't let the cat out of the bag to the women--and you rule her as it ought to be.

[_He turns around to hide his emotion, with gestures expressive of his vexation that he cannot control himself. At the door he encounters the following_]:

SCENE V

_The same_. STEIN; MÖLLER; WILKENS; MARY; SOPHY. _They exchange greetings with the_ FORESTER.

STEIN.

What's your hurry, old man? Have you already had a row with him?

FORESTER.

Yes. I have given the young gentleman a lecture on the subject of women-folks.

STEIN.

High treason against the majesty of petticoat-government? And you permit that, madam?

SOPHY.

A little more, a little less--when one has to put up with so much!

FORESTER.

And now can anybody say that this woman is not clever enough to get one under her thumb. But let us have cards. I had to promise Stein that he should have his revenge today before lunch--

STEIN. Revenge I must have.

[_The_ FORESTER _and_ STEIN _sit down opposite each other on the right side of the stage and play cards_.]

SOPHY (_watches them a moment; then to_ ROBERT, _while going to and fro with an air of being very busy_).

I hope to heaven they are not going to discuss the clearing of the forest today.

MÖLLER (_on the left side, stepping up to_ WILKENS _and pointing to_ MARY, _who is talking to her mother and_ ROBERT).

That is what I call a fine-looking bride!

WILKENS.

And she is not a beggar's child either, Sir.

MÖLLER (_politely_).

Who does not know that Mr. Wilkens is her mother's uncle?

WILKENS (_flattered_).

Well, well!

MÖLLER.

And Mr. Wilkens need not be ashamed, I believe, of the firm of Stein and Son.

WILKENS (_calmly_).

By no means.

MÖLLER (_with great enthusiasm_).

Sir! The firm of Stein and Son! I have served the firm twenty years. That is my honor and my pride. For me the firm is wife and child!

WILKENS.

I do not doubt it.

MÖLLER.

The foremost houses of Germany would consider it an honor to ally themselves in marriage with Stein and Son.

WILKENS. I am sure of it.

[_Turns to the bridal couple_.]

MÖLLER (_angrily to himself_).

And that fellow parades his peasant's pride, as if Stein and Son ought to esteem it a high honor to ally themselves with that forester's goose. His forty-five will be divided into three parts, and only after his death. The only daughter of Löhlein & Co. with her eighty! That were quite a different capital for our business; and cash down today! This mesalliance is unpardonable. But what can one do? One must [_A waltz is heard without_] dance off one's vexation. May I have the honor, madam [_to_ SOPHY] on the lawn?

[_Bows with an old bachelor's jauntiness_.]

STEIN.

I wonder whether I'll get decent cards!

SOPHY.

I guess we'll have time for that?

WILKENS.

Old Wilkens is not yet going to sit in a corner.

[_Fumbles in his pocket_.]

Wilkens must also contribute his dollar for the benefit of the musicians. I hope I have your permission, Mr. Bridegroom?

[MÖLLER _leads out_ SOPHY; WILKENS _leads_ MARY; ROBERT _follows_.]

SCENE VI

STEIN; _the_ FORESTER.

STEIN (_throwing down his cards_).

Have I a single trump?

FORESTER (_calling_).

Twenty in spades.

STEIN (_taking up his cards again; impatiently_).

Why not forty? Talking about spades reminds me--have you considered that matter about the clearing?

FORESTER. That fellow is a--

[_They continue to play_.]

STEIN.

What fellow?

FORESTER.

The fellow who hatched that scheme.

STEIN.

Do you mean me?

FORESTER.

Your Godfrey there--

STEIN (_getting excited: with emphasis_).

_My_ Godfrey?

FORESTER (_growing more and more calm and cheerful_).

Well, for all I care, mine, then.

STEIN.

Why do you always drag him in?

FORESTER.

Never mind him, then.

STEIN.

As if I--it is you--whenever an opportunity offers, you, you drag him in. You can't get rid of him. Like dough he sticks to your teeth.

FORESTER (_very calmly_).

As, for example, just now.

STEIN.

You have made up your mind to annoy me.

FORESTER.

Nonsense! You only want to pick a quarrel. STEIN. I? But why do you immediately trump, when I play a wrong card?

FORESTER.

Playing a wrong card means losing the game.

STEIN (_throwing down his cards_).

Well, there you have the whole business!

[_Jumps up_.]

FORESTER. I deal.

[_Shuffles calmly and deals_.]

STEIN (_has taken a few steps_).

I am not going to play any more with you.

FORESTER (_unconcerned_).

But it is my turn to deal.

STEIN (_sits down again_).

Obstinate old fellow!

FORESTER.

You immediately lose your temper.

STEIN (_taking his cards; still angry_).

You would not give in, even if it were as clear as day that you are wrong!

SCENE VII

_The same. Enter_ MÖLLER, _leading in_ SOPHY; WILKENS. _The waltz outside is finished_.

SOPHY.

But now I think that--

FORESTER.

One more turn.

SOPHY.

Everything is ready--

FORESTER.

The pastor--

SOPHY.

He sent word that we are not to wait lunch for him. But he would be here at eleven o'clock sharp for the betrothal.

FORESTER.

Then sit down and eat.

STEIN.

Please, do not let us detain you.

FORESTER.

It is immaterial whether we sit here or there. Now then! Forty in spades.

[_Continuing to play_.]

STEIN.

All right! Go ahead.

FORESTER (_triumphantly_).

Are not you thinking of Godfrey again? And the clearing? Hey?

STEIN (_controlling himself_).

Now you see--

FORESTER (_more excited_).

That the fellow is a fool--Queens are trumps.

STEIN.

I'm bearing in mind that we are not alone.

FORESTER (_excited by the game_).

And trump--and trump!--the forest shall be cleared!

STEIN.

That will do, I say. The idea was mine.

FORESTER.

And trump.

STEIN.

And if I--[_He controls himself_.]

FORESTER (_triumphantly_).

Well, what then?

[_Puts the cards together_.]

STEIN (_making a desperate effort to contain himself_).

And if I should wish to have it so--if I should insist upon it--then-- FORESTER.

Everything would remain as it is.

STEIN.

The forest would be cleared.

FORESTER.

Nothing of the kind.

STEIN.

We'll see about that. And now the forest _shall_ be cleared.

FORESTER.

It shall _not_.

STEIN.

Sir!

FORESTER (_laughing_).

Mr. Stein!

STEIN.

It's all right! It's all right!

FORESTER (_very calmly_).

As it is.

STEIN.

Not another word--

FORESTER.

And not a tree--

STEIN (_rises_).

No contradiction and no sarcasm! That I request. That I insist upon. I am the master of Düsterwalde.

FORESTER.

And I am the forester of Düsterwalde.

[STEIN _is getting more and more excited. He shows plainly that the presence of other persons increases his sensitiveness, and he makes an evident effort to control his temper. The_ FORESTER _treats the matter lightly, as an every-day affair_. SOPHY _with increasing anxiety looks from one to the other_. WILKENS _does not move a muscle of his face_. MÖLLER _exhibits his sympathy by accompanying his master's words with appropriate gestures. The entire pantomimic by-play is very rapid_.]

STEIN.

You are my servant, and I command: The forest shall be cleared. If not, you are no longer my servant. The forest shall be cleared.

FORESTER.

Old hot-head!

STEIN.

Either you obey, or you are no longer forester.

FORESTER.

Stuff and nonsense!

STEIN.

And I shall put Godfrey in your place.

FORESTER.

Quite right. Congratulations.

STEIN (_buttons his coat_).

The forest shall be cleared.

FORESTER.

The forest shall not be cleared.

SOPHY (_stepping between the two_).

But--

STEIN.

I regret this exceedingly.--Mr. Möller!--I bid everybody good-day.

[_Exit_.]

MÖLLER.

Bravo! At last he has spoken his mind in a manner worthy of Stein and Son. Yours truly.

[_Follows_ STEIN.]

FORESTER.

I deal--

[_He looks up while shuffling the cards_.]

But--well, let him go. If he can't sit for an hour without exploding, the old powder-bag--

SCENE VIII

_The_ FORESTER _remains seated imperturbably_. SOPHY _stands beside his chair_. WILKENS _steps up to the_ FORESTER.

SOPHY.

But what in the world is going to come of this?

WILKENS.

He should have gone after him.

FORESTER. The old hot-head!

SOPHY.

I am absolutely dumbfounded. On the very day of betrothal!

WILKENS.

But for the sake of a few miserable trees he surely is not going to--

FORESTER.

Miserable trees? Thunder! In my forest there is no miserable tree!--Nonsense. There is no cause for lamentation.

WILKENS.

But Mr. Stein--

FORESTER.

Is not going to run far. When his anger has subsided, he will be the first one to--he is better than I.

WILKENS.

But--

FORESTER.

Hang it! You always have a "But." That's the way he goes on every day. For twenty years--

WILKENS.

But today he is your master.

FORESTER.

Master or not. The forest shall not be cleared. WILKENS. But you will lose your place.

FORESTER.

To Godfrey? Idle talk! Stein himself can't bear Godfrey, and he knows what I am worth to him. I need not sing my own praise. Show me a forest anywhere in the whole district that can be compared to mine.--Do you hear? Why, there he is back again. Sit down. And if he comes in, act as if nothing had happened.

SCENE IX _The same. Enter_ MÖLLER _rapidly; later_, ANDREW.

FORESTER (_not looking up_).

Well, I deal.

[_Takes the cards, notices his mistake_.]

Is that you, Mr. Möller?

MÖLLER (_pompously_).

At your service.

FORESTER.

Well, sit down. Has he cooled down again, the old hot-head? Why doesn't he come in? I suppose he expects me to fetch him?

[_Is about to go_.]

MÖLLER.

Mr. Stein sends me to ask you, sir, whether you have changed your mind.

FORESTER.

I should say not!

MÖLLER.

That you will clear the forest?

FORESTER.

That I will _not_ clear the forest.

MÖLLER.

That means, that you are going to resign your position as forester.

FORESTER.

That means--that you are a fool.

MÖLLER (_very pompously_).

I have been commissioned by Mr. Adolf Friedrich Stein, head of the firm of Stein and Son, in case you should still persist in your refusal to execute the command of your master, to announce to you your dismissal, and to notify Godfrey immediately that he is forester of Düsterwalde.

FORESTER.

And that would be a great pleasure to you--

MÖLLER.

I am not to be considered in this matter. What is to be considered is the firm of Stein and Son, whom I have the honor to represent. I give you five minutes time for consideration.

[_Steps to the window_.]

FORESTER.

Dismiss me? Dismiss me? Do you know what that means? Dismiss a man who has served faithfully for forty years? Good heavens, sir! If I should do what he wishes--then I deserved to be dismissed. Clear the forest! And the mountain faces north and northwest, absolutely exposed--

WILKENS.

Well! But this is not a question of your trees.

FORESTER.

So that the wind can rush in and break down everything. Hang it! Nonsense! He does not mean it at all. If he only comes to his senses--

WILKENS.

That's just what I say. Until it comes to the actual cutting down, one has time to think a hundred times. And don't you see that it is not at all the cutting down that Mr. Stein is concerned about? He is only concerned about maintaining his authority. If he is the master he necessarily must be right.

FORESTER.

But he is wrong, and I shall not give my consent to anything that is wrong. For forty years I have disregarded my own interest for the sake of what was intrusted to my care; I have--

WILKENS.

Well. My opinion is, that if for forty years you have had such tender regard for your trees, you might now, for once, have a similar regard for your wife and children and yourself.

FORESTER.

Do you know that to Stein there may result from this a loss of six thousand dollars? Do you? Of that sum I should deprive him if I consented. And would you have some one come along and say: "Ulrich gave his consent to that? In fifteen years there might have been such a forest of timber, that a forester's heart would have swelled with pride, and--"

WILKENS.

Well. That might still--

FORESTER.

After the cursed wind from the direction of Hersbruck once has made havoc in it? You talk as you understand it.

SOPHY (_anxiously_).

But what is to become of us?

FORESTER.

We are honest people, and such we shall remain. WILKENS. Well! As if honesty entered even remotely into this question!

FORESTER.

But, gracious heavens! What else does enter? Hey? Am I to play the sycophant? Just try to kick me! You'll soon learn better. And laugh in my sleeve? Only no honest, fearless word! That is your peasant's philosophy. As long as they don't touch your pocket-book, you put up with anything. If you are not compelled--

WILKENS (_self-satisfied_).

Well, yes. If the peasant is not compelled, he moves neither hand nor foot. There he is quite right. That is the peasant's philosophy. And, I tell you, this peasant's philosophy is not so foolish. Had you practised this philosophy, you would have done your duty, and not a penny's worth more; you would have spent your money on yourself, your wife and your children, and not to increase somebody else's wealth. In that case, it would not concern you now what becomes of it.--Whose bread I eat, his praise I sing. You are paid to be servant, not master. When, therefore, your master says: The forest shall be cleared--

FORESTER.

Then I must see to it that it is not done. The honest man comes before the servant.

WILKENS.

Well. Now we are just as far as we were at the beginning.

[_Turns away_.]

SOPHY.

You are not going? You are my only consolation, cousin. No doubt, he will change his mind. He has the greatest respect for you, cousin.

WILKENS.

I notice he has.

SOPHY.

The betrothal!--Mary! How unfortunate that the pastor has not yet arrived! Cousin, if you only would--

_Enter_ ANDREW.

WILKENS.

His head is as hard as iron. Can any one make anything plain to him? MÖLLER (_who until now has been looking out of the window without saying anything, looks at his watch, and then turns pompously to the_ FORESTER).

Sir, I should like to ask you for your final decision.

FORESTER.

What I have said, I have said.

[_Takes a few steps, then stops_.]

And moreover, he can't do it; I mean, dismiss me. He has no right to dismiss me. First of all he must produce evidence that I have deserved it. He has no right to dismiss me without any cause whatever.

MÖLLER (_with authority_).

So you will not clear the forest? Say it plainly: You will not?

FORESTER.

If it was not sufficiently plain to you before, then: No! I can't state it more plainly. I will not be a scoundrel, and he cannot dismiss an honest man. Is that plain, definite and unmistakable? I am forester, and I remain forester--and the forest shall not be cleared. That you may tell your master and your Godfrey and whomever you please.

SOPHY.

Have only a little patience with him. I am sure Mr. Stein does not mean it, and you have been so kind already--

MÖLLER.

If the decision rested with me, with me, Justus Möller,--what would I not do to please you, madam? But I am here as the representative of Stein and Son.

FORESTER.

And if he thinks he has a right, let him act accordingly. But you, woman, do not insult my good right by asking favors of the wrong-doer. Good-day, Mr. Möller. Is there anything else you desire? Nothing? Have you anything else to tell me?

MÖLLER (_very pompously_).

Nothing beyond the fact that your incumbency of the post of forester ceases with the present moment. Here is your salary--a half year in advance. In consideration whereof, as soon as possible, within three days at the latest, you will vacate this house, so that the present forester may move in, upon whom, from this moment on, rests the sole responsibility for the forest.

[_The_ FORESTER _is obliged to sit down_.]

SOPHY (_to_ ANDREW, _whom she has been compelled to restrain all the while, and who now rushes toward the door_).

Where are you going, Andrew?

ANDREW.

I am going to tell Robert what his father--

SOPHY.

Don't you dare to--

ANDREW.

Let me go, mother, before I lay hands on that fellow there--

[_Exit in violent anger_.]

FORESTER.

Never mind. Never mind! Keep quiet, woman.

[_Rises_.]

Good-day, Mr. Möller. You have left some money behind you, sir. Better take it, or I'll throw it after you.

[_Steps to the window and whistles_.]

MÖLLER.

You see, madam, it gives me pain to discharge my duty. I am going to Godfrey.

FORESTER (_without turning toward him_).

Good luck on the way!

SCENE X

_The_ FORESTER _is standing at the window whistling_. WILKENS _is looking for his cane and hat_. SOPHY _in perplexity looks from one to the other. As he is about to leave_, MÖLLER _encounters_ ROBERT _and_ ANDREW, _who come rushing in_. MARY _is clinging to the arm of_ ROBERT _whom she tries to calm_.

ROBERT (_entering angrily_).

He shall give in. He shall not spoil the beautiful day.

ANDREW.

Go to your father. He commenced this quarrel.

MÖLLER.

It is lucky that I meet you, Mr. Stein. I am commissioned to beg you to come home at once.

[_Exit_.]

ROBERT.

Ulrich, you yield; you must yield.

FORESTER (_turning away from the window_).

You, Mr. Stein? What do you want from me? Mary, you go out there! What do you want from the man whom your father intends to dismiss?

ROBERT.

But why will you not consent?

ANDREW.

Because he wishes to remain an honest man, and will not suffer himself to be made a scoundrel by you. [_The_ FORESTER _makes a sign to him to be silent_.]

ROBERT.

I am not talking to you now, Andrew.

FORESTER.

You are here with your father's consent, Mr. Stein? Moreover--sir, and if your father had the power to take from me my position and my honor--the fact that I have an irreproachable child, that is something he cannot take from me. And any one else--hey? Young man, on this point I am touchy. Do you understand?

SOPHY.

But will you fall out even with your last friend?

FORESTER.

Mary's reputation is at stake. If he is a friend, he knows without my telling him what he has to do.

ROBERT.

I know what I have to do; but you do not. Otherwise you would not risk your children's happiness for a whim--for--

FORESTER.

Ho! ho! Tell that to your father, young man!

ROBERT.

For your obstinacy. I have your word, and Mary has mine; I am a man, and will be no scoundrel.

FORESTER.

And because you will not be a scoundrel, I am to be one? Shall people say: "Ulrich caused a quarrel between father and son?" Sir, my girl is too good to have it said of her that she stole into your family. Mr. Stein, this is my home. You know what I mean.

SOPHY.

At least let the children--

FORESTER.

Do something foolish? And you look on; and afterward you can do nothing better than weep.

ROBERT.

Mary, whatever befall--

FORESTER.

I do not know whether I know Mary. If I am mistaken in her then it is better you go with him at once.

MARY.

Father, he is so true.

FORESTER.

Very well. Go with him.

SOPHY.

So inflexible--

ROBERT. In the name of heaven, Mary, which has destined us for one another--

FORESTER (_as before, to his wife_).

And let me advise you not to--Do you hear, if it should come to pass--

[_Turns with her toward the background_.]

ANDREW (_bursting out_).

Now it's enough! Mary, either you go or he goes.

SOPHY.

Now you are beginning too, Andrew! [_Goes to him on the left side of the stage_.]

ANDREW.

I have been silent long enough. Let me alone, mother. His father has insulted my father; I will not allow this fellow to insult my sister also.

ROBERT.

You belong to me, Mary. I should like to see him who--keep your hands off!

MARY.

Robert, it is my brother!

ANDREW (_threatening_).

Only one step further, or--

ROBERT.

Away, I say; for God's sake--

ANDREW.

You are no match for me--

ROBERT.

Not with the point of your finger shall you touch what belongs to me. I defy you all--

ANDREW.

Do you hear that, father?

FORESTER (_stepping between the two_).

Back there, fellow! Who is master in this house?

ANDREW.

If you are master, father, then show that you are. Otherwise let me show it to that fellow there.

FORESTER.

Andrew, go over there, and say not another word!

ANDREW.

Father--

FORESTER.

Will you mind what I say?

[ANDREW _pulls a rifle from the wall_.]

FORESTER.

What are you doing there?

ANDREW (_with suppressed rage_).

Nothing. Here in the house you are master. Outside no one is master; outside we all are.

FORESTER.

In my forest I am master.

ANDREW.

But not a step beyond.

FORESTER.

What do you mean? Answer!

ANDREW.

Nothing particular, father. Only that fellow there need know.--If you are not concerned about your own honor--I shall protect Mary's honor. That is for him who dares to come near Mary.

SOPHY.

What words are those?

ROBERT.

Idle words. It is children that are afraid of words.

ANDREW.

There will be something more than words, as surely as I am a man.

ROBERT.

If you were a man you would not threaten, you--

ANDREW.

If we were somewhere else, you would not taunt--

FORESTER.

Andrew!

ROBERT.

Make room--

ANDREW.

Get out, I say--

[FORESTER _almost at the same time puts his finger in his mouth and gives a shrill whistle_.]

ANDREW.

If you no longer--

FORESTER (_stepping between the two_).

Rebellious boys! Hold your peace! Don't you dare to strike, either one of you! You confounded fellow! When I need a guardian I certainly shall not select a greenhorn. Is it I who is master here or is it some one else? What business have you here, fellow? Get you gone into the forest; look after Weiler that he does not loaf; then take out a dozen maple trees from the nursery and put them up in damp moss; see to it that the messenger from Haslau does not have to wait when he comes. Not a word! Along with you!

[ANDREW _obeys and goes, after having cast a threatening look at_ ROBERT, _to which the latter replies_.]

FORESTER.

And you, Mr. Stein; good-day, Mr. Stein. You know what I mean.

SOPHY.

If you would intercede with your father; but gently and kindly! And if you would bring him back!

MARY.

Then I should see how truly you love me, Robert.

FORESTER (_less roughly_).

Don't come again before that. Good-by, Robert. And leave that girl alone.

ROBERT.

I am going. But come what may, I shall not resign my claim upon Mary. [_Exit_.]

SOPHY.

Is everything to turn out unlucky today? And you, cousin, are you also going to leave us?

WILKENS.

Well! If one insists on running his head through a wall, I'm not the fool to hold my hand in between.

[_Exit_.]