Chapter XVII: Act IV: Twilight. The FORESTER'S House

SCENE I

WILKENS; SOPHY.

WILKENS.

Your husband has been dismissed. There is no doubt about that. And if he desires to remain here he is going just the wrong way about it. Stein certainly cannot afford to allow Ulrich to gain his point by defiance and revolt. Godfrey now is forester. Well, Godfrey is a brutal fellow; but here he is in the right. If now they should come together, your husband and Godfrey? And each is going to treat the other as a poacher? Or if Godfrey should come across Andrew once more? And if he does what his father commanded him? Or if Andrew and young Stein come together? Well? And viewed in the most charitable light, Ulrich is a dismissed man, whom nobody will wish to employ after this open rebellion of which he has been guilty. And what is then to become of you and your children?

SOPHY.

I am sure you will not withdraw your aid from us. If you would only talk to him once more!

WILKENS.

After the trump that he has played? Even if it were not for that, I value my breath too much to preach to deaf ears. You and your children must leave him. That I said to myself a little while ago, while on my way, and made a solemn resolution to bring this about; and I came back to tell you. Before you have a corpse or a murderer in the house--

SOPHY (_throws up her hands in terror_).

Matters surely cannot come to that pass!

WILKENS.

Well. I see you'll risk it. You also are a queer mother. But I am not so indifferent as you, and I will not have a catastrophe on my conscience, if I can prevent it. I have most to lose by this. To be brief: If you leave him and come with your children to me, I shall have it settled that very hour that you and your children are to be my heirs. Till tomorrow noon you have plenty of time to consider the matter. If by noon tomorrow you are at the Boundary Inn, where I will wait for you, then we'll go at once into town to the notary; if you are not there--all right also. But I'll be a scoundrel--and you know I am as good as my word--and cursed be my hand, if after that it ever gives a piece of bread either to you or your children.

[_Exit_.]

SOPHY (_quite overcome; then follows him anxiously and hastily_).

But, cousin! Cousin Wilkens!

SCENE II

MARY _alone; then_ SOPHY _returning_.

MARY (_has a letter in her hand_).

Why did I take it till I had considered matters?--and then I had it in my hand. And Katharine, too, was so quickly gone!--I should not have taken it!

SOPHY (_reappearing_).

Those cruel men! Prayers avail nothing. What have you there, Mary?

MARY.

A letter from Robert.

SOPHY.

If your father should see that!

MARY.

I cannot understand at all how I came to accept it; but I felt so sorry for Robert. Katharine told me he was down in the Dell, and waiting. Then I again recollected my dream of last night.

SOPHY.

A dream?

MARY.

I dreamt I was at the spring among the willows in my favorite spot, and was sitting among the many colored flowers and looking up into the sky. There I saw a thunder-storm, and I became as depressed as if I were to die. And the child, you know, the one that had been with me fourteen years ago when I lost my way, was sitting beside me and said: Poor Mary! and pulled the bridal wreath out of my hair, and in place of it fastened to my bosom a large blood-red rose. Then I fell backwards into the grass, I knew not how. Yonder in the village the bells were ringing, and the singing of the birds, the chirping of the crickets, the soft evening breeze in the willows above me--all that seemed like a lullaby. And the turf sank down with me lower and ever lower, and the chimes and the singing sounded ever more distant--the sky became blue once more, and I felt so light and free--

SOPHY.

A strange dream! Have you opened the letter?

MARY.

No, mother. And I do not wish to do so.

SOPHY.

At least don't let your father see it. Alas, Mary! we shall be obliged to leave your father!

MARY.

Leave father? We?

SOPHY.

He is coming. Do not betray anything! Put away the letter. Put the Bible there before you, so that be may not suspect anything. I will try once more--if he thinks we are going away, he perhaps may yet give in, and we may stay.

SCENE III

_The stage is becoming darker and darker._

_The_ FORESTER; SOPHY; MARY.

FORESTER.

William not yet back?

SOPHY.

I have not seen him.

[FORESTER _steps to the window, and, lost in thought, drums against the panes_. SOPHY _begins packing_.]

MARY.

But, mother--

SOPHY.

Be quiet now, Mary, and don't take part in the conversation.

FORESTER (_has turned around and watched his wife for some time_).

What are you doing there?

SOPHY (_without looking up_).

I am packing some dresses--if I have to go away--

FORESTER.

We don't have to go. There is a law to prevent that.

SOPHY (_shaking her head_). _Your_ law? [_Continues packing_.]

_I_ shall be obliged to go away with the children.

FORESTER (_surprised_).

You are going to--

SOPHY.

If you don't come to terms with Stein--

FORESTER.

If--

SOPHY.

You need not get angry, Ulrich. You cannot act otherwise, and neither can I. I do not reproach you; I say nothing, absolutely nothing. You persist in regarding as your enemy whoever counsels you to yield--and cousin Wilkens is going to disinherit the children if you remain obstinate, and if I and the children are not in his house by noon tomorrow. Under the circumstances I can do nothing but go in silence.

FORESTER (_drawing a deep breath_).

You wish--

SOPHY. I wish nothing. You wish and cousin Wilkens wishes. You cruel men decree our fate, and--we must bear it. If you would give in, then, indeed, we might stay. Do you believe I am going with a light heart? As far as I am concerned, I should be willing to stand by you till death. But for the children's sake and--for your sake also.

FORESTER (_gloomily_).

How for my sake?

SOPHY.

You are dismissed, you have no resources; and another position at your age--after your affair with Stein--you might--

FORESTER (_violently_).

Accept charity? For my wife and children?

SOPHY.

Don't become angry. I don't say: Yield. I will press nothing upon you. You cannot yield, and I--cannot remain--unless you yield. If we must part [_Her voice shakes_]--then let us part amicably. Let us forgive each other for what one party does against the interests of the other, or [_with gentle reproach_]--for what the other party thinks is being done against his interests.

FORESTER.

You intend, then, going to Wilkens?

SOPHY.

I must.

FORESTER.

And the children are to go also?

SOPHY.

It is for their sake that I go.

FORESTER.

Will you not also take Nero along? Out there? The dog? Why should the dog remain longer with his dismissed master? Take the dog along. And when I get my rights, as I am bound to get them--and stand before the world no longer as a scoundrel--then--why, then the dog may come back again. You think he is not going to leave me? Surely the dumb beast is not going to be more stupid than human beings are? Wife and children are prudent, and only such a poor beast is going to be stupid? One ought to kick the beast for such stupidity. An old man, a ruined man, who in his old age would be branded as a scoundrel, if Stein had his will, and such a beast refuses to see reason? After fifty years of faithful service thrown out of my position as a scoundrel, because I refuse to be a scoundrel--and I have sacrificed my own money into the bargain, and the poor beast in its kennel is going to show more gratitude than the rich Stein in his mansion? In that case one should simply blow out the brains of the whole brood of beasts, if they served no other purpose but to make man bow his head in shame before them. [_Walks up and down; turns to her with emotion_.] We are to be two? After twenty-five years?--Very well! Then from now on may each suffer alone--as long as the heart holds out!

SOPHY.

Ulrich--

[_She is obliged to restrain_ MARY, _who wishes to throw herself at the_ FORESTER's _feet_].

FORESTER.

From now on we are two. Go away! Go away! Wilkens is rich, and I am a poor man in spite of my right. You're going after the money. I'll not prevent you. But if you say you have acted rightly--then--and now the matter is disposed of. Not one more word about it.

SCENE IV

_The same. Enter_ WILLIAM.

FORESTER (_seated on the right of the stage_).

Come here, William. Where did you leave Andrew?

WILLIAM.

I waited for him a quarter of an hour at the Boundary Inn.

FORESTER.

Perhaps he thought you were coming later--

SOPHY (_aside_).

Andrew has not come back with him? I can't get my uncle's words out of my head.

[MARY _lights the lamp and puts it on the table by the_ FORESTER.]

FORESTER.

Did you ask the lawyer how long it would be before the matter is settled? Till I have my rights?

WILLIAM.

He refuses to institute proceedings.

SOPHY (_drawing a deep breath; aside_).

Then there is still some hope left!

FORESTER (_rises; quite perplexed_).

He refuses--

WILLIAM.

He says you are not in the right, father.

FORESTER.

Not in the right?

[_Is obliged to sit down_.]

SOPHY (_as before_).

If he only would yield.

WILLIAM.

He said state officials could not be deposed, unless it could be proved against them that they deserved it. But you were not a state official; your master was not the state, but he who owned the forest, the owner of the estate.

FORESTER (_with suppressed anger_).

Then, if I were an official of the state, Stein would not be allowed to do me an injustice. And because I am not, he is allowed to brand me as a scoundrel?--You did not understand him rightly, William!

WILLIAM.

He repeated it to me three times--

FORESTER.

Because you did not represent the matter to him as it is--that already your great-grandfather had been forester of Düsterwalde, and your grandfather after him, and that for forty years, throughout the whole valley, people have called me the Hereditary Forester.

WILLIAM.

That, he said, was an honor to both masters and servants; but before the court nothing could be based on it.

FORESTER.

But he does not know that Stein wants to depose me, because I had his best interests at heart, that the forest is exposed on the north and west. A lawyer does not know that a forest is like a vault, where one stone always holds and supports the others. Thus the vault can withstand any force, but take out only a dozen stones from the centre, and the whole thing comes tumbling about your ears.

WILLIAM.

At such arguments he only shrugged his shoulders.

FORESTER (_growing more excited_).

And my money that I have put into it? And all the trees that I planted with my own hands? Hey? Which the wind now shall wantonly break?

WILLIAM.

At that he only smiled. He said you might be a very honest man, but in court that would prove nothing.

FORESTER (_rises_).

If one is an honest man, that proves nothing? Then one must be a rascal, if he is to prove anything in court?--But how about Rupert of Erdmansgrün--hey, William?

WILLIAM.

He happened to have been a state official. After I had left him, I even went to another lawyer. This man laughed right in my face. But to that fellow I spoke my mind like a hunter's son.

FORESTER.

You did well. But what about Andrew? Hey?

WILLIAM.

He said that you had been deposed at the time that Andrew went into the forest. You ought to know yourself that no stranger is allowed to take plants from a forest according to his own inclination, without the knowledge and consent of the forester. That then Godfrey was the lawful forester, and consequently Andrew had no one to blame but himself, if he was treated as a poacher. And that Andrew himself must understand it would be wiser to take his punishment quietly, and not stir up the matter any further; and he might be glad to have come off so easily.

[_The_ FORESTER _has seated himself again; pauses; then whistles, and drums on the table_.]

SOPHY (_watching him with anxiety_).

When he becomes so calm--

FORESTER.

So I must remain a scoundrel before the world? Very well!--Why don't you pack your things, you women-folk? William, get me a bottle of wine.

SOPHY.

You are going to drink wine? And you know it is not good for you, Ulrich? And just now, in your present state of vexation--

FORESTER.

I must get my mind off the subject.

SOPHY.

You always become so excited after wine. If you drink now it may be your death.

FORESTER.

Better to drink oneself to death than live as a scoundrel! And a scoundrel I must remain before the world. William, a bottle and a glass. Have matters come to that pass, that I am no longer master in my own house? Hurry up, there!

[_Exit_ WILLIAM.]

SOPHY.

If only you would change your mind! But you will not do it, and--I must leave you.

FORESTER.

That matter is settled, woman, and my resolution is taken. None of your lamentations! Tomorrow I am going. Since I am not an official of the State and--today I intend to be right jolly.

[WILLIAM _brings wine; the_ FORESTER _pours out and drinks repeatedly, every time a full glass. Between glasses he whistles and drums_.]

FORESTER.

Put that light away, so that I may not see my shadow.

[WILLIAM _puts the lamp on the table near the women, seats himself by them and takes the still opened Bible before him_.]

SOPHY (_aside and to Mary_).

Andrew still stays out, and it has been dark for a long while. And tomorrow I must go. Now I say indeed: I must go; and yet I am not sure that, when the moment comes, I shall have the strength of mind to carry out my intention--after we have lived together for twenty years, sharing joys and sorrows! And to say farewell to the forest with its green leaves which all day long looks into every window! How still it will seem to us, when during the entire day we no longer shall hear the rustling of the trees, the singing of the birds, and the sound of the wood-cutter's ax. And the old cuckoo-clock there--it was ticking when I was a bride, and now you too have been betrothed here! There in that corner you raised yourself on your feet for the first time, Mary, and began to walk, and took three steps; and there where your father is sitting, I sat and wept for joy. Is that what life is? An everlasting bidding farewell? If, after all, I were to remain? And yet when I think of all the things uncle said might happen! If Robert's letter--William, please go into the garden. I must have left the glass by the spring, or in the arbor or somewhere thereabouts.

[_Exit_ WILLIAM.]

SCENE V

_The same, without_ WILLIAM. SOPHY _and_ MARY _in front of the stage busied with the lamp. The_ FORESTER _sometimes seated in the rear, sometimes walking up and down past the table to the window_.

SOPHY (_having waited till_ WILLIAM _is out_).

Suppose you find out what Robert has been writing.

MARY.

You mean I should open the letter, mother?

SOPHY.

Perhaps everything can still be arranged, and Robert writes us how. If you will not open it, give me the letter. If I do it, you have nothing to reproach yourself for.

[_Opens it_.]

If I only could read by lamp-light. If I put on my spectacles, he would notice it. Read it to me, Mary.

MARY.

You want me to read it, mother?

SOPHY.

If I give you permission, you may surely do so. Put it there next to the Bible. And if he comes near, or his attention is attracted, you read from the Bible.

MARY.

But what?

SOPHY.

Whatever your eyes light upon. If I cough, you read from the Bible. First the letter.

MARY (_reads_).

"Dear Mary. I have so much to--

SOPHY.

He is getting up again from his chair. Read from the Bible till he is at the window.

MARY.

"Breach for breach, eye for eye, tooth for tooth: as he hath caused a blemish in a man, so shall it be done to him again."

[FORESTER _drums on the window_.]

SOPHY (_constantly watching him_).

Now the letter, Mary. Till I cough.

MARY.

"I have so much to tell you. Sometime during the evening or the night come to the Dell by the spring under the willows. There I shall wait for you. Come, Mary. Tomorrow morning I am going out into the world to win happiness for you and for me. If you do not come, I know what you mean, and you will never see me again."

SOPHY.

He intends to go? Out into the world? Forever, if you do not go? Then everything would be lost!

MARY.

"You will never again see your Robert."

SOPHY (_coughs, just as the_ FORESTER _is turning away from the window_).

From the Bible, Mary.

MARY.

"As he hath caused a blemish in a man, so it shall be done to him again. Ye shall have one manner of law, as well for the stranger as for one of your own country: for I am the Lord, your God."

FORESTER (_has become attentive; stops_).

What is that there about law?

MARY.

"Ye shall have one manner of law--"

FORESTER.

"Ye shall have one manner"--Where is that?

MARY.

Here, father. Up there at the left.

FORESTER.

Put a mark there where that begins, what you have read there about the law. Do you see now that I am right? Even if I have to put up with injustice? That my old heart here is no liar? "Ye shall have one manner of law"--not a special one for officials of the State. At that time the Law was still sound; then it did not live in dusty, moldy offices. It was administered under the gates in the open air, as we read there. If I had my way, the courts ought to have sessions in the forest; in the forest man's heart remains sound; there one knows what is right and what is wrong without Ifs and Buts. With their secret tricks they have put a string of Ifs and Buts to it; in their dusty, moldy offices it has become sick and blunt and withered, so that they can turn and twist it as they like. And now what is right must be put in writing and have a seal to it, otherwise it is not to be recognized as right. Now they have deprived a man's word of all value and degraded it, since one is only bound by what one has sworn to, what one has under seal and in writing. Out of the good old right they have made a turn-coat, so that an old man, whose honor was never sullied by the slightest blemish, must stand as a rascal before men--because they in their offices have two rights instead of one.

[_Sits down and drinks_.]

SOPHY.

The night is advancing further and further, and Andrew does not come. And with such talk one becomes doubly frightened. If you went to Robert--

MARY.

To Robert? What, in the world, are you thinking of, mother?

SOPHY.

That it is God's finger--that letter of Robert's.

MARY.

I am to go to Robert? Now? To the Dell?

SOPHY.

What is to prevent it? You are not afraid.

MARY.

The idea of being afraid!

[_Proudly_.]

Ulrich's daughter!

SOPHY.

How often have you not been out at a more advanced hour of the night!

MARY.

But then father knew it. If I have father's permission and yours, I know that an angel stands behind every tree. And father said: "If I am mistaken in Mary"--

SOPHY.

I cannot slip away, without his noticing it, as well as you can. The matter might still have taken a favorable turn, but it was not to be. And your dream? You felt so light, the sky became so blue--you see, in the Dell by the spring under the willows, there the sorrow that weighs on you and on us all is to end.

MARY (_shaking her head_).

Do you really think so, mother?

SOPHY.

If you would go. We might then remain with father, Robert would try once more to persuade his father, uncle Wilkens also would yield, and when you wear the bridal wreath a second time it would be even more becoming to you.

MARY.

I am to deceive my father, mother? In that case I believe no good could ever come to me again in this world.

SOPHY.

You would have the satisfaction of knowing that you went for his sake. Perhaps if, tomorrow, he must go forth into misery, or if they confine him in the tower, or if something still worse happens--

MARY.

To father?

SOPHY.

Yes. Then you will think, perhaps too late: "Had I only gone!"

MARY.

But mother, if I were in the forest, and father should meet me? Or if he should find us together?

SOPHY.

We must ask him, whether he is going to stay home.

MARY.

I cannot look at him without feeling as if my heart were bursting.

SOPHY.

Ask him on account of the soup.

MARY.

I shall ask him at once.

[_She approaches the_ FORESTER _timidly, stands next to him without his noticing her_.]

SOPHY (_encouraging her_).

Don't be a child.

MARY (_softly_).

Father!

[_She bends over him, beside herself with pity_.]

Father, poor father!

[_Is going to embrace him_.]

FORESTER (_looking about, roughly_).

What's the matter? No lamentations!

SOPHY (_as_ MARY _stands disconcerted_).

Mary--

MARY (_controls herself_).

Are you again going into the forest tonight?

FORESTER.

Why?

MARY.

Because--

SOPHY (_interrupts, for fear_ MARY _might tell the truth_).

Because of the soup; she wants to know whether she is to warm it.

FORESTER.

No. And what are you waiting for, you silly wench?

[_Turns away. As_ MARY _hesitates, calls out roughly_.]

Do you hear?

MARY (_goes back to_ SOPHY).

Mother, he has been crying! I saw a tear hanging on his eye-lash, mother! And I am about to deceive him!

SOPHY.

He is crying because in his old age he has to go forth into misery.--And as to you--why, you are not obliged to go.

MARY.

If you speak in that way, mother!--I am going.

SOPHY.

Then say good-night to him. It is time. Afterward I shall help you climb out of the window. At this moment Robert is already waiting. You can be back soon.

MARY.

Yes, mother, I will go. But not for Robert's sake, mother, nor for mine; only for father's sake. I will tell him: "Robert," I will say to him, "you will yet find a girl, more beautiful and better than myself, but my father will not find another child, if I leave him." I will tell him: "Robert," I will say to him, "I will forget you! God will give me strength that I may be able to forget you. Remain away from me, so that I may not see you again." God will help me, mother, will he not? He will, for I did love Robert so much.

SOPHY.

Now go. Say good-night and don't betray yourself.

[MARY _stands by the_ FORESTER.]

SOPHY.

Mary wants to say good-night to you.

FORESTER.

Can't you say it yourself, silly thing?

MARY (_mastering her emotion_).

Good-night, father.

FORESTER.

Good-night. You need not wait for me tomorrow when you are going to your uncle. Perhaps I shall have gone out by that time. I have an errand; don't know whether I shall come back tomorrow. And take Nero along--and whatever else is there; take everything along. I no longer need anything--but my tools, my short rifle and--powder and bullets. The other rifles you may sell. Go to Wilkens, you poor thing, he perhaps will get Robert for you yet--after I have gone; after people have once forgotten that your father was a dismissed man.

MARY.

Good-night.

[_Beside herself_.]

Good-night, father!

FORESTER.

Wench, that is a good-night as if forever.--You are right, Mary. Such a stain as I am upon your good reputation must be removed. Go, Mary. Do you hear, Mary?

MARY.

You shall remain, father. And if you go, I go with you.

FORESTER.

The way I have to go one goes alone. Go, Mary.

SOPHY.

Go to bed, Mary.

FORESTER.

Good-night. And now it's enough. You know I cannot bear lamentations.

MARY.

You are not going without me, father. You cannot live without me, father. Father, I now feel that in my heart.

FORESTER (_protesting_).

Yes, I can. What doesn't such a greenhorn feel!

MARY.

You turn away, father, so that I should not see you crying. Father, pretend you are ferocious, as much as you like--

FORESTER (_wants to disengage himself_).

Silly thing there--

MARY.

I am going with you. You insist upon your right, and I upon mine, and that is, that I must not leave you. Father, I feel now for the first time that I love no one in the world as much as you. Tomorrow we go together--if you must go. I am going to put on William's clothes. There are still green forests in the world. And surely you shall not hear me complaining. Don't be afraid of that. Why, I can cry during the nights, when you don't see it. But then you will see it by my eyes in the daytime. Why, I must not cry at all! I will only laugh and skip along before you and sing--the beautiful hunting songs.--You see, father, this is the last tear for Robert! And it is already dried, do you see? I am sure that we shall still find happiness in this world--if you must go, father. And if it is not to be, we will thank God and pray, if He only keeps us honest. Then we will think: It is asking too much, if we also wish to be happy. Have I not you? Have not you your good conscience and your Mary? What more do we need?

[_Hanging on his neck_.]

FORESTER (_who has been warding her off constantly, almost furious, because he can scarcely control his emotion_).

Indeed, indeed! Stupid thing!

[_More calmly_.]

And a "table--spread--thyself," a "gold--mule--stretch-thyself," and the fairy-story is complete. Now go to bed, Mary.

[_Roughly_.]

Do you hear?

SOPHY.

Come, Mary.

MARY (_at the door of her room she looks around, and runs again to him; embracing him, beside herself_).

Good-night, good-night!

[_She hurries to her room;_ SOPHY _follows_.]

FORESTER (_looking after her_).

My girl, my poor girl! It must not be here that I make an end of myself!--Confound it. Shame on you, old--

SCENE VI

WEILER; _The_ FORESTER.

WEILER (_greets him with a silent nod; he is very much excited; hangs the rifle on the rack and busies himself with the hunting utensils_).

Well!

FORESTER (_notices him_).

Is it you?

[_Lapses again into his thoughts_.]

WEILER.

It's me.

FORESTER.

Where are you coming from at this time?

WEILER.

From the forest. At the fence I had a talk with your William. So, after all, you are dismissed.

FORESTER.

Because there are two kinds of right.

WEILER.

And didn't you know that before?

FORESTER.

You have your pay for three months in advance.

WEILER.

And may go. I know that too. Where is your William? Why, to be sure! I just met him. And your Andrew?

FORESTER (_half absent-mindedly_).

Not at home.

WEILER.

But I suppose you know where your Andrew is?

FORESTER (_impatiently_).

What else do you want? Leave me alone!

WEILER.

All right. It's none of my business.

FORESTER.

Therefore I think you'd better go.

WEILER.

But to come back to Andrew. You don't know where he is?

FORESTER.

Always harping on Andrew? If you have something to say, don't be like a thunderstorm that keeps threatening for hours.

WEILER (_points toward the window_).

Some one is coming up across the Lautenberg. The plovers were screeching as if in fear. I expected it. It was too sultry. Ulrich [_approaches him_] an hour ago some one was shot.

FORESTER.

You know who?

WEILER.

You don't know it? If your Andrew were home--

FORESTER.

Always Andrew! You know something about him!

WEILER.

Well. The rifle--tell me, did Andrew have the one with the yellow strap?

FORESTER.

Why?

WEILER (_as if lost in meditation_).

Surely I know your rifle--

FORESTER.

Do you want to drive me mad?

WEILER.

You haven't it in the house?

FORESTER.

I won't answer you any more. I'm ugly enough as it is. I have been drinking wine.

WEILER.

Take good care that you are not mistaken.

FORESTER.

Take good care that I don't take you by the collar.

WEILER.

It's no joke--

FORESTER.

You shall see that it is not.

WEILER.

I know nothing but what I have heard and seen. And now sit down. I don't feel like standing long. It seems to me that I must look like my clay-pipe there.

[_The_ FORESTER _sitting down at the table to the right;_ WEILER _has drawn a chair close to him, and talks hurriedly in an uncanny, subdued voice_.]

A little while ago, as I was quitting work and going away from my wood-cutters, I heard a shot from the direction of the Dell. I thought perhaps it was you, and went in that direction. But it must have been Robert Stein. He was walking up and down there by the first bridge like a sentinel. I thought to myself: What can he be waiting for? Not for game; for in that case one doesn't run up and down; I thought: You must get to the bottom of this. You get behind the high oak. There you can see everything and can't be seen. But I was hardly there, when I heard a commotion behind me. And what was it I heard? Your Andrew and Robert in a most violent dispute. I could not understand anything clearly, but one could hear that they were after each other for life and death. I was just about to creep closer, when they already came rushing along. The one on the further side of the brook on the rocky path, the other on this side. The one on this side was Robert with his gun against his cheek. Two steps from me he stopped--"Stand or I shoot." On the rocky path no two persons can pass each other. There it is--"Man, fight for your life." And now, pif! paf!--two shots in succession. The bullet from the one on the rock whistled between me and Robert into the bushes. But Robert's bullet--Ulrich, I have heard many a shot, but never such a one. One could hear by the sound of the lead, it scented human life. I do not know what sensation I felt when he on the other side collapsed like a wounded stag--

FORESTER.

Andrew?

WEILER.

Who else could it have been? Hey? Perhaps he's home? Perhaps you know where else he is? And the person that was shot had the rifle with the yellow strap. He held it tight. The strap really glistened in the twilight like a signal of distress. It was a weird sound, as the iron parts of the gun in falling struck the rocks and the corpse tumbled after it, breaking the bushes--till there was a splash in the brook below, as if it started in terror. And when, after this, there succeeded such a strange stillness, as if it had to bethink itself of what had really happened, I had a sensation as though some one were pursuing me. I should have been back half an hour ago, if I had not lost my way--I, who know every tree thereabouts. Now you may imagine how I felt! Not until I had reached the second bridge there toward Haslau, did I have courage to stop a moment to take breath--there where the brook is roaring among the rocks. Accidentally I looked down. There the brook was playing with a colored rag. Do you know it, perhaps?

[_Takes out_ ANDREW'S _muffler, and holds it before the_ FORESTER'S _eyes; the latter snatches it from his hand_.]

FORESTER.

All sorts of shapes before my eyes--the wine--

[_Holds it sometimes far, sometimes near, without being able to see it_.]

WEILER (_short pause_).

You are so quiet. Is something wrong with you?

[FORESTER _draws a single loud breath, and still keeps holding the muffler mechanically before him, without seeing it_.]

WEILER.

Your face is quite distorted. I am going to call your wife.

FORESTER (_makes a movement, as if he were pushing a load from him with utmost exertion_).

Never mind! A slight dizziness. Have not been bled recently; the wine into the bargain--it's already passing away--say nothing to any one about this.

[_Rises with difficulty_.]

WEILER.

So they have had a regular stand-up fight, Andrew and Robert! But what do you intend to do now? As a dismissed man? If that fellow says: "I challenged the poacher, he did not throw down his gun?" You know better than any one that a hunter may then shoot. He is not even obliged to challenge; if he only hits the mark, he is also in the right. And whoever, like your Andrew, has fallen the height of two stories from the rock into the water, his tongue will cease wagging even without powder and lead. You know the law, as it is nowadays. And they will lock you up into the bargain because of insubordination. I am sorry for you. I should not like to be you. Hey?

FORESTER.

The thunderstorm has already passed the Lautenberg, do you hear? If you delay any longer you will be caught in the rain.

WEILER.

There was lightning some time ago. As I came along the hill with the larch-firs, the whole country was lighted up. Then I saw Robert still walking up and down by the willows below.

[FORESTER _goes to the door so that_ WEILER _may see he is waiting for his departure_.]

WEILER.

Are you going once more to the lawyer? That might do some good if you were an official of the state. But what are you going to do when you are not?

FORESTER.

Nothing.

WEILER.

Whoever believes it--

FORESTER.

Fool that you are! I'm going to bed.

WEILER.

It isn't late enough for that.

FORESTER.

I am going to lock the door and the shutters.

WEILER (_as he has no alternative, hesitating_).

Now then, sleep well, Ulrich--if you can.

[_Exit, the_ FORESTER _after him_.]

SCENE VII

_Enter_ SOPHY; _then the_ FORESTER _and_ WILLIAM.

SOPHY (_coming out of_ MARY'S _room_).

Now she may be where the willows begin.

[_At the window_.]

He is closing the shutters. I must close Mary's for appearance's sake, so that she can climb in when she returns. And Andrew not yet back! All at once a feeling comes over me, as if I should not have allowed Mary to go.

_Enter the_ FORESTER _with_ WILLIAM. SOPHY _goes again into_ MARY'S _room_.

WILLIAM (_while entering_).

Father, Lora Kramer came to the fence, and said that Stein was beside himself--that shots had been heard in the forest--that Robert was missing, and that Stein had sent Möller into town; he was to get the soldiers; they were to arrest the whole band of murderers from the hunter's house, he said. She also said that Möller had passed Kramer's house at full gallop. They might be expected to arrive before one o'clock.

FORESTER (_while_ SOPHY _steps out of_ MARY'S _room_).

What have you still to do outside?

[_Looks about him_.]

WILLIAM.

In the garden, father. Mother, there was nothing in the arbor.

SOPHY (_remains at the door_).

Then somebody must have brought it in.

[_To the_ FORESTER.]

Are you looking for anything?

FORESTER.

I? No. Yes, the rifle with the yellow strap. Where can that be? Perhaps in Mary's--

SOPHY (_involuntarily covering the door, quickly_).

There is no rifle in Mary's room.

WILLIAM.

To be sure, Andrew took it along when he went to accompany me.

FORESTER. True. [_Shows the muffler_.]

There, I have somebody's muffler in my pocket! Is it yours, William?

SOPHY.

The red and yellow muffler? That belongs to Andrew.

FORESTER.

He left it around yesterday, and absentmindedly I must have put it in my pocket.

SOPHY.

Yesterday? Only today, before you went, I gave it to him.

FORESTER.

You gave it to--all right!

SOPHY (_comes nearer_).

Yes, yes. That is Andrew's muffler.

[_She examines it_.]

Here is his monogram.

FORESTER (_wishes to take it from her_).

Give it to me.

SOPHY.

It is wet!--And what blood is that upon the muffler?

FORESTER.

Blood?

[_Suppresses his emotion_.]

It's from my hand. I cut it on the lock of the gun. Never mind!

SOPHY (_busies herself on the other side of the stage_).

FORESTER.

William, come here. Read to me. There in the Bible, begin where the book-mark is.

WILLIAM.

In the middle of the chapter?

FORESTER.

Beginning at the mark there. Go on!

[_Gets his hat_.]

WILLIAM (_reads_).

"And he that blasphemeth the name of the Lord, he shall--"

FORESTER.

That isn't it.

[_Hangs the gun over his shoulder_.]

WILLIAM.

"And he that killeth any man"--is that it?

FORESTER (_profoundly moved, comes a step nearer_).

No--but go on reading.

[_He stands next to_ WILLIAM. _During the following he involuntarily takes off his hat, and folds his hands_.]

WILLIAM.

"And he that killeth any man shall surely be put to death. And he that killeth a beast shall make it good; beast for beast. And if a man cause a blemish on his neighbor; as he hath done, so shall it be done to him; breach for breach, eye for eye, tooth for tooth; as he hath caused a blemish in a man, so shall it be done to him again. And he that killeth a beast, he shall restore it: and he that killeth a man, he shall be put to death."

FORESTER.

He shall be put to death.

WILLIAM.

"Ye shall have one manner of law, as well for the stranger, as for one of your own country: for I am the Lord your God."

FORESTER.

Amen.

[_Puts on his hat and is about to go; turns back_.]

When did she say they might be there, William?

WILLIAM.

The soldiers?

FORESTER.

Before--

WILLIAM.

Before one o'clock.

FORESTER.

There's time enough.

WILLIAM.

For what, father?

FORESTER.

For--getting a sound sleep.

WILLIAM.

Father, how strangely you look at me?

FORESTER.

Go to bed, William.

[_As_ SOPHY _enters_.]

Shake hands with your mother.

SOPHY (_surprised_).

Are you going out now, Christian?

FORESTER.

Yes.

SOPHY.

Did Weiler pick up the trail of the stag again?

FORESTER.

Yes. Maybe.

SOPHY.

How you look! One might be afraid of you, if one did not know how it is with you when you have taken wine.

FORESTER.

For that reason I want to go out into the open air.

SOPHY.

At such times you see everything different from what it is. You may fall into the abyss.

FORESTER.

Then you cut the leaf there from the Bible and put it into my coffin.

SOPHY.

How you talk!

FORESTER.

GO to bed, William.

[_Exit_ WILLIAM.]

Pray--or do not pray--

SOPHY.

What is the matter with you, Christian? Why am I so anxious? Stay, for God's sake, stay! Your business surely can wait.

FORESTER.

No. It must be done even today. [_Going_.]

SOPHY (_about to follow him_).

Ulrich--

FORESTER (_turning around at the door, softly to himself_).

"Eye for eye, tooth for tooth."

[_Exit_.]

SOPHY (_recoiling from the glare of the sheet-lightning which is seen through the open door_).

God have mercy on us!

[_At the door_.]

Ulrich!

[_In far-away voice, outside_.]

Ulrich!