Chapter III: Act II: A Room in the Master Joiner's House

SCENE I

ANTONY (_rises from the table_).

CLARA (_starts to clear off the dishes_).

ANTONY.

Have you lost your appetite again?

CLARA.

Father, I have had enough.

ANTONY.

But you have taken nothing!

CLARA.

I ate out in the kitchen.

ANTONY.

A bad appetite means a guilty conscience. Oh, well, we shall see--or was there poison in the soup, as I dreamt yesterday? Perhaps some wild hemlock got in with the other vegetables by mistake, when they were gathered?--In that case you did well!

CLARA. Great Heavens!

ANTONY.

Forgive me! I--Away with your pale sad look, which you stole from our Savior's Mother! One should look ruddy when one is young! There is but one who might show such a face, and he does not do it! Hey! A box on the ear for every man who says "ouch!" when he cuts his finger! No man has any right to do that now, for here stands a man who--ugh!--self-praise stinks!--But what did I do when our neighbor started to nail down the cover of your mother's coffin?

CLARA.

You wrenched the hammer away from him and did it yourself, and said: "This is my masterpiece!" The preceptor, who was just then leading the choir boys in the dirge over by the door, thought you had gone crazy.

ANTONY.

Crazy?

[_Laughs._]

Crazy. Yes, yes, it is a wise head that cuts itself off at the right time. Mine must be too firmly fastened on, or else--We squat down in the world and imagine ourselves sitting behind the stove in a good inn. Suddenly a light is placed on the table and, behold! we find ourselves sitting in a den of thieves! There is a bing! bang! on all sides, but no harm it done--fortunately we have hearts of stone!

CLARA.

Yes, father, so it is.

ANTONY.

What do you know about it? Do you think you have a right to curse with me because your clerk has deserted you? There will be another to take you walking Suliday afternoons, another to tell you that your cheeks are rosy and your eyes blue, and still another to take you as his wife, if you deserve it! Wait until you have borne the burdens of life in chastity and honor for thirty years, and have endured sorrow and death and every human adversity with uncomplaining patience; then let your son, who ought to stuff a soft pillow for your old head, come and so overwhelm you with disgrace that you would like to cry out to the earth: Swallow me, if it does not sicken thee, for I am muddier than thou! Then you may utter all the curses that I suppress in my bosom, then you may tear your hair and beat your breasts!--You have that advantage over me, for you are not a man!

CLARA.

Oh, Carl!

ANTONY.

I wonder what I shall do when I see him again before me, when he comes home some evening before candlelight with his hair shaved off--for hair-dressing is not allowed in the penitentiary--and stammers out a good evening, keeping his hand on the door-knob? I shall do something, that is certain--but what?

[_Gnashes his teeth._]

And if they keep him locked up for ten years, he shall find me, for I shall live until then--that much I know! Mark you, Death, what I say: From now on I am a stone in front of your scythe! It shall fly to pieces before it shall budge me!

CLARA (_grasps his hand_).

Father, you ought to lie down and rest for half an hour!

ANTONY.

To dream that you are about to be confined? And then to fly into a passion and seize you, and afterward bethink myself too late and say: "Dear daughter, I did not know what I was doing!" Thank you! My sleep has dismissed the magician and employed a prophet, who points out loathsome things to me with his bloody finger! I don't know how it is--everything seems possible to me now. Ugh! I shudder at the future as at a glass of water seen under the microscope--is that the right word, Mr. Precentor? You have spelled it out for me often enough! I looked through one once in Nuremburg at the fair, and couldn't drink any more water all day long. Last night I saw my dear Carl with a pistol in his hand; when I looked closer into his eyes he pulled the trigger. I heard a cry, but could see nothing on account of the smoke. When it cleared away, I saw no shattered skull--but my fine son had in the mean time come to be a rich man; he was standing and counting gold pieces from one hand into the other. His face--the Devil take me!--a man could have no calmer one after working all day and closing the door of his workshop behind him at night! Well, that's a thing one might prevent! One might take the law into one's own hands, and afterward present one's self before the supreme Judge!

CLARA.

Calm yourself!

ANTONY.

Get well again you mean to say! Why am I sick? Yes, doctor, hand me the drink that shall make me well! Your brother is the worst of sons; be you the best of daughters! Like a worthless bankrupt I stand before the eyes of the world! I owed it a fine man to take the place of this weak invalid, and I cheated it with a scoundrel! Be you such a woman as your mother was, and then people will say: It does not come from his parents that the boy went wrong, for the daughter treads the path of righteousness and excels all others.

[_With terrible coldness._]

And I will do my part in the matter; I will make it easier for you than it is for others. The moment I see anybody point his fingers at you, I shall [with a motion toward his neck_] shave myself, and then, I swear to you, I shall shave off head and all. Then you may say I did it from fright, because a horse ran away in the street, or because the cat overturned a chair on the floor, or because a mouse ran up my legs. Anybody that knows me, to be sure, will shake his head at that, for I am not easily frightened--but what difference does that make? I could not endure to live in a world where the people would refrain from spitting at me simply out of pity.

CLARA.

Merciful God! What shall I do?

ANTONY.

Nothing, nothing, dear child! I am too severe with you--I realize it. Do nothing--be just as you are, and it is all right. Oh, I have suffered such rank injustice that I myself must do injustice in order not to succumb to it when it grips me so hard! Listen! Not long ago I was going across the street when I met that pock-marked thief, Fritz, whom I had thrown into jail a few years ago because for the third time he had shown himself light-fingered in my house. Formerly the scoundrel never even dared to look at me; now he walked boldly up and offered me his hand. I felt like boxing his ears, but I bethought myself and did not even spit. We have been cousins for a week now, and it is proper for relatives to greet each other! The minister, the sympathetic man who visited me yesterday, said that no man had anybody to look out for but himself, and that it was unchristian pride for me to hold myself responsible for the sins of my son; otherwise Adam would have to take it just as much to heart as I. Sir, I verily believe that it no longer troubles our first ancestor in Paradise when one of his descendants begins to rob and murder.--But did not he himself tear his hair over Cain? No, no, it is too much! Sometimes I find myself looking around at my shadow to see if it too has not grown blacker. For I can endure anything and everything, and have given proof of it, but not disgrace! Put on my back what burdens you choose, but do not sever the nerve that holds me together!

CLARA.

Father, Carl has not yet confessed anything, and they have found nothing on him.

ANTONY.

What difference does that make to me? I have gone around the town and inquired at the different drinking-places about his debts. They amount to more than he could have earned under me in a quarter of a year even were he three times as industrious as he is! Now I know why he always left off work two hours later than I every evening, and why, in spite of that, he got up before me in the morning. But he soon saw that it all did no good, or else that it was too much trouble for him and took too long; so he embraced the opportunity when it presented itself!

CLARA.

You always believe the worst things you can of Carl! You have always done so! I wonder if you still remember how--

ANTONY.

You talk as your mother would, and I will answer you as I used to answer her--I will keep quiet!

CLARA.

And supposing Carl is acquitted? Supposing the jewels are found again?

ANTONY.

Then I would employ a lawyer and stake my last shirt to find out whether or not the burgomaster was justified in throwing the son of an honest citizen into prison. If he was, then I would submit; for a thing that can befall anybody I also must accept with resignation. And if to my misfortune it cost me a thousand times as much as it does others, I would attribute it to fate. And if God struck me down for it, I would fold my hands and say: "Lord, Thou knowest why!" If he was not justified, if it should appear that the man with the gold chain around his neck acted too hastily, because be thought of nothing except the fact that the merchant who missed his jewels was his brother-in-law, then people would find out whether the law has anywhere a gap in it, whether the king, who doubtless knows that justice is the one demand his subjects make in return for loyalty and obedience, and who least of all would wish to remain under obligation to one of the humblest of them, would allow that gap to remain unfilled. But all this is useless talk! The boy has no more chance of coming through this trial unscathed, than your mother has of rising from her grave alive! From him, neither now nor ever shall I have any consolation! And for that reason do you not forget what you owe me--keep your oath to me so that I shall not have to keep mine to you! [_goes out, but returns again._] I shall come home late tonight, for I am going out in the mountains to the old lumber-dealer's. He is the only man who still looks me in the eye as he used to, because he knows nothing of my disgrace. He is deaf; nobody can tell him anything without yelling himself hoarse, and even then he hears it all wrong.--So he finds out nothing!

[_Exit._]

SCENE II

CLARA (_alone_).

Oh, God! God! Have pity on me I Have pity on the old man! Take me to Thee! There is no other way to help him! The sunlight lies like a golden blanket on the street, and the children try to seize it with their hands. The birds fly hither and thither, and the flowers and weeds do not tire of growing higher. Everything is alive, everything wishes to be alive! Oh, Death! Thousands of sick people are at this moment shuddering with fear of thee! He who called for thee in the restless night, because he could no longer endure his sufferings, now finds his bed soft and downy again. I call upon thee! Spare him whose soul shrinks most fearsomely from thee, and let him live until the beautiful world becomes again gray and desolate! Take me in his stead! I shall not shudder when thou givest me thy cold hand; I shall grasp it and follow thee more bravely than ever yet a child of God has followed thee!

SCENE III

_Enter the Merchant,_ WOLFRAM.

WOLFRAM.

Good day, Miss Clara! Is your father at home?

CLARA.

He has just gone out.

WOLFRAM.

I have come--my jewels have been found!

CLARA.

Oh, father! Why are you not here?--He has forgotten his spectacles--there they lie! Oh, if he only notices it and returns for them!--How then? Where Who had them?

WOLFRAM.

My wife--tell me frankly, Miss: Have you ever heard anything strange about my wife?

CLARA.

Yes!

WOLFRAM.

That she--[_Points to his brow._] Is that it?

CLARA.

That she is not altogether in her right mind, to be sure!

WOLFRAM (_bursting out_).

My God! My God! All in vain! Not a single servant that I have ever taken into my house have I allowed to leave me; to each one I have paid double wages and closed my eyes to all remissness, in order to buy their silence! And yet--the false, ungrateful creatures! Oh, my poor children! Only for your sake did I seek to conceal it!

CLARA.

Do not blame your servants! Surely it is not their fault! Ever since your neighbor's house burned down, and your wife stood at the open window laughing and clapping her hands at the fire, yes, and even puffing out her cheeks and blowing at it, as if she wanted to make it burn more furiously, people have had to choose between taking her for the devil himself or for a lunatic. And there were hundreds who saw that!

WOLFRAM.

That is true. And now, since the whole town knows about my misfortune, it would be foolish for me to exact a promise of you to keep still about it! So listen! The theft for which your brother is in prison was committed by a lunatic!

CLARA.

Your own wife!

WOLFRAM.

That she, who was once the noblest and most sympathetic soul in the world, has become malicious and mischievous; that she shouts and screams with joy when an accident happens before her eyes, when a maid breaks a glass or cuts her finger--I knew that long ago; but that she also takes things in the house and puts them out of sight, hides money and tears up papers--that, alas! I found out too late--only this noon! I had laid myself down on the bed and was just about to fall asleep, when I became conscious that she had tiptoed noiselessly up beside me, and was watching me intently to see if I were yet asleep. I closed my eyes tighter. Then she took the key from the pocket of my vest, which was hanging over a chair, unlocked my desk, took out a roll of gold pieces, locked the desk again and put back the key. I was horrified! But I restrained myself, so as not to disturb her. She went out of the room and I crept after her on tiptoe. She climbed up to the attic and threw the gold into an old chest, which has been standing there empty since the days of my grandfather. Then she glanced timidly around the room, and, without seeing me, hurried out again. I lighted a taper and searched the chest; in it I found my youngest daughter's doll, a pair of the maid's slippers, a ledger, several letters, and, alas! or, God be praised!--which shall I say?--away down underneath, the jewels!

CLARA.

Oh, my poor mother! It is too terrible!

WOLFRAM.

God knows I would gladly sacrifice the jewelry if, by so doing, I could undo what has already been done! But the fault is not mine! That my suspicions, in spite of my profound respect for your father, fell on your brother, was natural; he had polished the desk, and with him the jewels had disappeared. I noticed it almost immediately, for I had occasion to take some papers out of the drawer in which they lay. Still it did not occur to me to take stringent measures to arrest him immediately. Merely as a preliminary, I told Adam, the bailiff, about the matter, and besought him to keep his investigations absolutely secret. But he would not listen to the idea of sparing anybody; he declared he must and would bring the case to court at once, for, he said, your brother was a drunkard and a debt-contractor. And he has, alas, so much influence with the burgomaster that he can put through anything he wants to. The man seems to bear a bitter grudge against your father--I do not know why, but it was impossible to soothe him; he held his hands over his ears and called out, as he was hurrying away: "If you had given me the jewelry, it would not have made me as happy as this!"

CLARA.

Once in the tavern the bailiff put his glass down on the table by my father's and nodded to him as if he wanted to touch glasses with him. My father then took his away, and said: "People in red coats and blue trimmings used to have to drink out of glasses with wooden feet. Also they used to have to wait out in front of the window, or, if it was raining, by the door, and respectfully remove their hats when the landlord handed them the drink. Moreover, if they felt a desire to touch glasses with anybody, they waited until neighbor Hangman happened in." Oh, God! What is not possible in this world! My mother had to pay for that with an untimely death!

WOLFRAM.

One should never anger anybody, and least of all bad people! Where is your father?

CLARA.

In the mountains at the lumber-dealer's.

WOLFRAM.

I'll ride out and hunt him up. I have already been at the burgomaster's, but unfortunately found him out. Otherwise your brother would be here now. But the Secretary has already dispatched a messenger! You will see him before evening! [_Exit._]

SCENE IV

CLARA (_alone_).

Now I should rejoice! Oh, God! And I can think of nothing except: Now it is you alone! And yet I have a feeling as though something must occur to me at once that would set everything right again!

SCENE V

_Enter, the_ SECRETARY.

SECRETARY.

Good day!

CLARA (_seizes a chair to keep from falling_).

He! Oh, if only _he_ had not come back!

SECRETARY. Your father is not at home?

CLARA.

No!

SECRETARY.

I bring you good news. Your brother--No, Clara, I cannot talk to you in this formal way. All these tables, chairs, and cupboards that I know so well--Good day, old friend!

[_He nods to a cup-board._]

How are you? You have not changed a bit!--around which we used to romp as children--it seems to me they will put their heads together and deride me as a fool, unless I quickly assume another tone. I must "thou" you, as I used to do! If you do not like it, just say to yourself: The big boy is dreaming, I will awaken him, I will step in front of him and draw myself up to my full height [_With gestures_], and let him see that it is no longer a little child that stands before him--[_He points to a scratch on the door_]--that shows how big you were at eleven!--but a very proper, grown-up girl, who could reach the sugar when it is upon the sideboard! Surely you remember! That was the place, the firm fortress, where it was safe from us even without being locked up. We used to amuse ourselves by slapping flies, when it stood there, because we could not endure to see them flying around happily and enjoying what we ourselves were unable to reach.

CLARA.

I should think people would forget about such things when they had hundreds and thousands of books to study.

SECRETARY.

Indeed they do forget it! To be sure, what does one not forget over Justinian and Gaius? Small boys who persistently resist their A B C's know very well why they do it; they have a presentiment that if they do not apply themselves too hard to the primer they will never have to struggle with the Bible. But it is a downright shame! People deceive the innocent souls! They are shown the red rooster with the basket full of eggs on the last page, so that of their own accord they say: "Ah!" And then there is no more holding back; they go tearing down the hill to Z, and so forth and so forth, until all of a sudden they find themselves in the midst of the _Corpus Juris_, and are horrified when they realize what a wilderness the accursed twenty-four letters have enticed them into--the letters, which, in the beginning, formed themselves, in a merry dance, only into nice-tasting and nice-smelling words such as "cherry" and "rose."

CLARA.

And [_Absent-mindedly, and without interest_]--what happens then?

SECRETARY.

That depends upon the difference of temperament. Some work themselves through. Those usually come forth into daylight again after three or four years, but looking somewhat thin and pale; however, one must not blame them for that; I myself am one of that kind. Others lie down in the middle of the forest; they intend merely to rest themselves, but they seldom get up again. I myself have a friend who has been drinking his beer for three years already in the shade of the _Lex Julia_; he selected the place on account of its name--it recalls pleasant memories. Still others give up in despair and turn back; those are the stupid ones; people let them out of one thicket only on condition that they will run at full speed into another. And then there are some who are still worse, and who don't get anywhere!

[_To himself._]

How one chatters when one has something in his mind and does not know how to bring it out!

CLARA.

Everything is bright and cheerful today; that's because it is such beautiful weather.

SECRETARY.

Yes, in weather like this the owls fall out of their nests, the bats kill themselves because they feel the devil has created them, the mole burrows so deep into the earth that he cannot find his way out again and must pitifully suffocate unless he bores through to the other side and emerges again in America. Today every ear of corn shoots up twice as high, and every poppy grows twice as red as usual, even if only out of shame at not having been so at first. Shall man remain behind? Shall he defraud the dear Lord of the only reward which His world offers Him--a happy face and a bright eye, which mirrors and at the same time transfigures all this gloriousness? Truly, when I see one of these recluses sneaking out of his door in the morning, his brow furrowed with wrinkles, and staring at the sky as if it were a vault of blotting-paper, I often think to myself: It is going to rain soon; God will have to let down the curtain of clouds, so that that sour face will not irritate Him. They ought to take legal action against fellows like that on the ground that they are thwarters of merry parties and destroyers of harvest weather. How are you going to render thanks for your life if not by living? Sing joyously, bird, or else you will not deserve your voice!

CLARA.

Oh, that is true, so true! It almost makes me cry!

SECRETARY.

It was not meant for you. That for eight days you have been breathing more heavily than you used to, I well understand--I know your father. But, God be praised! I can make your heart free again, and for that very purpose I am here. You shall see your brother again this very evening, and people shall point their fingers, not at him, but at those who cast him into prison. Does that deserve a kiss, a sisterly kiss, if it cannot be any other kind? Or shall we play blindman's buff for it?--If I do not catch you in ten minutes, I am to go away without the kiss and take a box on the ear into the bargain.

CLARA (_to herself_).

I feel as if I had suddenly grown to be a thousand years old, and time were standing still with me. I can go neither backwards nor forwards! Oh, all this brazen sunshine and cheerfulness round about me!

SECRETARY.

You do not answer me. To be sure, I forgot--you are engaged. Oh, girl! Why did you do that to me? And yet have I any right to complain? She is like all that is dear and good, and all that is dear and good should have made me think of her. And yet to me she was for years as if she no longer existed in the world! For that reason she--If it only were a fellow before whom one had to cast down one's eyes! But this Leonard--

CLARA (_suddenly, when she hears the name_).

I must go to him. That is just it--I am no longer the sister of a thief!--Oh, God! what shall I do? Leonard will, he must! He needs only not to be a fiend! Everything will be as it used to be [_Shudders_]--as it used to be!

[_To the SECRETARY._]

Do not be offended, Frederick!--Why are my legs so heavy all of a sudden?

SECRETARY.

You will--

CLARA.

To Leonard! Where else should I go? Only that one road lies before me in this world!

SECRETARY.

You love him, then! Well--

CLARA (_wildly_).

Love him? It is either he or death! Does anybody wonder that I choose him? I would not do it had I only myself to consider!

SECRETARY.

He or death? Girl, thus speaks Despair, or--

CLARA.

Do not make me frantic! Do not mention that word again! You! It is you I love! There! I cry it out to you as if I were already wandering on the other side of the grave, where no one blushes any more, where cold and naked forms glide past one another, because the fearful, holy presence of God has entirely consumed in every one all thought of others.

SECRETARY.

Me? Still me? Clara, I divined it when I saw you out in the garden.

CLARA.

Did you? Oh, the other too!

[_Gloomily, as if she were alone._]

He stepped up in front of me--he or I!--Oh, my heart, my accursed heart! In order to prove to him, prove to myself, that it was not so, or to stifle it if it were so, I did what now [_Breaks out into tears_]--God in Heaven! I would have pity on myself, were I Thou, and Thou I!

SECRETARY.

Clara, be my wife! I came to look once more into your eyes in the old way. Had you not understood the look I should have gone away again without speaking. Everything that I am and have I now offer to you. It is little, but it may grow to be more. I should have been here long ago, but your mother was sick, and then she died.

CLARA (_laughs crazily_).

SECRETARY.

Take courage, girl! The fellow has your word--that worries you. And, to be sure, it is a damnable thing! How could you--

CLARA.

Oh, ask me everything that conspires to drive a poor girl crazy! Scorn and derision from all sides when you went to the University, and did not let me hear from you.--"She still thinks of him!" "She thinks that child's play was meant seriously!" "Does she receive any letters from him?"--And then, too, my mother: "Stay with people of your class!" "Pride never succeeds!" "Leonard is a very nice fellow; everybody is surprised that you look at him over your shoulder so!" And added to all the rest, my own heart: "If he has forgotten you, show him that you too--" Oh, God!

SECRETARY.

I am to blame. I realize it. Well, what is difficult is not necessarily impossible. I will get him to release you. Perhaps--

CLARA.

Release me? There!

[_Throws LEONARD'S letter to him._]

SECRETARY (_reads_).

As cashier, I--your brother--thief--very sorry--but out of consideration for my office, I cannot help it--[_To CLARA._] He wrote you that on the very day your mother died? For he adds his condolence on her sudden death!

CLARA.

I suppose so!

SECRETARY.

The Devil take him! Great God, the cats, snakes and other monsters which, so to speak, slipped through Thy fingers at Creation, so delighted Beelzebub that he imitated Thy patterns--but he finished them off better than Thou didst; he put them in a human skin, and now they stand in rank and file with the rest of Thy humanity, and one does not recognize them until they begin to scratch and sting!

[_To CLARA._]

But it is well, indeed it is fine!

[_He tries to embrace her._]

Come! Forever! With this kiss--

CLARA (_sinks into his arms_).

No, not forever! Only to keep me from falling--but no kiss!

SECRETARY.

Girl, you do not love him, you have your release--

CLARA (_gloomily, straightening herself up again_).

And yet I must go to him, I must throw myself on my knees before him and cry out: "Behold my father's white hairs! Take me!"

SECRETARY.

Unhappy girl! Do I understand you?

CLARA.

Yes!

SECRETARY.

No man can overlook that! Think of having to cast down one's eyes before a man into whose face one would like to spit!

[_He presses CLARA wildly to him._]

Poor, poor girl!

CLARA.

Go now, go!

SECRETARY (_to himself, brooding_).

Or else one would have to shoot the dog who knows of it. Oh, that he had some courage about him! That he would stand up and fight! That one could force him to it! I should not be afraid of missing him!

CLARA.

I beg of you!

SECRETARY (_going_).

As soon as it grows dark!

[_He returns and grasps CLARA's hand._]

Girl, you stand before me--[_He turns away._]

Thousands of your sex would have kept it a secret with shrewd cunning, and only in an hour of sweet forgetfulness would have confided it coaxingly to the ear and soul of their husbands. I feel what I owe you!

CLARA (_alone_).

Oh, my heart, lock yourself up! Crush yourself together so that not another drop of that blood may escape which would kindle again the congealing life in my veins! For a moment a feeling akin to hope arose in you again! Now for the first time I am conscious of it!

[_Laughs._]

No! No man can, overlook that! And if--could you yourself overlook it? Would you have had the courage to grasp a hand that--No! no! Such evil courage you would not have! You would with your own hands have to lock yourself into your hell, if any one tried to open the door from the outside. You are forever--Oh, alas, that the pain is intermittent, that the piercing agony sometimes ceases! That is the reason why it lasts so long! The tortured man imagines he is resting when the torturer merely pauses to get his breath. It is like a drowning man's catching his breath on the waves, when the current that has drawn him under spews him forth again only to seize him once more and draw him down. He has nothing but a double, futile fight for life!--

Well, Clara?--Yes, father, I am going! Your daughter will not drive you to self-destruction! Soon I shall be the wife of that man, or--God! No! I do not go begging for happiness--it is misery, the deepest misery that I beg for! You will give me my misery!--Away! Where is the letter?

[_She takes it._]

Three wells you pass on your way to him! You must not halt at any of them, Clara--you have not yet the right to do that!

[_Exit._]