Chapter XV: Act III: LEONARD’S Room

SCENE 1

LEONARD (_writing at a table covered with documents_).

There’s the sixth sheet since dinner. How fine a man feels when
he does his duty! Anybody could come into the room that liked,
even the king himself--I would stand up, but I would not be
embarrassed. Except for one man, that old joiner. But at bottom
he can’t trouble me much. Poor Clara! I’m sorry for her. It
disturbs me to think of her. If it hadn’t been for that one
cursed evening. It was more jealousy than love that excited me,
and I’m sure she only yielded to refute my reproaches, for she
was as cold as death towards me. She has bad times ahead of her,
and I shall have a lot of worry, too. Let each bear his lot.
Above all things, I must make sure of that little humpbacked girl
and not let her escape me when the storm breaks. Then I shall
have the mayor on my side and need fear nothing.

SCENE 2

CLARA (_enters_).

Good-evening, Leonard.

LEONARD.

Clara? (_Aside._) I didn’t expect this. (_Aloud._) Didn’t you get
my letter? Oh--perhaps your father’s sent you to pay the rates.
How much is it? (_Turning leaves in a journal._) I ought to know
it without looking it up.

CLARA.

I’ve come to give you your letter back. Here it is. Read it again.

LEONARD (_reads it very seriously_).

It’s quite a sensible letter. How can a man, who’s in charge of
public money, marry into a family that--(_swallowing a word_)
your brother belongs to?

CLARA.

Leonard!

LEONARD.

Perhaps the whole town’s wrong? Your brother isn’t in prison?
Never been in prison? You’re not the sister of--of your brother?

CLARA.

Leonard, I’m my father’s daughter. I don’t come as the sister of
an innocent man whose name has already been cleared--that’s my
brother;--nor as a girl who shudders at unmerited shame--for (_in
a low voice_) I shudder more at you--I come in the name of the
old man who gave me life.

LEONARD.

What do you want?

CLARA.

Can you ask? Oh, if only I were free to go! My father will cut
his throat if I--marry me!

LEONARD.

Your father----

CLARA.

He has sworn it. Marry me!

LEONARD.

Hand and throat are close cousins. They won’t damage one another.
Don’t worry about that.

CLARA.

He has sworn it.--Marry me, and then kill me--and I’ll thank you
more for the one than the other.

LEONARD.

Do you love me? Did your heart tell you to come? Am I the man
without whom you can’t live or die?

CLARA.

Answer that yourself.

LEONARD.

Can you swear that you love me? That you love me as a girl should
love the man who is to be bound to her for life?

CLARA.

No, I can’t swear that. But this I can swear. That whether I love
you or not, you shall never know. I’ll serve you, I’ll work for
you. You don’t need to feed me. I’ll keep myself. I’ll sew and
spin in the night-time for other people. I’ll go hungry if I’ve
no work to do. I’ll eat my own flesh rather than go to my father
and let him notice anything. If you strike me because your dog
isn’t handy, or you’ve done away with him, I’ll swallow my own
tongue rather than utter a sound that could let it out to the
neighbours. I can’t promise you that my skin shall not show the
marks of your lash, but I’ll lie about it, I’ll say that I ran my
head against the cupboard or that the floor was too much polished
and I slipped on it. I’ll do it before anybody has time to ask
me where the blue marks came from. Marry me--I shan’t live long.
And if it lasts too long for you, and you can’t afford to divorce
me, buy some poison at the chemist’s and put it down as if it
were for the rats. I’ll take it without even a sign from you, and
when I’m dying I’ll tell the neighbours I thought it was crushed
sugar.

LEONARD.

Well, if you expect me to do all that, you won’t be surprised if
I say no.

CLARA.

May God, then, not look upon me too hardly, if I come before He
calls me. If it meant only me, I’d bear it; take it patiently,
as well-deserved punishment for I don’t know what, if people
trampled on me in my misery, instead of helping me. I would love
my child, even if it bore this man’s features. I would weep so
before it’s helpless innocence, that it would not curse and
despise its mother when it was older and wiser. But I’m not the
only one. And when the judge asks me on the last day “Why did you
kill yourself?” it will be an easier question to answer than “Why
did you drive your father to it?”

LEONARD.

You talk as if you were the first woman and the last. Thousands
before you have gone through this and borne it. Thousands after
you will get into your plight and accept their fate. Are they
all so low, that you want to go away in a corner by yourself?
They had fathers too, who invented heaps of new curses when they
heard of it, and talked about death and murder. They were ashamed
of themselves later on, and did penance for their curses and
blasphemies. Why! they sat down and rocked the child, or fanned
the flies off him!

CLARA.

Oh, I can well believe that you don’t understand how anybody in
the world should keep his oath!

SCENE 3

BOY (_enters_).

I’ve brought some flowers. I haven’t to say who’s sent them.

LEONARD.

Oh, what lovely flowers! (_Strikes his brow._) The devil! That’s
stupid! _I_ should have sent some! How am I to get out of it?
I don’t know much about these things, and the little girl will
notice it; she has nothing else to think about. (_Takes the
flowers._) But I won’t keep them all. (_To_ CLARA.) These mean
remorse and shame, don’t they? Didn’t you once tell me that?

[CLARA _nods_.

LEONARD (_to the boy_).

Look here, boy. These are for me. I put them here, you see, over
my heart. These, red ones here, that burn like a glowing fire,
you can take back. Do you understand? When my apples are ripe you
can come again.

BOY.

That’s a long time yet! (_Goes out._)

SCENE 4

LEONARD.

Yes, Clara, you talked about keeping one’s word, and just because
I _am_ a man of my word, I am compelled to answer as I do. I
broke with you a week ago. You can’t deny it. There lies the
letter. (_He passes the letter; she takes it mechanically._) I
had good reason to; your brother--you say he’s been cleared.
I’m glad to hear it. In the course of this week I have made
promises elsewhere. I had a perfect right to, because you didn’t
protest at the right time against my letter. In my own mind I
was as free as before the law. Now you’ve come, but I’ve already
given my word and taken somebody else’s, yes--(_aside_) I wish
it were so!--she’s in the same condition as you.--I’m sorry for
you--(_stroking back her hair_, CLARA _passive, as if she did not
notice it_), but you’ll understand that the mayor is not to be
trifled with.

CLARA (_absently_).

Trifled with!

LEONARD.

Now, you’re getting sensible. And as for your father, you can
tell him straight to his face that he’s to blame for it all.
Don’t stare at me like that, don’t shake your head; it is so,
my girl, it is so! Just tell him so; he’ll understand and keep
quiet, I’ll answer for it. (_Aside._) When a man gives away his
daughter’s dowry, he needn’t be surprised if she’s left on the
shelf. It puts my back up to think of it, and almost makes me
wish the old boy was here to be lectured to. Why do I have to
be cruel? Simply because he was a fool! Whatever happens, he’s
responsible for it, that’s clear. (_To_ CLARA.) Would you like
me to talk to him, myself? I’ll risk a black eye for your sake
and go to him. He can be as rude as he likes, he can throw the
boot-tree at me, but he’ll have to swallow the truth, in spite of
the belly-ache it gives him, and leave you in peace. Be assured
of that. Is he at home?

CLARA (_standing up straight_).

Thank you. (_Going._)

LEONARD.

Should I come across with you? I’m not afraid.

CLARA.

I thank you as I would thank a snake that had entwined itself
around me, and then left me of its own accord to follow other
game. I know that I’ve been stung, and am only released because
it doesn’t seem worth while to suck the bit of marrow out of
my bones. But I thank you in spite of it, for now I shall have
a quiet death. Yes, it is no mockery! I thank you. I feel as
if I had seen through your heart into the abyss of hell, and
whatever may be my lot in the terrors of eternity, I shall have
no more to do with _you_, and that’s a comfort! And just as the
unhappy creature bitten by a snake is not blamed for opening his
veins in horror and disgust and letting his poisoned life well
quickly away, so it may be that God of His grace will take pity
on me when He sees you and what you’ve made of me.--If I had no
_right_ ever to do such a thing, how should I be _able_ to do
it?--One thing more: my father knows nothing of this, he doesn’t
suspect, and in order that he may never know, I shall leave this
world to-night. If I thought that _you_----(_Takes a step wildly
towards him._) But that’s folly. Nothing could suit you better
than to see them all stand and shake their heads and vainly ask
why it happened!

LEONARD.

Such things do happen. What’s to be done? Clara!

CLARA.

Away, away! He can speak! (_Going._)

LEONARD.

Do you think I believe you?

CLARA.

No!

LEONARD.

If you kill yourself, you kill your child, too.

CLARA.

Rather both than kill my father! I know you can’t amend sin with
sin. But what I do now, comes on my head alone. If I put the
knife in his hand, it affects him as well as me. _I_ get it in
any case. That gives me courage and strength in all my anguish.
It’ll go well with you on this earth. (_Goes out._)

SCENE 5

LEONARD (_alone_).

I must marry her! Yet why must I? She’s going to do a mad trick
to keep her father from doing a mad trick. What need is there
for me to stop her by doing a madder trick still? I can’t agree
to it, not until I see the man before me who’ll anticipate me
by doing the maddest trick of all, and if he thinks as I do,
there’ll be no end to the business. That sounds quite clear,--and
yet--I must go after her! There’s some one at the door. Thank
God! Nothing’s worse than quarrelling with your own thoughts. A
rebellion in your head, when you beget snake after snake and each
one devours the other or bites off its tail, is the worst kind of
all.

SCENE 6

SECRETARY (_enters_).

Good-evening.

LEONARD.

The secretary! To what do I owe the honour of----

SEC.

You’ll soon see, my boy.[21]

LEONARD.

You’re very familiar.[21] We _were_ at school together, of
course----

SEC.

And perhaps we shall die together. (_Producing pistols._) Do you
know how to use these things?

LEONARD.

I don’t understand you.

SEC. (_cocks one_).

Do you see? That’s the way you do it. Then you aim at me, so, and
fire.

LEONARD.

What are you talking about?

SEC.

One of us two has got to die. Die! At once!

LEONARD.

Die?

SEC.

You know why.

LEONARD.

By God, I don’t.

SEC.

Never mind. You’ll remember when you breathe your last.

LEONARD.

I haven’t the faintest idea.

SEC.

Now just come to your senses. Or else I might shoot you down for
a mad dog that has bitten what is dearest to me, without knowing
what I was doing;--as it is I’ve got to treat you as an equal for
half an hour.

LEONARD.

Don’t talk so loud. If any one heard you----

SEC.

If any one could hear, you’d have called out long ago. Well?

LEONARD.

If it’s on the girl’s account, I can marry her. I’d half made up
my mind to, when she was here.

SEC.

She’s been and gone again, without seeing you on your knees in
remorse and contrition? Come! Come!

LEONARD.

I beg you! I will do anything you wish. I’ll get engaged to her
to-night.

SEC.

Either I do that or nobody. And if the world depended on it, you
shan’t touch the hem of her garment again. Come with me. Into
the woods! Look here, I’ll take you by the arm and if you make
so much as a sound on the road, I’ll----(_raising a pistol_).
Believe me. Anyhow we’ll take the back way through the gardens,
to keep you out of temptation.

LEONARD.

One’s mine; give it me.

SEC.

So that you can throw it away and force me to let you run away,
or murder you, what? Have patience till we get to the spot, then
I’ll divide squarely with you.

LEONARD (_accidentally knocks his glass off the table when going out_).

Shall I never drink again?

SEC.

Buck up, boy, you may come off all right. God and the devil are
forever fighting for the world, it seems. Who knows which is
master? (_Takes his arm; both go out._)

SCENE 7

_Room in_ ANTHONY’S _house_. _Evening._

KARL (_enters_).

No one at home! If I didn’t know the rat-hole under the threshold
where they keep the key, when they all go out, I wouldn’t have
been able to get in. Well, that wouldn’t have mattered. I could
run round the town twenty times and imagine there was no greater
pleasure in the world than using your legs. Let’s have a light.
(_Lights up._) The matches are just where they used to be, I’ll
bet, because in this house we’ve got twice ten commandments.
“Put your hat on the third nail, not the fourth.” “You must be
sleepy at half-past nine.” “You’ve no right to be chilly before
Martinmas and no right to sweat after it.” And that’s on a level
with “Thou shalt fear God and love Him.” I’m thirsty. (_Calls._)
Mother! Phew! I’d forgotten she’d gone where there’s no waiters
to serve you. I didn’t blubber in that gloomy cell when I heard
them ringing the bell for her; but--you red-coat! You didn’t let
me have my last throw in the skittle-alley, although I’d the ball
in my hand. I won’t give you time to breathe your last, when I
find you by yourself. And that may be to-night. I know where to
find you at ten o’clock. And then off to sea! What keeps Clara
out? I’m as hungry as I’m thirsty. To-day’s Thursday. They’ve had
veal broth. If it was winter, there’d have been cabbage; white
cabbage up to Shrove Tuesday and green after. That’s as certain
as that Thursday comes after Wednesday and that it can’t say to
Friday, “Take my place, my feet are tired.”

SCENE 8

CLARA _enters_.

KARL.

At last! You shouldn’t do so much kissing. Where four red lips
get baked together, there’s a bridge for the devil to cross. What
have you got there?

CLARA.

Where? What?

KARL.

Where? What? In your hand.

CLARA.

Nothing.

KARL.

Nothing! Is it secrets? (_Snatches_ LEONARD’S _letter from her_.)
Give it to me! When your father’s out, your brother’s your
guardian.

CLARA.

I kept the thing in my hand, and yet the wind is so strong that
it is blowing slates off the roofs. As I went past the church,
one fell right at my feet. I nearly fell over it. “O God,” I
thought, “one more”--and stood still. It would have been so
beautiful. They’d have buried me and said it was an accident. But
I hoped in vain for a second.

KARL (_who has read the letter_).

Damnation! I’ll smash the arm of the man that wrote that. Fetch
me a bottle of wine! Or is the money-box empty?

CLARA.

There’s one bottle left in the house. I bought it secretly
and hid it for mother’s birthday. It was to have been
to-morrow----(_Turns away._)

KARL.

Give it to me.

[CLARA _brings the wine_.

KARL (_drinking quickly_).

Now we might begin again--planing, sawing, and hammering, and
then eating, drinking, and sleeping between-whiles to be able to
go on planing and sawing and hammering. And a-bending of the knee
on Sundays into the bargain: O God, I thank Thee for letting me
plane and saw and hammer! (_Drinks._) Long live every dog that
doesn’t bite on the chain! (_Drinks again._) Here’s to him again!

CLARA.

Karl, don’t drink so much. Father says there’s the devil in wine.

KARL.

And the parson says there’s God in it. (_Drinks._) We’ll see
who’s right. The bailiff came here. How did he behave?

CLARA.

He behaved as if he were in a thieves’ den. Mother fell down and
died the moment he opened his mouth.

KARL.

Good! If you hear in the morning that he’s been found dead, don’t
curse the murderer.

CLARA.

But, Karl, you won’t----

KARL.

I’m not the only enemy he’s got. He’s been attacked many a time.
It would be no easy matter to spot the right man, unless he
leaves his hat or his stick lying. (_Drinks._) Whoever he is, I
wish him luck.

CLARA.

You’re talking----

KARL.

Don’t you like the idea? Leave it alone, then. You won’t see me
for a long time again.

CLARA (_shuddering_).

No.

KARL.

No! Do you know already that I’m going to sea? Do my thoughts
crawl on my forehead for you to read them? Or has the old man
been raving in his usual fashion and threatening to lock me out?
Bah! That would be much the same as if the warder had said to
me--“You can’t stay in prison any longer; I’ll throw you out
where you’ll be free.”

CLARA.

You don’t understand me.

KARL (_sings_).

“The good ship puffs its sails, oh,
And merrily blows the breeze.”

Yes, truly, I’m not bound to the joiner’s bench any longer.
Mother’s dead. There’s nobody now who would stop eating fish
after every storm. Besides, I’ve wanted it ever since I was a
boy. Out into the world! I shall never get on here, or not until
I have it proved to me that Fortune no longer favours the man
that boldly risks his life, the man that throws away the copper
he gets from the great treasury, to see whether she’ll take it
from him, or give it back to him gilded.

CLARA.

And will you leave father alone? He’s sixty now.

KARL.

Alone? Aren’t you staying with him?

CLARA.

I?

KARL.

Yes, you, his favourite! What nonsense have you got in your
head that you ask such questions? I don’t begrudge him his
pleasure. He’ll be freed from his eternal worry, when I go. So
why shouldn’t I? We simply don’t suit each other. Things can’t be
too narrow for him. He’d like to clench his fist and creep inside
of it. I’d like to burst my skin like baby’s clothes, if I could!
(_Sings._)

“The anchor’s lightly lifted,
The rudder’s quickly shifted,
Away she flies with ease.”

Tell me now, did he doubt my guilt for a moment? Didn’t he
comfort himself as usual with his overwise: “I expected it. I
always thought as much. It had to come to that.” If _you’d_ done
it, he’d have killed himself. I’d like to see him if you went the
woman’s way. He’d feel as if he was with child himself,--with the
devil, too.

CLARA.

Oh, how that tears my heart! I must go!

KARL.

What do you mean?

CLARA.

I must go into the kitchen--what else? (_Clutches at her brow._)
Yes, that’s what I came home to do. (_Goes out._)

KARL.

She seems very queer! (_Sings._)

“There comes a daring seabird
With greetings from the West.”

CLARA (_comes in again_).

The last thing’s done now. Father’s evening jug is by the fire.
When I closed the kitchen door behind me and realised I should
never go in again, I shivered to the very soul. So shall I leave
this room, so this house, and so the world.

KARL (_sings, walking up and down_. CLARA _in background_).

“The sun it flames down daily
And the little fishes gaily
Do sport around their guest.”

CLARA.

Why don’t I do it then? Shall I never do it? Shall I put it off
from day to day? Just as I’m putting it off now, from minute to
minute--yes, away then, away! And yet I stay here. I feel as if
hands were raised in my womb, as if eyes----(_Sits down on a
chair._) What does this mean? Am I too weak to do it? Well, am I
strong enough to see my father with his throat cut? (_Standing
up._) No! No!--Our Father, which art in Heaven--Hallowed be thy
kingdom. O God, my poor head! I can’t even pray. Karl! Karl! Help
me!

KARL.

What’s wrong?

CLARA.

The Lord’s Prayer. (_Recollects._) I felt as if I was in the
water and sinking, and had forgotten to pray. I--(_Suddenly._)
Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive them that trespass
against us. That’s it. Yes! Yes! Of course I forgive him. I’d
forgotten all about him. Good-night, Karl.

KARL.

Are you going to bed so early? Good-night!

CLARA (_like a child, going through the Lord’s Prayer_).

Forgive us----

KARL.

You might get me a drink of water first--but it must be cold.

CLARA (_quickly_).

I’ll fetch it from the well.

KARL.

Well, if you like; it isn’t far.

CLARA.

Thanks! Thanks! That was the only thing that troubled me. The
deed itself was bound to betray me. Now they will say--“She’s had
an accident. She fell in.”

KARL.

Take care, though; they haven’t nailed that plank on yet.

CLARA.

Why, the moon’s up! O God, I only come to save my father from
coming. Forgive me as I--Be gracious, gracious---- (_Goes out._)

SCENE 9

KARL (_sings_).

“I’d spring into it gladly,
It’s where I’d live and die.”

Yes, but first--(_Looking at clock._) What time is it? Nine.

“I’m far from being hoary,
And travelling’s my glory--
But whither? What care I?”

SCENE 10

ANTHONY (_enters_).

I owed you an apology for something, but if I excuse you for
making debts secretly, and pay them for you into the bargain, I
may be let off.

KARL.

The one’s good and the other is unnecessary. If I sell my
Sunday clothes I can satisfy the people myself, that want a few
shillings from me. When I’m a sailor--(_aside_) there, it’s
out!--I shan’t want them.

ANTHONY.

What talk is this?

KARL.

It’s not the first time you’ve heard it, but say what you like,
my mind’s made up this time.

ANTHONY.

Well, you’re old enough, that’s true.

KARL.

Just because I’m old enough, I don’t crow about it. But to my
mind, fish and fowl shouldn’t quarrel as to whether it’s better
in the air or in the water. One thing more. Either you’ll never
see me again, or you’ll clap me on the shoulder and tell me I did
right.

ANTHONY.

We’ll wait and see. I don’t need to pay off the man I’d engaged
to do your work. What more is there in it?

KARL.

Thank you!

ANTHONY.

Tell me. Did the bailiff really take you right through the town
to the mayor’s, instead of taking the shortest road?

KARL.

Up street and down street, and over the market place, like a
Shrove Tuesday ox. But take my word for it--I shall pay him out
before I go.

ANTHONY.

I can’t blame you, but I forbid you to do it.

KARL.

Ho!

ANTHONY.

I won’t let you out of my sight. If you tried to lay hands on
him, I’d help the fellow myself.

KARL.

I thought you, too, were fond of mother.

ANTHONY.

I’ll prove that I was.

SCENE 11

SECRETARY (_comes in weak and tottering, pressing a scarf to his breast_).

Where’s Clara? Thank God I came here again. Where is she? (_Sinks
into a chair._)

KARL.

She went to--Why, isn’t she back yet? Her talk--I am afraid----
(_Goes out._)

SEC.

She is avenged. The wretch lies---- But I too---- Why, O God! Now
I can’t----

ANTHONY.

What’s wrong? What’s the matter with you?

SEC.

It’ll soon be over. Don’t turn your daughter out. Give me your
hand on it. Do you hear? Don’t turn her out, if she----

ANTHONY.

This is strange talk. Why should I----? Oh, I’m beginning to see!
Perhaps I wasn’t unjust to her?

SEC.

Give me your hand on it.

ANTHONY.

No! (_Puts both hands in his pockets._) But I’ll stand out of her
way. She knows that. I’ve told her so.

SEC. (_in horror_).

You have--unhappy man, now I begin to understand you!

KARL (_rushes in_).

Father, father, there’s some one in the well! If only it isn’t----

ANTHONY.

Bring the big ladder! Bring ropes and hooks! What are you
tarrying for? Quick! Even if it’s the bailiff!

KARL.

Everything’s there already. The neighbours were there before me.
If only it isn’t Clara!

ANTHONY.

Clara? (_Clutching at a table._)

KARL.

She went to get some water, and they found her handkerchief.

SEC.

Now I know why the bullet struck me. It is Clara.

ANTHONY.

Go and see. (_Sits down._) I can’t. (KARL _goes out_.) And
yet----(_Stands up again._) If I understand you properly (_to_
SECRETARY) it’s quite right.

KARL (_comes back_).

Clara’s dead. Her head’s all broken in by the edge of the well,
when she---- Father, she didn’t fall in, she jumped in. A girl
saw her.

ANTHONY.

Let her think well before she speaks. It is too dark for her to
have seen that for certain.

SEC.

Do you doubt it? You’d like to, but you can’t. Just think of what
you said to her. You sent her out on the road to death, and I,
I’m to blame that she didn’t turn back. When you suspected her
misfortune, you thought of the tongues that would hiss at it,
but not of the worthlessness of the snakes that own them. You
said things to her that drove her to despair. And I, instead
of folding her in my arms, when she opened her heart to me
in nameless terror, thought of the knave that might mock at
me, and----I made myself dependent on a man who was _worse_
than I, and I’m paying for it with my life. And you, too,
though you stand there like a rock, you too will say some day,
“Daughter, I wish you had not spared me the head-shakes and
shoulder-shruggings of the Pharisees; it humiliates me more, that
you are not here to sit by my deathbed and wipe the sweat of
anguish from my brow.”

ANTHONY.

She has spared me nothing. They saw her.

SEC.

She did what she could. You were not worthy that she should
succeed.

ANTHONY.

Or she, perhaps! (_Noises without._)

KARL.

They’re bringing her. (_Going._)

ANTHONY (_standing immovable till the end, calls him back_).

Into the back room with her, where her mother lay.

SEC.

I must go to meet her. (_Tries to get up and falls._) Oh, Karl!
(KARL _helps him out_.)

ANTHONY.

I don’t understand the world any more. (_Stands thinking._)

FOOTNOTES:

[1] He here imitates Rhodope’s voice, intimating that he has overheard her reproof of Hero.

[2] _See_ note 1, p. 178.

[3] _See_ note 2, p. 179.

[4] _See_ note 3, p. 179.

[5] _See_ note 4, p. 179.

[6] _See_ note 5, p. 180.

[7] _See_ note 6, p. 180.

[8] _See_ note 7, p. 180.

[9] A mistake of Hebbel’s for Jael.

[10] These words are a sneer, being a repetition of the twice-repeated phrase “_nicht so_.” Salome’s “_nicht so_?” means “not in that way?” but Herod uses the same interrogative form in the sense of “_nicht wahr_?” The familiar touch brings out the sneer.

[11] _See_ note 8, p. 180.

[12] _See_ note 9, p. 180.

[13] _See_ note 10, p. 181.

[14] _See_ note 11, p. 181.

[15] _See_ note 12, p. 181.

[16] _See_ note 13, p. 181.

[17] _See_ note 14, p. 182.

[18] _See_ note 15, p. 184.

[19] _See_ note 16, p. 184.

[20] _German:_ Ich muss “du” zu dir sagen.

[21] Using “du.”

Transcriber’s Note:

Variations in spelling, punctuation and hyphenation have been retained except in obvious cases of typographical error. These corrections have been made:

Page 019: berühmtem --> berühmten
Page 058: say --> saw
Page 114: soo --> too
Page 143: nithing --> nothing
Page 201: erefor --> therefor
Page 250: that’ --> that’s

Italics are represented thus, _italic_.