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SCENE FOURTH

A park in front of the grammar school. Melchior, Otto, George, Robert, Hans Rilow and Lämmermeier

Melchior

Can any of you say where Moritz Stiefel is keeping himself?

George

It may go hard with him!–Oh, it may go hard with him!

Otto

He'll keep on until he gets caught dead to rights.

Laemmermeier

Lord knows, I wouldn't want to be in his skin at this moment!

Robert

What cheek! What insolence!

Melchior

Wha–Wha–what do you know?

George

What do we know?–Now, I tell you–

Laemmermeier

I wish I hadn't said anything!

Otto

So do I–God knows I do!

Melchior

If you don't at once–

Robert

The long and the short of it is, Moritz Stiefel has broken into the Board Room.

Melchior

Into the Board Room–?

Otto

Into the Board Room. Right after the Latin lesson.

George

He was the last. He hung back intentionally.

Laemmermeier

As I turned the corner of the corridor, I saw him open the door.

Melchior

The devil take–

Laemmermeier

If only the devil doesn't take him.

George

Perhaps the Rector didn't take the key.

Robert

Or Moritz Stiefel carries a skeleton key.

Otto

That may be possible.

Laemmermeier

If he has luck, he'll only be kept in.

Robert

Besides getting a demerit mark in his report!

Otto

If this doesn't result in his being kicked out.

Hans Rilow

There he is!

Melchior

White as a handkerchief.

(Moritz comes in in great agitation.)

Laemmermeier

Moritz, Moritz, what have you done!

Moritz

Nothing–nothing–

Robert

You're feverish!

Moritz

From good fortune–from happiness–from jubilation–

Otto

You were caught!

Moritz

I am promoted!–Melchior, I am promoted! Oh, I don't care what happens now!–I am promoted!–Who would have believed that I should be promoted!–I don't realize it yet!–I read it twenty times!–I couldn't believe it–Good Lord, it's so!–It's so; I am promoted! (Laughing.) I don't know–I feel so queer–the ground turns around–Melchior, Melchior, can you realize what I've gone through?

Hans Rilow

I congratulate you, Moritz–Only be happy that you got away with it!

Moritz

You don't know, Hans, you can't guess, what depends on it. For three weeks I've slunk past that door as if it were a hellish abyss. To-day I saw it was ajar. I believe that if some one had offered me a million–nothing, oh nothing, could have held me.–I stood in the middle of the room,—I opened the report book–ran over the leaves–found–and during all that time–I shudder–

Melchior

——During all that time?

Moritz

During all that time the door behind me stood wide open. How I got out–how I came down the steps, I don't know.

Hans Rilow

Is Ernest Röbel promoted, too?

Moritz

Oh, certainly, Hans, certainly!–Ernest Röbel is promoted, too.

Robert

Then you can't have read correctly. Counting in the dunce's stool, we, with you and Robert, make sixty-one, and the upper class-room cannot accommodate more than sixty.

Moritz

I read it right enough. Ernest Röbel is given as high a rating as I am—both of us have conditions to work off.–During the first quarter it will be seen which of us has to make room for the other. Poor Röbel!–Heaven knows, I'm not afraid of myself any longer. I've looked into it too deeply this time for that.

Otto

I bet five marks that you lose your place.

Moritz

You haven't anything. I won't rob you.–Lord, but I'll grind from to-day on!–I can say so now–whether you believe it or not–It's all the same now–I–I know how true it is; if I hadn't been promoted I would have shot myself.

Robert

Boaster!

George

Coward!

Otto

I'd like to see you shoot yourself!

Laemmermeier

Box his ears.

Melchior

(Gives him a cuff.)

Come, Moritz, let's go to the forester's house!

George

Do you believe his nonsense?

Melchior

What's that to you? Let them chatter, Moritz! Come on, let's go to town.

(Professors Hungergurt and Knochenbruch pass by.)

Knochenbruch

It is inexplicable to me, my dear colleague, how the best of my scholars can fail the very worst of all.

Hungergurt

To me, also, professor.

SCENE FIFTH

A sunny afternoon—Melchior and Wendla meet each other in the wood

Melchior

Is it really you, Wendla?–What are you doing up here all alone?–For three hours I've been going from one side of the wood to the other without meeting a soul, and now you come upon me out of the thickest part of it!

Wendla

Yes, it's I.

Melchior

If I didn't know you were Wendla Bergmann, I would take you for a dryad, fallen out of your tree.

Wendla

No, no, I am Wendla Bergmann.–How did you come here?

Melchior

I followed my thoughts.

Wendla

I'm hunting waldmeister.¹ Mamma wants to make Maybowl. At first she intended coming along herself, but at the last moment Aunt Bauer dropped in, and she doesn't like to climb.–So I came by myself.

Melchior

Have you found your waldmeister?

Wendla

A whole basketful. Down there under the beach it grows as thick as meadow clover. Just now I am looking for a way out. I seem to have lost the path. Can you tell me what time it is?

Melchior

Just a little after half-past four. When do they expect you?

Wendla

I thought it was later. I lay dreaming for a long time on the moss by the brook. The time went by so fast, I feared it was already evening.

Melchior

If nobody is waiting for you, let us linger here a little longer. Under the oak tree there is my favorite place. If one leans one's head back against the trunk and looks up through the branches at the sky, one becomes hypnotized. The ground is warm yet from the morning sun.–For weeks I've been wanting to ask you something, Wendla.

Wendla

But I must be home at five o'clock.

Melchior

We'll go together, then. I'll take the basket and we'll beat our way through the bushes, so that in ten minutes we'll be on the bridge!–When one lies so, with one's head in one's hand, one has the strangest thoughts.–

(Both lie down under the oak.)

Wendla

What do you want to ask me, Melchior?

Melchior

I've heard, Wendla, that you visit poor people's houses. You take them food and clothes and money also. Do you do that of your own free will, or does your mother send you?

Wendla

Mother sends me mostly. They are families of day laborers that have too many children. Often the husband can't find work and then they freeze and go hungry. We have a lot of things which were laid away long ago in our closets and wardrobes and which are no longer needed.–But how did you know it?

Melchior

Do you go willingly or unwillingly, when your mother sends you?

Wendla

Oh, I love to go!–How can you ask?

Melchior

But the children are dirty, the women are sick, the houses are full of filth, the men hate you because you don't work–

Wendla

That's not true, Melchior. And if it were true, I'd go just the same!

Melchior

Why just the same, Wendla?

Wendla

I'd go just the same! It would make me all the happier to be able to help them.

Melchior

Then you go to see the poor because it makes you happy?

Wendla

I go to them because they are poor.

Melchior

But if it weren't a pleasure to you, you wouldn't go?

Wendla

Can I help it that it makes me happy?

Melchior

And because of it you expect to go to heaven! So it's true, then, that which has given me no peace for a month past!—Can the covetous man help it that it is no pleasure to him to go to see dirty sick children?

Wendla

Oh, surely it would give you the greatest pleasure!

Melchior

And, therefore, he must suffer everlasting death. I'll write a paper on it and send it to Pastor Kahlbauch. He is the cause of it. Why did he fool us with the joy of good works.—If he can't answer me I won't go to Sunday-school any longer and won't let them confirm me.

Wendla

Why don't you tell your trouble to your dear parents? Let yourself be confirmed, it won't cost you your head. If it weren't for our horrid white dresses and your long trousers one might be more spiritual.

Melchior

There is no sacrifice! There is no self-denial! I see the good rejoice in their hearts, I see the evil tremble and groan—I see you, Wendla Bergmann, shake your locks and laugh while I am as melancholy as an outlaw.—What did you dream, Wendla, when you lay in the grass by the brook?

Wendla

——Foolishness–nonsense.–

Melchior

With your eyes open?

Wendla

I dreamed I was a poor, poor beggar girl, who was turned out in the street at five o'clock in the morning. I had to beg the whole long day in storm and bad weather from rough, hard-hearted people. When I came home at night, shivering from hunger and cold, and without as much money as my father coveted, then I was beaten–beaten–

Melchior

I know that, Wendla. You have the silly children's stories to thank for that. Believe me, such brutal men exist no longer.

Wendla

Oh yes, Melchior, you're mistaken. Martha Bessel is beaten night after night, so that one sees the marks of it the next day. Oh, but it must hurt! It makes one boiling hot when she tells it. I'm so frightfully sorry for her that I often cry over it in my pillows at night. For months I've been thinking how one can help her.–I'd take her place for eight days with pleasure.

Melchior

One should complain of her father at once. Then the child would be taken away from him.

Wendla

I, Melchior, have never been beaten in my life–not a single time. I can hardly imagine what it means to be beaten. I have beaten myself in order to see how one felt then in one's heart–It must be a gruesome feeling.

Melchior

I don't believe a child is better for it.

Wendla

Better for what?

Melchior

For being beaten.

Wendla

With this switch, for instance! Ha! but it's tough and thin.

Melchior

That would draw blood!

Wendla

Would you like to beat me with it once?

Melchior

Who?

Wendla

Me.

Melchior

What's the matter with you, Wendla?

Wendla

What might happen?

Melchior

Oh, be quiet! I won't beat you.

Wendla

Not if I allow you?

Melchior

No, girl!

Wendla

Not even if I ask you, Melchior?

Melchior

Are you out of your senses?

Wendla

I've never been beaten in my life!

Melchior

If you can ask for such a thing–

Wendla

Please–please–

Melchior

I'll teach you to say please! (He hits her.)

Wendla

Oh, Lord, I don't notice it in the least!

Melchior

I believe you–through all your skirts–

Wendla

Then strike me on my legs!

Melchior

Wendla! (He strikes her harder.)

Wendla

You're stroking me! You're stroking me!

Melchior

Wait, witch, I'll flog Satan out of you!

(He throws the switch aside and beats her with his fists so that she breaks out with a frightful cry. He pays no attention to this, but falls upon her as if he were crazy, while the tears stream heavily down his cheeks. Presently he springs away, holds both hands to his temples and rushes into the depths of the wood crying out in anguish of soul.)

ACT II

SCENE FIRST

Evening in Melchior's study. The window is open, a lamp burns on the table.—Melchior and Moritz on the divan

Moritz

Now I'm quite gay again, only a little bit excited.–But during the Greek lesson I slept like the besotted Polyphemus. I'm astonished that the pronunciation of the ancient tongue doesn't give me the earache.–To-day I was within a hair of being late–My first thought on waking was of the verbs in μι–Himmel—Herrgott—Teufel—Donnerwetter, during breakfast and all along the road I conjugated until I saw green.–I must have popped off to sleep shortly after three. My pen made a blot in the book. The lamp was smoking when Mathilde woke me; the blackbirds in the elder bushes under the window were chirping so happily–and I felt so inexpressibly melancholy. I put on my collar and passed the brush through my hair.–One feels it when one imposes upon nature.

Melchior

May I roll you a cigarette?

Moritz

Thanks, I don't smoke.–If it only keeps on this way! I will work and work until my eyes fall out of my head.–Ernest Röbel has failed three times since vacation; three times in Greek, twice with Knochenbruch; the last time in the history of literature. I have been first five times in this lamentable conflict, and from to-day it does not bother me!–Röbel will not shoot himself. Röbel has no parents who sacrifice everything for him. If he wants he can become a soldier, a cowboy or a sailor. If I fail, my father will feel the blow and Mamma will land in the madhouse. One can't live through a thing like that!–Before the examination I begged God to give me consumption that the cup might pass me by untouched. He passed me by, though to-day His aureole shines in the distance, so that I dare not lift my eyes by night or day.–Now that I have grasped the bar I shall swing up on it. The natural consequence will be that I shall break my neck if I fall.

Melchior

Life is a worthless commonplace. It wouldn't have been a bad idea if I had hanged myself in the cradle.–Why doesn't Mamma come with the tea!

Moritz

Your tea will do me good, Melchior!–I'm shivering. I feel so strangely spiritualized. Touch me once, please. I see,—I hear,—I feel, much more acutely–and yet everything seems like a dream–oh, so harmonious.–How still the garden stretches out there in the moonlight, so still, so deep, as if it extended to eternity. From out the bushes step indefinable figures that slip away in breathless officiousness through the clearings and then vanish in the twilight. It seems to me as if a counsel were to be held under the chestnut tree.–Shall we go down there, Melchior?

Melchior

Let's wait until we have drunk our tea.

Moritz

The leaves whisper so busily.–It's just as if I heard my dead grandmother telling me the story of the “Queen Without a Head.” There was once a wonderfully beautiful Queen, beautiful as the sun, more beautiful than all the maidens in the country. Only, unfortunately, she came into the world without a head. She could not eat, not drink, not kiss. She could only communicate with her courtiers by using her soft little hand. With her dainty feet she stamped declarations of war and orders for executions. Then, one day, she was besieged by a King, who, by chance, had two heads, which, year in and year out, disputed with one another so violently that neither could get a word in edgewise. The Court Conjurer-in-chief took off the smallest of these heads and set it upon the Queen's body. And, behold, it became her extraordinarily well! Therefore, the King and the Queen were married, and the two heads disputed no longer, but kissed each other upon the brow, the cheeks and the mouth, and lived thereafter through long, long years of joy and peace.–Delectable nonsense! Since vacation I can't get the headless Queen out of my mind. When I see a pretty girl, I see her without a head–and then presently, I, myself appear to be the headless Queen.–It is possible that someone may be set over me yet.

(Frau Gabor comes in with the steaming tea, which she sets before Melchior and Moritz on the table.)

Frau Gabor

Here, children, here's a mouthful for you. Good-evening, Herr Stiefel, how are you?

Moritz

Thank you, Frau Gabor.–I'm watching the dance down there.

Frau Gabor

But you don't look very good–don't you feel well?

Moritz

It's not worth mentioning. I went to bed somewhat too late last night.

Melchior

Only think, he worked all through the night.

Frau Gabor

You shouldn't do such things, Herr Stiefel. You ought to take care of yourself. Think of your health. Don't set your school above your health. Take plenty of walks in the fresh air. At your age, that is more important than a correct use of middle high German.

Moritz

I will go walking. You are right. One can be industrious while one is taking a walk. Why didn't I think of that myself!–The written work I shall still have to do at home.

Melchior

You can do your writing here; that will make it easier for both of us.–You know, Mamma, that Max von Trenk has been down with brain fever!–To-day at noon Hans Rilow came from von Trenk's deathbed to announce to Rector Sonnenstich that von Trenk had just died in his presence. “Indeed?” said Sonnenstich, “haven't you two hours from last week to make up? Here is the beadle's report. See that the matter is cleared up once for all! The whole class will attend the burial.”–Hans was struck dumb.

Frau Gabor

What book is that you have, Melchior?

Melchior

“Faust.”

Frau Gabor

Have you read it yet?

Melchior

Not to the end.

Moritz

We're just at the Walpurgisnacht.

Frau Gabor

If I were you I should have waited for one or two years.

Melchior

I know of no book, Mamma, in which I have found so much beauty. Why shouldn't I read it?

Frau Gabor

Because you can't understand it.

Melchior

You can't know that, Mamma. I feel very well that I am not yet able to grasp the work in its entirety–

Moritz

We always read together; that helps our understanding wonderfully.

Frau Gabor

You are old enough, Melchior, to be able to know what is good and what is bad for you. Do what you think best for yourself. I should be the first to acknowledge your right in this respect, because you have never given me a reason to have to deny you anything. I only want to warn you that even the best can do one harm when one isn't ripe enough in years to receive it properly.–I would rather put my trust in you than in conventional educational methods.–If you need anything, children, you, Melchior, come up and call me. I shall be in my bedroom.

(Exit.)

Moritz

Your Mamma means the story of Gretchen.

Melchior

Weren't we discussing it just a moment ago!

Moritz

Faust himself cannot have deserted her in cold blood!

Melchior

The masterpiece does not end with this infamous action!–Faust might have promised the maiden marriage, he might have forsaken her afterwards, but in my eyes he would have been not a hair less worthy of punishment. Gretchen might have died of a broken heart for all I care.–One sees how this attracts the eyes continually; one might think that the whole world turned on sex!²

Moritz

To be frank with you, Melchior, I have almost the same feeling since I read your explanation.–It fell at my feet during the first vacation days. I was startled. I fastened the door and flew through the flaming lines as a frightened owl flies through a burning wood–I believe I read most of it with my eyes shut. Your explanation brought up a host of dim recollections, which affected me as a song of his childhood affects a man on his deathbed when heard from the lips of another. I felt the most vehement pity over what you wrote about maidens. I shall never lose that sensation. Believe me, Melchior, to suffer a wrong is sweeter than to do a wrong. To be overcome by such a sweet wrong and still be blameless seems to me the fullness of earthly bliss.

Melchior

I don't want my bliss as alms!

Moritz

But why not?

Melchior

I don't want anything for which I don't have to fight!

Moritz

Is it enjoyable then, Melchior?–The maiden's enjoyment is as that of the holy gods. The maiden controls herself, thanks to her self-denial. She keeps herself free from every bitterness until the last moment, in order that she may see the heavens open over her in an instant. The maiden fears hell even at the moment that she perceives a blooming paradise. Her feeling is as pure as a mountain spring. The maiden holds a cup over which no earthly breath has blown as yet; a nectar chalice, the contents of which is spilled when it flames and flares.–The enjoyment that the man finds in that, I think, is insipid and flat.

Melchior

You can think what you like about it, but keep your thoughts to yourself–I don't like to think about it.