can I set against his kindness?
MARY.
And you wanted to go away, you wicked Robert, and leave us all!
ROBERT.
I wanted to go, but I am still here. Oh! That was a wretched time! I despaired of everything; of you, Mary; of myself; but all that is now past. There must be a little shade, only not too much. Let us go out, Mary. It is so close here in the house. The musicians shall play us the merriest piece they know. [_They are about to go_.]
SCENE III
_The same. Enter the_ FORESTER, _his Wife behind him. As soon as_ MARY _sees the_ FORESTER, _she leaves_ ROBERT _and embraces her father_.
FORESTER.
Get out, wench! [_Tearing himself free_.] Is this the sun’s ray after a rainy day, that the gadflies come buzzing about one’s head? Have you filled Robert’s ears with lamentations, you women folks? You silly girl there!
[_Pushes_ MARY _from him_.]
I have something to say to Robert. I have been looking for you, Mr. Stein.
ROBERT.
Mr. Stein? No longer Robert?
FORESTER.
Everything has its due season, familiar speech and formal speech. When the women folks are gone–
SOPHY.
Don’t worry, we’ll retreat, you old bear. Don’t be afraid to talk.
FORESTER.
All right. As soon as you are out.
ROBERT (_leads her out_).
Don’t be angry, mother dear.
SOPHY.
If I were to mind him, I should never cease being angry.
FORESTER.
Close the door! Do you hear?
SOPHY.
Hush, hush!
FORESTER.
Who is master here? Confound it!
SCENE IV
_The_ FORESTER; ROBERT. _The_ FORESTER, _when they are alone becomes embarrassed, and walks up and down for some time_.
ROBERT.
You wished to say–
FORESTER.
Quite right–
[_Wipes the perspiration from his forehead_.]
Well; sit down, Mr. Stein.
ROBERT.
These preparations–
[FORESTER _points to a chair at the end of the table_. ROBERT _seats himself_.]
FORESTER (_takes the Bible from the shelf, seats himself opposite_)
ROBERT,(_puts on his spectacles, opens the book and clears his throat_).
Proverbs, chapter 31, verse 10: “Who can find a virtuous woman? for her price is far above rubies. The heart of her husband doth safely trust in her, so that he shall have no need of spoil. She will do him good and not evil all the days of her life.” [7]
[_Short pause; then he calls brusquely toward_ _the window, while he remains seated_.]
William, be careful out there! And then further on, verse 30. You’ll trample down all the boxweed, confound you! “Favor is deceitful, and beauty is vain; but a woman that feareth the Lord, she shall be praised.”–Robert!
ROBERT (_starting_).
Father Ulrich–
FORESTER.
Again, Ecclesiasticus, verse so and so–Mr. Stein–
ROBERT.
Once more “Mister.”
FORESTER.
I see I shall have to use the familiar form of address. Otherwise I shall not be able to speak my mind.–Robert–
ROBERT.
You are so solemn!
FORESTER.
Solemn? Perhaps so. But this affair is enough to make one solemn. I am not a heathen.
[_Strikes an attitude_.] So you are decided with God’s help, Robert–
ROBERT. Well–
FORESTER.
Hang it!–Don’t look at me that way!–You intend to marry, Robert?
ROBERT (_rises, surprised_).
Why, you know that–
FORESTER.
That’s true. But there must be some sort of introduction. Never mind, sit down. However, you must give me a chance to finish what I have to say. On other occasions I am not afraid to talk, but now that I am about to preach a sermon, it strikes me just as if I were to see the pastor in his cassock trying to chase a hare.
[_Relieved_.]
Now, then; at last I have struck the trail. Suppose a stag from Luetzdorf is roaming about. You understand, Robert? Now give me your attention. This fork here represents the stag. Right here, do you see? Here is the salt-cellar: that’s you. And the wind blows from the direction of that plate. What are you going to do now in order to stalk the stag? Hey?
[_Trying to assist him_.]
You–well?
ROBERT.
I must–
FORESTER (_nodding assent_).
You must–
[_Makes a pantomime_.]
ROBERT.
I must get to the windward of him.
FORESTER.
Get to the windward. Correct. Do you begin to see what I am driving at? You must get to the windward of him. That’s it! Do you see now? That is the reason why I had to have a talk with you.
[_Solemnly_.]
You must get to the windward of the stag.
[_Rises_.]
And now–make her happy–Robert–my Mary.
[_About to go_.]
ROBERT.
But what has all this to do with Mary?
FORESTER.
Why, you have not yet understood me? Look here! The stag must not have an inkling that you are very anxious about him; and much less a woman. You make too much fuss about the women. Children must not know how dearly one loves them; anything but that! But women even less so. In reality, they are nothing but grown-up children, only more shrewd. And the children are already shrewd enough.–Sit down, Robert, I must tell you something.
[_They sit at the edge of the table, facing the audience_.]
When that Mary of mine was four years old–no taller than this–I once came home later than usual. “Where is Mary?” I ask. One child says: “In her room;” the other: “In front of the house. She’ll be here pretty soon.” But one guess was as far from the truth as the other. Evening comes, night comes–Mary does not appear. I go outside. In the garden, in the adjoining shrubbery, on the rocks of the dell, in the whole forest–not a trace of Mary. In the meantime my wife is looking for her at your house, then at every house in the village, but nowhere can she find a trace of Mary. Can it be possible that some one should have kidnapped her? Why, she was as beautiful as a wax-doll, my Mary. The whole night I never touched my bed. Even at that time Mary was everything to me. The next morning I alarm the entire village. Not a person fails to respond. All were passionately fond of Mary. At least I wished to bury the corpse. In the dell, you know, the thicket of firs–under the cliffs where on the other side of the brook the old footpath runs high along the rocks-next to it the willows. This time I crawl through the whole thicket. In the midst of it is the small open meadows; there at last I see something red and white. Praised be heaven! It is she–and neither dead nor ill, no, safe and sound in the green grass; and after her sleep her little cheeks were as red as peonies, Robert. But–
[_He looks about him and lowers his voice_.]
I hope she is not listening.
[_Draws closer to_ ROBERT; _whenever he forgets himself, he immediately lowers his voice_.]
I say: “Is it you, really?” “Of course,” she says, and rubs her eyes so that they sparkle. “And you are alive,” I say; “and did not die,” I say, “of hunger and fear?” I say. “Half a day and a whole, night alone in the forest, in the very thickest of the forest! Come,” I say, “that in the meantime mother may not die of anxiety,” I say. Says she: “Wait a while, father.” “But, why and for what?” “Till the child comes again,” says she. “And let us take it with us, please, father. It is a dear child.” “But who, in all the world, is this child?” I ask. “The one that came to me,” says she, “when I ran away from you a little while ago after the yellow butterfly, and when all at once I was quite alone in the forest and wanted to cry and call after you, and who picked berries for me and played with me so nicely.” “A little while ago?” I say. “Did not the night come since then?” I say. But she would not believe that. We looked for the child and–naturally did not find it. Men no longer have faith in anything, but I know what I know. Do you understand, Robert? Say nothing. It seems to me I were committing a sacrilege if I should say it right out. There, shake hands with me without saying anything. All right, Robert.–For heaven’s sake, don’t let her hear what we are saying about her.
[_Goes softly to the door; looks out_.] MARY (_outside_).
Do you want anything, father?
FORESTER (_nods secretly toward_ ROBERT, _then brusquely_).
Nothing. And don’t you come in again before I–
[_Comes back; speaks just above a whisper_.]
Do you see? That’s the way to treat her. You make far too much fuss about that girl. She is [_still more softly_] a girl that any father might be proud of, and I think she is going to be a wife after God’s own heart. I have such a one. Do you see, I don’t mind telling you, because I know you are not going to repeat it to her. For she must not know it; otherwise all my pains would go for nothing. And pains it certainly cost me till I got her so far; pains, I tell you. I advise you not to spoil my girl, whom I have gone to so much trouble to bring up properly.
ROBERT.
You may think,–but I don’t understand you at all.
FORESTER.
There’s just the rub! You don’t do it purposely. But, confound it! Don’t make such a fuss over the girl, do you hear? If you go on this way, she will have you in her pocket within a month. The women always want to rule; all their thoughts and aspirations tend to that end, without being themselves aware of it. And when they finally do rule, they are unhappy in spite of it; I know more than one instance of this. I only look inside the door, and I know for certain what sort of figure the man cuts. I only look at the cattle. If the dog or the cat is not well trained, neither are the children; and the wife still less. Hey? My wife does not yet know me as far as that here [_points to his heart_] is concerned. And if she should ever get hold of that secret–then good-by, authority! The wife may be an angel, but the man must act like a bear. And especially a huntsman. That’s part of the business, just as much as the moustache and the green coat.
ROBERT.
But could it not be possible that–
FORESTER (_eagerly_). No, Robert. Once and for all, no! There is no way out of it. Either he trains her, or she trains him.–For example; let me give you only one instance how to go about it. My wife cannot see any human being suffer; now the poor wretches come in troops, and I should like to know what is to come of it all, if I were to praise her to her face. Therefore I grumble and swear like a trooper, but at the same time I gradually withdraw, so that she has full liberty. And when I notice that she is through, then I come along again, as if by accident, and keep on grumbling and swearing. Then people say: “The Hereditary Forester is harder on the poor than the devil himself, but his wife and his girl, they are angels from heaven.” And they say this so that I should hear it; and hear it I do. But I pretend not to notice it, and laugh in my sleeve; and to keep up appearances I bluster all the more.–It seems the guests are arriving. Robert, my wife, and my girl, my Mary–if I at some time–you understand me, Robert. Give me your hand. God is looking down on us.
[_Wipes his eyes_.]
The deuce! Confound it! Don’t let the cat out of the bag to the women–and you rule her as it ought to be.
[_He turns around to hide his emotion, with gestures expressive of his vexation that he cannot control himself. At the door he encounters the following_]:
SCENE V
_The same_. STEIN; MOeLLER; WILKENS; MARY; SOPHY. _They exchange greetings with the_ FORESTER.
STEIN.
What’s your hurry, old man? Have you already had a row with him?
FORESTER.
Yes. I have given the young gentleman a lecture on the subject of women-folks.
STEIN.
High treason against the majesty of petticoat-government? And you permit that, madam?
SOPHY.
A little more, a little less–when one has to put up with so much!
FORESTER.
And now can anybody say that this woman is not clever enough to get one under her thumb. But let us have cards. I had to promise Stein that he should have his revenge today before lunch–
STEIN. Revenge I must have.
[_The_ FORESTER _and_ STEIN _sit down opposite each other on the right side of the stage and play cards_.]
SOPHY (_watches them a moment; then to_ ROBERT, _while going to and fro with an air of being very busy_).
I hope to heaven they are not going to discuss the clearing of the forest today.
MOeLLER (_on the left side, stepping up to_ WILKENS _and pointing to_ MARY, _who is talking to her mother and_ ROBERT).
That is what I call a fine-looking bride!
WILKENS.
And she is not a beggar’s child either, Sir.
MOeLLER (_politely_).
Who does not know that Mr. Wilkens is her mother’s uncle?
WILKENS (_flattered_).
Well, well!
MOeLLER.
And Mr. Wilkens need not be ashamed, I believe, of the firm of Stein and Son.
WILKENS (_calmly_).
By no means.
MOeLLER (_with great enthusiasm_).
Sir! The firm of Stein and Son! I have served the firm twenty years. That is my honor and my pride. For me the firm is wife and child!
WILKENS.
I do not doubt it.
MOeLLER.
The foremost houses of Germany would consider it an honor to ally themselves in marriage with Stein and Son.
WILKENS. I am sure of it.
[_Turns to the bridal couple_.]
MOeLLER (_angrily to himself_).
And that fellow parades his peasant’s pride, as if Stein and Son ought to esteem it a high honor to ally themselves with that forester’s goose. His forty-five will be divided into three parts, and only after his death. The only daughter of Loehlein & Co. with her eighty! That were quite a different capital for our business; and cash down today! This mesalliance is unpardonable. But what can one do? One must [_A waltz is heard without_] dance off one’s vexation. May I have the honor, madam [_to_ SOPHY] on the lawn?
[_Bows with an old bachelor’s jauntiness_.]
STEIN.
I wonder whether I’ll get decent cards!
SOPHY.
I guess we’ll have time for that?
WILKENS.
Old Wilkens is not yet going to sit in a corner.
[_Fumbles in his pocket_.]
Wilkens must also contribute his dollar for the benefit of the musicians. I hope I have your permission, Mr. Bridegroom?
[MOeLLER _leads out_ SOPHY; WILKENS _leads_ MARY; ROBERT _follows_.]
SCENE VI
STEIN; _the_ FORESTER.
STEIN (_throwing down his cards_).
Have I a single trump?
FORESTER (_calling_).
Twenty in spades.
STEIN (_taking up his cards again; impatiently_).
Why not forty? Talking about spades reminds me–have you considered that matter about the clearing?
FORESTER. That fellow is a–
[_They continue to play_.]
STEIN.
What fellow?
FORESTER.
The fellow who hatched that scheme.
STEIN.
Do you mean me?
FORESTER.
Your Godfrey there–
STEIN (_getting excited: with emphasis_).
_My_ Godfrey?
FORESTER (_growing more and more calm and cheerful_).
Well, for all I care, mine, then.
STEIN.
Why do you always drag him in?
FORESTER.
Never mind him, then.
STEIN.
As if I–it is you–whenever an opportunity offers, you, you drag him in. You can’t get rid of him. Like dough he sticks to your teeth.
FORESTER (_very calmly_).
As, for example, just now.
STEIN.
You have made up your mind to annoy me.
FORESTER.
Nonsense! You only want to pick a quarrel. STEIN. I? But why do you immediately trump, when I play a wrong card?
FORESTER.
Playing a wrong card means losing the game.
STEIN (_throwing down his cards_).
Well, there you have the whole business!
[_Jumps up_.]
FORESTER. I deal.
[_Shuffles calmly and deals_.]
STEIN (_has taken a few steps_).
I am not going to play any more with you.
FORESTER (_unconcerned_).
But it is my turn to deal.
STEIN (_sits down again_).
Obstinate old fellow!
FORESTER.
You immediately lose your temper.
STEIN (_taking his cards; still angry_).
You would not give in, even if it were as clear as day that you are wrong!
SCENE VII
_The same. Enter_ MOeLLER, _leading in_ SOPHY; WILKENS. _The waltz outside is finished_.
SOPHY.
But now I think that–
FORESTER.
One more turn.
SOPHY.
Everything is ready–
FORESTER.
The pastor–
SOPHY.
He sent word that we are not to wait lunch for him. But he would be here at eleven o’clock sharp for the betrothal.
FORESTER.
Then sit down and eat.
STEIN.
Please, do not let us detain you.
FORESTER.
It is immaterial whether we sit here or there. Now then! Forty in spades.
[_Continuing to play_.]
STEIN.
All right! Go ahead.
FORESTER (_triumphantly_).
Are not you thinking of Godfrey again? And the clearing? Hey?
STEIN (_controlling himself_).
Now you see–
FORESTER (_more excited_).
That the fellow is a fool–Queens are trumps.
STEIN.
I’m bearing in mind that we are not alone.
FORESTER (_excited by the game_).
And trump–and trump!–the forest shall be cleared!
STEIN.
That will do, I say. The idea was mine.
FORESTER.
And trump.
STEIN.
And if I–[_He controls himself_.]
FORESTER (_triumphantly_).
Well, what then?
[_Puts the cards together_.]
STEIN (_making a desperate effort to contain himself_).
And if I should wish to have it so–if I should insist upon it–then– FORESTER.
Everything would remain as it is.
STEIN.
The forest would be cleared.
FORESTER.
Nothing of the kind.
STEIN.
We’ll see about that. And now the forest _shall_ be cleared.
FORESTER.
It shall _not_.
STEIN.
Sir!
FORESTER (_laughing_).
Mr. Stein!
STEIN.
It’s all right! It’s all right!
FORESTER (_very calmly_).
As it is.
STEIN.
Not another word–
FORESTER.
And not a tree–
STEIN (_rises_).
No contradiction and no sarcasm! That I request. That I insist upon. I am the master of Duesterwalde.
FORESTER.
And I am the forester of Duesterwalde.
[STEIN _is getting more and more excited. He shows plainly that the presence of other persons increases his sensitiveness, and he makes an evident effort to control his temper. The_ FORESTER _treats the matter lightly, as an every-day affair_. SOPHY _with increasing anxiety looks from one to the other_. WILKENS _does not move a muscle of his face_. MOeLLER _exhibits his sympathy by accompanying his master’s words with appropriate gestures. The entire pantomimic by-play is very rapid_.]
STEIN.
You are my servant, and I command: The forest shall be cleared. If not, you are no longer my servant. The forest shall be cleared.
FORESTER.
Old hot-head!
STEIN.
Either you obey, or you are no longer forester.
FORESTER.
Stuff and nonsense!
STEIN.
And I shall put Godfrey in your place.
FORESTER.
Quite right. Congratulations.
STEIN (_buttons his coat_).
The forest shall be cleared.
FORESTER.
The forest shall not be cleared.
SOPHY (_stepping between the two_).
But–
STEIN.
I regret this exceedingly.–Mr. Moeller!–I bid everybody good-day.
[_Exit_.]
MOeLLER.
Bravo! At last he has spoken his mind in a manner worthy of Stein and Son. Yours truly.
[_Follows_ STEIN.]
FORESTER.
I deal–
[_He looks up while shuffling the cards_.]
But–well, let him go. If he can’t sit for an hour without exploding, the old powder-bag–
SCENE VIII
_The_ FORESTER _remains seated imperturbably_. SOPHY _stands beside his chair_. WILKENS _steps up to the_ FORESTER.
SOPHY.
But what in the world is going to come of this?
WILKENS.
He should have gone after him.
FORESTER. The old hot-head!
SOPHY.
I am absolutely dumbfounded. On the very day of betrothal!
WILKENS.
But for the sake of a few miserable trees he surely is not going to–
FORESTER.
Miserable trees? Thunder! In my forest there is no miserable tree!–Nonsense. There is no cause for lamentation.
WILKENS.
But Mr. Stein–
FORESTER.
Is not going to run far. When his anger has subsided, he will be the first one to–he is better than I.
WILKENS.
But–
FORESTER.
Hang it! You always have a “But.” That’s the way he goes on every day. For twenty years–
WILKENS.
But today he is your master.
FORESTER.
Master or not. The forest shall not be cleared. WILKENS. But you will lose your place.
FORESTER.
To Godfrey? Idle talk! Stein himself can’t bear Godfrey, and he knows what I am worth to him. I need not sing my own praise. Show me a forest anywhere in the whole district that can be compared to mine.–Do you hear? Why, there he is back again. Sit down. And if he comes in, act as if nothing had happened.
SCENE IX _The same. Enter_ MOeLLER _rapidly; later_, ANDREW.
FORESTER (_not looking up_).
Well, I deal.
[_Takes the cards, notices his mistake_.]
Is that you, Mr. Moeller?
MOeLLER (_pompously_).
At your service.
FORESTER.
Well, sit down. Has he cooled down again, the old hot-head? Why doesn’t he come in? I suppose he expects me to fetch him?
[_Is about to go_.]
MOeLLER.
Mr. Stein sends me to ask you, sir, whether you have changed your mind.
FORESTER.
I should say not!
MOeLLER.
That you will clear the forest?
FORESTER.
That I will _not_ clear the forest.
MOeLLER.
That means, that you are going to resign your position as forester.
FORESTER.
That means–that you are a fool.
MOeLLER (_very pompously_).
I have been commissioned by Mr. Adolf Friedrich Stein, head of the firm of Stein and Son, in case you should still persist in your refusal to execute the command of your master, to announce to you your dismissal, and to notify Godfrey immediately that he is forester of Duesterwalde.
FORESTER.
And that would be a great pleasure to you–
MOeLLER.
I am not to be considered in this matter. What is to be considered is the firm of Stein and Son, whom I have the honor to represent. I give you five minutes time for consideration.
[_Steps to the window_.]
[Illustration: SCHNORR VON CAROLSFELD THE FINDING OF MOSES]
FORESTER.
Dismiss me? Dismiss me? Do you know what that means? Dismiss a man who has served faithfully for forty years? Good heavens, sir! If I should do what he wishes–then I deserved to be dismissed. Clear the forest! And the mountain faces north and northwest, absolutely exposed–
WILKENS.
Well! But this is not a question of your trees.
FORESTER.
So that the wind can rush in and break down everything. Hang it! Nonsense! He does not mean it at all. If he only comes to his senses–
WILKENS.
That’s just what I say. Until it comes to the actual cutting down, one has time to think a hundred times. And don’t you see that it is not at all the cutting down that Mr. Stein is concerned about? He is only concerned about maintaining his authority. If he is the master he necessarily must be right.
FORESTER.
But he is wrong, and I shall not give my consent to anything that is wrong. For forty years I have disregarded my own interest for the sake of what was intrusted to my care; I have–
WILKENS.
Well. My opinion is, that if for forty years you have had such tender regard for your trees, you might now, for once, have a similar regard for your wife and children and yourself.
FORESTER.
Do you know that to Stein there may result from this a loss of six thousand dollars? Do you? Of that sum I should deprive him if I consented. And would you have some one come along and say: “Ulrich gave his consent to that? In fifteen years there might have been such a forest of timber, that a forester’s heart would have swelled with pride, and–“
WILKENS.
Well. That might still–
FORESTER.
After the cursed wind from the direction of Hersbruck once has made havoc in it? You talk as you understand it.
SOPHY (_anxiously_).
But what is to become of us?
FORESTER.
We are honest people, and such we shall remain. WILKENS. Well! As if honesty entered even remotely into this question!
FORESTER.
But, gracious heavens! What else does enter? Hey? Am I to play the sycophant? Just try to kick me! You’ll soon learn better. And laugh in my sleeve? Only no honest, fearless word! That is your peasant’s philosophy. As long as they don’t touch your pocket-book, you put up with anything. If you are not compelled–
WILKENS (_self-satisfied_).
Well, yes. If the peasant is not compelled, he moves neither hand nor foot. There he is quite right. That is the peasant’s philosophy. And, I tell you, this peasant’s philosophy is not so foolish. Had you practised this philosophy, you would have done your duty, and not a penny’s worth more; you would have spent your money on yourself, your wife and your children, and not to increase somebody else’s wealth. In that case, it would not concern you now what becomes of it.–Whose bread I eat, his praise I sing. You are paid to be servant, not master. When, therefore, your master says: The forest shall be cleared–
FORESTER.
Then I must see to it that it is not done. The honest man comes before the servant.
WILKENS.
Well. Now we are just as far as we were at the beginning.
[_Turns away_.]
SOPHY.
You are not going? You are my only consolation, cousin. No doubt, he will change his mind. He has the greatest respect for you, cousin.
WILKENS.
I notice he has.
SOPHY.
The betrothal!–Mary! How unfortunate that the pastor has not yet arrived! Cousin, if you only would–
_Enter_ ANDREW.
WILKENS.
His head is as hard as iron. Can any one make anything plain to him? MOeLLER (_who until now has been looking out of the window without saying anything, looks at his watch, and then turns pompously to the_ FORESTER).
Sir, I should like to ask you for your final decision.
FORESTER.
What I have said, I have said.
[_Takes a few steps, then stops_.]
And moreover, he can’t do it; I mean, dismiss me. He has no right to dismiss me. First of all he must produce evidence that I have deserved it. He has no right to dismiss me without any cause whatever.
MOeLLER (_with authority_).
So you will not clear the forest? Say it plainly: You will not?
FORESTER.
If it was not sufficiently plain to you before, then: No! I can’t state it more plainly. I will not be a scoundrel, and he cannot dismiss an honest man. Is that plain, definite and unmistakable? I am forester, and I remain forester–and the forest shall not be cleared. That you may tell your master and your Godfrey and whomever you please.
SOPHY.
Have only a little patience with him. I am sure Mr. Stein does not mean it, and you have been so kind already–
MOeLLER.
If the decision rested with me, with me, Justus Moeller,–what would I not do to please you, madam? But I am here as the representative of Stein and Son.
FORESTER.
And if he thinks he has a right, let him act accordingly. But you, woman, do not insult my good right by asking favors of the wrong-doer. Good-day, Mr. Moeller. Is there anything else you desire? Nothing? Have you anything else to tell me?
MOeLLER (_very pompously_).
Nothing beyond the fact that your incumbency of the post of forester ceases with the present moment. Here is your salary–a half year in advance. In consideration whereof, as soon as possible, within three days at the latest, you will vacate this house, so that the present forester may move in, upon whom, from this moment on, rests the sole responsibility for the forest.
[_The_ FORESTER _is obliged to sit down_.]
SOPHY (_to_ ANDREW, _whom she has been compelled to restrain all the while, and who now rushes toward the door_).
Where are you going, Andrew?
ANDREW.
I am going to tell Robert what his father–
SOPHY.
Don’t you dare to–
ANDREW.
Let me go, mother, before I lay hands on that fellow there–
[_Exit in violent anger_.]
FORESTER.
Never mind. Never mind! Keep quiet, woman.
[_Rises_.]
Good-day, Mr. Moeller. You have left some money behind you, sir. Better take it, or I’ll throw it after you.
[_Steps to the window and whistles_.]
MOeLLER.
You see, madam, it gives me pain to discharge my duty. I am going to Godfrey.
FORESTER (_without turning toward him_).
Good luck on the way!
SCENE X
_The_ FORESTER _is standing at the window whistling_. WILKENS _is looking for his cane and hat_. SOPHY _in perplexity looks from one to the other. As he is about to leave_, MOeLLER _encounters_ ROBERT _and_ ANDREW, _who come rushing in_. MARY _is clinging to the arm of_ ROBERT _whom she tries to calm_.
ROBERT (_entering angrily_).
He shall give in. He shall not spoil the beautiful day.
ANDREW.
Go to your father. He commenced this quarrel.
MOeLLER.
It is lucky that I meet you, Mr. Stein. I am commissioned to beg you to come home at once.
[_Exit_.]
ROBERT.
Ulrich, you yield; you must yield.
FORESTER (_turning away from the window_).
You, Mr. Stein? What do you want from me? Mary, you go out there! What do you want from the man whom your father intends to dismiss?
ROBERT.
But why will you not consent?
ANDREW.
Because he wishes to remain an honest man, and will not suffer himself to be made a scoundrel by you. [_The_ FORESTER _makes a sign to him to be silent_.]
ROBERT.
I am not talking to you now, Andrew.
FORESTER.
You are here with your father’s consent, Mr. Stein? Moreover–sir, and if your father had the power to take from me my position and my honor–the fact that I have an irreproachable child, that is something he cannot take from me. And any one else–hey? Young man, on this point I am touchy. Do you understand?
SOPHY.
But will you fall out even with your last friend?
FORESTER.
Mary’s reputation is at stake. If he is a friend, he knows without my telling him what he has to do.
ROBERT.
I know what I have to do; but you do not. Otherwise you would not risk your children’s happiness for a whim–for–
FORESTER.
Ho! ho! Tell that to your father, young man!
ROBERT.
For your obstinacy. I have your word, and Mary has mine; I am a man, and will be no scoundrel.
FORESTER.
And because you will not be a scoundrel, I am to be one? Shall people say: “Ulrich caused a quarrel between father and son?” Sir, my girl is too good to have it said of her that she stole into your family. Mr. Stein, this is my home. You know what I mean.
SOPHY.
At least let the children–
FORESTER.
Do something foolish? And you look on; and afterward you can do nothing better than weep.
ROBERT.
Mary, whatever befall–
FORESTER.
I do not know whether I know Mary. If I am mistaken in her then it is better you go with him at once.
MARY.
Father, he is so true.
FORESTER.
Very well. Go with him.
SOPHY.
So inflexible–
ROBERT. In the name of heaven, Mary, which has destined us for one another–
FORESTER (_as before, to his wife_).
And let me advise you not to–Do you hear, if it should come to pass–
[_Turns with her toward the background_.]
ANDREW (_bursting out_).
Now it’s enough! Mary, either you go or he goes.
SOPHY.
Now you are beginning too, Andrew! [_Goes to him on the left side of the stage_.]
ANDREW.
I have been silent long enough. Let me alone, mother. His father has insulted my father; I will not allow this fellow to insult my sister also.
ROBERT.
You belong to me, Mary. I should like to see him who–keep your hands off!
MARY.
Robert, it is my brother!
ANDREW (_threatening_).
Only one step further, or–
ROBERT.
Away, I say; for God’s sake–
ANDREW.
You are no match for me–
ROBERT.
Not with the point of your finger shall you touch what belongs to me. I defy you all–
ANDREW.
Do you hear that, father?
FORESTER (_stepping between the two_).
Back there, fellow! Who is master in this house?
ANDREW.
If you are master, father, then show that you are. Otherwise let me show it to that fellow there.
FORESTER.
Andrew, go over there, and say not another word!
ANDREW.
Father–
FORESTER.
Will you mind what I say?
[ANDREW _pulls a rifle from the wall_.]
FORESTER.
What are you doing there?
ANDREW (_with suppressed rage_).
Nothing. Here in the house you are master. Outside no one is master; outside we all are.
FORESTER.
In my forest I am master.
ANDREW.
But not a step beyond.
FORESTER.
What do you mean? Answer!
ANDREW.
Nothing particular, father. Only that fellow there need know.–If you are not concerned about your own honor–I shall protect Mary’s honor. That is for him who dares to come near Mary.
SOPHY.
What words are those?
ROBERT.
Idle words. It is children that are afraid of words.
ANDREW.
There will be something more than words, as surely as I am a man.
ROBERT.
If you were a man you would not threaten, you–
ANDREW.
If we were somewhere else, you would not taunt–
FORESTER.
Andrew!
ROBERT.
Make room–
ANDREW.
Get out, I say–
[FORESTER _almost at the same time puts his finger in his mouth and gives a shrill whistle_.]
ANDREW.
If you no longer–
FORESTER (_stepping between the two_).
Rebellious boys! Hold your peace! Don’t you dare to strike, either one of you! You confounded fellow! When I need a guardian I certainly shall not select a greenhorn. Is it I who is master here or is it some one else? What business have you here, fellow? Get you gone into the forest; look after Weiler that he does not loaf; then take out a dozen maple trees from the nursery and put them up in damp moss; see to it that the messenger from Haslau does not have to wait when he comes. Not a word! Along with you!
[ANDREW _obeys and goes, after having cast a threatening look at_ ROBERT, _to which the latter replies_.]
FORESTER.
And you, Mr. Stein; good-day, Mr. Stein. You know what I mean.
SOPHY.
If you would intercede with your father; but gently and kindly! And if you would bring him back!
MARY.
Then I should see how truly you love me, Robert.
FORESTER (_less roughly_).
Don’t come again before that. Good-by, Robert. And leave that girl alone.
ROBERT.
I am going. But come what may, I shall not resign my claim upon Mary. [_Exit_.]
SOPHY.
Is everything to turn out unlucky today? And you, cousin, are you also going to leave us?
WILKENS.
Well! If one insists on running his head through a wall, I’m not the fool to hold my hand in between.
[_Exit_.]
ACT II
_In the Manor House_
SCENE I
STEIN _alone, seated._
STEIN.
Confound his obstinacy! The whole fine day spoiled! Otherwise we should now be at table. I suppose he is right after all, that this clearing serves no goad purpose. But is that a reason why he should put me into this rage? It is true, I should have been wiser than he. Probably my excitement was also partly to blame.–I am only sorry for his wife–and the children. I am going to–[_Rises, then sits down again._] Do what? Repair one foolish action with another? Be as rash in yielding as I was in taking offense? The old hotspur! But that shall serve me as a lesson.
[_Short pause. Then he rises again, takes his cane and hat and throws both down again._]
No, it won’t do–It simply will not do. Well! I should make myself ridiculous forever! This time he must come to me; I can’t help him. But perhaps he has already–isn’t that Moeller?
[_Hastens toward the person coming in._]
SCENE II
ROBERT; STEIN.
ROBERT (_entering, in a passion_).
You will ruin my happiness, father?
STEIN (_surprised, indignant_).
Robert!
ROBERT.
You have no right to do that.
STEIN.
That’s the last straw! Now you too must come along and set me fuming.
ROBERT.
Father, you have me fetched away from the betrothal festivities like a child from his playthings. But I am no child to whom one gives and takes away as one likes. I have your word, and you must keep it. Do you intend to sacrifice my happiness to a whim? Paternal authority cannot go so far.
STEIN.
But tell me, what is your object in saying this?
ROBERT.
I wish to ask you whether you intend to bring about a reconciliation between the forester and yourself.
STEIN.
Boy, how can you dare to ask? Do you mean to call me to account? Go to that obstinate fellow. It is he that is in the wrong; it is he that must yield!
ROBERT.
I just came from the forester; he referred me to you.
STEIN.
I can do nothing. And now leave me in peace.
ROBERT.
You will do nothing toward a reconciliation?
STEIN.
Nothing, unless he yields. And now go your ways.
ROBERT.
If you will do nothing toward a reconciliation I shall never again cross his threshold. Andrew and I have become mortal enemies. Perhaps this very day I shall face him in an encounter for life and death. Come what may, I have done everything I was able to do. Father, no blame can attach to me. If a catastrophe takes place–you could have prevented it, the forester could have prevented it. Mary is mine, and neither you nor the forester shall take her from me.
STEIN.
Are you mad, boy? To your room this moment! Do you hear?
ROBERT.
Father, I ask you–
STEIN.
You shall obey, not ask!
ROBERT.
Your anger carries you away. Father, I implore you, do not tear open the wound which healed only because I made allowance for your excited state. I shall wait till you have become calm; till you are again master of yourself.
STEIN.
You see that I am master of myself. You try to provoke me by all means, and you do not succeed. But now not another word! Not a sound!
ROBERT (_beside himself_).
Not a word? A hundred words, a thousand words; as many as I have breath to utter. I _will_ speak; until I have relieved myself of this load on my heart, I will speak! You may forbid your Moeller, your blacksmiths to speak, not me! Show your impatience as much as you want, remain or go–speak I _will_. Once for all you shall know that I will no longer stand being treated like a boy, that I will be free, that I can stand on my own feet, that you shall be obliged to respect me, that I will be neither your toy nor any man’s!
STEIN.
Do you threaten me with the old song? I know it by heart. You are still here? I thought you had gone. Oh, indeed! You mean to speak, do you? Speak, do what you wish. I shall not prevent you.
ROBERT (_calmly, with the accent of determination_).
And if you wished to prevent me, it were too late. I insist upon my right, even if it should cost my own or another’s life. But I hold you and the forester responsible.
STEIN (_who is beginning to repent his anger_).
Boy–
ROBERT.
Farewell–perhaps forever! [_Rushes out_.]
SCENE III
STEIN _alone; later, the_ PASTOR.
STEIN (_forgetting himself, going a few steps after him_).
Where are you going? Robert! My boy!–Curse it! I have scarcely got over my anger, and the next moment–But does it not seem as though all had entered into a conspiracy to keep me in a turmoil of excitement? If he really has had a falling out and meets those hotspurs–But I cannot run after him. Will he come back?
_Enter the_ PASTOR.
STEIN.
You, parson? You find me here.
PASTOR.
I have heard of the affair.
[_Shakes hands_.]
STEIN.
Robert, my boy–
PASTOR.
Almost knocked me down. He wants to leave home again, hey? We’ll manage to hold him.
STEIN.
And with that obstinate old fellow–
PASTOR.
I know. It’s the old story again, the everlasting story, the ending of which one always knows in advance.
STEIN.
But this time one cannot be so certain.
PASTOR.
True. It is more complicated than usual, because at the same time the affair of the young gentleman was mixed up with it. Moreover, the young gentleman this time has also had words with Andrew. However–
STEIN.
Isn’t that he who is coming along there?
SCENE IV
MOeLLER; STEIN; _the_ PASTOR.
STEIN.
You, Moeller? What is the prospect? Will he yield?
MOeLLER.
So little does he think of yielding that he even wishes me to tell you, you have not the power to dismiss him.
STEIN.
He thinks I have not the power?
[_More composed_.]
If he only thought I had not the intention!–And you have tried everything?
MOeLLER.
Everything.
STEIN.
Did you also threaten him with Godfrey? As if he were to be appointed forester, as if you were to deliver to him his commission immediately, in case–
MOeLLER.
As if I were to?–My instructions were more definite. I bring you Godfrey’s respectful acknowledgment; he accepts the position.
STEIN.
He ac–he accepts it? He really accepts it? What an obliging man he is, that Godfrey! And you into the bargain–with your haste. Have you entirely lost your senses, sir? The whole thing was intended to scare Ulrich. I wanted him to listen to reason–to yield. And if in the first heat I actually did say it as you understood it, you should have interpreted it differently. You know that in my heart I am not thinking of dismissing that old man who is worth a thousand times more–but you understand it, you understood it right, but–now that it is too late, I recall you always opposed this marriage.
MOeLLER.
I have served the firm of Stein and Son for twenty years, time enough to learn at last that one can serve too faithfully. I have done nothing but execute your instructions literally. And if, in spite of that, you persist in misjudging me, then this must be my consolation. I have never compromised the dignity of Stein and Son.
[_Sits down to work_.]
STEIN.
Then the dignity of Stein and Son may thank you for what you have done; I shall not. [_Pause_.] And yet, when one considers the matter calmly, what else was to be done? After all that took place? Don’t be uneasy; I simply asserted myself as master.
PASTOR.
That is quite a new sensation!
STEIN.
Now I have confronted him with that confounded alternative, before old Wilkens there. Surely, I cannot–confound the rash word!–a word that in my innermost heart I did not mean seriously, and which now becomes fate, because I did not take the pains to keep that word under control.
PASTOR.
Indeed! it is exceedingly disagreeable for discretion to acknowledge the debts that passion has contracted. Why, in the name of common sense, did you not have your quarrel by yourselves, as usual?
STEIN (_who has been walking up and down_).
No, it will not do. And yet, if I think of those hot-headed boys–Moeller, please send immediately for my Robert; send some one to find him and tell him that I must speak with him.
[_Exit_ MOeLLER, _and returns soon_.]
STEIN.
I can’t help the obstinate old fellow; this time _he_ must knuckle under. I cannot go back on my word; that he must see himself. And by this time he also may have come to his senses. But in order that he may see that I am ready to do whatever I can toward a reconciliation, without losing my dignity–how would it be, parson, if you went to see him? His post, I dare say, he must resign for the time being; but his present salary he may–yes, he shall draw twice the amount. He may regard it as a pension, until further notice. I should think–after all, his is the chief fault in this business–in this way he is let off easily enough for his share.
PASTOR.
I am going at once.
STEIN.
And I shall accompany you part of the way. I ought not to walk all alone.
[_Exeunt to the left_.]
SCENE V
MOeLLER _alone; later,_ GODFREY.
MOeLLER.
Even if the marriage with Miss Loehlein should not come to pass, at least Stein and Son have asserted themselves. It used to turn my stomach to see how he always was the first to make up. This time I am satisfied with my chief, and will not mind his rebuke. But who is making that noise out there? [_At the door_.] It is lucky that they went through the rooms. It is Godfrey. And in what condition! What sort of man do you call that? [_Leads in _GODFREY, _who is intoxicated_.]
GODFREY (_while still behind the scenes_).
Where is Stein? Hey there, fellow! Stein, I say! Is that you, Moeller?
MOeLLER (_with a patronizing air_).
There can be no doubt that it is you. What do you want here?
GODFREY (_while_ MOeLLER _pushes him down on a chair_).
Thank him, why, I must thank him. Fetch Stein. Thank him, for that’s the fashion.
MOeLLER.
In this condition?
GODFREY (_while_ MOeLLER _is obliged to hold him forcibly down on the chair_).
Condition? What’s my condition to you? That I want to express my thanks is condition enough. Let me alone with my condition. Is he in? Hey?
MOeLLER.
Nobody is in there. Be glad that nobody is in. You are past all help. You have made up your mind not to get along. Those who have your interest at heart can never do anything for your advantage without your doing something that counteracts their efforts a hundredfold, so that everything is spoiled. My master already repents having given you the post, and now you at once give him an opportunity–
GODFREY.
You stupid fellow, you. With your patronizing air, hang it! As if you did not want to make a break between Stein and Ulrich because of that Loehlein girl. I should know that, even if I were as stupid as that confounded, patronizing fellow of a Moeller. That’s all I have to say. And what of it, that I am forester for a day? For it won’t be two days before those two cronies are again one heart and one soul; after that it’s all over with my forester’s job. You think you are a decent fellow, because you are not thirsty. It will last one day–for one day I shall be sp–spite-forester–and that day I have turned to account, my dear fellow–with Ulrich’s Andrew–turned to account, my dear fellow. Come, my dear fellow, for I am jolly, my dear fellow. You patronizing fellow of a Moeller. [_Embrace him_.]
MOeLLER (_ashamed and very much embarrassed, trying to keep him off_).
For heaven’s sake, what are you thinking of? If any one should see this! Shame on you!
[_Making an effort to recover his dignity_.]
You have hatched a scheme with Ulrich’s Andrew, have you?
GODFREY.
Scheme, scheme! I have had a talk with him, do you know? Because of yesterday, you know? and because of my grudge against his old man, you know? You know nothing, you know? When he hears it he’ll bite his white beard with rage, the old man will.
MOeLLER.
But what the deuce could you have put into Andrew’s head?
GODFREY.
What? Nothing. You’ll learn it soon enough. Hey? Thirst, thirst–that is my wail, that is my chronic ill-health, my misery; that is the cause of my gout; that will kill me while I am still young. Where is Stein?
MOeLLER.
Now come along to my room and drink a cup of black coffee, so that you may recover your senses. Then I must go to the blast-furnace. I’ll take you along as far as the mill in the dell, and then you go the rest of the way to your home. One has to tie your hands, if you are not to drive away your good fortune.
GODFREY (_while_ MOeLLER _is leading him off_).
Where is he? Hey, there! Where is he? Stein!
SCENE VI
_In the_ FORESTER’s _house_.
SOPHY _alone; then_ WEILER; _and, later, the_ FORESTER.
SOPHY (_closing the window_).
Robert hasn’t come back yet, nor the pastor.
WEILER (_entering through the centre door_).
Bless my soul, if he don’t come to grief! But who, in thunder, is really forester? I wonder whether the mistress has saved me anything? But, anyhow, I have no appetite. Well!
SOPHY.
I suppose it has become cold by this time.
[_Takes from the oven a plate with food, from the closet bread, etc., and puts it on the table to the left_.]
WEILER.
We shall all be cold some day.
[_Sits down to eat_.]
FORESTER (_has entered from the side_).
Have you found the trail of the stag from Luetzdorf again?
WEILER.
Stalking about. But that’s the way it goes. As soon as they are man and wife, master and servant–then love and friendship fly out of the window.
FORESTER.
What do you mean by “stalking about?”
WEILER.
On his four legs he stood by the boundary forest in the oats, and was eating.
FORESTER.
Who?
WEILER.
The stag from Luetzdorf.
FORESTER (_emphatically_).
A stag does not–eat; he browses.
WEILER.
All right!
SOPHY (_waiting on him_).
But what is your news?
WEILER.
Well–
SOPHY.
I wonder whether I shall hear anything now? If I don’t care to know anything, then you never get through talking.
FORESTER (_stands before him; severely_).
Weiler, do you hear?
WEILER.
Well, Godfrey. Today he has grown six inches; he immediately put on his laced hat, girded on his hunting knife and drank two bitters and a half dozen glasses of whisky more than usual; in consequence he has need of a road that’s broader than the ordinary by half.
FORESTER.
Have you done eating?
WEILER.
Almost. But tell me, who is now the real forester of Duesterwalde? The other fellow is already giving orders to the woodcutters for the clearing, so he must be the forester. But you also act as if you were still forester.
FORESTER.
You may be sure, I still am. I am forester of Duesterwalde, and nobody else.
WEILER.
You intend to carry your point? But I’ll tell you who is in the right nowadays [_makes a pantomime of counting money_]–whoever has the longest breath.–Who is coming there in such a hurry?
SCENE VII
WILKENS _enters as hurriedly as his figure permits_. WEILER _eating_; FORESTER; SOPHY.
WILKENS (_while entering_).
But what in the world has happened here? Good-day to you all.
SOPHY (_alarmed_).
Happened! But for heaven’s sake–has anything happened?
FORESTER.
You immediately lose your head.
WILKENS.
You’ll see, you obstinate fellow!
SOPHY.
But what is the meaning of all this?
WILKENS.