Part 5
ILSE--How do I know?--Over the bed was a mirror let into the ceiling. The little room looked tower-high and bright as an opera-house. You saw yourself actually hanging downwards from the sky. I had the most frightful dreams at night.--God, O God, when would it be day again!--Good night, Ilse. When you sleep you’re beautiful for murder!
MORITZ--Is this Henry still alive?
ILSE--God willing, no!--One day when he went to get some absinthe I threw my cloak on and slipped out onto the street. The Carnival was over. The police snapped me up. What was I after in men’s clothes?--They took me to headquarters, and there came Nohl, Fehrendorf, Padinsky, Spühler, Oikonomopulos, the whole Priapia, and bailed me out. In a cab they transported me to Adolar’s studio. Ever since I’ve been true to the gang. Fehrendorf is a monkey, Nohl is a pig, Boyokevitch an owl, Loison a hyena, Oikonomopulos a camel--but that’s why I love them one and all the same, and don’t care to tie up to anyone else, though the world were full of archangels and millionaires!
MORITZ--I must go back, Ilse.
ILSE--Come with me as far as our house.
MORITZ--What for?--What for?
ILSE--[_Kidding him._] To drink fresh, warm goat’s milk!--I’ll singe your forelock and hang a little bell around your neck. And we still have a rocking-horse that you can play with.
MORITZ--I must get back. I still have the Sassanids, the Sermon on the Mount and the parallelepipedon on my conscience.--Good night, Ilse.
ILSE--Sweet dreams!--Do you ever go down to the wigwam any more, where Melchi Gabor buried my tomahawk?--Brrr! Before you catch on, I’ll lie in the dust-bin! [_She hurries off._]
MORITZ--One word, it would have cost.--[_Calls._] Ilse!--Ilse!---- Praise God, she doesn’t hear!
--I am not in the mood.--For that, one needs a clear head and a joyful heart.--Too bad, too bad the chance is lost!
... I shall say that I have had huge crystal mirrors over my beds--and have trained an unruly filly--and made her prance before me across the carpet in long black silk stockings and patent-leather shoes, and long black kid gloves and black velvet around her neck;--and how I stifled her in my pillows, in an access of madness.... I shall smile when the talk is of lust.... I shall----
=scream!--I shall scream!--Oh to be you, Ilse!--Priapia!--Unconsciousness!--That takes away my power!--This favorite of fortune, this sunny creature, this daughter of joy upon my dolorous path!--Oh!--Oh!=
[_He staggers across the path and falls under the high, dark, cavernous bushes on the further side, crawling towards the river._]
* * * * *
So have I found it again without trying, the grassy bank? The mulleins seem to have grown since yesterday. The vista between the willows is the same still. The river is flowing heavily like melted lead. Don’t let me forget.... [_He draws_ MRS. GABOR’S _letter from his pocket, lights a match, and burns it_.]--How the sparks fly--back and forth--up and down!--Souls!--Shooting stars!----
Before I lit the match you could still see the grasses and a strip of the horizon.--Now it’s gotten dark. Now I’m not going home any more.
CURTAIN
ACT III
SCENE I.--_The Faculty Room. Two small, high windows, one of them walled up. Portraits of Pestalozzi and J. J. Rousseau on the walls. Long, narrow, green table, with a gaspipe and six flaring burners over it. At one end, on a platform_, PRINCIPAL SONNENSTICH[4] _sits. Behind the table sit, quite close together, in a grotesque row_, PROFESSORS AFFENSCHMALZ (_nearest_ SONNENSTICH), KNOCHENBRUCH, FLIEGENTOD, HUNGERGURT, ZUNGENSCHLAG, _and_ KNÜPPELDICK. HABEBALD, _the beadle or proctor of the school, cowers near the door_.
SONNENSTICH--May one of the gentlemen perhaps have something further to remark?--Gentlemen!--If we find ourselves unable to avoid the necessity of moving the rustication of our crime-laden pupil before a superior Board of Education, it is for the very weightiest reasons that we cannot help it. We cannot if only to do our best to atone for the misfortune that has already burst upon us; still less if we would insure our institution for the future against further calamities of the same order. We cannot if we are to discipline our crime-laden pupil for the demoralizing influence that he has exerted upon his classmates; we cannot, most conclusively, if so we may prevent him from exerting the like influence upon the remainder of his classmates. We are compelled to it--and this, gentlemen, is perhaps the most fundamental ground of all, against which no protest =can= prevail,--because it is for us to protect our institution from the ravages of a suicide-=epidemic=, such as has already broken out at various schools like ours and has so far defied all efforts to attach the schoolboy to those conditions of existence best adapted to his education into cultivated manhood.--May one of the gentlemen still have something to remark?
KNÜPPELDICK--[_Furthest away; middle-aged._] I can no longer repel the conviction that it may at last be about time to open a window somewhere.
ZUNGENSCHLAG--[_Next him, bearded, choleric._] There--there prevails here an at-at-atmosphere like that in subterranean cata-catacombs, like tha-tha-that in the archive-repositories of the quo-quondam star-chamber tribunal at We-Wetzlar!
SONNENSTICH--Habebald!
HABEBALD--Yes, Mr. Sonnenstich?
SONNENSTICH--Open a window. We have, Heaven be praised, atmosphere enough out-of-doors.--May one of the gentlemen have anything further to remark?
FLIEGENTOD--[_The Secretary, with the minutebook; bearded, ponderous._] If my worthy colleagues wish to have a window opened, I have nothing, personally, to object against it; only might I ask that they will not wish to have that window opened which is directly at my back?
SONNENSTICH--Habebald!
HABEBALD--Yes, Mr. Sonnenstich?
SONNENSTICH--Open the other window!--May one of the gentlemen have something still further to remark?
HUNGERGURT--[_Small, mild, spectacled; between_ FLIEGENTOD _and_ ZUNGENSCHLAG.] Without any wish on my part to aggravate the controversy, might I recall the fact that the other window has been walled up since the autumn holidays?
SONNENSTICH--Habebald!
HABEBALD--Yes, Mr. Sonnenstich?
SONNENSTICH--Leave the other window closed!--I see myself compelled, gentlemen, to bring the matter to a vote. I request those colleagues who are =for= opening the only window that can enter into the question, to indicate it by standing. [_The three furthest from him stand._] One, two three. [_Counting the seated ones, too._] One, two, three. Habebald!
HABEBALD--Yes, Mr. Sonnenstich?
SONNENSTICH--Leave the one window likewise closed.--I for my part am of the opinion that our atmosphere leaves nothing to be desired!--May one of the gentlemen still have something to remark?--Gentlemen!--Let us make the supposition that we omit to move the rustication of our crime-laden pupil before a superior Board of Education. =We= will then be held accountable, by the Ministry of Education, for the disaster that has befallen us. Of the various schools that have been visited by this suicide-epidemic, those in which twenty-five per cent of the pupils have fallen victims to the ravages of the suicide-epidemic have been temporarily =closed= by the Ministry of Education. To preserve our Institution from this most staggering blow is our duty, as the guardians and safekeepers of our institution. It grieves us deeply, gentlemen and colleagues, that we are in no position to let our crime-laden pupil’s qualifications in other respects count as mitigating circumstances. A mild procedure, which might be justifiable towards our crime-laden pupil singly, is at this time, when the very existence of our institution is imperilled in the most dangerous manner conceivable, certainly =not= justifiable! We see ourselves reduced to the necessity of passing judgment on the guilty lest we, the innocent, be judged.--Habebald!
HABEBALD--Yes, Mr. Sonnenstich?
SONNENSTICH--Bring him up. [HABEBALD _goes out_.]
ZUNGENSCHLAG--If it is settled that the pre-prevailing a-a-a-atmosphere leaves little or nothing to be desired, I should like to move that during the summer vacation the other window as well should be-be-be-be-be-be-be-be-be-be walled up!
FLIEGENTOD--If our dear colleague Zungenschlag does not find our sanctum satisfactorily ventilated, I should like to set the machinery in motion toward having a ventilator installed in our dear colleague Zungenschlag’s high and cavernous brow.
ZUNGENSCHLAG--Th-th-that is too much for me to put up with!--Ru-rudenesses are more than I need to put up with!--I am in possession of my five senses...!
SONNENSTICH--I must request our colleagues, Messrs. Fliegentod and Zungenschlag, to preserve decorum. I think I hear our crime-laden pupil already on the stairs. [HABEBALD _opens the door, whereupon_ MELCHIOR, _pale but composed, steps before the assemblage_.] Step up nearer to the table.--When Mr. Stiefel had been informed of his son’s impious and wicked act, he searched in his grief and perplexity among the effects that his son Moritz had left behind him, in hopes that so he might happen to find the moving cause of that abominable outrage. So doing, he stumbled, in an irrelevant place, upon a piece of writing which, without yet making the abominable outrage understandable in itself, yet offers, I regret to say, an explanation only too conclusive of the moral obliquity in the criminal which must have underlain his act. I am speaking of a twenty-page treatise in dialogue form entitled “Coition,” accompanied by life-sized drawings, rank with the most shameless obscenities, and responding to the most perverted demands that a depraved debauchee could possibly make upon lascivious literature----
MELCHIOR--I have----
SONNENSTICH--You have to keep quiet.--Mr. Stiefel handed this manuscript over to us, and we promised the distracted father at any cost to identify its author. The handwriting was accordingly compared with the hands of each one of the dead profligate’s schoolmates, and it proved, in the unanimous judgment of the whole faculty and in perfect accord with the specialist’s opinion of our esteemed colleague in calligraphy, to have the closest conceivable similarity to yours----
MELCHIOR--I have----
SONNENSTICH--You have to keep quiet.--Notwithstanding the crushing fact that this resemblance has been marked by unimpeachable authorities, we believe that we may refrain for the moment from taking any further steps till we have first circumstantially interrogated the guilty student concerning his crime against morals, in conjunction with the instigation to self-murder arising from it, with which he is accordingly charged.
MELCHIOR--I have----
SONNENSTICH--You have to answer to the particular questions which I shall put to you, in order, one after the other, with a simple, modest “Yes” or “No.”--Habebald!
HABEBALD--Yes, Mr. Sonnenstich?
SONNENSTICH--The documents!--I trust that our Secretary, Mr. Fliegentod, will from now on record the proceedings as nearly verbatim as possible. [_To_ MELCHIOR.] Do you recognize this manuscript?
MELCHIOR--Yes.
SONNENSTICH--Do you know what this manuscript contains?
MELCHIOR--Yes.
SONNENSTICH--Is the writing in this manuscript yours?
MELCHIOR--Yes.
SONNENSTICH--Does this obscene manuscript originate from you?
MELCHIOR--Yes.--I beg you, Mr. Sonnenstich, to show me one obscenity in it.
SONNENSTICH--You are to answer the particular questions I put to you with a simple, modest “Yes” or “No”!
MELCHIOR--I have written no more and no less than what is very well known to you to be fact.
SONNENSTICH--Insolence.
MELCHIOR--I ask you to show me one offense against morals in that paper!
SONNENSTICH--Do you imagine I’d have a mind to act the clown for you? Habebald!...
MELCHIOR--I have----
SONNENSTICH--You have as little respect for the dignity of your assembled teachers as you have decent sensibility for mankind’s inbred feeling for the modesty of the shamefastness of the moral order of the world!--Habebald!
HABEBALD--Yes, Mr. Sonnenstich?
SONNENSTICH--It’s in fact the Langenscheidt for the learning in three hours of agglutinative Volapük![5]
MELCHIOR--I have----
SONNENSTICH--I instruct our Secretary, Mr. Fliegentod, to close the minutes!
MELCHIOR--I have----
SONNENSTICH--You have to keep quiet!--Habebald.
HABEBALD--Yes, Mr. Sonnenstich?
SONNENSTICH--Take him down!
CURTAIN
SCENE II.--_A graveyard seen through pouring rain. Gray stone wall about five feet high, and quite close to it, parallel with it, an open grave, behind which stands_ PASTOR KAHLBAUCH, _umbrella in left hand and prayer-book in right, flanked by_ MORITZ’S _father, his friend_ ZIEGENMELKER, _and_ UNCLE PROBST, _on the right, and_ PRINCIPAL SONNENSTICH _and_ PROFESSOR KNOCHENBRUCH, _with a string of schoolboys, on the left. At a little distance, by a half-collapsed monument, are_ ILSE _and_ MARTHA.
PASTOR KAHLBAUCH-- ... For he who rejects the mercy wherewith the Eternal Father has blest man born in sin, he shall die a spiritual death. He who in wilful, carnal denial of God’s proper honor liveth for evil and serveth it, he shall die the death of the body. He, however, who wantonly throws from him the cross which the All-merciful has laid upon him for his sins, verily, verily, I say unto you, he will die the everlasting death!--[_He closes the book and puts it in his pocket, takes a shovel from the wall-face and with it pushes some mud into the grave, and hands the shovel to_ MR. STIEFEL.]--Let =us=, however, faithful pilgrims upon the thorny way, praise the Lord, the All-bountiful, and render him thanks for his inscrutable elections. For as truly as =this= soul did die a threefold death, so truly will God the Lord induct the righteous man into bliss and the Life Everlasting.--Amen.
MR. STIEFEL--[_His voice thick with tears._] The boy was none of mine!--The boy was none of mine!--The boy never pleased me from childhood up! [_He throws a shovelful of mud into the grave, and gives the shovel back._ PASTOR KAHLBAUCH _hands it to_ PROFESSOR SONNENSTICH.]
SONNENSTICH--[_Throws a shovelful of mud into the grave._] Self-murder as the most serious conceivable offense against the moral order of the world is the most perfect conceivable demonstration =of= the moral order of the world, in that the suicide relieves the moral order of the world from passing judgment upon him, and establishes its existence. [_He passes the shovel to_ PROFESSOR KNOCHENBRUCH.]
PROF. KNOCHENBRUCH--[_Throws a shovelful of mud into the grave._] Defective--depraved--delinquent--decayed--and detrited! [_He walks around the grave and hands the shovel to_ UNCLE PROBST.]
UNCLE PROBST--[_Throws a shovelful of mud into the grave._] Not from my very mother would I have believed a child could act so basely toward his parents! [_Hands the shovel to_ ZIEGENMELKER.]
ZIEGENMELKER--[_Throws a shovelful of mud into the grave._] Toward a father who for twenty years now has had no thought, early or late, but for his child’s welfare! [_Puts the shovel back against the wall._]
PASTOR KAHLBAUCH--[_Pressing_ MR. STIEFEL’S _hand_.] We know that for them that love God all things work together for good. 1 Corinth. 12, 15.--Think of the sorrowing mother, and strive by redoubled love to make up to her for her loss. [_He squeezes out past the Professors and boys._]
SONNENSTICH--[_Pressing_ MR. STIEFEL’S _hand_.] We would probably not have been able to promote him, anyway. [STIEFEL _passes him_.]
KNOCHENBRUCH--[_Pressing_ MR. STIEFEL’S _hand_.] And if we had promoted him, next spring he would most assuredly have failed to pass.
UNCLE PROBST--[_Coming round in front and pressing_ STIEFEL’S _hand_.] Now your first duty is to think of yourself. You’re the father of a family!...
ZIEGENMELKER--[_Doing likewise._] Rely on me. I’ll steer you!--Beastly weather! enough to make one’s guts crawl. Whoever doesn’t get after that right away with a stiff drink ’ll be taken off with heart-failure! [_Leads him toward_ PASTOR KAHLBAUCH.]
MR. STIEFEL--[_Blowing his nose._] The boy was none of mine.... The boy was none of mine.... [KAHLBAUCH _takes his other arm. All the men pass off.--The rain lets up._ HANSY RILOW _slips in behind the grave_.]
HANSY RILOW--[_Throwing in a shovelful of mud._] Rest in peace, old fellow!--Greet my immortal brides from me, immolated memories; and commend me most humbly to the dear Lord’s mercy--poor dumbbell you!--They’ll put up a scarecrow on your grave here yet, in memory of your angel simpleness....
GEORGE--Has the pistol been found?
ROBERT--No one need hunt for a pistol!
ERNEST--Did you see him, Robert?
ROBERT--A God-damned swindle, I call it.--Who did see him?--Who!
OTTO--Yeah, that’s the sore point!--They’d thrown a cloth over him.
GEORGE--Was his tongue hanging out?
ROBERT--His eyes!--That’s why they’d thrown the cloth over.
OTTO--[_Shuddering._] Grrr!
HANSY--Do you know for sure that he hanged himself?
ERNEST--I’ve heard that his whole head was gone.
OTTO--Nonsense! Rot!
ROBERT--Why, I’ve had the noose in my hands!--I never saw a hanged body yet that you wouldn’t have covered up.
GEORGE--He couldn’t have taken his leave in a vulgarer way.
HANSY--What the devil,--hanging is said to be quite handsome!
OTTO--I’ve got five marks still owing me from him. We had a bet. He swore he’d keep his place.
HANSY--It’s your fault that he’s lying there. You called him a boaster.
OTTO--Poppycock! _I_’ve got to grind thru the nights, too. If he’d learned the history of ancient Greek literature, he wouldn’t have had to hang himself! [_Turns to go._]
ERNEST--Have you done your composition, Otto?
OTTO--Just the introduction.
ERNEST--I haven’t the least idea what to write.
GEORGE--What, weren’t you there when Affenschmalz gave us the choice of subject?
HANSY--I’m going to fake up something out of Democritus.
ERNEST--I want to see if Meyer’s Abridged has anything left I can use.
OTTO--[_As all disappear._] Have you done your Virgil for to-morrow?--[_When they are gone_, MARTHA _and_ ILSE _come to the grave_.]
ILSE--Quick! quick!--There come the grave-diggers off there.
MARTHA--Hadn’t we better wait, Ilse?
ILSE--What for?--We’ll bring new ones, and more, and more!--There are enough growing.
MARTHA--You’re right, Ilse!--[_She throws an ivy-wreath into the grave._ ILSE _opens her apron and lets a shower of fresh anemones rain upon the coffin_.]--I’ll dig up our roses. What if I =am= beaten for it?--Here they’ll bloom well.
ILSE--I will water them as often as I go past. I’ll bring forget-me-nots over from the brook, and irises from the house.
MARTHA--It ought to be glorious!--glorious!
ILSE--I was just over the bridge up there when I heard the shot.
MARTHA--Poor heart!
ILSE--And I know the reason too, Martha.
MARTHA--Did he tell you something?
ILSE--Parallelepipedon!--But don’t tell anybody.
MARTHA--I won’t.--There’s my hand.
ILSE--Here is the pistol.
MARTHA--That’s why it couldn’t be found!
ILSE--I took it right out of his hand when I went past in the morning.
MARTHA--Give it to me, Ilse!--Please, give it to me!
ILSE--No, I’m going to keep it for remembrance.
MARTHA--Is it true, Ilse, that he’s lying in there without a head?
ILSE--He must have loaded it with water!--The mulleins were spattered all over with blood. His brains hung round on the osiers.
CURTAIN
SCENE III.--MR. _and_ MRS. GABOR _face each other, the window between them, lighting them_.
MRS. GABOR-- ... They were in need of a scapegoat. They couldn’t disregard the accusations that were springing up on every side against =them=. And now that my son has had the ill luck to fall foul of the old pedants at the precise moment, now am I, his own mother, to help to complete his executioners’ work?--God preserve me from it!
MR. GABOR--I have looked on at your ingenious educational methods for fourteen years in silence. They were contrary to my ideas. I had always lived under the persuasion that a child was not a plaything, that a child had a claim upon our most earnest efforts. But I said to myself, if the grace and esprit of one parent are able to take the place of the other’s serious principles, why, they may be preferable to the serious principles.--I am not blaming you, Fanny; but don’t stand in my way when I am trying to make good to the boy the wrong that both you and I have done him.
MRS. GABOR--I will stand in your way as long as a drop of blood runs warm in my veins! In a House of Correction my child will be lost. A criminal nature may perhaps be bettered in such institutions.--I don’t know. A child naturally good will there as certainly become criminal as a plant degenerates when deprived of air and sun. I am conscious of no wrong done him. I thank God to-day as always that He showed me the way to awaken in my child an upright character and noble mind. What has he done then that’s so dreadful?--I haven’t the least idea of trying to exculpate him!--For being turned out of school he needs no exculpation; and if he =were= at fault, he has paid for it.--You may know better about all that; you may be perfectly right theoretically. But I cannot let my only child be driven and forced to his destruction!
MR. GABOR--That does not depend upon us, Fanny. That is a risk that we took upon ourselves along with our happiness. He that is too feeble for the march is left by the wayside. And it is surely not so bad as it might be, if the inevitable comes in time. May Heaven defend us from it! Our duty is to steady the waverer as long as reason can find means to do it.--That he has been expelled from school is not his fault. If he had =not= been expelled from school, that wouldn’t have been his fault, either.--You take things too lightly. You see only inquisitive trifling where fundamental lesions of character are really involved. You women are not qualified to judge such things. Anyone who can write what Melchior writes must be degenerate at the innermost core of his being. His essence is tainted. No nature that’s half-way healthy permits itself that sort of thing. We are all of us flesh and blood: every one of us strays from the strict, true path. But what he has written represents a =principle=. What he has written is no chance, casual slip, but documentary proof, of ghastly clarity, of that frankly affected =purpose=, that natural propensity, that bent toward the immoral because it =is= immoral!--it manifests that exceptional spiritual corruption that we jurists designate as moral imbecility.--Whether his condition can be in any way remedied, I am not able to say. If we would retain one glimmer of hope,--and, before all, consciences as his parents free from remorse,--we must apply ourselves with decision and in all earnestness to the task.--Let us cease contention, Fanny! I am sensible how hard for you it is. I know you idolize him, because he suits so perfectly your gifted temperament. But be stronger than yourself. Show yourself for once at last unselfish toward your son!
MRS. GABOR--God help me, how can I prevail against that!--One must be a =man=, to be able to say such things! One must be a man to let oneself be so blinded by the dead letter! One must be a man to close his eyes to what stares him in the face!--I have acted toward Melchior conscientiously and carefully from the first day I found him susceptible to impressions from his environment. Are we responsible for =accident=? =You= may be struck down to-morrow by a falling tile, and along will come your friend, your father, and instead of tending your wounds set his foot upon your head!--I will not let my child be ruined before my very eyes! Would I be his mother if I did?--It is unthinkable! It is utterly out of the question. What in the world did he write then, after all? Isn’t it the most blatant proof of his innocence, of his ignorance, of his childish immaturity, that he =can= write such things?--You can have no inkling of knowledge of human nature, you must be an utterly soulless bureaucrat, or unbelievably narrow, to smell out moral corruption here!--Say what you like: if you put Melchior in the House of Correction, we must separate--and then let me see if nowhere in the world I can find help and means to snatch my child from his downfall!
MR. GABOR--You will have to reconcile yourself to it--if not to-day, to-morrow. To discount misfortune comes hard to everybody. I will stand by you, and when your courage threatens to fail I will spare no pains, no sacrifice, to ease your heart. I see the future so lowering, so gloomy,--it only lacked that you too should yet be lost to me.