Chapter 15

[_Dashes in._] Mr. Dreissiger, there are people at the back gate already, and the house door won't hold much longer. The smith's battering at it like a maniac with a stable pail.

[_The cry sounds louder and clearer_: "Pfeifer! Pfeifer! Pfeifer! come out!" _MRS. DREISSIGER rushes off as if pursued. MRS. KITTELHAUS follows. PFEIFER listens, and changes colour as he hears what the cry is. A perfect panic of fear seizes him; he weeps, entreats, whimpers, writhes, all at the same moment. He overwhelms DREISSIGER with childish caresses, strokes his cheeks and arms, kisses his hands, and at last, like a drowning man, throws his arms round him and prevents him moving._

PFEIFER

Dear, good, kind Mr. Dreissiger, don't leave me behind. I've always served you faithfully. I've always treated the people well. I couldn't give 'em more wages than the fixed rate. Don't leave me here--they'll do for me! If they finds me, they'll kill me. O God! O God! My wife, my children!

DREISSIGER

[_Making his way out, vainly endeavouring to free himself from PFEIFER'S clutch._] Can't you let me go, fellow? It'll be all right; it'll be all right.

_For a few seconds the room is empty. Windows are shattered in the drawing-room. A loud crash resounds through the house, followed by a roaring_ "Hurrah!" _For an instant there is silence. Then gentle, cautious steps are heard on the stair, then timid, hushed ejaculations_: "To the left!"--"Up with you!"--"Hush!"--"Slow, slow!"--"Don't shove like that!"--"It's a wedding we're goin' to!"--"Stop that crowdin'!"--"You go first!"--"No, you go!"

_Young weavers and weaver girls appear at the door leading from the hall, not daring to enter, but each trying to shove the other in. In the course of a few moments their timidity is overcome, and the poor, thin, ragged or patched figures, many of them sickly-looking, disperse themselves through DREISSIGER'S room and the drawing-room, first gazing timidly and curiously at everything, then beginning to touch things. Girls sit down on the sofas, whole groups admire themselves in the mirrors, men stand up on chairs, examine the pictures and take them down. There is a steady influx of miserable-looking creatures from the hall._

FIRST OLD WEAVER

[_Entering._] No, no, this is carryin' it too far. They've started smashin' things downstairs. There's no sense nor reason in that. There'll be a bad end to it. No man in his wits would do that. I'll keep clear of such goings on.

_JAEGER, BECKER, WITTIG carrying a wooden pail, BAUMERT, and a number of other old and young weavers, rush in as if in pursuit of something, shouting hoarsely._

JAEGER

Where has he gone?

BECKER

Where's the cruel brute?

BAUMERT

If we can eat grass he may eat sawdust.

WITTIG

We'll hang him when we catch him.

FIRST YOUNG WEAVER

We'll take him by the legs and fling him out at the window, on to the stones. He'll never get up again.

SECOND YOUNG WEAVER

[_Enters._] He's off!

ALL

Who?

SECOND YOUNG WEAVER

Dreissiger.

BECKER

Pfeifer too?

VOICES

Let's get hold o' Pfeifer! Look for Pfeifer!

BAUMERT

Yes, yes! Pfeifer! Tell him there's a weaver here for him to starve.

[_Laughter._

JAEGER

If we can't lay hands on that brute Dreissiger himself ... we'll make him poor!

BAUMERT

As poor as a church mouse ... we'll see to that!

[_All, bent on the work of destruction, rush towards the drawing-room door._

BECKER

[_Who is leading, turns round and stops the others._] Halt! Listen to me! This is nothing but a beginnin'. When we're done here, we'll go straight to Bielau, to Dittrich's, where the steam power-looms is. The whole mischief's done by them factories.

OLD ANSORGE

[_Enters from hall. Takes a few steps, then stops and looks round, scarcely believing his eyes; shakes his head, taps his forehead._] Who am I? Weaver Anton Ansorge. Has he gone mad, Old Ansorge? My head's goin' round like a humming-top, sure enough. What's he doin' here. He'll do whatever he's a mind to. Where is Ansorge? [_He taps his forehead repeatedly._] Something's wrong! I'm not answerable! I'm off my head! Off with you, off with you, rioters that you are! Heads off, legs off, hands off! If you takes my house, I takes your house. Forward, forward!

[_Goes yelling into the drawing-room, followed by a yelling, laughing mob._

END OF THE FOURTH ACT

FIFTH ACT

_Langen-Bielau,--OLD WEAVER HILSE'S workroom. On the left a small window, in front of which stands the loom. On the right a bed, with a table pushed close to it. Stove, with stove-bench, in the right-hand corner. Family worship is going on. HILSE, his old, blind, and almost deaf wife, his son GOTTLIEB, and LUISE, GOTTLIEB'S wife, are sitting at the table, on the bed and wooden stools. A winding-wheel and bobbins on the floor between table and loom. Old spinning, weaving, and winding implements are disposed of on the smoky rafters; hanks of yarn are hanging down. There is much useless lumber in the low narrow room. The door, which is in the back wall, and leads into the big outer passage, or entry-room of the house, stands open. Through another open door on the opposite side of the passage, a second, in most respects similar weaver's room is seen. The large passage, or entry-room of the house, is paved with stone, has damaged plaster, and a tumble-down wooden stair-case leading to the attics; a washing-tub on a stool is partly visible; linen of the most miserable description and poor household utensils lie about untidily. The light falls from the left into all three apartments._

_OLD HILSE is a bearded man of strong build, but bent and wasted with age, toil, sickness, and hardship. He is an old soldier, and has lost an arm. His nose is sharp, his complexion ashen-grey, and he shakes; he is nothing but skin and bone, and has the deep-set, sore weaver's eyes._

OLD HILSE

[_Stands up, as do his son and daughter-in-law; prays._] O Lord, we know not how to be thankful enough to Thee, for that Thou hast spared us this night again in Thy goodness ... an' hast had pity on us ... an' hast suffered us to take no harm. Thou art the All-merciful, an' we are poor, sinful children of men--that bad that we are not worthy to be trampled under Thy feet. Yet Thou art our loving Father, an' Thou will look upon us an' accept us for the sake of Thy dear Son, our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. "Jesus' blood and righteousness, Our covering is and glorious dress." An' if we're sometimes too sore cast down under Thy chastening--when the fire of Thy purification burns too ragin' hot--oh, lay it not to our charge; forgive us our sin. Give us patience, heavenly Father, that after all these sufferin's we may be made partakers of Thy eternal blessedness. Amen.

MOTHER HILSE

[_Who has been bending forward, trying hard to hear._] What a beautiful prayer you do say, father!

[_LUISE goes off to the washtub, GOTTLIEB to the room on the other side of the passage._

OLD HILSE

Where's the little lass?

LUISE

She's gone to Peterswaldau, to Dreissiger's. She finished all she had to wind last night.

OLD HILSE

[_Speaking very loud._] You'd like the wheel now, mother, eh?

MOTHER HILSE

Yes, father, I'm quite ready.

OLD HILSE

[_Setting it down before her._] I wish I could do the work for you.

MOTHER HILSE

An' what would be the good o' that, father? There would I be, sittin' not knowin' what to do.

OLD HILSE

I'll give your fingers a wipe, then, so that they'll not grease the yarn.

[_He wipes her hands with a rag._

LUISE

[_At her tub._] If there's grease on her hands, it's not from what she's eaten.

OLD HILSE

If we've no butter, we can eat dry bread--when we've no bread, we can eat potatoes--when there's no potatoes left, we can eat bran.

LUISE

[_Saucily._] An' when that's all eaten, we'll do as the Wenglers did--we'll find out where the skinner's buried some stinking old horse, an' we'll dig it up an' live for a week or two on rotten carrion--how nice that'll be!

GOTTLIEB

[_From the other room._] There you are, lettin' that tongue of yours run away with you again.

OLD HILSE

You should think twice, lass, before you talk that godless way. [_He goes to his loom, calls._] Can you give me a hand, Gottlieb?--there's a few threads to pull through.

LUISE

[_From her tub._] Gottlieb, you're wanted to help father.

[_GOTTLIEB comes in, and he and his father set themselves to the troublesome task of "drawing and slaying," that is, pulling the strands of the warp through the "heddles" and "reed" of the loom. They have hardly begun to do this when HORNIG appears in the outer room._

HORNIG

[_At the door._] Good luck to your work!

HILSE AND HIS SON

Thank you, Hornig.

OLD HILSE

I say, Hornig, when do you take your sleep? You're on your rounds all day, an' on watch all night.

HORNIG

Sleep's gone from me nowadays.

LUISE

Glad to see you, Hornig!

OLD HILSE

An' what's the news?

HORNIG

It's queer news this mornin'. The weavers at Peterswaldau has taken the law into their own hands, an' chased Dreissiger an' his whole family out of the place.

LUISE

[_Perceptibly agitated._] Hornig's at his lies again.

HORNIG

No, missus, not this time, not to-day.--I've some beautiful pinafores in my cart,--No, it's God's truth I'm tellin' you. They've sent him to the right-about. He came down to Reichenbach last night, but, Lord love you! they daren't take him in there, for fear of the weavers--off he had to go again, all the way to Schweidnitz.

OLD HILSE

[_Has been carefully lifting threads of the web and approaching them to the holes, through which, from the other side, GOTTLIEB pushes a wire hook, with which he catches them and draws them through._] It's about time you were stoppin' now, Hornig!

HORNIG

It's as sure as I'm a livin' man. Every child in the place'll soon tell you the same story.

OLD HILSE

Either your wits are a-wool-gatherin' or mine are.

HORNIG

Not mine. What I'm tellin' you's as true as the Bible. I wouldn't believe it myself if I hadn't stood there an' seen it with my own eyes--as I see you now, Gottlieb. They've wrecked his house from the cellar to the roof. The good china came flyin' out at the garret windows, rattlin' down the roof. God only knows how many pieces of fustian are lying soakin' in the river! The water can't get away for them--it's running over the banks, the colour of washin'-blue with all the indigo they've poured out at the windows. Clouds of sky-blue dust was flyin' along. Oh, it's a terrible destruction they've worked! And it's not only the house ... it's the dye-works too ... an' the stores! They've broken the stair rails, they've torn up the fine flooring--smashed the lookin'-glasses--cut an' hacked an' torn an' smashed the sofas an' the chairs.--It's awful--it's worse than war.

OLD HILSE

An' you would have me believe that my fellow weavers did all that?

[_He shakes his head incredulously._

[_Other tenants of the house have collected at the door and are listening eagerly._

HORNIG

Who else, I'd like to know? I could put names to every one of 'em. It was me took the sheriff through the house, an' I spoke to a whole lot of 'em, an' they answered me back--quite friendly like. They did their business with little noise, but my word! they did it well. The sheriff spoke to 'em, and they answered him mannerly, as they always do. But there wasn't no stoppin' of them. They hacked on at the beautiful furniture as if they was workin' for wages.

OLD HILSE

_You_ took the sheriff through the house?

HORNIG

An' what would I be frightened of? Every one knows me. I'm always turnin' up, like a bad penny. But no one has anything agin' me. They're all glad to see me. Yes, I went the rounds with him, as sure as my name's Hornig. An' you may believe me or not as you like, but my heart's sore yet from the sight--an' I could see by the sheriff's face that he felt queer enough too. For why? Not a livin' word did we hear--they was doin' their work and holdin' their tongues. It was a solemn an' a woeful sight to see the poor starvin' creatures for once in a way takin' their revenge.

LUISE

[_With irrepressible excitement, trembling, wiping her eyes with her apron._] An' right they are! It's only what should be!

VOICES AMONG THE CROWD AT THE DOOR

"There's some of the same sort here."--"There's one no farther away than across the river."--"He's got four horses in his stable an' six carriages, an' he starves his weavers to keep 'em."

OLD HILSE

[_Still incredulous._] What was it set them off?

HORNIG

Who knows? who knows? One says this, another says that.

OLD HILSE

What do they say?

HORNIG

The story as most of 'em tells is that it began with Dreissiger sayin' that if the weavers was hungry they might eat grass. But I don't rightly know.

[_Excitement at the door, as one person repeats this to the other, with signs of indignation._

OLD HILSE

Well now, Hornig--if you was to say to me: Father Hilse, says you, you'll die to-morrow, I would answer back: That may be--an' why not? You might even go to the length of saying: You'll have a visit to-morrow from the King of Prussia. But to tell me that weavers, men like me an' my son, have done such things as that--never! I'll never in this world believe it.

MIELCHEN

[_A pretty girl of seven, with long, loose flaxen hair, carrying a basket on her arm, comes running in, holding out a silver spoon to her mother._] Mammy, mammy! look what I've got! An' you're to buy me a new frock with it.

LUISE

What d'you come tearing in like that for, girl? [_With increased excitement and curiosity._] An' what's that you've got hold of now? You've been runnin' yourself out o' breath, an' there--if the bobbins aren't in her basket yet? What's all this about?

OLD HILSE

Mielchen, where did that spoon come from?

LUISE

She found it, maybe.

HORNIG

It's worth its seven or eight shillin's at least.

OLD HILSE

[_In distressed excitement._] Off with you, lass--out of the house this moment--unless you want a lickin'! Take that spoon back where you got it from. Out you go! Do you want to make thieves of us all, eh? I'll soon drive that out o' you.

[_He looks round for something to beat her with._

MIELCHEN

[_Clinging to her mother's skirts, crying._] No, grandfather, no! don't lick me! We--we _did_ find it. All the other bob--bobbin ... girls has ... has some too.

LUISE

[_Half frightened, half excited._] I was right, you see. She found it. Where did you find it, Mielchen?

MIELCHEN

[_Sobbing._] At--at Peterswal--dau. We--we found them in front of--in front of Drei--Dreissiger's house.

OLD HILSE

This is worse an' worse! Get off with you this moment, unless you want me to help you.

MOTHER HILSE

What's all the to-do about?

HORNIG

I'll tell you what, father Hilse. The best way'll be for Gottlieb to put on his coat an' take the spoon to the police-office.

OLD HILSE

Gottlieb, put on year coat.

GOTTLIEB

[_Pulling it on, eagerly._] Yes, an' I'll go right in to the office an' say they're not to blame us for it, for how c'n a child like that understand about it? an' I brought the spoon back at once. Stop your crying now, Mielchen!

[_The crying child is taken into the opposite room by her mother, who shuts her in and comes back._

HORNIG

I believe it's worth as much as nine shillin's.

GOTTLIEB

Give us a cloth to wrap it in, Luise, so that it'll take no harm. To think of the thing bein' worth all that money!

[_Tears come into his eyes while he is wrapping up the spoon._

LUISE

If it was only ours, we could live on it for many a day.

OLD HILSE

Hurry up, now! Look sharp! As quick as ever you can. A fine state o' matters, this! Get that devil's spoon out o' the house.

[_GOTTLIEB goes off with the spoon._

HORNIG

I must be off now too.

[_He goes, is seen talking to the people in the entry-room before he leaves the house._

SURGEON SCHMIDT

[_A jerky little ball of a man, with a red, knowing face, comes into the entry-room._] Good-morning, all! These are fine goings on! Take care! take care! [_Threatening with his finger._] You're a sly lot--that's what you are. [_At HILSE'S door without coming in._] Morning, father Hilse. [_To a woman in the outer room._] And how are the pains, mother? Better, eh? Well, well. And how's all with you, father Hilse? [_Enters._] Why the deuce! what's the matter with mother?

LUISE

It's the eye veins, sir--they've dried up, so as she can't see at all now.

SURGEON SCHMIDT

That's from the dust and weaving by candlelight. Will you tell me what it means that all Peterswaldau's on the way here? I set off on my rounds this morning as usual, thinking no harm; but it wasn't long till I had my eyes opened. Strange doings these! What in the devil's name has taken possession of them, Hilse? They're like a pack of raging wolves. Riot--why, it's revolution! they're getting refractory--plundering and laying waste right and left ... Mielchen! where's Mielchen? [_MIELCHEN, her face red with crying, is pushed in by her mother._] Here, Mielchen, put your hand into my coat pocket. [_MIELCHEN does so._] The ginger-bread nuts are for you. Not all at once, though, you baggage! And a song first! The fox jumped up on a ... come, now ... The fox jumped up ... on a moonlight ... Mind, I've heard what you did. You called the sparrows on the churchyard hedge a nasty name, and they're gone and told the pastor. Did any one ever hear the like? Fifteen hundred of them agog--men, women, and children. [_Distant bells are heard._] That's at Reichenbach-- alarm-bells! Fifteen hundred people! Uncomfortably like the world coming to an end!

OLD HILSE

An' is it true that they're on their way to Bielau?

SURGEON SCHMIDT

That's just what I'm telling you, I've driven through the middle of the whole crowd. What I'd have liked to do would have been to get down and give each of them a pill there and then. They were following on each other's heels like misery itself, and their singing was more than enough to turn a man's stomach. I was nearly sick, and Frederick was shaking on the box like an old woman. We had to take a stiff glass at the first opportunity. I wouldn't be a manufacturer, not though I could drive my carriage and pair. [_Distant singing._] Listen to that! It's for all the world as if they were beating at some broken old boiler. We'll have them here in five minutes, friends. Good-bye! Don't you be foolish. The troops will be upon them in no time. Keep your wits about you. The Peterswaldau people have lost theirs. [_Bells ring close at hand._] Good gracious! There are our bells ringing too! Every one's going mad.

[_He goes upstairs._

GOTTLIEB

[_Comes back. In the entry-room, out of breath._] I've seen 'em, I've seen 'em! [_To a woman._] They're here, auntie, they're here! [_At the door._] They're here, father, they're here! They've got bean-poles, an' ox-goads, an' axes. They're standin' outside the upper Dittrich's kickin' up an awful row. I think he's payin' 'em money. O Lord! whatever's goin' to happen? What a crowd! Oh, you never saw such a crowd! Dash it all--if once they makes a rush, our manufacturers'll be hard put to it.

OLD HILSE

What have you been runnin' like that for? You'll go racin' till you bring on your old trouble, and then we'll have you on your back again, strugglin' for breath.

GOTTLIEB

[_Almost joyously excited._] I had to run, or they would ha' caught me an' kept me. They was all roarin' to me to join 'em. Father Baumert was there too, and says he to me: You come an' get your sixpence with the rest--you're a poor starvin' weaver too. An' I was to tell you, father, from him, that you was to come an' help to pay out the manufacturers for their grindin' of us down. [_Passionately._] Other times is comin', he says. There's goin' to be a change of days for us weavers. An' we're all to come an' help to bring it about. We're to have our half-pound o' meat on Sundays, and now and again on a holiday sausage with our cabbage. Yes, things is to be quite different, by what he tells me.

OLD HILSE

[_With repressed indignation._] An' that man calls hisself your godfather! and he bids you take part in such works o' wickedness? Have nothing to do with them, Gottlieb. They've let themselves be tempted by Satan, an' it's his works they're doin'.

LUISE

[_No longer able to restrain her passionate excitement, vehemently._] Yes, Gottlieb, get into the chimney corner, an' take a spoon in your hand, an' a dish o' skim milk on your knee, an' pat on a petticoat an' say your prayers, and then father'll be pleased with you. And _he_ sets up to be a man!

[_Laughter from the people in the entry-room._

OLD HILSE

[_Quivering with suppressed rage._] An' you set up to be a good wife, 'eh? You calls yourself a mother, an' let your evil tongue run away with you like that? You think yourself fit to teach your girl, you that would egg on your husband to crime an' wickedness?

LUISE

[_Has lost all control of herself._] You an' your piety an' religion--did they serve to keep the life in my poor children? In rags an' dirt they lay, all the four--it didn't as much as keep 'em dry. Yes! I sets up to be a mother, that's what I do--an' if you'd like to know it, that's why I'd send all the manufacturers to hell--because I'm a mother!--Not one of the four could I keep in life! It was cryin' more than breathin' with me from the time each poor little thing came into the world till death took pity on it. The devil a bit you cared! You sat there prayin' and singin', and let me run about till my feet bled, tryin' to get one little drop o' skim milk. How many hundred nights has I lain an' racked my head to think what I could do to cheat the churchyard of my little one? What harm has a baby like that done that it must come to such a miserable end--eh? An' over there at Dittrich's they're bathed in wine an' washed in milk. No! you may talk as you like, but if they begins here, ten horses won't hold me back. An' what's more--if there's a rush on Dittrich's, you'll see me in the forefront of it--an' pity the man as tries to prevent me--I've stood it long enough, so now you know it.

OLD HILSE

You're a lost soul--there's no help for you.

LUISE

[_Frenzied._] It's you that there's no help for! Tatter-breeched scarecrows--that's what you are--an' not men at all. Whey-faced gutter-scrapers that take to your heels at the sound of a child's rattle. Fellows that says "thank you" to the man as gives you a hidin'. They've not left that much blood in you as that you can turn red in the face. You should have the whip taken to you, an' a little pluck flogged into your rotten bones.

[_She goes out quickly._

[_Embarrassed pause._]

MOTHER HILSE

What's the matter with Liesl, father?

OLD HILSE

Nothin', mother! What should be the matter with her?

MOTHER HILSE

Father, is it only me that's thinkin' it, or is the bells ringin'?

OLD HILSE

It'll be a funeral, mother.

MOTHER HILSE

An' I've got to sit waitin' here yet. Why must I be so long a-dyin', father? [_Pause._]

OLD HILSE