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