SCENE I

Produced by Nicole Apostola, Charles Franks

and the Distributed Proofreading Team

COMEDIES BY HOLBERG

JEPPE OF THE HILL, THE POLITICAL TINKER, ERASMUS MONTANUS

TRANSLATED FROM THE DANISH BY

OSCAR JAMES CAMPBELL, JR., PH.D.

Assistant Professor of English in the University of Wisconsin

AND

FREDERIC SCHENCK, B. LITT. OXON.

Instructor in English in Harvard University

WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY OSCAR JAMES CAMPBELL, JR.

NEW YORK

1914

INTRODUCTION

Ludvig Holberg is generally considered the most remarkable of Danish

writers. Though he produced books on international law, finance, and

history, as well as satires, biographies, and moral essays, he is

chiefly celebrated for his comedies, which still--nearly two hundred

years after then composition--delight large audiences in Denmark,

and bid fair to be immortal. These comedies were the fruit of the

author's actual experience; they are closely related to his other

works and reflect the range and diversity of his pursuits. To

understand fully Holberg's creations, one must first become

acquainted with the events of his life.

Ludvig Holberg was born in Bergen, December 3, 1684, of good

parentage on both sides. His mother was a granddaughter of a

distinguished bishop, and his father an army officer who had risen

from the ranks by personal merit. Bergen had long been a

trading-post of the Hanseatic League, and in the seventeenth centurv

was distinctly cosmopolitan in character. Perhaps as a result of his

environment, Holberg seemed early to have acquired a desire to

travel. In any case, he devoted most of the years of his young

manhood to seeing the woild.

In 1704, shortly after receiving his degree at the University of

Copenhagen, he made a journey to the Netherlands. About a year

later, he went to England, where he spent more than two years,

partly in Oxford and partly in London, studying history and

absorbing new ideas. In

1708, as the tutor of a young Danish boy, he visited Dresden,

Leipzig, and Halle. Soon after his return to Copenhagen, he obtained

a small stipend in a foundation for students, called Borch's

College, While there he wrote two historical treatises of enough

value to win him an appointment as "extraordinary" professor in the

university. Though this position gave him the right to the first

vacancy that might occur in the faculty, it did not entitle him to

any salary, and it was only through the good offices of a friend at

court that he obtained a stipend of about $150 a year for four

years, during which time he was to be a sort of travelling fellow of

the university. In the spring of 1714, Holberg, then thirty years of

age, left Copenhagen for his fourth journey abroad.

This excursion was far more extensive and picturesque than any he

had undertaken before. He travelled first to Paris, by way of

Amsterdam and Brussels, and later to Genoa and Rome, by way of

Marseilles. Except for the necessary sea voyages, most of the

journey was made on foot. After staying in Rome for six months,

harassed the entire time by malarial fever, he turned his face

towards home. In order to escape the discomforts and perils of

travel by sea, he decided to return to Paris overland, and walked

from Rome to Florence in fourteen days. Finding his health improved

by the regular exercise, he continued on foot over the Alps to

Lyons, and subsequently to Paris and Copenhagen, where he arrived in

the autumn of 1716. Holberg had gone abroad to satisfy his keen

intellectual curiosity; he remained to study in foreign lands, and

to observe life as a philosopher and artist. Without his seemingly

aimless years of wandering, he might conceivably have become an able

historian; he could hardly have developed his brilliant talent for

satire and comedy.

When Holberg returned home, he found no vacancy in the faculty.

While waiting in penury for the death of some professor, he wrote

one of his most successful works of scholarship, an Introduction to

International Law. At last, in December, 1717, he inherited, as it

were, the chair of metaphysics in the university, being thus forced

to begin his academic career by teaching a subject that he held in

contempt. Fortunately this situation was not permanent. In 1719, he

became professor of Latin; in the following year, a member of the

university council; later in life, professor of history, the subject

he liked best; and finally he was elected treasurer of the

corporation. Holberg was thus associated all his life with academic

pursuits. The greater part of his intellectual work was devoted to

regular university duties and to the composition of scholarly

treatises and moral essays, while the writing of the comedies that

won him permanent fame formed but a short interlude in his busy

life. He became a dramatist almost by chance.

In 1721, some influential citizens of Copenhagen decided that the

time was ripe for establishing native drama in Denmark. A company

was formed under the direction of a cashiered French actor,

Montaigu, who obtained royal permission to bring out plays in

Danish. Holberg, having become well known by his mock-heroic poem

Peder Paars, was at once invited to furnish the company with

original comedies, and responded enthusiastically. For the next few

months he wrote with almost incredible swiftness, and by the time

the theatre was opened, on August 23, 1722, he had finished five of

his best plays, among which were Jeppe of the Hill (Jeppe paa

Bjerget) and The Political Tinker (Den politiske Kandestober).

During the six years in which the company eked out its precarious

existence, Holberg produced twenty-six comedies, most of which were

successfully performed. His literary fecundity seems the more

remarkable when it is remembered that he had no Danish models.

The theatre was not well supported by the public. After the first

year, the receipts of an evening amounted to no more than $13, and

sometimes the actors were compelled to tell the spectators who had

gathered that they could not afford to present the play to so small

an audience. In 1728, the company was at last granted a royal

subvention of about $2500 a year by Frederick VI, and it had begun

to play under the proud title of Royal Actors, when Copenhagen was

swept by a devastating fire. The theatre itself was not destroyed,

but the town was so badly impoverished that for the moment all forms

of public amusement had to be discontinued. Furthermore, the

pietists, to whose doctrines the crown prince was a devout adherent,

asserted that the fire was God's scourge for the wickedness of

Copenhagen, the most impudent form of which, they believed, was the

drama. Before conditions in the city were enough improved to warrant

the resumption of his subsidy to the actors, the king died, on

October 12, 1730. Under the reign of his pietistic successor,

Christian VI (1730-1746), no dramatic performances of any sort were

sanctioned; the theatre building was sold at auction, the company

disbanded, and Holberg ceased writing plays.

In the year of Christian VI's accession to the throne, Holberg was

made Professor of History at the university. Pietist though he was,

the new monarch was an enthusiastic patron of scholarship, and

during his reign Holberg devoted himself almost exclusively to

research, particularly for his History of Denmark, on which his

present reputation as an historian rests. The one important work of

pure literature that he produced at this time was his Niels Klim's

Subterranean Journey (1741), written in Latin, and published in

Leipzig to evade the Danish censor. It is an account of a series of

visits that Niels Klim pays to certain strange nations within the

hollow of the earth. Like Robinson Crusoe, its partial prototype, it

contains much pointed satire on the customs of contemporary society.

It was soon translated into most other languages of Europe, and it

is one of the very few among Holberg's works that have been put into

English in any form.

At the death of Christian VI, in 1746, the obscurantist character of

the court immediately changed. One of the first forms of amusement

to be restored was the Danish theatre. Although Holberg had no

official connection with the actors, he seems to have agreed to

advise them about their repertory, and soon his association with the

stage revived his inteiest in dramatic composition. During the year

1751-52, he wrote six new plays, but they lacked the spirited

criticism of contemporary society which gave life to his earlier

work. They are either founded on Latin models, or are heavily

didactic plays, in which the author's humor fails under the burden

of the moral.

The latter part of Holberg's life was spent in peace and affluence.

His interests were more and more devoted to his large estates, and

particularly to improving the conditions under which his own

peasants labored. In 1747, he was elevated to the rank of baron,

after bequeathing his estates to the crown to endow the old academy

at Soroe. He died on January 28, 1754, and was buried in the abbey

church of Soroe, beside the great Bishop Absalom.

The plays in this volume will give a fair idea of Holberg's best

work. They are all domestic comedies of character, in which the

foibles of some one central figure are held up to ridicule,

particularly as they are revealed in his relations with a

well-defined family group. The scene in such comedies, usually the

home of a peasant or a member of the bourgeoisie, is pictured with

uncompromising realism. Holberg insisted that his audiences should

see everything that he saw. If a Danish peasant actually lay at

times in a drunken stupor on a dunghill, he saw no reason why Jeppe

should not appear on the stage in an equally disgusting condition.

If a peasant girl in life was not averse to simpering vulgarity, why

should Lisbed talk any more circumspectly to Erasmus Montanus?

Holberg, however, had none of the interest of the modern scientific

naturalist in analyses of motive and conduct. His sense of fact was,

therefore, picturesque rather than profound. Yet he never wasted his

accurate realism upon insignificant things. Vulgar facts invariably

led beyond themselves to situations of universal interest and

significance.

"Jeppe of the Hill" is a very old story The original version is

found in the "Arabian Nights," and it has been told over and over

again. Shakespeare embodies it in "The Taming of the Shrew," and

seven other versions occur in Elizabethan literature alone. This

hackneyed farce, amplified by material from Biedermann's "Utopia,"

Holberg made the vehicle of profound delineation of character Dr.

Georg Brandes says of Jeppe, "All that we should like to know of a

man when we become acquainted with him, and much more than we

usually do know of men with whom we become acquainted in real life

or in drama, we know of Jeppe. All our questions are answered."

[Footnote: "Om Ludvig Holbergs Jeppe paa Bjerget,"] We know not only

how he has lived, but even how he will meet death. Jeppe possesses

enough of the common stuff of human nature always to awaken

comprehension and delight; yet he is more than an extraordinarily

complete and convincing individual, and his story is more than an

amusing farce. Widely prevalent social conditions of a past time are

here expressed in human terms of lasting truth and vitality. In

Jeppe the peasant of the eighteenth-century Sjaelland lives for all

time.

The Political Tinker, while it contains no such deep study of

personality as Jeppe of the Hill, is no less clearly a comedy of

character and no less obviously a good human satire. In it the

foibles of the central figure are displayed more definitely in their

relation to the rest of his family. [Footnote: The play is probably

founded upon the story of the political upholsterer which appears in

an essay of The Tatler. For a general discussion of Holberg's

relations to foreign literature, the reader is referred to The

Comedies of Holberg, by O. J. Campbell, Jr. (Harvard Studies in

Comparative Literature, vol. iii, Harvard University Press, 1914).

This is the only full treatment of Holberg in English. Ed.] "The

satire," says Holberg, in his introduction to the first published

edition of the play, "is directed against those boasters among

common people in free cities who sit in taverns and criticise the

mayor and Council; they know everything and yet nothing.... I doubt

if any one can show me a comedy more honorable and more moral....

The comedy, besides, is not less merry than moral, for it has kept

spectators laughing from beginning to end, and for that reason, of

all my comedies, it is played with the greatest profit for those

concerned." The word "moral" as applied to this work illustrates the

somewhat unusual meaning which Holberg attaches to it. Though he is

continually at pains to speak of his "moral" comedies, it is manners

and not morals that he satirizes. He is interested, not so much in

effecting a fundamental reform in the lives of his characters, as in

giving them a little social sense. He preaches, not against distinct

moral turpitude like hypocrisy and avarice, but against inordinate

affection for lap-dogs (Melampe), pietistic objections to masked

balls {Masquerades}, and superstitious belief in legerdemain

(Witchcraft). Holberg voices the urbane humanistic spirit that

characterized the eighteenth century at its best.

Erasmus Montanus seems at first sight a mere farce, in which the

author ridicules academic pedantry and the vapid formalism of logic

as once taught at the University of Copenhagen. But it is much more

than that. Holberg gives us a memorable series of genre paintings of

Danish life of his day, and at the same time presents a situation of

universal interest. Erasmus is a prig who has adopted some new

ideas, not so much from righteous conviction as from the feeling

that they will give him intellectual caste. His revolutionary

theories raise an uproar in the village. Each apostle of the old

order opposes them in his characteristic way, and Erasmus has not

enough real faith within himself to prevail against the combined

attacks of the Philistines; he renounces with oaths the assertions

that the world is round. Still, there is nothing tragic in his

renunciation, for we feel that he is as great a fool as any one in

the play. Erasmus Montanus is a pure comedy, in which the author's

humor plays freely upon all the figures in the drama; and it is just

because the characters rather than the action absorb our interest

that we do not regard it as a farce. Professor Vilhelm Andersen

correctly described it as a "Danish culture-comedy of universal

significance."

Holberg is often called the Danish Moliere. It is true that he

learned many lessons of technique from the great trench

dramatist, and borrowed freely and often from his work; but he

differs from Moliere both in the quality of his humor and in the

spirit that animates his critical view of life. He might as justly

be called the Danish Plautus, or the Danish Spectator. The truth is,

not only that Holberg possessed a profoundly original comic spirit,

but also that his work is clearly related to many dramatic and

literary traditions besides those of French comedy, notably to the

commedia dell'arte, and the essays of The Tatler and The Spectator.

Out of these various and diverse elements, nevertheless, he

contrived to construct dramas at once original and national.

In a large sense, Holberg's comedies arc closely related to the rest

of his work. His treatises, histories, essays, satires, and comedies

are all diverse expressions of one definite purpose. Holberg's early

life and natural cosmopolitan interests made him a citizen of

eighteenth-century Europe, as a whole, and he strove steadily to

bear the intellectual light of that urbane age to his native

country, then backward in culture. Holberg--professor, scholar, and

philosopher--seized with avidity the opportunity to write comedy,

not from a desire to display his own versatility, or from an

absorbing devotion to the drama as a form of art, but because he

believed that through his plays he could fulfil most completely what

he conceived to be his intellectual mission.

OSCAR JAMES CAMPBELL, JR.

May 20, 1914

JEPPE OF THE HILL OR THE TRANSFORMED PEASANT [JEPPE PAA BIERGET]

A COMEDY IN FIVE ACTS 1722

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

JEPPE OF THE HILL, a peasant.

NILLE, his wife.

JACOB SHOEMAKER, an innkeeper.

BARON NILUS, lord of the district.

Secretary to the Baron.

ERIC, a lackey.

A Valet.

MAGNUS, the village gossip.

A Judge, two Lawyers, two Doctors, a Bailiff and his Wife, Lackeys,

Retainers, and others.

ACTS I, IV, AND V

SCENE: A village road; on the left, Jeppe's house; on the right,

Jacob Shoemaker's inn. The court in Act IV is held in the open, and

a tree is used for the gallows in Act V.

ACT II

A bedroom in the Baron's castle.

ACT III

Dining-room in the same.

ACT I

SCENE I

(Nille, alone.)

NILLE. I hardly believe there's such another lazy lout in all the

village as my husband, it's as much as I can do to get him up in the

morning by pulling him out of bed by the hair. The scoundrel knows

to-day is market-day, and yet he lies there asleep at this hour of

the morning. The pastor said to me the other day, "Nille, you are

much too hard on your husband; he is and he ought to be the master

of the house." But I answered him, "No, my good pastor! If I should

let my husband have his way in the household for a year, the gentry

wouldn't get their rent nor the pastor his offering, for in that

length of time he would turn all there was in the place into drink.

Ought I let a man rule the household who is perfectly ready to sell

his belongings and wife and children and even himself for brandy?"

The pastor had nothing to say to that, but stood there stroking his

chin. The bailiff agrees with me, and says, "My dear woman, pay no

attention to the pastor. It's in the wedding-service, to be sure,

that you must honor and obey your husband, but it's in your lease,

which is more recent than the service, that you shall keep up your

farm and meet your rent--a thing you can never do unless you haul

your husband about by the hair every day and beat him to his work."

I pulled him out of bed just now and went out to the barn to see how

things were getting along, when I came in again, he was sitting on a

chair, asleep, with his breeches--saving your presence--pulled on

one leg; so the switch had to come down from the hook, and my good

Jeppe got a basting till he was wide awake again. The only thing he

is afraid of is "Master Eric," as I call the switch. Hey, Jeppe, you

cur, haven't you got into your clothes yet? Would you like to talk

to Master Eric some more? Hey, Jeppe! Come in here!

SCENE 2

(Enter Jeppe.)

JEPPE. I've got to have time to get dressed, Nille! I can't go to

town like a hog without my breeches or my jacket.

NILLE. Scurvy-neck! Haven't you had time to put on ten pairs of

breeches since I waked you this morning?

JEPPE. Have you put away Master Eric, Nille?

NILLE. Yes, I have, but I know mighty well where to find him again,

if you don't step lively. Come here!--See how he crawls.--Come here!

You must go to town and buy me two pounds of soft soap, here's the

money for it. But see here, if you're not back on this very spot

inside of four hours, Master Eric will dance the polka on your back.

JEPPE. How can I walk four leagues in four hours, Nille?

NILLE. Who said anything about walking, you cuckold? You run. I've

said my say once for all, now do as you like. [Exit Nille.]

SCENE 3

JEPPE. Now the sow's going in to eat her breakfast, while I, poor

devil, must walk four leagues without bite or sup. Could any man

have such a damnable wife as I have? I honestly think she's own

cousin to Lucifer. Folks in the village say that Jeppe drinks, but

they don't say why Jeppe drinks: I didn't get as many blows in all

the ten years I was in the militia as I get in one day from my

malicious wife. She beats me, the bailiff drives me to work as if I

were an animal, and the deacon makes a cuckold of me. Haven't I good

reason to drink? Don't I have to use the means nature gives us to

drive away our troubles? If I were a dolt, I shouldn't take it to

heart so, and I shouldn't drink so much, either; but it's a

well-known fact that I am an intelligent man; so I feel such things

more than others would, and that's why I have to drink. My neighbor

Moens Christoffersen often says to me, speaking as my good friend,

"May the devil gnaw your fat belly, Jeppe! You must hit back, if you

want your old woman to behave." But I can't do anything to protect

myself, for three reasons: in the the first place, because I haven't

any courage; in the second, because of that damned Master Eric

hanging behind the bed, which my back can't think of without

blubbering; and thirdly, because I am, if I do say it who shouldn't,

a meek soul and a good Christian, who never tries to revenge

himself, even on the deacon who puts one horn on me after another. I

put my mite in the plate for him on the three holy-days, although he

hasn't the decency to give me so much as one mug of ale all the year

round. Nothing ever wounded me more deeply than the cutting speech

he made me last year: I was telling how once a savage bull, that had

never been afraid of any man, took fright at the sight of me; and he

answered, "Don't you see how that happened, Jeppe? The bull saw that

you had bigger horns than he, so he didn't think it prudent to lock

horns with his superior." I call you to witness, good people, if

such words would not pierce an honorable man to the marrow of his

bones. Still, I am so gentle that I have never even wished my wife

dead. On the contrary, when she lay sick of a jaundice last year, I

hoped she might live; for as hell is already full of bad women,

Lucifer might send her back again, and then she'd be worse than

ever. But if the deacon should die, I should be glad, for my own

sake and for others' as well, for he does me nothing but evil and is

no use to the parish. He's an ignorant devil, for he can't sing a

note, much less mould a decent wax candle. Oh, but his predecessor,

Christoffer, was a different sort of fellow. He had such a voice in

his time that he sang down twelve deacons in the Credo. Once I

started to quarrel openly with the deacon, when Nille herself heard

him call me a cuckold. I said, "May the devil be your cuckold,

deacon!" But what good did it do? Master Eric came right down off

the wall to stop the quarrel, and my back got such a drubbing that I

had to ask the deacon's leave to thank him, that he, as a

well-educated man, should do such an honor to our house. Since that

time I haven't thought of making any opposition. Yes, yes, Moens

Christoffersen! You and the other peasants can very well talk,

because your wives haven't any Master Eric hanging behind the bed.

If I had one wish in the world, it would be either that my wife had

no arms, or that I had no back. She may use her mouth as much as she

pleases. But I must stop at Jacob Shoemaker's on the way--he'll

surely let me have a pennyworth of brandy on credit--for I must have

something to quench my thirst. Hey, Jacob Shoemaker! Are you up yet?

Open the door, Jacob!

SCENE 4

(Enter Jacob Shoemaker, in his shirt.)

JACOB. Who the dickens wants to get in so early?

JEPPE. Good morning to you, Jacob Shoemaker.

JACOB. Thank you, Jeppe! You are up and about bright and early

to-day.

JEPPE. Let us have a pennyworth of brandy, Jacob!

JACOB. With all my heart, when you show me the penny.

JEPPE. I'll give it to you when I come back here tomorrow.

JACOB. Jacob Shoemaker doesn't give credit, I know you must have a

penny or two about you to pay with.

JEPPE. Honestly, Jacob, I have nothing but what my wife gave me to

spend in town for her.

JACOB. You can easily beat them down a few pence on what you buy.

What is it you're to get her?

JEPPE. I have to buy two pounds of soft soap.

JACOB. Why, can't you tell her the soap cost a penny or two more

than you give for it?

JEPPE. I'm so afraid my wife would find out about it, and then I'd

be in trouble.

JACOB. Nonsense! How could she find out? Can't you swear that you

paid out all the money? You're as stupid as an ox.

JEPPE. That's true, Jacob! I can do that well enough.

JACOB. Out with your penny.

JEPPE. Here you are, but you must give me a penny change.

JACOB (coming in with the glass; drinks to him). Your health, Jeppe!

JEPPE. What a lot you take, you rogue!

JACOB. Oh, yes, but it's the custom for the host to drink his

guest's health.

JEPPE. I know it is, but bad luck to the man that started the

custom. Your health, Jacob!

JACOB. Thanks, Jeppe! You'll drink the other pennyworth next, so

there's no use your troubling about change. Or do you want a glass

to your credit when you come again? For I give you my word I haven't

any change.

JEPPE. I'm damned if I do! If it's got to be spent, it might as well

be spent now, so that I can feel I have something under my belt; but

if you drink any of it, I won't pay.

JACOB. Your health!

JEPPE. God save our friends and ill befall our enemies. That does my

belly good. Um-m-m.

JACOB. Good luck on your way, Jeppe.

JEPPE. Thanks, Jacob Shoemaker. (Exit Jacob.)

SCENE 5

(Jeppe feels happy and begins to sing.)

A white hen and a speckled hen

Got into a row with a rooster--

Oh, if I only dared drink another pennyworth! Oh, if I only dared

drink another pennyworth! I think I'll do it. No, ill will come of

it. If I could once get the inn out of my sight, I shouldn't need

to; but it's as if some one were holding me back. I've got to go in

again. But what is this you are doing, Jeppe? I seem to see Nille

standing in my path with Master Eric in her hand. I must turn round

again. Oh, if I only dared drink another pennyworth! My belly says,

"Do it;" my back, "Don't." Which shall I obey? Isn't my belly bigger

than my back? I think it is. Shall I knock? Hey, Jacob Shoemaker,

come out here! But that cursed woman comes before my eyes again. If

she only didn't break the bones of my back when she beats me, I'd

let her go to the devil, but she lays on like ... Oh, God help me,

miserable creature! What shall I do? Control your nature, Jeppe!

Isn't it a shame to get into trouble for a paltry glass of brandy?

No, I shan't do it this time; I must go on. Oh, if I only dared

drink another pennyworth! It was my undoing that I got a taste of

it; now I can't get away from it. Go on, legs! May the devil split

you if you don't! Marry, the rogues won't budge. They want to go

back to the inn. My limbs wage war on each other: my belly and my

legs want to go to the inn, and my back wants to go to town. Will

you go on, you dogs! you beasts! you scurvy wretches! The devil take

them, they will go back to the inn; I have more trouble getting my

own legs away from the inn than I have getting my piebald horse out

of the stable. Oh, if I only dared drink another pennyworth! Who

knows but Jacob Shoemaker might trust me for a penny or two, if I

begged enough? Hey, Jacob! Another twopenny glass of brandy!

SCENE 6

(Enter Jacob)

JACOB. Hello, Jeppe! back again? I thought you had had too little.

What good is a farthing's worth of brandy? That's hardly enough to

wet your whistle.

JEPPE. That's so, Jacob! I'll spend another farthing! (Aside.) Once

I've got it down, he'll have to trust me whether he wants to or not.

JACOB. Here's your farthing's worth of brandy, Jeppe, but money

first.

JEPPE. You certainly can trust me while I'm drinking, as the proverb

says.

JACOB. We don't give credit on proverbs, Jeppe! If you don't pay up,

you won't get a drop; we have sworn off trusting any one, even the

bailiff himself.

JEPPE (weeping). Can't you really trust me? I'm an honest man.

JACOB. No credit.

JEPPE. Here's your twopence, then, you beggar! Now it's done, drink,

Jeppe! Oh, that goes to the right spot.

JACOB. It certainly does warm a man's insides.

JEPPE. The best thing about brandy is that it gives you courage. Now

I don't think any more about my wife or Master Eric, I've been so

changed by that last glass. Do you know this song, Jacob?

Heir Peder and Kirsten sat at the table, Peteheia!

Said all the bad words that they were able, Polemeia!

In summer the happy starlings sing, Peteheia!

May devil take Nille, the dirty thing, Polemeia!

One day I went out upon the grass, Peteheia!

The deacon, he is a hangman's ass, Polemeia!

On my dappled horse I ride to the east, Peteheia!

The deacon, he is a nasty beast, Polemeia!

If you would know my wife's real name, Peteheia!

I'll tell you: it is Lust and Shame, Polemeia!

I made up that song myself, Jacob!

JACOB. The devil you did!

JEPPE. Jeppe's not as dull as you think: I've also made up a song

about shoemakers, which goes like this:

The shoemaker sits with his big bass viol, Philepom, Philepom!

JACOB. You poor fool, that's about a fiddler.

JEPPE. So it is. See here, Jacob! Give me twopence worth more of

brandy.

JACOB. All right; I see you're a good fellow; you don't grudge

spending a penny or two in my house.

JEPPE. Hey, Jacob! make it fourpence.

JACOB. Certainly.

JEPPE. (singing again).

The earth drinks water,

The sea drinks sun,

The sun drinks sea,

Everything on earth drinks;

Why not me?

JACOB. Your health, Jeppe!

JEPPE. Mir zu!

JACOB. Here's to you in half of it!

JEPPE. Ich tank you, Jacob. Drink, man, and the devil take you and

welcome!

JACOB. I see that you can talk German.

JEPPE. Yes, I have for a long time, but I don't like to except when

I'm full.

JACOB. Then you must speak it at least once a day.

JEPPE. I was ten years m the militia, don't you think I ought to

understand the language?

JACOB. I know, Jeppe! We were in the same company for two years.

JEPPE. So we were; I remember it now. You were hanged once when you

ran away at Vissmar.

JACOB. I was going to be hanged, but I was pardoned. A miss is as

good as a mile.

JEPPE. It's too bad you weren't hanged, Jacob! But weren't you with

us at the auction on the heath--you know the one?

JACOB. Why, where wasn't I with you?

JEPPE. I never shall forget the first salt the Swedes made. I think

3000 men--or even 4000--fell all at once. Das ging fordeviled zu,

Jacob! Du kannst das wohl rememberen. Ich kan nicht deny dass ich

bange war at dat battle.

JACOB: Yes, yes, death is hard to face; a man always feels pious

when he goes against the enemy.

Jeppe. Yes, that's so. I don't know how it happens. For I spent the

whole night before the auction reading the Qualms of David.

JACOB. I wonder that you, who have been a soldier, should let

yourself be browbeaten by your wife.

JEPPE. I? If I only could have her here now, you'd see how I should

drub her! Another glass, Jacob! I still have eightpence, and when

that's all drunk up I shall drink on credit. Give me a mug of ale,

too. (Sings.)

In Leipzig war ein Mann,

In Leipzig war ein Mann,

In Leipzig war ein lederner Mann,

In Leipzig war ein lederner Mann,

In Leipzig war ein Mann.

Der Mann sie nahm ein Frau--

JACOB. Your health, Jeppe!

JEPPE. Hey! he--y! he--y!

Here's to you, and here's to me,

And here's to all the company!

JACOB. Won't you drink the bailiff's health?

JEPPE. Sure enough; give me credit for another penny-worth. The

bailiff is an honest man; when we slip a rix-dollar into his fist,

he'll swear to his lordship that we can't pay our rent. Now I'm a

villain if I have any more money; you must trust me for a farthing

or two.

JACOB. No, Jeppe, you can't stand any more now. I'm not the kind of

man to let his patrons force themselves to drink more than is good

for them. I'd rather lose my trade than do that. It would be a sin.

JEPPE. Just another farthing's worth!

JACOB. No, Jeppe, you can't have any more. Just think what a long

way you have to walk.

JEPPE. Cur! Carrion! Beast! Scoundrel! Hey, hey, h--e--y!

JACOB. Good-bye, Jeppe! Good luck to you!

[Exit Jacob.]

SCENE 7

JEPPE. Oh, Jeppe, you are as full as a beast! My legs don't want to

carry me. Will you stand still, you carrion? Let's see, what time is

it? Hey, Jacob, you dog of a shoemaker! I want another drink. Will

you stay still, you dogs! May the devil take me if they will keep

quiet. Thank you, Jacob Shoemaker! I'll have another. Listen,

friend! which way does the road to town go? Stand still, I say! See,

the brute is full. You drank like a rogue, Jacob! Is that a

farthing's worth of brandy ... You pour like a Turk. (As he speaks,

he falls and lies on the ground.)

SCENE 8

(Enter Baron Nilus, Secretary, Valet, Eric, and another Lackey.)

BARON. It looks as if we were going to have a good harvest this

year; see how thick that barley is growing.

SECRETARY. True, my lord, but that means that a barrel of barley

won't bring more than five marks this year.

BARON. That makes no difference. The peasants are always better off

in good seasons.

SECRETARY. I don't know how that may be, my lord, but the peasants

always complain and ask for seed-corn, no matter whether the year is

fruitful or not. When they have something, they drink so much the

more. There is an inn-keeper who lives near here, called Jacob

Shoemaker, who helps a good deal to keep the peasants poor; they say

he puts salt in his ale to make them thirsty so they will drink

more.

BARON. We shall have to drive the fellow out. But what is that lying

in the road? It must be a dead man. One hears of nothing but

misfortune nowadays. Run and see what it is, one of you!

LACKEY. That is Jeppe of the Hill, whose wife is such a terror. Get

up, Jeppe! No, he wouldn't wake even if we pummelled him and pulled

his hair.

BARON. Let him be, then. I want to play a little joke on him. You

are usually full of ingenious ideas. Can't you think of something to

divert me?

SECRETARY. I think it would be good fun to tie a paper collar round

his neck, or else cut off his hair.

VALET. I think it would be more amusing to smear his face with ink

and then send some one to see how his wife takes it when he comes

home in that condition.

BARON. That's not bad. But what do you wager that Eric won't hit on

something better still? Let's hear your suggestion, Eric.

ERIC. My idea is that we take off all his clothes and put him in my

lord's best bed, and in the morning when he wakes, all of us treat

him as if he were the lord of the domain, so he won't know how he

has got so transformed. And when we have convinced him that he is

the baron, we can get him drunk again, as he is now, and lay him on

the same dunghill in his own old clothes. If all this is skilfully

carried out, it will work wonderfully, and he will imagine that he

had dreamt of his good fortune, or has actually been in paradise.

BARON. Eric, you're a big man and therefore you have big ideas. But

what if we should wake him in the process?

ERIC. I'm sure we shalln't do that, my lord! for this same Jeppe is

one of the heaviest sleepers in the whole district. Last year they

tried setting off a rocket under his head, but when the rocket went

off he never even stirred in his sleep.

BARON. Then let us do it. Drag him right off, put a fine shirt on

him, and lay him in my best bed.

ACT II

SCENE I

(Jeppe is lying in the baron's bed with a cloth-of-gold

dressing-gown on a chair beside him. He wakes up, ruts his eyes,

looks about, and becomes frightened; he rubs them again, puts a hand

to his head, and finds a gold-embroidered nightcap on it; he

moistens his fingers and wipes out his eyes, then rubs them again,

turns the nightcap around and looks at it, looks at the fine shirt

he is wearing, at the dressing-gown and the other fine things in the

room, making strange faces. Meanwhile, soft music begins to play,

and Jeppe clasps his hands and weeps. When the music stops, he

speaks.)

JEPPE. What is all this? What splendor! How did I get here? Am I

dreaming, or am I awake? I certainly am awake. Where is my wife,

where are my children, where is my house, and where is Jeppe?

Everything is changed, and I am, too--Oh, what does it all mean?

What does it mean? (He calls softly in a frightened voice.) Nille!

Nille! Nille!--I think I'm in heaven--Nille!--and I don't

deserve to be a bit. But is this myself? I think it is, and then I

think it isn't. When I feel my back, which is still sore from the

last beating I got, when I hear myself speak, when I stick my tongue

in my hollow tooth, I think it is myself. But when I look at my

nightcap, my shirt, and all the splendor before my eyes, when I hear

the delicious music, then the devil split me if I can get it through

my head that it is myself. No, it is not me, I'm a thousand times a

low dog if it is. But am I not dreaming? I don't think I am. I'll

try and pinch my arm; if it doesn't hurt, I'm dreaming. Yes, I feel

it; I'm awake, sure enough; no one could argue that, because if I

weren't awake, I couldn't... But how can I be awake, now that I come

to think it over? There is no question that I am Jeppe of the Hill;

I know that I'm a poor peasant, a bumpkin, a scoundrel, a cuckold, a

hungry louse, a maggot, a lump of carrion; then how can I be an

emperor and lord of a castle? No, it's nothing but a dream. So I'd

better be calm and wait till I wake up. [The music strikes up again

and Jeppe bursts into tears.] Oh, can a man hear things like that in

his sleep? It's impossible. But if it's a dream, I hope I may never

wake, and if I am crazy, I hope I may never be sane again; I'd sue

the doctor that cured me, and curse the man that waked me. But I'm

neither dreaming nor crazy, for I can remember everything that has

happened to me: I remember that my blessed father was Niels of the

Hill, my grandfather Jeppe of the Hill; my wife's name is Nille; her

switch is Master Eric; my sons are Hans, Christoffer, and Niels.

I've got it! I know what it is; this is the other life, this is

paradise, this is heaven. I must have drunk myself to death

yesterday at Jacob Shoemaker's, and when I died I went straight to

heaven. Death can't be as hard to go through as they make out, for I

don't feel a thing. Now, perhaps the pastor is standing this very

minute in the pulpit delivering a funeral sermon over me, and is

saying, "So ended Jeppe of the Hill. He lived like a soldier, and he

died like a soldier." There might be some doubt as to whether I died

on land or on sea, for I was easily half-seas-over when I left the

world. Oh, Jeppe! how different this is from walking four leagues to

town for soap, lying on straw, being beaten by your wife, and having

horns put on you by the deacon. Oh, to what delights are your

troubles and your bitter days now turned! Oh, I'm ready to weep for

joy, particularly when I think how all this has happened to me

without my deserving it! But one thing bothers me, and that is that

I'm so thirsty that my lips are sticking together. If I wanted to be

alive again, it would be just so I could get a mug of ale to quench

my thirst, for what good is all this finery to my eyes and ears, if

I'm going to die all over again of thirst? I remember, the priest

often said that man neither hungers nor thirsts in heaven, and also

that a man finds all his friends there. But I'm ready to faint with

thirst, and I'm all alone--I don't see a soul: I should at least

find my grandfather, who was such a fine man that he didn't owe his

lordship a penny when he died. I'm sure lots of people have lived as

good lives as I have; so why should I be the only one to go to

heaven? Then it can't be heaven. But what can it be? I'm not asleep,

I'm not awake, I'm not dead, I'm not alive, I'm not crazy, I'm not

sane, I am Jeppe of the Hill, I'm not Jeppe of the Hill, I'm poor,

I'm rich, I'm a miserable peasant, I'm an emperor. O--o--o--! Help!

Help! Help! (He roars loudly.)

SCENE 2

(Enter the Valet, Eric, and others who have been watching his

behavior from the doorway.)

VALET. I wish his lordship a very good morning. Here is the

dressing-gown, if his lordship wishes to rise. Eric! run for the

towel and basin.

JEPPE. Oh, worthy chamberlain! I will gladly get up, but I beg of

you, don't hurt me.

VALET. God forbid that we should harm his lordship!

JEPPE. Oh, before you kill me, would you do me the kindness of

telling me who I am?

VALET. Does not your lordship know who he is?

JEPPE. Yesterday I was Jeppe of the Hill, but to-day--Oh, I don't

know what to say.

VALET. We are glad that his lordship is in such good humor to-day as

to deign to jest. But, God help us, why does my lord weep?

JEPPE. I'm not your lordship. I can take my oath on it, for, as far

as I can remember, I am Jeppe Nielsen of the Hill, and one of the

baron's peasants. If you will send for my wife, she'll bear witness

to it, but don't let her bring Master Eric along.

ERIC. This is strange. What is the matter? Perhaps my lord is not

awake, for he is not accustomed to joke like this.

JEPPE. Whether I am awake or not, I can't say, but I do know and can

say that I am one of my lord's peasants, who is called Jeppe of the

Hill, and I never have been a baron nor a count in all my life.

VALET. Eric! what can this mean? I am afraid my lord has been taken

ill.

ERIC. I imagine he is walking in his sleep, for it often happens

that people get out of bed, dress, talk, eat, and drink--all while

they are still asleep.

VALET. No, Eric! I think that his lordship is having hallucinations

brought on by an illness, run quickly and fetch some doctors. (Exit

Eric.) Oh, my lord, pray drive such thoughts from your head. His

lordship will otherwise strike fear into the whole household. Does

not my lord know me?

JEPPE. I don't even know myself, so how should I know you?

VALET. Is it possible that I should hear such words from my gracious

lord's mouth and see him in such a plight! Alas, our unlucky house,

to be plagued with an evil spell! Does not my lord remember what he

did yesterday, when he went out hunting?

JEPPE. I have never done any hunting or poaching, for I know that's

a thing that will get a man hard labor; no living soul can prove

that I ever hunted as much as a hare in my lord's woods.

VALET. Why, my gracious lord, I was out hunting with you myself

yesterday.

JEPPE. Yesterday I was at Jacob Shoemaker's, and I drank twelve

pennyworth of brandy, so how could I have been hunting?

VALET. Oh, I beg his gracious lordship on my bare knees to stop

talking such nonsense. Eric! have the doctors been sent for?

ERIC. Yes, they are coming immediately.

VALET. Then let us put on his lordship's dressing-gown, for perhaps

he might feel better if we took him out into the open air. Will my

lord be so good as to put on his dressing-gown?

JEPPE. With all my heart. You may do what you like with me, so long

as you don't kill me, for I am as innocent as a babe unborn.

SCENE 3

(Enter Eric with two Doctors.)

FIRST DOCTOR. We hear with the greatest sorrow that his lordship is

indisposed.

VALET. Yes, Doctor. He is in a serious condition.

SECOND DOCTOR. How are you feeling, gracious lord?

JEPPE. Splendidly, except that I'm a little thirsty from the brandy

I drank at Jacob Shoemaker's yesterday. If some one would only give

me a mug of ale and let me go, why then they might hang you and all

the rest of the doctors, for I need no medicine.

FIRST DOCTOR. I call that pure hallucination, my good colleague!

SECOND DOCTOR. The more violent it is, the quicker it will spend its

rage. Let us feel your lordship's pulse. Quid tibi videtur, Domine

Frater?

FIRST DOCTOR. I think he should be bled immediately.

SECOND DOCTOR. I do not agree with you; such remarkable weakness

must be treated otherwise. My lord has had a strange and forbidding

dream, which has caused a commotion in his blood and has set his

brain in such a whirl that he imagines himself to be a peasant. We

must endeavor to divert his lordship with those things in which he

usually takes the greatest pleasure. Give him the wines and the

dishes that he likes best, and play the music that it pleases him

most to hear. (Cheerful music strikes up.)

VALET. Is not this my lord's favorite piece?

JEPPE. Like enough. Is there always such merrymaking here in the

manor?

VALET. Whenever his lordship pleases, for he gives us all our board

and wages.

JEPPE. But it is strange I can't remember the things I have done

before.

SECOND DOCTOR. It is the result of this illness, your lordship, that

one forgets all he has done previous to it. I remember, a few years

ago, one of my neighbors became so confused after drinking heavily

that for two days he thought he had no head.

JEPPE. I wish Squire Christoffer would do that; he must have an

illness that works just the other way, for he thinks he has a great

big head, while he really hasn't got one at all, as any one can tell

from his decisions. (All laugh.)

SECOND DOCTOR. It is a great pleasure to us to hear his lordship

jest. But to return to my story, this fellow went all over the town

asking people if they had found the head he had lost; he recovered,

however, and is now a sexton in Jutland.

JEPPE. He could be that even if he hadn't found his head. (All laugh

again.)

FIRST DOCTOR. Does my honored colleague remember the case that

occurred ten years ago, of the man who thought his head was full of

flies? He could not get over the notion, no matter how much they

argued with him, until a clever doctor cured him in this way: he put

on his head a plaster which was covered with dead flies, and after a

while took it off and showed the flies on it to the patient, who

thought they had been drawn out of his head, and was immediately

well again.

I also have heard of another man who, after a long fever, got the

idea that if he made water the country would suffer from a flood. No

one could make him think otherwise; he said he was willing to die

for the common good. This is how he was cured: a message was sent to

him, supposedly from the commandant, saying that the town was

threatened with a siege and there was no water in the moat, and

asking him to fill it to keep the enemy out. The patient was

delighted to be able to save both his fatherland and himself; so he

got rid of his water and of his sickness both at once.

SECOND DOCTOR. I recall another case that occurred in Germany. A

nobleman came to an inn, and when he had dined and wanted to go to

bed, he hung the gold chain which he wore round his neck on a nail

in the wall of the bedroom. The innkeeper took careful note of this

as he followed him to bed and wished him good-night. When he thought

that the nobleman was asleep, he stole into the room, cut sixty

links out of the chain, and hung it up again. The guest got up in

the morning, had his horse saddled, and put on his clothes. But when

he came to put on the chain, he noticed that it had lost half its

length, and began to call out that he had been robbed. The host, who

was watching outside the door, ran in, putting on an expression of

the greatest consternation, and exclaimed, "Oh, what a terrible

transformation!" When the guest asked him what he meant by that, he

said, "Alas, my lord! your head is as big again as it was

yesterday." Then the host brought him a distorting mirror, which

made everything appear twice as big as it really was. When the

nobleman saw how big his head looked in the mirror, he burst into

tears and said, "Oh, now I see why my chain will not go on!"

Whereupon he mounted his horse, wrapping his head in his cloak, that

none might see it on the road. They say that he kept the house for

several days, unable to get over the idea that it was not the chain

that had grown too short, but his head that had grown too big.

FIRST DOCTOR. There are countless examples of such illusions. I also

remember hearing of a man who imagined his nose was ten feet long,

and warned every one he met not to come too near.

SECOND FATHER. Domine Frater has undoubtedly heard the story of the

man who thought he was dead? A young person got it into his head

that he was dead, and consequently laid himself out on a bier, and

would neither eat nor drink. His friends endeavored to show him the

absurdity of his conduct and tried every means of making him eat,

but in vain, for he merely dismissed them with scorn, asserting that

it was contrary to all rule for the dead to eat and drink. At last

an experienced physician undertook to cure him by this unusual

method: He got a servant to pretend that he too was dead, and had

him laid out in the same place with the patient. For a long time the

two lay and looked at each other. After a while the patient began to

ask the other man what he was doing there, and he answered that he

was dead. Then they began to question each other as to how they had

died, and both explained in full. Later, some people who had been

instructed what to do came and brought the second man his supper,

whereupon he sat up in his coffin and ate a hearty meal, saying to

the other, "Aren't you going to eat pretty soon?" The sick man

pondered over this, and asked if it was proper for a dead man to

eat, and was answered that if he did not eat soon, he could not stay

dead very long. He therefore allowed himself to be persuaded first

to eat with the other man, subsequently to sleep, get up, dress,--in

fact, in all matters copy the other, until finally he came to life

and regained his senses.

I could give innumerable other examples of such odd illusions. That

is just what has happened in this case to make his gracious lordship

think that he is a poor peasant. But if my lord will get the notion

out of his head, he will speedily be himself again.

JEPPE. But can it be only illusion?

FIRST DOCTOR. Certainly; my lord has heard from these stories what

illusions can do.

JEPPE. Am I not Jeppe of the Hill?

FIRST DOCTOR. Certainly not.

JEPPE. Isn't that wicked Nille my wife?

FIRST DOCTOR. By no means, for my lord is a widower.

JEPPE. Is it pure illusion that she has a switch called Master Eric?

FIRST DOCTOR. Pure illusion.

JEPPE. Isn't it true either that I was to go to town yesterday and

buy soap?

FIRST DOCTOR. No.

JEPPE. Nor that I drank up the money at Jacob Shoemaker's?

VALET. Why, your lordship was with us out hunting all day yesterday.

JEPPE. Nor that I am a cuckold?

VALET. Why, her ladyship has been dead for years.

JEPPE. I'm beginning to realize my own stupidity. I won't think

about the peasant any more; I see that it was a dream that led me

into my delusion. It certainly is wonderful how men get such ideas.

VALET. Does my lord wish to walk in the garden for a time while we

make ready his breakfast?

JEPPE. Very well; but hurry up, for I am both hungry and thirsty.

ACT III

SCENE I

(Jeppe comes in from the garden with his suite. A small table is

set.)

JEPPE. Ah, ha! I see that the table is all set.

VALET. Yes, everything is ready when his lordship wishes to be

seated.

(Jeppe sits down. The others stand behind his chair and laugh at his

bad manners when he sticks all five fingers in the dish, belches,

and blows his nose with his fingers and wipes them on his clothes.)

VALET. Will my lord order what wine he desires?

JEPPE. You know yourself what wine I usually drink in the morning.

VALET. Here is Rhine-wine, which my lord usually drinks. But if this

doesn't suit his lordship's taste, he can have something else

immediately.

JEPPE. That's a little too sour. Put some mead in it, and it will be

all right; I am for sweet things.

VALET. Here is some port-wine, if my lord would like to taste it.

Jeppe. That's fine wine. Shout, all of you! (Each time he drinks,

trumpets blow.) Hurry up, lad! another glass of pork-wine. Do you

understand?--Where did you get that ring on your finger?

SECRETARY. My lord gave it to me himself.

JEPPE. I don't remember it; give it back to me. I must have been

drunk when I did it. A man doesn't give away rings like that for

nothing. Later on I'll look into things and see what else you've got

away with. Servants ought not to get anything more than board and

wages. I can swear I don't remember making you any special present;

why should I? That ring must be worth more than ten rix-dollars. No,

no, my good fellows! That won't do at all. You must not take

advantage of your master's feebleness and drunkenness. When I'm

drunk, I'm perfectly ready to give away my breeches; but when I have

slept off my liquor, I take back my gifts. Otherwise I should get

into trouble with Nille, my old woman. But what am I saying? I am

falling back into my mad notions again and don't realize who I am.

Give me another glass of pork-wine. More noise! (Trumpets.) Pay

attention to what I say, lads. I want you to understand that after

this, if I give anything away in the evening when I'm drunk and you

don't bring it back in the morning, you will have to answer for it.

When servants are given more than they can eat, they get proud and

turn up their noses at the master. What wages do you get?

SECRETARY. My lord has heretofore given me two hundred rix-dollars a

year.

JEPPE. The devil a two hundred you get after this! What do you do to

earn two hundred rix-dollars? I myself have to slave like a beast,

and be on my feet in the hay loft from morning till night, and can

scarcely--See how I come back to my cursed peasant notions. Give me

another glass of wine. (He drinks; trumpets blow again.) Two hundred

rix-dollars! Why, that's pulling the very hide off your master.

Listen, do you know what, you good lads? When I have dined, I have a

good mind to hang half you fellows here on the estate. You'll find

out that I am not to be trifled with in money matters.

VALET. We will give back all that we have received from his

lordship.

JEPPE. Yes, yes, "his lordship" this, "his lordship" that! We get

compliments and ceremonies cheap enough nowadays. You want to

flatter me with "his lordship" until you've got all my money away

from me and you are the lordships yourselves. Your mouths say "his

lordship," but your hearts say "his foolship." You don't say what

you mean, my lads. You servants are like Abner when he came and

greeted Roland, saying, "Hail, brother," and so saying thrust a

dagger into his heart. Take my word for it, Jeppe is no fool. (They

all fall on their knees and beg for mercy.) Get up, lads! Wait till

I have finished eating. Then I shall see how it works out and decide

which of you deserve to be hanged and which don't. For the present I

shall make merry.

SCENE 2

JEPPE. Where is my bailiff?

VALET. He is waiting outside.

JEPPE. Tell him to come in immediately.

[Enter the Bailiff in a coat with silver buttons and a sword-belt

over his shoulder.]

BAILIFF. Has his lordship any orders?

JEPPE. Only that you are to be hanged.

BAILIFF. I have surely done no wrong, my lord! Why should I be

hanged?

JEPPE. Are you not the bailiff?

BAILIFF. Yes, indeed, your lordship.

JEPPE. And yet you ask why you should be hanged?

BAILIFF. I have served your lordship so honestly and faithfully and

have been so diligent in my office that your lordship has always

praised me more than any other of his servants.

JEPPE. Indeed, you have been diligent in your office, as your solid

silver buttons plainly show. What wages do you get?

BAILIFF. Fifty rix-dollars a year.

JEPPE [gets up and walks to and fro]. Fifty? You surely shall be

hanged.

BAILIFF. It couldn't well be less, my lord, for a whole year's hard

work.

JEPPE. That's just the reason you are to be hanged--because you

only get fifty rix-dollars. You have money enough for a coat with

silver buttons, frills at your wrists, and a silk queue for your

hair--and all on fifty rix-dollars a year. If you didn't rob me,

poor man, where else could you get it?

BAILIFF [on his knees]. Oh, gracious lord! For the sake of my

unfortunate wife and innocent children, spare me!

JEPPE. Have you many children?

BAILIFF. Seven children living, my lord.

JEPPE. Ha! Ha! Seven children living! Have him hanged immediately,

Sectary.

SECRETARY. Oh, gracious lord, I am no hangman.

JEPPE. If you're not, you can soon learn to be. You look fit for any

trade. And when you have hanged him, I shall have you hanged

yourself.

BAILIFF. Oh, gracious lord, is there no reprieve?

JEPPE [walks to and fro, sits down, drinks, and gets up again]. Half

a hundred rix-dollars, a wife and seven children. If no one else

will hang you, I'll do it myself. I know what sort you are, you

bailiffs! I know how you have cheated me and other miserable

peasants--Oh, there come those damned peasant illusions into my head

again. I meant to say, that I know your games and your goings-on so

well, I could be a bailiff myself if I had to. You get the cream off

the milk, and your master gets dung, to speak modestly. I really

think that if the world keeps on, the bailiffs will all be noblemen

and the noblemen all bailiffs. When a peasant slips something into

your hand or your wife's, here is what your master is told: "The

poor man is willing and industrious enough, but certain misfortunes

have befallen him which make it impossible for him to pay: he has a

poor piece of land, his cattle have got the scab,"--or something

like that,--and with such babble your master has to let himself be

cheated. Take my word for it, lad! I'm not going to let myself be

fooled in that way, for I'm a peasant and a peasant's son

myself--see how that illusion keeps cropping up! I was about to say

that I am a peasant's son myself, for Abraham and Eve, our first

parents, were tillers of the soil.

SECRETARY [on his knees]. Oh, gracious lord! Pray take pity on him

for the sake of his unfortunate wife; for how can she live if he is

not there to feed her and the children?

JEPPE. Who says they should live either? We can string them up along

with him.

SECRETARY. Oh, my lord! she is such a lovely, beautiful woman.

JEPPE. So? Perhaps you are her lover, seeing you feel so badly about

her. Send her here.

SCENE 3

[Enter Bailiff's wife; she kisses Jeppe's band.]

JEPPE. Are you the bailiff's wife?

WIFE. Yes, your lordship, I am.

JEPPE [takes her by the breasts]. You are pretty. Would you like to

sleep with me to-night?

WIFE. My lord has only to command, for I am his servant.

JEPPE [to the Bailiff]. Do you consent to my lying with your wife

to-night?

BAILIFF. I thank his lordship for doing my humble house the honor.

JEPPE. Here! Bring her a chair; she shall eat with me. [She sits at

the table, and eats and drinks with him. He becomes jealous of the

Secretary.] You'll get into trouble, if you look at her like that.

[Whenever he looks at the Secretary, the Secretary takes his eyes

off the woman and gazes at the floor. Jeppe sings an old love-ballad

as he sits at the table with her. He orders a polka to be played and

dances with her, but he is so drunk that he falls down three times,

and finally lies where he falls and goes to sleep.]

SCENE 4

(Enter the Baron and Eric.)

BARON. He is sound asleep. Now we have played our game, but we have

nearly been made the bigger fools ourselves, for he intended to

tyrannize over us, so that we must either have spoiled our trick, or

else have let ourselves be mauled by the rude yokel, from whose

conduct one can learn how haughty and overbearing such people become

when they suddenly rise from the mire to a station of worth and

honor. If I had, in an unlucky moment, impersonated a secretary

myself, I might have got a thrashing, and the whole affair would

have been a failure, for people would have laughed more at me than

at the peasant. We had better let him sleep awhile before we put him

back into his dirty farm clothes again.

ERIC. Why, my lord, he is sleeping like a log; look, I can pound him

and he doesn't feel it.

BARON. Take him out, then, and complete our little comedy.

ACT IV

SCENE 1

[Jeppe is lying on a dungheap in his old peasant clothes. He wakes

and calls out.]

JEPPE. Hey, Sectary, Valet, Lackeys! another glass of pork-wine! [He

looks about him, rubs his eyes as before, feels his head, and finds

his old broad-brimmed hat on it; rubs his eyes again, turns the hat

over and over, looks at his clothes, recognizes himself again, and

begins to talk.] How long was Abraham in paradise? Now, alas, I

recognize everything again--my bed, my jacket, my old cuckold-hat,

myself; this is different, Jeppe, from drinking pork-wine out of a

gilt-edged glass, and sitting at a table with lackeys and a sectary

behind my chair. Good fortune, worse luck, never lasts very long.

Oh, that I, who such a short time ago was "my lord," should now find

myself in such a miserable plight, with my fine bed turned into a

dungheap, my gold-embroidered cap changed into my old cuckold-hat,

my lackeys into pigs, and I myself from "my lord" to a wretched

peasant once more! I thought when I woke up again I should find my

fingers covered with gold rings, but, saving your presence, they're

covered with something very different. I thought I should be calling

servants to account, but now I must get my back ready for my

home-coming, when I shall have to give an account of my own doings.

I thought that when I woke up I should reach out and grasp a glass

of pork-wine, but instead, to speak modestly, I get a handful of

dung. Alas, Jeppe, your sojourn in paradise was pretty short, and

your happiness came quickly to an end. But who knows that the same

thing might not happen again if I were to lie down for a while? Oh,

if it only would! Oh, if I could get back there again! [Lies down

and goes to sleep.]

SCENE 2

[Enter Nille.]

NILLE. I wonder if anything has happened to him? What could it be?

Either the devil has taken him, or, what I fear more, he's sitting

at an inn drinking up the money. I was a goose to trust the drunkard

with twelve pence at once. But what do I see? Isn't that himself

lying there in the filth and snoring? Oh, miserable mortal that I

am, to have such a beast for a husband! Your back will pay dearly

for this! [She steals up to him and gives him a whack on the rump

with Master Eric.]

JEPPE. Hey, hey! Help, help! What is that? Where am I? Who am I? Who

is beating me? and why? Hey!

NILLE. I'll teach you what it is soon enough. [Beats him and pulls

his hair.]

JEPPE. Oh, dear Nille, don't beat me any more; you don't know all

that has happened to me.

NILLE. Where have you been all this time, you guzzler? Where is the

soap you were to buy?

JEPPE. I couldn't get to town, Nille.

NILLE. Why not?

JEPPE. I was taken up to paradise on the way.

NILLE. To paradise! [Hits him.] To paradise. [Hits him again.] Are

you going to make sport of me into the bargain?

JEPPE. O--o--o--! As true as I'm an honest man, it's so!

NILLE. What's so?

JEPPE. That I have been in paradise. [Nille repeats "in paradise,"

hitting him each time.] Oh, Nille, dear, don't beat me!

NILLE. Quick, confess where you've been, or I'll trounce the life

out of you.

JEPPE. Oh, I'll confess, if you won't beat me any more.

NILLE. Go on, confess.

JEPPE. Swear not to beat me?

NILLE. No.

JEPPE. As true as I'm an honest man called Jeppe of the Hill, as

sure as that's true, I have been in paradise and have seen things

that it will stun you to hear of.

[Nille beats him again and drags him into the house by the hair.]

SCENE 3

[Enter Nille.]

NILLE. Now, then, you drunken hound! Sleep off your liquor first;

then we shall have more to say about it. Such swine as you don't go

to paradise! Think of it, the beast has drunk himself clean out of

his wits. But if he did it at my expense, then he'll do heavy

penance for it; he shan't get a thing to eat or drink for two whole

days. By that time he'll get over his notions about paradise.

SCENE 4

(Enter three armed men.)

FIRST MAN. Does a man named Jeppe live here?

NILLE. Yes, he does.

FIRST MAN. Are you his wife?

NILLE. Yes, God help me, so much the worse for me.

FIRST MAN. We must go in and talk with him.

NILLE. He's dead drunk.

FIRST MAN. That makes no difference; fetch him out or the whole

household will suffer.

[Nille goes in, and pushes Jeppe out so hard that he knocks over one

of the men and rolls on the ground with him.]

SCENE 5

JEPPE. Now, good friends, you see what a wife I have to put up with.

FIRST MAN. You deserve no better, for you're a malefactor.

JEPPE. What have I done now?

FIRST MAN. You'll see when justice takes its course.

SCENE 6

(Enter the Judge, followed by two Lawyers. He sits down. Jeppe, his

hands tied behind him, is brought to the bar. One of his captors

steps forward.)

FIRST MAN. Here is a man, your honor, whom we can swear to have seen

sneaking into the baron's house, where he posed as his lordship, put

on his clothes, and tyrannized over the servants. As this is a piece

of unheard-of impudence, we demand on behalf of his lordship that it

be punished with such severity that it shall serve as an example and

a warning to other evil-doers.

JUDGE. Is this accusation true? Speak out whatever you may have to

say in answer to it, for we do not wish to convict any one unheard.

JEPPE. Alas, what a God-forsaken man I am! What can I say? I admit I

deserve punishment, but only for the money I squandered on drink

instead of buying soap with it. I also admit that I have recently

been in the castle, but how I got there and how I got out again, I

haven't the least idea.

FIRST LAWYER. Your honor has it on his own admission: he got drunk

and in his drunkenness committed this unheard-of outrage. All that

remains is to decide whether the guilt of such a gross misdeed can

be held devoid of criminal intent because of intoxication. I argue

that it cannot, for if it could, neither fornication nor murder

could be punished, for every criminal could seek that escape and

assert that he had committed his crime while intoxicated. And

although he can prove that he was drunk, his case is none the

stronger, for the law is: What a man does under the influence of

drink he shall answer for when sober. It is well known that in a

recent case of the same nature the misdeed was punished, although

the criminal was led into passing himself off as a lord through his

own simplicity; his ignorance and foolishness could not save him

from death. The penalty is imposed purely as a warning to others. I

would tell the circumstances, were it not that I fear to delay

justice thereby.

SECOND LAWYER. Your honor! This story appears so remarkable to me

that I cannot accept it without the testimony of several witnesses.

How could a simple peasant get into his lord's house and impersonate

his lordship unless he could imitate his very form and features? How

could he get into the lord's bedroom, how could he put on his

clothes, without any one being aware of it? No, your honor, one can

plainly see that this is the outcome of a conspiracy on the part of

this poor man's enemies. I hope, therefore, that he may be

discharged.

JEPPE [weeping]. God bless your mouth. I have a bit of tobacco in my

breeches pocket which perhaps you won't refuse; it's good enough for

any honorable man to chew.

SECOND LAWYER. Keep your tobacco, Jeppe! I speak for you not in the

hope of receiving gifts, but merely from Christian charity.

JEPPE. Pardon me, Master Attorney! I didn't know you folks were so

honorable.

FIRST LAWYER. What my colleague advances in favor of this man's

acquittal is based entirely on conjecture. The question is not

whether such a thing could happen or not, because that it did happen

is proved both by witnesses and by the man's own confession.

SECOND LAWYER. What a man says from fear and awe has no weight as a

confession. It seems to me, therefore, that it is best to give the

simple fellow time to collect his wits, then question him over

again.

JUDGE. Listen, Jeppe! Be careful what you say. Do you admit the

charges against you?

JEPPE. No; I will swear my most sacred oath that it's all lies that

I swore to before; I haven't been outside my door for the last three

days.

FIRST LAWYER. Your honor, it is my humble opinion that he should not

be allowed to testify on a matter already established by witnesses,

particularly inasmuch as he has already confessed his misdeed.

SECOND LAWYER. I think he should.

FIRST LAWYER. I think he should not.

SECOND LAWYER. The case is of so unusual a nature--

FIRST LAWYER. That does not affect witnesses and a confession.

JEPPE. Oh, if they would only go for each other's throats, then I

could set upon the judge and give him such a beating he would forget

both law and procedure.

SECOND LAWYER. But listen, worthy colleague! Although the deed is

confessed, the man has deserved no punishment, for he did no murder

nor robbery nor harm of any kind while on the premises.

FIRST LAWYER. That makes no difference! Intentio furandi is the same

as furtum.

JEPPE. Talk Danish, you black hound! Then I can answer for myself.

FIRST LAWYER. For when a man is taken, whether he was about to steal

or had already stolen, he is a thief.

JEPPE. Gracious judge! I am perfectly willing to be hanged if that

attorney can be hanged alongside of me.

SECOND LAWYER. Stop talking like that, Jeppe! You are merely

injuring your own case.

JEPPE. Then why don't you answer him? [Aside.] He stands like a dumb

beast.

SECOND LAWYER. But wherein is proof of furandi propositum?

FIRST LAWYER. Quicunque; in aedes alienas noctu irrumpit tanquam fur

aut nocturnus grassator existimandus est; atqui reus hic ita, ergo--

SECOND LAWYER. Nego majorem, quod scilicet irruperit.

FIRST LAWYER. Res manifesta est, tot legitimis testibus

existantibus, ac confitente reo.

SECOND LAWYER. Quicunque; vi vel metu coactus fuerit confiteri--

FIRST LAWYER. Oh, but where is the vis? Where is the metus? That is

a quibble.

SECOND LAWYER. You're the one that quibbles.

FIRST LAWYER. No honorable man shall accuse me of that.

(They grab each other by the throat, and Jeppe jumps behind them and

pulls off the First Lawyer's wig.)

JUDGE. Respect for the law! Stop, I have heard enough. [Reads

aloud.] Inasmuch as Jeppe of the Hill, son of Niels of the Hill,

grandson of Jeppe of the same, has been proved both by legal

evidence and by his own confession to have introduced himself by

stealth into the Baron's castle, to have put on his clothes and

maltreated his servants; he is sentenced to be put to death by

poison, and when he is dead, his body to be hanged on a gallows.

JEPPE. Oh, oh, your honor! Have you no mercy?

JUDGE. None is possible. The sentence shall be carried out forthwith

in the presence of the court.

JEPPE. May I have a glass of brandy first, before I drink the

poison, so I can die with courage?

JUDGE. That is permissible.

JEPPE [drinks off three glasses of brandy, and falls on his knees].

Will you not have mercy?

JUDGE. No, Jeppe! It is now too late.

JEPPE. Oh, it's not too late. A judge can reverse his decision and

say he judged wrong the first time. We're all merely men, so we're

all likely to make mistakes.

JUDGE. No; you yourself will feel in a few minutes that it is too

late, for you have already drunk the poison in the brandy.

JEPPE. Alas, what an unfortunate man I am! Have I taken the poison

already? Oh, farewell, Nille! But the beast doesn't deserve that I

should take leave of her. Farewell, Jens, Niels, and Christoffer!

Farewell, my daughter Marthe! Farewell, apple of my eye! I know I am

your father because you were born before that deacon came around,

and you take after me so we're like as two drops of water. Farewell,

my piebald horse, and thank you for all the times I have ridden you;

next to my own children I never loved any animal as I love you.

Farewell, Feierfax, my good watchdog! Farewell, Moens, my black cat!

Farewell, my oxen, my sheep, my pigs, and thank you for your good

company and for every day I have known you!... Farewell,... Oh, now

I can say no more, I feel so heavy and so weak. [He falls, and lies

on the floor.]

JUDGE. That worked well; the sleeping-potion has already taken

effect, and he is sleeping like a log. Hang him up now, but be

careful not to hurt him, and see that the rope goes only under his

arms. Then we shall see what he does when he wakes up and finds

himself hanging.

[They drag him out.

ACT V

SCENE 1

(Jeppe is discovered hanging from a gallows. The Judge stands aside,

unseen by Nille.)

NILLE. Oh, oh, can it be that I see my good husband hanging on the

gallows? Oh, my dearest husband! Forgive me all the wrong I have

done you. Oh, now my conscience is roused; now I repent, but too

late, for the ill nature I showed you; now that I miss you, for the

first time I can realize what a good husband I have lost. Oh, that I

could only save you from death with my own life's blood.

[She wipes her eyes, and weeps bitterly. Meanwhile the effects of

the sleeping-potion have worn off, and Jeppe wakes. He sees that be

is hanging on the gallows, and that his hands are tied behind him,

and he hears his wife's laments.]

JEPPE. Be calm, my dear wife, we must all go the same way. Go home

and look after the house and take good care of my children. You can

have my red jacket made over for little Christoffer, and what's left

will do for a cap for Marthe. Above all, see to it that my piebald

horse is well cared for, for I loved that beast as if he had been my

own brother. If I weren't dead, I'd have more to say to you.

NILLE. O--o--o--! What is that? What do I hear? Can a dead man talk?

JEPPE. Don't be afraid, Nille, I shan't hurt you.

NILLE. But, my dearest husband, how can you talk when you're dead?

JEPPE. I don't know myself how it happens. But listen, my dear wife!

Run like wildfire and bring me eightpence worth of brandy, for I am

thirstier now than I ever was when I was alive.

NILLE. Shame, you beast! You scoundrel! You hopeless drunkard!

Haven't you drunk enough brandy in your living lifetime? Are you

still thirsty, you sot, now that you are dead? I call that being a

full-blown hog.

JEPPE. Shut your mouth, you scum of the earth! and run for the

brandy. If you don't, devil take me if I don't haunt you in the

house every night. You shall soon find out that I am not afraid of

Master Eric any more, for now I can't feel a beating.

[Nille runs home after Master Eric, comes out again, and beats him

as be hangs.]

JEPPE. Ow, ow, ow! Stop it, Nille, stop! You'll kill me all over

again. Ow! ow! ow!

THE JUDGE [coming forward]. Listen, my good woman! You must not beat

him any more. Be reassured; for your sake we will pardon your

husband's transgression, and furthermore sentence him back to life

again.

NILLE. No, no, good sir! Let him hang, for he's not worth letting

live.

JUDGE. Fie, you are a wicked woman; away with you, or we shall have

you hanged alongside of him.

[Nille runs away.

SCENE 2

(Enter the Judge's servants, who take Jeppe down from the gallows.)

JEPPE. Oh, kind judge, am I surely all alive again, or am I

spooking?

JUDGE. You are quite alive, for the law that can take away a man's

life can also give it back again. Can you not comprehend that?

JEPPE. No, indeed, I can't get it through my head, but I keep on

thinking I'm a ghost, and am spooking.

JUDGE. Foolish fellow! It's perfectly easy to understand. He who

takes a thing away from you can give it back again.

JEPPE. Then may I try it and hang the judge just for fun to see if I

can sentence him back to life again?

JUDGE. No, that won't work, because you're not a judge.

JEPPE. But am I really alive again?

JUDGE. Yes, you are.

JEPPE. Then I'm not just a spook?

JUDGE. Certainly not.

JEPPE. I'm not a ghost at all?

JUDGE. No.

JEPPE. Am I the same Jeppe of the Hill as I was before?

JUDGE. Yes.

JEPPE. I'm no mere spirit?

JUDGE. No, certainly not.

JEPPE. Will you give me your oath that's true?

JUDGE. Yes, I swear to it; you're alive.

JEPPE. Swear that the devil may split you if it's not so. JUDGE.

Come, take our word for it, and thank us for so graciously

sentencing you back to life again.

JEPPE. If you hadn't hanged me yourselves, I would gladly thank you

for taking me down from the gallows.

JUDGE. Be satisfied, Jeppe! Tell us if your good wife beats you too

often, and we shall find a remedy. Here are four rix-dollars with

which you can make merry for a while, and don't forget to drink our

health.

[Jeppe kisses his hand and thanks him.]

[Exit Judge, followed by his servants.

SCENE 3

JEPPE. Now I've lived half a hundred years, but in all that time I

haven't had so much happen to me as in these two days. It is a devil

of a story, now that I come to think of it: one hour a drunken

peasant, the next a baron, then another hour a peasant again; now

dead, now alive on a gallows, which is the most wonderful of all.

Perhaps it is that when they hang living people they die, and when

they hang dead people they come to life again. It seems to me that,

after all, a glass of brandy would taste magnificent. Hey, Jacob

Shoemaker! Come out here!

SCENE 4

[Enter Jacob Shoemaker.]

JACOB. Welcome back from town! Did you get the soap for your wife?

JEPPE. You scoundrel! You shall soon find out what sort of people

you're talking to. Take off your cap, for you're no more than

carrion compared to the likes of me.

JACOB. I wouldn't stand such words from any one else, Jeppe, but as

you bring the house a good penny a day, I don't mind it so much.

JEPPE. Take off your cap, I say, you cobbler!

JACOB. What's happened to you on the way to make you so lofty?

JEPPE. I would have you know that I've been hanged since I saw you

last.

JACOB. There's nothing so splendid about that. I don't grudge you

your luck. But listen, Jeppe: where you drink your liquor, there you

pour out the dregs; you have gone and got full somewhere else, and

now you come here to do your brawling.

JEPPE. Quick, take off your cap, scoundrel! Don't you hear what

jingles in my pocket?

JACOB (his cap under his arm). Heavens, man, where did you get the

money?

JEPPE. From my barony, Jacob. I will tell you all that's happened to

me; but get me a glass of mead, for I'm much too high and mighty to

drink Danish brandy.

JACOB. Your health, Jeppe!

JEPPE. Now I shall tell you all that's happened to me: When I left

you, I fell asleep. When I woke up, I was a baron, and got drunk all

over again on pork-wine. I woke up on a dungheap and went to sleep

again, hoping to sleep myself back to my baron's estate. I found it

doesn't always work, for my wife woke me up again with Master Eric

and pulled me home by the hair, not showing the least respect for

the kind of man I had been. When I got back to my room, I was thrown

out again by the neck, and found myself in the midst of a lot of

constables, who sentenced me to death and killed me with poison.

When I was dead, I was hanged; and when I was hanged, I came to life

again; and when I came to life again, I got four rix-dollars. That

is my story, but as to how it happened, I leave that to you to think

out.

JACOB. Ha, ha, ha! It's all a dream, Jeppe!

JEPPE. If it weren't for my four rix-dollars here, I might think it

was a dream, too. Give me another, Jacob! I shan't think about all

that rubbish any more, but get myself decently drunk.

JACOB. Your health, my lord baron! Ha, ha, ha!

JEPPE. Perhaps you can't grasp it, Jacob?

JACOB. No, not if I stood on my head.

JEPPE. It can be true for all that, Jacob! For you're a dunce, and

there are simpler things than this that you can't understand.

SCENE 5

[Enter Magnus.]

MAGNUS. Ha, ha, ha! I'll tell you the damn'dest tale, about a man

called Jeppe of the Hill, who was found lying on the ground dead

drunk: they changed his clothes and put him in the best bed up at

the baron's castle, made him believe that he was the baron when he

woke up, got him full, and laid him in his own dirty clothes back on

the dungheap again, and when he came to, he thought he had been in

paradise. I nearly laughed myself to death when I heard the story

from the bailiff's men. By the Lord, I'd give a rix-dollar to see

the fool! Ha, ha, ha!

JEPPE. What do I owe, Jacob?

JACOB. Twelvepence.

[Jeppe strokes his chin and goes out looking very shame-faced.

MAGNUS. Why is that fellow in such a hurry?

JACOB. It's the very man they played the joke on.

MGNUS. Is that possible? I must run after him. Listen, Jeppe! Just a

word--How are things in the other world?

JEPPE. Let me be.

MAGNUS. Why didn't you stay longer?

JEPPE. What business is that of yours?

MAGNUS. Come, do tell us a little about the journey.

JEPPE. Let me be, I say, or there'll be a calamity coming to you.

MAGNUS. But, Jeppe, I am so anxious to know about it.

JEPPE. Jacob Shoemaker, help! Will you let this man do me violence

in your house?

MAGNUS. I'm not doing you any harm, Jeppe, I'm just asking you what

you saw in the other world.

JEPPE. Hey, help, help!

MAGNUS. Did you see any of my forefathers there?

JEPPE. No, your forefathers must all be in the other place, where

you and all the rest of the carrion go when they die.

[Shakes himself loose and runs away.

SCENE 6, EPILOGUE

(Enter the Baron, his Secretary, Valet, and Lackeys.)

BARON. Ha, ha, ha! That experiment was worth money. I never thought

it would work out so well. If you could amuse me like that more

often, Eric, you would stand even better with me than you do now.

ERIC. No, my lord! I should not dare to play that kind of comedy

again. For if he had beaten your lordship as he threatened, it would

have turned into an ugly tragedy.

BARON. That's very true. I was afraid of that, but I was so much

engrossed in keeping up the deception that I really think I should

have let myself be pummelled, or even let you be hanged, Eric, as he

threatened, rather than give it away. Didn't you feel the same?

ERIC. No, indeed, my lord! It would be an odd sensation, to let

yourself be hanged for fun; that sort of fun would be too expensive.

BARON. Why, Eric, such things happen every day: people throw away

their lives for fun in one way or another. For instance, a man has a

weak nature and sees that he is ruining his life and his health by

excessive drinking; yet he still keeps on maltreating his body and

risks his life for an evening's enjoyment. Then, again: it often

happens in Turkey that grand viziers are strangled or choked to

death with a cord the very day they are made viziers, or a few days

after; yet every one is eager to take the office, just so that he

may be hanged with a great title. Still another instance: officers

gladly risk body and soul to get a reputation for bravery, and fight

duels about anything at all even with men known to be their

superiors. I think, too, that one could find hundreds and hundreds

of men in love who for the sake of a night of pleasure would let

themselves be killed in the morning. And you see in sieges how

soldiers will desert in droves and flock to the beleaguered city,

which they know must shortly surrender, and in order to live in

luxury for one day will get themselves hanged the next. One way is

no more rational than the other. In olden times even philosophers

used to subject themselves deliberately to misfortune in order that

after their death they might be praised. Therefore, Eric, I

thoroughly believe that you would rather have allowed yourself to be

hanged than have spoiled our beautiful practical joke.

EPILOGUE

(Spoken by the Baron)

Of this adventure, children, the moral is quite clear: To elevate

the lowly above their proper sphere Involves no less a peril than

rashly tumbling down The great who rise to power by deeds of just

renown. Permit the base-born yokel untutored sway to urge, The

sceptre of dominion as soon becomes a scourge. Let once despotic

power drive justice from the realm, In every peaceful hamlet a Nero

grasps the helm. Could Phalaris or Caius in days of yore have been

More merciless a tyrant than him we here have seen? Before the seat

of justice had time his warmth to feel He threatened us with

torture, the gallows, and the wheel. Nay, never shall we tremble

beneath a boor's dictates Or set a plowman over us, as oft in

ancient states--For if we sought to pattern us on follies such as

those, Each history of dominion in tyranny would close.

THE POLITICAL TINKER

[DEN POLITISKE KANDESTOBER]

A COMEDY IN FIVE ACTS

1722-1731

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

HERMAN VON BREMEN, a tinker.

GESKE, his wife.

ENGELKE, his daughter.

HENRICH }

ANNEKE }- his servants.

PEITER }

ANTONIUS, Engelke's lover.

JENS, a tavern-keeper }

RICHARD, a brushmaker } Members of the

GERT, a furrier }- Collegium Politicum.

SIVERT, a baggage inspector }

FRANZ, a cutler }

ABRAHAMS }

SANDERUS }- Practical jokers.

MADAME ABRAHAMS.

MADAME SANDERUS.

ARIANKE, a blacksmith's wife.

A Man pretending to be Alderman of the Hatters' Guild, Petitioners,

Women, Boys, Lackeys, and others.

ACTS I and III

SCENE: Hamburg. A street, showing Herman's house.

ACTS II, IV, and V

A room in Herman's house.

ACT I

SCENE I

(A Street in front of Herman von Bremen's house. Antonius is

standing before the door.)

ANTONIUS. I swear my heart's in my mouth, for I've got to talk to

Master Herman and ask him for his daughter, to whom I've been

engaged for ever so long, but secretly. This is the third start I

have made, but each time I have turned back again. If it were not

for the disgrace of it, and the reproaches I should have to take

from my mother, it would be the same story over again. This

bashfulness of mine is an inborn weakness, and it's not easy to get

the better of it. Each time I go to knock on the door, it is as if

some one were holding back my hand. But courage, Antonius, is half

the battle! There is no help for it, you must go on. I should spruce

myself up a bit first, for they say Master Herman is getting finicky

of late. (He takes off his neck-band and ties it on again, takes a

comb from his pocket and combs his hair, and dusts his shoes.) Now,

I think I will do. This is the moment to knock. See! as sure as I'm

an honest man, it's just as if someone were holding back my hand.

Come, courage, Antonius! I know that you haven't done anything

wrong. The worst that can happen to you is a "no." (He knocks.)

SCENE 2

Enter Henrich, eating a sandwich.

HENRICH. Your servant, Master Antonius. Whom do you want to see?

ANTONIUS. I wanted to talk with Master Herman, if he was alone.

HENRICH. Oh, yes, certainly he is alone. He is at his reading.

ANTONIUS. Then he is more God-fearing than I am.

HENRICH. If an ordinance were issued decreeing that the Herculus

should count as a book of sermons, I believe he could qualify as a

preacher.

ANTONIUS. Then has he time to spare from his work for reading such

books as that?

HENRICH. You must realize that the master has two professions: he is

both tinker and politician.

ANTONIUS. The two don't seem to go together very well.

HENRICH. The same idea has occurred to us. For when he does a piece

of work, which is rarely, there is such a political look to the job

that we have to do it all over again. But if you want to talk to

him, go right into the sitting-room.

ANTONIUS. I have an important errand, Henrich, for between you and

me, I want to ask him for his daughter, whom I've been engaged to

for a long time.

HENRICH. My word, that is an important errand, indeed. But listen,

Master Antonius, you must not take it amiss if I warn you of just

one thing: if you want your suit to prosper, you must tune up your

language and make a graceful speech, for he has become devilish

particular recently.

ANTONIUS. No, I can't do that, Henrich! I'm a good workman, and I've

never learned to pass compliments. I can only speak out straight and

plain that I love his daughter and want her for my wife.

HENRICH. Nothing more? Then I'll risk my neck that you don't get

her. At the very least you must start with "Whereas" or "Inasmuch."

You must realize, Master Antonius, that you have to do with a

learned man, who spends his days and nights in reading political

works, till he's on the verge of madness. The one thing that he's

found fault with lately about the people in the house is that we

have such vulgar ways with us all, and myself especially--he never

mentions me without calling me "You low, dirty rascal." A week or so

ago he swore by the devil that Mother Geske should wear an Adrienne;

still, he didn't make any headway, because mistress is an

old-fashioned God-fearing woman, who had rather lay down her life

than part with her lapelled bodice. He is always about to bring

forth something or other, the devil knows what. So if you wish to

succeed in your wooing, you had better take my advice.

ANTONIUS. Well, on my word, I don't believe in beating about the

bush. I go straight to the point. [Exit into house.

SCENE 3

HENRICH. The greatest difficulty about proposing is to hit on

something to start off with. I went courting once myself, but for

two weeks I couldn't make up my mind what to say. I knew, of course,

that you ought to begin with "Whereas" or "Inasmuch," but the

trouble was that I couldn't pick out the next word to hitch on to

that "Whereas." So I didn't bother about it any longer, but went and

bought a formula for eightpence from Jacob tke schoolmaster--he

sells them for that. But it all went wrong with me, for when I got

into the middle of my speech I couldn't remember the rest of it, and

I was ashamed to pull the paper out of my pocket. I swear I could

recite the thing both before and afterwards like my paternoster; yet

when I came to use it I stuck fast. It went like this:

"With humble wishes for your good health, I, Henrich Andersen, have

come here deliberately of my own free will and on my own initiative

to inform you that I am no more of a stock and a stone than others,

and inasmuch as every creature on earth, even the dumb brute, is

subject to love, I, unworthy as I am, have come in the name of God

and Honor to beg and urge you to be the darling of my heart--" (To

the audience) If any one will pay me back my eightpence, I will turn

the thing over to him, for I believe that any one who made such a

speech could get any good man's daughter that he had a mind to. Will

you give me sixpence, then? Honestly, I paid eightpence for it

myself. I'm damned if I sell it for less. But here comes the old

man. I must be off. [Exit.

SCENE 4

Enter Herman and Antonius.

HERMAN. Many thanks, Monsieur Antonius, for your kind offer. You are

a fine worthy fellow. I feel sure that you could take good care of

my daughter. But I should very much like to have a son-in-law who

had studied his politics.

ANTONIUS. But, my dear Monsieur Herman von Bremen, no one can

support a wife and family on that!

HERMAN. You think not? Do you suppose I intend to die a tinker? Yon

shall see, before half a year is over. I hope, when I have read

through The European Herald, that I shall be urged to take a place

in the council. I have already got The Political Dessert at my

fingers' ends, but that is not enough. Confound the author! He might

have spun it out a little. You know the book, of course?

ANTONIUS. No, not I.

HERMAN. Then I will lend you my copy. It is as good as it is brief.

I have learned all my statecraft from that book, together with the

Herculus and the Herculiscus.

ANTONIUS. That last one--isn't that just a romance?

HERMAN. Indeed it is, and I wish the world were full of such

romances. I was at a certain place yesterday, and a man of the

foremost rank whispered in my ear: "Any one who has read that book

with understanding may fill the most important posts, ay, rule a

whole nation."

ANTONIUS. Very good, master, but when I take to reading, I neglect

my trade.

HERMAN. I tell you, monsieur, that I do not expect to confine myself

to tinkering forever. I should have abandoned it long since, for

hundreds of fine men here in town have said to me, "Herman von

Bremen, you ought to be something else." It was only the other day

that one of the burgomasters let fall these words in the council:

"Herman von Bremen could surely be something more than a tinker.

That man has stuff in him that many of us in the council itself

might be glad to own." From which you may conclude that I shall not

die a tinker. And therefore I wish to have a son-in-law who will

apply himself to affairs of state, for I hope that in time both he

and I shall become members of the council. And now, if you will

start in with The Political Dessert, I shall examine you every

Saturday evening and see what progress you make.

ANTONIUS. No, indeed, I will not. I am too old to go to school all

over again.

HERMAN. Then you are not the sort to be my son-in-law. Adieu! [Exit.

SCENE 5

Enter Geske.

GESKE. It is awful about my husband; he is never at home attending

to business. I would give a good deal to find out where he keeps

himself. But look, here is Monsieur Antonius! Are you all alone?

Won't you come in?

ANTONIUS. No, thank you, mother, I am not worthy of that.

GESKE. What nonsense is this?

ANTONIUS. Your husband has his head full of political whims, and has

a burgomastership on his brain. He turns up his nose at

working-people like me and my kind. He imagines that he is cleverer

than the notary public himself.

GESKE. The fool! The idiot! Will you heed him? I believe he's more

likely to become a vagrant and have to beg his bread, than to become

a burgomaster. Dear Antonius! you mustn't pay attention to him, and

you mustn't lose the affection you have for my daughter.

ANTONIUS. Von Bremen swears she shall take no one who is not a

politician.

GESKE. I'll wring her neck before I see her married to a politician.

In the old days they used to call a rogue a politician.

ANTONIUS. Nor do I wish to become one. I want to earn my living

honestly as a wheelwright. That trade gave my honored father his

daily bread, and I hope it will feed me, too. But here comes a boy

who seems to be looking for you.

Enter boy.

GESKE. What do you want, my boy?

BOY. I want to talk to Master Herman.

GESKE. He's not at home. Won't you tell me?

BOY. I was to find out for my mistress, if the dish was done that

she ordered three weeks ago. We have sent after it twenty times, but

they always put us off with talk.

GESKE. Ask your mistress, my son, please not to be angry. It will

surely be done to-morrow. [Exit Boy.

[Enter another Boy.]

SECOND BOY. I am to find out once and for all if the soup-plates

will ever be finished. They could have been made and worn out since

we ordered them. Mistress swore you shouldn't do any work for us

again in a hurry.

GESKE. Listen, my dear child, when you order anything again, order

it from me. At times my husband has bats in his belfry, and it does

no good to talk to him. Believe me, on my word, it will be done by

Saturday. Good-bye. (Exit Boy.) You see, my dear Antonius, how it

goes in our house. We lose one job after another from my husband's

neglect.

ANTONIUS. Is he never at home?

GESKE. Seldom; and when he is, he builds castles in the air so that

he has no thought for work. I ask nothing of him except that he keep

an eye on the workmen, for if he does anything himself, the

apprentices have to do it over again. Here is Henrich: he will tell

you what I say is true.

SCENE 6

(Enter Henrich.)

HENRICH. There's a man out here, mistress, who wants to be paid for

the eight barrels of coal we got yesterday.

GESKE. Where can I get the money from? He will have to wait till my

husband comes home. Can't you tell me where my husband is all day

long?

HENRICH. If you will keep quiet about it, I can tell you right

enough.

GESKE. I swear, Henrich, that I won't give you away.

HENRICH. There's a college that meets every day--Collegium

Politicum, they call it--where a dozen or more people come together

and chatter about affairs of state.

GESKE. Where does the meeting take place?

HENRICH. You mustn't call it a meeting, it is a Collegium.

GESKE. Where does the Collegium meet, then?

HENRICH. It meets in turn, now at one member's house, now at

another's. To-day--don't tell on me--it will meet here.

GESKE. Ha, ha! Now I understand why he wants to have me out to-day

calling on Arianke, the smith's wife.

HENRICH. You might go out, but come back in an hour and surprise

them. Yesterday this Collegium of theirs met at Jens the

tavern-keeper's. I saw them all there sitting at a table, and the

master at the head of it.

GESKE. Did you know any of them?

HENRICH. I should say I did--all of them. Let me see: master and the

tavern-keeper makes two, and Franz the cutler, three; Christopher

the painter, four; Gilbert the paper-hanger, five; Christian the

dyer, six; Gert the furrier, seven; Henning the brewer, eight;

Sivert the baggage inspector, nine; Niels the clerk, ten; David the

schoolmaster, eleven; and Richard the brushmaker, twelve.

ANTONIUS. They are fine fellows to discuss affairs of state! Didn't

you hear what they talked about?

HENRICH. I heard well enough, but I understood very little. I heard

them depose emperors and kings and electors, and set up others in

their places. Then they talked about excise and consumption, about

the stupid people who were in the council, and about the development

of Hamburg and the promotion of trade; they looked things up in

books and traced things out on maps. Richard the brushmaker sat with

a toothpick in his hand; so I think he must be the secretary of

their council.

ANTONIUS. Ha, ha, ha! The first time I see him I shall certainly

say, "Good-day, Mr. Secretary!"

HENRICH. Yes, but don't you give me away. To the devil with fellows

who put down kings and princes and even burgomaster and council!

GESKE. Does my husband join in the talk, too?

HENRICH. Not much. He just sits and ponders and takes snuff while

the others talk, and when they have talked it all out, he gives his

decision.

GESKE. Didn't he see you there?

HENRICH. He didn't see me because I was in another room, but if he

had, his dignity wouldn't have allowed him to recognize me, for he

had the air of a colonel, or of the first burgomaster when he gives

audience to a minister. As soon as people get into colleges they

gather a sort of mist before their eyes, and they can't see even

their best friends.

GESKE. Oh, unfortunate creature that I am! That husband of mine will

surely get us into trouble if the burgomaster and the council find

he is setting up to reform the government. The good gentlemen don't

want any reform here in Hamburg. You just see if we don't have a

guard in front of the house before we know it, and my poor Herman

von Bremen will be dragged off to jail.

HENRICH. That may happen, like enough; for the council has never had

more power than now, ever since the troops were camped in Hamburg.

All the citizens together aren't powerful enough to take his part.

ANTONIUS. Nonsense! Such fellows are only to be laughed at. What can

a tinker, a painter, or a maker of brushes know about statecraft?

The council is more likely to be amused than to be anxious about it.

GESKE. I will see if I can't surprise them. Let us go in till they

come. [Exeunt.

ACT II

SCENE 1

(A Room in Herman's house. Herman and Henrich are making

preparations for the meeting.)

HERMAN. Henrich, get everything ready: mugs and pipes on the table.

They will be here in a minute. (Henrich sets everything in order.

One by one the members of the Collegium Politicum enter and sit at

the table. Herman takes the seat at the head of the table.) Welcome

to you all, good sirs. Where did we leave off last time?

RICHARD. I think it was the interests of Germany.

GERT. That is right. I remember now. That will all be decided at the

next session of the Reichstag. I wish I might be there for an hour:

I should whisper something into the ear of the Elector of Mainz that

he would thank me for. Those good people do not understand on what

the interests of Germany depend. Where has one ever heard of an

imperial capital like Vienna without a fleet or, at the very least,

galleys? They could just as well maintain a war-fleet for the

defence of the kingdom. There are surely war-taxes enough, and

imperial subsidies. See how much more shrewd the Turk is. We can

never learn to make war from any one better than from him. There are

certainly plenty of forests both in Austria and in Prague, if one

only will use them, to make ships, or masts, for that matter. If we

had a fleet in Austria, or in Prague, the Turks and the French would

give up besieging Vienna, you may be sure, and we could go straight

to Constantinople. But no one thinks of such a thing.

SIVERT. No, never a mother's soul of them. Our forefathers had more

sense. It is all a question of preparation. Germany is no bigger now

than it was in the old days when we not only defended ourselves

honorably against all our neighbors, but took in large parts of

France besides, and besieged Paris by land and sea.

FRANZ. But Paris is not a seaport, is it?

SIVERT. Then I must have my map all wrong. I know well enough where

Paris is. Here is England, clear enough, right where I have my

finger; here flows the Channel; here is Bordeaux; and here is Paris.

FRANZ. No, brother, here is Germany, and here, right next, is

France, which is joined on to Germany; ergo Paris cannot be a

seaport.

SIVERT. Isn't there any seacoast to France, then?

FRANZ. Certainly not. A Frenchman who has not travelled abroad has

never heard about ships and boats. Just ask Master Herman. Is it not

as I say, Master Herman?

HERMAN. I shall settle the dispute at once. Henrich, give us the map

of Europe--Danckwart's map.

JENS. Here is one, but it is a bit torn.

HERMAN. That makes no difference. I know well enough where Paris is,

and I only need the map to convince the others. Now, look, Sivert,

here is Germany.

SIVERT. That's right. I can see that by the Danube, which is here.

(As he points out the Danube he upsets a mug with his elbow, and the

map is flooded.)

JENS. The Danube is flowing too strongly. (All laugh.)

HERMAN. Listen, my friends. We are talking too much about foreign

affairs. Let us discuss Hamburg for a while--that subject will give

us material enough. I have often pondered on the question of how it

happens that we own no cities in India, but are forced to buy the

wares of others. That is a matter that the burgomaster and council

ought to consider.

RICHARD. Don't speak of the burgomaster and council. If we wait

until they think of it, we shall wait a long time. Here in Hamburg a

burgomaster is commended for nothing but holding the law-abiding

burgesses in subjection.

HERMAN. I believe, my good friends, that it is not too late: for why

should not the king of India trade with us as well as with the

Hollanders, who have nothing to send out there but cheese and

butter, which usually spoil on the way? I maintain that we should do

well to send a proposal to the council to that effect. How many of

us are here?

JENS. We are only six, for I don't believe the other six are coming.

HERMAN. That is enough. What is your opinion, Mr. Tavern-keeper? Let

us vote.

JENS. I am entirely opposed to that plan, because such voyages take

away from the city a great many good men from whom I get my daily

penny.

SIVERT. I hold that we ought to consider the development of the city

rather than our own interests, and that Master Herman's proposal is

the most admirable that can ever be made. The more trade we have,

the more the city must flourish; the more ships that come in, the

better for us minor officials. But the latter is not the main reason

I have for favoring this plan. The city's need and its progress are

the only things that persuade me to support such a scheme.

GERT. I can by no means agree to this proposal. I advise instead the

founding of a company in Greenland and on Davis Strait, for that

trade is much better and more useful to the state.

FRANZ. I see that Gert's vote regards his own advantage more than

the welfare of the republic; for people do not need a furrier so

much on the voyages to India as on voyages to the North. For my

part, I contend that India surpasses all in importance; in India you

can often trade a knife, a fork, or a pair of scissors with the

savages for its full weight in gold. We must contrive it so that the

plan we put before the council will not smell of self-interest, or

else we shall get nowhere with it.

RICHARD. I am of the same opinion as Niels the clerk.

HERMAN. You certainly vote like a brushmaker. Niels the clerk is not

here. But what is the woman doing here? Good Heavens, it is my wife!

SCENE 2

(Enter Geske.)

GESKE. Is this where you are, you dawdler? It would be better if you

were at work on something, or at least superintending your workmen;

for we lose one job after another from your neglect.

HERMAN. Quiet, wife! You will be Madam Burgomaster before you know

it. Do you think that I go out just to pass the time? Ay, I do ten

times as much work as all of you in the house: the rest of you work

with your hands only; I work with my brain.

GESKE. All crazy people work that way, building castles in the air

just as you do, cudgelling their brains with bosh and nonsense,

imagining that they are doing something of importance when it is

really nothing at all.

GERT. If she were my wife, she would not talk that way more than

once.

FRANZ. I see that Gert's vote regards his own advantage more than

the welfare of the republic; for people do not need a furrier so

much on the voyages to India as on voyages to the North. For my

part, I contend that India surpasses all in importance; in India you

can often trade a knife, a fork, or a pair of scissors with the

savages for its full weight in gold. We must contrive it so that the

plan we put before the council will not smell of self-interest, or

else we shall get nowhere with it.

RICHARD. I am of the same opinion as Niels the clerk. Herman. You

certainly vote like a brushmaker. Niels the clerk is not here. But

what is the woman doing here? Good Heavens, it is my wife!

SCENE 2

Enter Geske.

GESKE. Is this where you are, you dawdler? It would be better if you

were at work on something, or at least superintending your workmen;

for we lose one job after another from your neglect.

HERMAN. Quiet, wife! You will be Madam Burgomaster before you know

it. Do you think that I go out just to pass the time? Ay, I do ten

times as much work as all of you in the house: the rest of you work

with your hands only; I work with my brain.

GESKE. All crazy people work that way, building castles in the air

just as you do, cudgelling their brains with bosh and nonsense,

imagining that they are doing something of importance when it is

really nothing at all.

GERT. If she were my wife, she would not talk that way more than

once.

HERMAN. Ah, Gert, a statesman must pay no attention to that sort of

thing. Two or three years ago I should have made my wife's back

smart for such words, but since I have begun to look into works on

politics, I have learned to despise such trifles. Qui nesclt

simulare, nescit regnare, says an ancient statesman, who was no

fool. I think his name was Agrippa, or Albertus Magnus. It is a

fundamental principle of all the politics in the world; for he who

cannot endure an evil speech from an angry and unreasonable woman is

not fit to hold any high office. Self-control is the highest virtue

and the jewel which most adorns rulers and magistrates. Therefore I

maintain that no one should sit in our council here in the city

until he has given proof of his self-control, and made it clear that

he can take words of abuse, blows, and boxes on the ear. I am by

nature quick-tempered, but I try to overcome it by study. I once

read in the preface of a book called The Political Stockfish that

when one is overwhelmed with anger he must count twenty, and his

anger will pass.

GERT. It would do me no good to count up to a hundred.

HERMAN. Then you are good for nothing but a subordinate. Henrich,

give my wife a mug of ale at the side table.

GESKE. Oh, you beast! Do you think I have come here to drink?

HERMAN. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten,

eleven, twelve, thirteen--Now, it is all over. Listen, mother, you

must not speak so harshly to your husband--it sounds utterly vulgar.

GESKE. Is it aristocratic to beg? Hasn't any woman reason enough to

scold when she has such a good-for-nothing for a husband--a man who

neglects his house like this, and leaves his wife and children in

want?

HERMAN. Henrich, give her a glass of brandy, for she has worked

herself into a passion.

GESKE. Henrich, give my husband a couple of boxes on the ear, the

scoundrel!

HENRICH. You must do that yourself. I decline such a commission.

GESKE. Then I take it on myself. (Boxes both his ears.)

HERMAN. One, two, three-(counts to twenty, starts to strike her, but

begins counting again). Eighteen, nineteen, twenty--If I hadn't been

a statesman, you would have caught it that time!

GERT. If you don't keep your wife in check, I will. Get out of here.

Go! Out with you!

[Exit Geske, still scolding.

SCENE 3

GERT. I 'll teach her to keep quiet at home another time. I confess

that if it is statesmanlike to let yourself be dragged about by the

hair by your wife, I shall never be a statesman.

HERMAN. Oh, qui nescit simulare, nescit regnare; that is easily

said, but less easily done. I admit it was a great indignity my wife

did me. I believe I shall run after her yet and beat her on the

street. But one, two, three, four (and so on), nineteen, twenty.

Now, that's all over. Let us talk of other things.

FRANZ. The women have altogether too much to say here in Hamburg.

GERT. Yes, that is so. I have often thought of bringing forward a

proposal on the subject. But it is dangerous to fall out with them.

Still, the proposal has its good points.

HERMAN. What is the proposal?

GERT. It consists of several articles. First, I argue that the

marriage contract should not be eternal, but should be made for a

term of years, so that if a man were not content with his wife, he

could make a new contract with another one. A man ought to be bound,

as he is with a rented house, to give a quarter's notice before

moving-day, which should be at Easter or Michaelmas. If he were

satisfied, the contract could be renewed. Believe me, if such a law

were passed, there wouldn't be a bad woman to be found in Hamburg.

Every one of them would try to gain favor in her husband's eyes so

that her contract might be renewed. Have you good men anything to

say against that article? Franz, you smile so knowingly, you surely

have something to say against it. Let us hear it!

FRANZ. But couldn't a woman sometimes take the opportunity to

separate from a husband who either was cruel to her or was an idler

and only ate and drank, and refused to work to support his wife and

children? Or she might take a fancy to some one else and make it so

hot for her husband that, contrary to his intention, he would let

her go. I argue that worse trouble might arise from such an

arrangement. There are methods enough for coercing a woman. If every

one would count twenty like you, Master Herman, when he got a box on

the ear, we should have a fine lot of women. My humble opinion is

that the best way when a woman is unruly is for the husband to

threaten to sleep alone and share no bed with her till she improves.

GERT. I couldn't stick to that. To many men that would be as much of

a hardship as it would be to the woman.

FRANZ. But a man can go elsewhere.

GERT. But a woman can go elsewhere.

FRANZ. Anyhow, Gert, let us hear the other articles.

GERT. I see myself! You just want to scoff some more, Nothing is so

good that no fault can be found with it.

HERMAN. Let us talk of other things. People who heard us talk would

think we were holding a consistory or a divorce court. I was

thinking last night, as I lay awake, how the administration in

Hamburg could be best arranged so that certain families whose

members are born, as it were, to be burgomasters and councillors

could be excluded from the highest positions of authority and

complete freedom be introduced. I figured that the burgomasters

should be taken in turn, now from one trade-guild, now from another,

so that all citizens might share in the government and all classes

flourish. For instance, when a goldsmith was burgomaster he could

look after goldsmiths' interests, and a tailor after tailors', a

tinker after tinkers'; and no one should be burgomaster for more

than a month, so no one trade should prosper more than another. When

the government was arranged like that, we might be called a really

free people.

ALL. The proposition is splendid. Master Herman, you talk like a

Solomon.

FRANZ. The plan is good enough, but--

GERT. You always come in with a "but." I believe your father was a

butler.

HERMAN. Let him express his opinion. What were you going to say?

What does that "but" of yours mean?

FRANZ. I wonder if it might not be hard at times to get a good

burgomaster from every common trade? Master Herman would do, for he

is well educated. But when he is dead, where shall we find another

among the tinkers fitted for such responsibility? For when the

republic is brought to its knees, it is not so easy to make it over

into another form as it is to make over a plate or a pot that is

spoiled.

GERT. Oh, nonsense! We shall find capable men a-plenty, and among

artisans, too.

HERMAN. Listen, Franz. You are still a young man and so you can't

see so deep into things as the rest of us, albeit I perceive that

you have a good head and in time may amount to something. I can show

you, briefly, that this objection of yours has no foundation, by a

consideration of ourselves alone. We are twelve men in this guild,

all artisans; each one of us can surely see hundreds of mistakes

which the council makes. Imagine, now, that one of us becomes

burgomaster and corrects all the mistakes that we have talked about

so many times and that the council cannot see. Do you suppose the

city of Hamburg would lose by such a burgomaster? If you good

gentlemen are so disposed, I shall make that motion.

ALL. Yes, indeed.

HERMAN. But enough of these matters. Time flies, and we have not

read the newspaper yet. Henrich, let us have the latest paper.

HENRICH. Here are all the latest newspapers.

HERMAN. Give them to Richard the brushmaker, who usually does the

reading.

RICHARD. It is reported from headquarters on the Rhine that recruits

are expected.

HERMAN. Oh, they have reported that twelve times in succession. Skip

the Rhine. I could worry myself to death when I hear of such things.

What is the news from Italy?

RICHARD. From Italy it is reported that Prince Eugene has broken

camp, crossed the Po, and gone past all the fortifications to

surprise the enemy, who thereupon retreated four miles in the

greatest haste. The Duke of Vendome laid waste and burned right and

left in his own territory as he retreated.

HERMAN. Upon my soul his Excellency is struck blind. We are done

for. I wouldn't give fourpence for the whole army of Italy.

GERT. I maintain that the prince did right, for that has always been

my plan. Didn't I say last time, Franz, that they ought to do that?

FRANZ. I don't remember that you did.

GERT. Of course I have said so, a hundred times. For why should an

army lie idle? The prince has done right. I dare maintain it against

any one, whoever he be.

HERMAN. Henrich, give us a glass of brandy. I swear, gentlemen, it

went black before my eyes when I heard this news read.--Your health,

gentlemen!--I must admit I consider it a fatal mistake to go past

all the forts.

SIVERT. On my word, I should have done the same thing if the army

had been entrusted to me.

FRANZ. You will see when they make generals of baggage inspectors.

SIVERT. You have no call to sneer. I should have been as good as

another.

GERT. You are right there, Sivert. The prince did well to make

straight for the enemy.

HERMAN. Ah, my good Gert, you are much too self-satisfied. You

still have something to learn.

GERT. But not from Franz the cutler.

(They get into a violent quarrel and talk all at once. They rise

from their chairs, threaten, and shout.)

HERMAN [knocking on the table and bellowing]. Silence! Silence!

Gentlemen! Let us say no more about it, and each one hold to his own

opinion. Listen, gentlemen! Keep still, will you? Do you think that

it was from fear that the Duke of Vendome retired and set fire to

the countryside? No, the fellow has been reading the Chronicle of

Alexander the Great, for that's what he did when Darius followed

him, and thereby he won as great a victory as we won before

Hochstadt.

JENS. It has just struck twelve by the postmaster's clock.

HERMAN. Then we must go.

[They go out disputing, and make a great noise as they continue the

argument.]

ACT III

SCENE 1

(In front of Herman's house stand Abrahams and Sanderus, with

Christopher and Jochum, their servants.)

ABRAHAMS. I have a story for you that will amuse the whole town. Do

you know what I have arranged with three or four gentlemen here in

the city?

SANDERUS. No, I don't know.

ABRAHAMS. Do you know Herman von Bremen?

SANDERUS. That must be the tinker who is such a great politician and

who lives in this house.

ABRAHAMS. That's the man. I was with some of the members of the

council awhile ago, and they were very angry with the fellow because

he talked so boldly at the tavern about the government, and wanted

to reform everything. They thought it would be worth while to set

spies on him to find out just what he says, so that he could be

punished as an example to others.

SANDERUS. It would be a good thing to punish such fellows, for they

sit over a jug of ale and criticise kings and princes and

magistrates and generals in a way that is dreadful to listen to. And

it is dangerous, too, for the common people hare not the discretion

to appreciate how absurd it is for a tinker, a hatter, and a maker

of brushes to talk about such things, of which they know little or

nothing, and settle matters that are too much for the whole council.

ABRAHAMS. That is so; for that same tinker could reform the whole

Roman Empire while he patched a kettle, and play both mender of

dishes and mender of diets at the same time. But I did not approve

the plan of those councillors, because to arrest such a man would

only start an uproar among the populace and make a person of

importance out of a mere fool. My idea, then, is to play a joke on

him, instead, which might have better effect.

SANDERUS. How would you go about it?

ABRAHAMS. Send him a deputation, supposedly from the council, to

congratulate him on his election as burgomaster, and immediately set

him some hard duty to perform. Then every one will see how miserable

it will make him, and he himself will realize what a difference

there is between talking about an office and doing the work of it.

SANDERUS. But what will come of it?

ABRAHAMS. The result will be that he will either run away from the

city out of sheer desperation, or else humbly beg for his deposition

and confess his incompetence. It is only for this purpose that I

have come to you, Master Sanderus, to beg your help in putting this

scheme into operation, for I know that you are skilful at that sort

of thing.

SANDERUS. That can be arranged. We will play the part of the

deputation ourselves, and call on him immediatelv.

ABRAHAMS. Here is his house. Jochum or Christopher, knock, one of

you, and say that two gentlemen of the council are outside and wish

to talk with Herman von Bremen. (They knock.)

SCENE 2

(Enter Herman.)

HERMAN. Whom do you wish to see?

JOCHUM. Here are two gentlemen of the council, who have the honor of

waiting upon you.

HERMAN. Heavens! What's up? I look as dirty as a pig.

ABRAHAMS. Your most humble servant, honorable Burgomaster! We have

been sent here by the council to congratulate you on your election

to the office of burgomaster of the city; for the council, after

considering your merits more than your condition and circumstances,

has elected you burgomaster.

SANDERUS. The council looks upon it as unjust that so wise a man

should be occupied with such base affairs and should bury his great

talent in the earth.

HERMAN. Honored colleagues! Convey my respects and gratitude to the

just and upright councillors and assure them of my protection. I am

delighted that this idea has occurred to them, not for my own sake,

but for that of the city. If I had cared for rank, I might perhaps

have attained something long ago.

ABRAHAMS. Honored Burgomaster! The council and the burgesses can

expect nothing but the prosperity of the city under so wise a

magistrate.

SANDERUS. And for that reason they have passed over so many rich and

distinguished men who have sought this high office.

HERMAN. Yes, yes. I hope that they will not regret their choice,

either.

ABRAHAMS and SANDERUS. We recommend ourselves, both of us, to the

favor of the honorable Burgomaster.

HERMAN. It will be a pleasure to do you some service. Pardon me for

not attending you further.

SANDERUS. Oh, it would hardly be fitting for your Honor to go

further.

HERMAN (calling one of the lackeys). Listen, my friend! Here is

something for a pot of ale.

LACKEYS. Oh, we do not do that, your Honor.

[Exeunt Abrahams, Sanderus, and Lackeys.]

SCENE 3

HERMAN. Geske! Geske!

GESKE (off stage). I haven't time.

HERMAN. Come out here! I have something to tell you that you never

dreamed of in all your life.

(Enter Geske.)

GESKE. Now, what is it?

HERMAN. Have you any coffee in the house?

GESKE. What nonsense! When did I use coffee last?

HERMAN. You will need it from now on. Within half an hour you will

receive calls from the wives of all the members of the council.

GESKE. I think the man is dreaming.

HERMAN. Yes, I am dreaming, in such a way that I have dreamed us

into a burgomastership

GESKE. Listen, husband, don't make me angry again!

You know what happened last time.

HERMAN. Didn't you see the two gentlemen and their lackeys who went

past?

GESKE. Yes, I saw them.

HERMAN. They stopped here, and brought me word from the council that

I have been made burgomaster.

GESKE. The devil you have!

HERMAN. Now, my dear wife, see that you strive hereafter to acquire

more correct manners, and that you retain none of your old

tinker-tricks.

GESKE. Oh, is it really true, my dear husband?

HERMAN. It is as true as I'm standing here. Before we know it, we

shall have the house full of congratulators, of most-humble-servants,

of I-have-the-honors, and of I-kiss-your-handers.

GESKE (on her knees). Ah, my dear husband, forgive me if I have ever

done you an injustice!

HERMAN. Everything is forgiven; only try to behave more like

gentlefolk, and you shall find favor with me. But where shall we get

a servant in a hurry?

GESKE. We must manage to get Henrich into some of your clothes until

we can buy a livery. But listen, my dear: since you have become a

burgomaster, I beg of you that Gert the furrier may be punished for

the wrong he did me to-day.

HERMAN. Oh, my dear wife! The burgomaster's wife must not think of

avenging the injury done to the tinker's wife. Let us call in

Henrich.

SCENE 4

GESKE. Henrich!

HENRICH (off stage). Hey!

(Enter Henrich.)

GESKE. Henrich! you must not answer like that after this. Don't you

know what has happened to us?

HENRICH. No, I don't know.

GESKE. My husband has been made burgomaster.

HENRICH. What of?

GESKE. What of? Of Hamburg!

HENRICH. The deuce you say! That certainly is the devil's own jump

for a tinker!

HERMAN. Henrich, speak with more respect. You must know that you are

now the lackey of a man of prominence.

HENRICH. Lackey! Then I don't advance nearly so much!

HERMAN. You shall advance in time. You may even be a reutendiener

some day. Only keep still. Your duty for a few days is to act as

lackey until I can get a servant.--He can wear my brown coat, my

dear, till we get a livery.

GESKE. But I am afraid it will be much too long for him.

HERMAN. Of course it is too long, but a man must help himself as

best he can when he's in a hurry.

HENRICH. Good Lord! It goes down to my heels. I shall look like a

Jewish priest.

HERMAN. Listen, Henrich--

HENRICH. Yes, master.

HERMAN. You rascal! Don't address me by any such title any more;

from henceforth, when I call, you answer "Mr. Burgomaster!" and when

any one comes to ask after me, you may say, "Burgomaster von

Bremenfeld is at home."

HENRICH. Must I say that whether your Honor is at home or not?

HERMAN. What nonsense! When I am not at home, you must say,

"Burgomaster von Bremenfeld is not at home;" and when I do not wish

to be at home, you shall say, "The burgomaster is not giving

audience to-day."--Listen, my dear, you must make some coffee

immediately, so that you will have something to entertain the

councillors' wives with when they come. For our reputation will from

now on depend on having people say, "Burgomaster von Bremenfeld

gives good counsel, and his wife good coffee." I am so much afraid,

my dear, that you will make some mistake before you get accustomed

to the position that you have attained.--Henrich, run get a

tea-table and some cups, and tell the girl to run out and get

fourpence' worth of coffee--one can always buy more later.--You make

it a rule, my dear, not to talk much until you learn to carry on

refined conversation. You must not be too humble, either, but stand

upon your dignity, and strive in every way to get the old tinkering

habits out of your head, and try to imagine that you have been a

burgomaster's wife for years. In the morning a tea-table must be set

for callers, and in the afternoon a coffee-table, and that can be

used for cards. There is a game that they call Allumber; I would

give a hundred thalers if you and our daughter, Miss Engelke, knew

how to play it. You must pay close attention when you see other

people play, so you can learn it. You must lie abed in the morning

till nine or half past, for it's only common people who get up in

the summer with the sun. But on Sunday you must get up a little

earlier, as I expect to take physic on that day. You must get hold

of a fine snuff-box, and let it lie on the table near you when you

are playing cards. When any one drinks your health, you mustn't say

"Thanks," but "Tres humble servitoor." And when you yawn, you

mustn't hold your hand before your mouth, because that isn't done

any more among the gentry. And lastly, when you are in company, you

mustn't be too squeamish, but leave your propriety a little to one

side.--Listen, I forgot something: you must also get a lap-dog and

love it like your own daughter, for that's fashionable. Our neighbor

Arianke has a pretty dog that she might lend you till we can get one

for ourselves. You must give the dog a French name, which I shall

think up when I have time. It must lie in your lap constantly, and

you must kiss it at least half a dozen times, when there are

callers.

GESKE. No, my dear husband, I can't possibly do that, for there's no

telling what a dog has been lying in and getting itself all

dirty--you might get a mouthful of filth or fleas.

HERMAN. Here, here, no nonsense! If you want to be a lady, you must

act like a lady. Besides, a dog like that can supply you with

conversation; when you have run short of topics, you can talk about

the dog's qualities and accomplishments. Just do as I say, my dear;

I understand high society better than you do. Take me as your model.

You shall find that not even the smallest of my old habits will

remain. It won't happen to me as it did to a butcher, once, when he

was made a councillor. Whenever he had written a page and wanted to

turn over the leaf, he put his pen in his mouth, as he used to do

with his butcher's knife. The rest of you go in now and get things

ready. I want to talk awhile with Henrich alone.

[Exit Geske.]

SCENE 5

HERMAN. Listen, Henrich!

HENRICH. Mr. Burgomaster!

HERMAN. Don't you think people will envy me because of this

preferment?

HENRICH. Well, what do you care about people who envy you, your

Honor? If only I had been made a burgomaster like that, I should

have sent my enviers to death and the devil.

HERMAN. The one thing I am a little anxious about is the matter of

small ceremonies, for the world is governed by pedantry, and people

notice trifles more than solid things. If only the first day were

over, when I make my entry into the City Hall, I should be glad; for

as far as substantial business is concerned, that is bread and

butter to me. But I must arrange how I am to meet my colleagues for

the first time and make sure that I do not run counter to any of the

traditional ceremonies.

HENRICH. Oh, fiddlesticks, Mr. Burgomaster! No true man lets himself

be bound by fixed ceremonies. I, for my part, should do nothing, if

I were to make my entry, except give the gentlemen of the council my

hand to kiss, and wear a fine scowl on my brow so that they might

gather what my intentions were, and silently make them realize that

a burgomaster was no goose and no dumpling.

HERMAN. But think, there must be an oration at the City Hall the

first day that I am introduced. I can certainly make as good a

speech as any one in town, and I should make bold to preach if it

were to-morrow morning. But inasmuch as I have never been present at

such a ceremony before, I really don't know what is the customary

formula.

HENRICH. Oh, sir, no one but schoolmasters limit themselves by a

formula. If I were burgomaster, I should be content with a brief and

emphatic address, such as this: "It may seem a rather remarkable

thing, wise and noble councillors, to see a miserable tinker

suddenly turned into a burgomaster--"

HERMAN. Fie, that would be a shabby start.

HENRICH. No, that wouldn't be the start. I should begin my speech

like this: "I thank you, wise and noble gentlemen, for the honor you

have done a wretched tinker like me in making him burgomaster--"

HERMAN. You always bring in your confounded "tinker." It is not

proper to talk like that at the City Hall, where I must act as if I

had been born a burgomaster. If I were to make such a speech, I

should only be scorned and mocked. No, no, Henrich, you would make a

poor orator. He is a rogue who says I was ever a tinker. I have

merely tinkered a little to pass the time away when I have been

tired of studying.

HENRICH. He is a rogue who says I was ever a tinker's apprentice.

HERMAN. Then why do you want me to make such a speech?

HENRICH. Oh, have a little patience! Your Honor is too hasty. I

should politely tell them at the start that if any one made fun of

me for having been a tinker, he would get into trouble. And if I

noticed the least expression of mockery on any one's face, I should

say, "Wise and noble sirs, do you for a moment allow yourselves to

imagine that you have made me burgomaster to ridicule me: And at

that I should pound hard on the desk while I spoke, so that they

might see from my introductory speech that I was not to be fooled

with, and that they had made a burgomaster who was the man for the

place. For if his Honor lets himself be imposed on at the start, the

council will continue to look on him as a rascal."

HERMAN. You talk like a rascal, but still I shall manage to hit on

the kind of speech I want to make. Let us go in.

[Exeunt.

ACT IV

SCENE I

(A Room in Herman's house. Henrich, alone. He has braid on both

sleeves of his coat, which reaches to his heels, and is trimmed with

white paper.)

HENRICH. I am a cur if I can see how the council hit on the idea of

making my master burgomaster, because I can see no connection

between a tinker and a high official like that, unless it is that

just as a tinker throws plates and dishes into a mould and melts

them up into new ones, so a good burgomaster can remould the

republic, when it is declining, by making good laws. But the good

men did not take into consideration the fact that my master is the

worst tinker in Hamburg, and therefore, if they have by any chance

chosen him on that basis, he will be the worst burgomaster, too,

that we have ever had. The only useful thing about their choice is

that it makes me a reutendiener, and that is a position for which I

have both talent and inclination, for ever since I was a boy I have

enjoyed seeing people arrested. It is a good place, too, for one who

knows how to make something out of it. First of all I must appear to

have a great deal of say with the burgomaster, and when people get

that article of faith through their heads, Henrich will make at

least a hundred or two hundred thalers a year, which I shall take

not out of greed, but only to show that I understand my business as

reutendiener. If any one wants to talk to the burgomaster, I say he

is not at home. If they say they saw him at the window, I answer

that it makes no difference, he is still not at home. People in

Hamburg know at once what that answer means; they slip a thaler into

Henrich's hand, and his Honor promptly comes home. If he has been

ill, he recovers at once; if he has had visitors, they leave at

once; if he has been lying down, he gets up at once. I run about

with the lackeys of the gentry, now and then, and I know well enough

what goes on in those houses. In the old days when folks were as

stupid as horses and asses, such things were called stealing, but

now they are known as "extras," "tips," or "unclassified income."

But look, here comes Anneke; she doesn't know yet about the

transformation, for she still has her vulgar tinker-look and

tinker-walk.

SCENE 2

[Enter Anneke.]

ANNEKE. Ha, ha, ha! He looks like a mummer. I believe that's an

Adrienne that he's got on him.

HENRICH. Listen, you tinker's trash! have you never seen a livery or

a lackey before? Faith, these common people are like animals, they

stand and stare like cows, when they see a man in different clothes

one day from what he wears another.

ANNEKE. No, a joke's one thing, and sober truth's another. Don't you

know that I've learned to tell fortunes? An old woman came here

to-day who reads people's hands. I gave her a bit of bread and she

taught me the art of seeing in people's hands what is going to

happen to them. If I may look at your hand, I can tell your fortune

at once.

HENRICH. Yes, yes, Anneke! Henrich isn't as stupid as you think. I

smell a rat already. You have got wind of the promotion that is

promised me to-day.

ANNEKE. No, indeed, I know nothing about it.

HENRICH. See how straight she keeps her face. Indeed you have heard

it, and that is why you know how to tell fortunes so well. No,

Henrich has an old head on his shoulders, and he can't be led by the

nose.

ANNEKE. I give you my oath that I haven't heard a word of what you

are talking about.

HENRICH. Haven't you been talking to madam the burgomaster's wife?

ANNEKE. The fellow is mad. What burgomaster's wife do I know?

HENRICH. Then I believe the young lady has told you.

ANNEKE. Here, enough of this nonsense, Henrich.

HENRICH. Look here, Anneke, here is my hand. Tell my fortune all you

want. I see well enough that you have got wind of the affair,

although you act as if you knew nothing about it. But it can do no

harm to have you so wily; our whole household must be like that from

now on. Now, what do you see in my hand?

ANNEKE. I see, Henrich, that master's custos which hangs back of the

stove will dance a merry step on your back this day. Aren't you

ashamed to go round like a mummer when there is so much work to do

in the house, and to treat the master's coat like that?

HENRICH. Listen, Anneke! I can tell fortunes without reading hands.

I prophesy that you are a rascal, and for your shameless talk you

are going to get a box on the ear, or two, as the case may be. See,

there's a prophecy come true. (Boxes her ear.)

ANNEKE. Ow, ow, ow! You shall pay dear for that.

HENRICH. Learn to show ordinary respect another time for a great

gentleman's lackey--(Boxes her ear again.)

ANNEKE. Just you wait; mistress will be here in a minute.

HENRICH (again).--for the burgomaster's most distinguished servant--

ANNEKE. She will take it out on your back.

HENRICH (again).--for a reutendiener--

ANNEKE. Yes, yes! I say it again: that will cost you dear.

HENRICH (again).--for a person of great influence with the

burgomaster--

ANNEKE. Oh, oh! No one in this house has ever struck me before.

HENRICH (again).--whom all the citizens will cherish and compliment

henceforth.

ANNEKE. I think the fellow is stark mad. Oh, mistress! mistress!

Come here!

HENRICH. Hush, hush! You will get into trouble with your mistress. I

see now that you don't know what has happened, so, like a Christian,

I forgive your fault. The council has unanimously elected the master

burgomaster, mistress madam burgomaster, and decreed Engelke out of

mere maidenhood into the degree of young lady. Therefore you can

easily understand that it won't do for me to work any more. For the

same reason, too, I wear this livery that you notice.

ANNEKE. Well, don't stand and stare at me into the bargain.

HENRICH. It is as I say, Anneke! Here comes the young lady, who

shall vouch for my words.

SCENE 3

(Enter Engelke.)

ENGELKE. Oh, God help me, poor creature! Now I see that all hope is

gone.

HENRICH. Oh, my young lady, is this the time to weep, when your

parents have come into such good fortune?

ENGELKE. Hold your tongue, Henrich, I don't want to be "my young

lady."

HENRICH. What are you going to be, then? You're not a mere maiden,

so you must be a young lady. That is surely the next degree of honor

to which you rise when you lose your maidenhood.

ENGELKE. I had rather be a peasant's daughter. Then I could be sure

of getting the man on whom I have set my heart.

HENRICH. Oh, is that all the young lady is crying about--that she

wants to get married? Now she can get married in the shortest

possible time to any man she points at, for half the town will

besiege the house to be a burgomaster's son-in-law.

ENGELKE. I won't have any one but Antonius, whom I've already

promised to marry.

HENRICH. Fie, Mamsell! Will you take a wheelwright now, a man I can

scarcely associate with,--I, who am only a reutendiener? You should

have a higher sense of honor after this.

ENGELKE. Be quiet, you lout! I would give up my life rather than let

myself be forced to marry any one else.

HENRICH. Now reassure yourself, my young lady, we shall see, I and

the burgomaster, if we can't help Antonius into office, and then you

can take him and welcome. (Exit Engelke. Anneke weeps.) Why are you

crying, Anneke?

ANNEKE. I am crying for joy over the fortune that has come to our

house.

HENRICH. True enough, Anneke, you have cause to rejoice. Who the

devil would have thought that such a sow as you are could ever

become a lady's maid?

ANNEKE. And who the dickens could have thought that such a hog as

you might become a reutendiener?

HENRICH. Listen, little girl, I haven't time to talk to you any

longer now. Madam expects guests; I must prepare coffee. See, here

she is; let us go. I must run get the coffee-table. [Exeunt.

SCENE 4

(Enter Geske with a dog in her arms. Henrich returns with the

coffee-table and sets it busily.)

GESKE. Listen, Henrich, is there syrup in the coffee?

HENRICH. No, Mistress!

GESKE. No more "Master" and "Mistress," Henrich! I say that once for

all. Run get some syrup and put it into the pot. (Exit Henrich.) I

was free from all this hubbub before. But I suppose that once I am

used to it, it will come easier to me.

(Enter Henrich.)

HENRICH. Here is the syrup.

GESKE. Pour it into the pot. Goodness me, some one is knocking. It

must be the wives of councillors to call on me.

HENRICH (at the door). Whom do you want to speak to?

GIRL. Tell your master that he can lie like ten tinkers. I have worn

out a pair of shoes running to and fro after the dripping-pan.

HENRICH. I say, whom do you want to speak to?

GIRL. I want to speak to Master Herman.

HENRICH. You are on a wild-goose chase. Burgomaster von Bremenfeld

lives here.

GIRL. It is a scandal when people can't get their things done, and

have to let themselves be made fools of by a miserable tinker.

HENRICH. If you have any fault to find with tinkers, you must go to

the Council Hall; you will get justice there, or I don't know

Burgomaster von Bremenfeld.

TWO LACKEYS. Our ladies are desirous of announcing that if it suits

the convenience of Madam Burgomaster, they should like to have the

honor of waiting on her.

HENRICH (to the Girl). Now, do you see, you scum of the earth, that

it's no tinker that lives here? (To the servants.) I will inquire if

the burgomaster's lady is at home.

[The Girl goes.

HENRICH (to Geske). Here are two councillors' ladies outside, who

want to talk to the mistress.

GESKE. Let them in.

SCENE 5

(Enter Madame Abrahams and Madame Sanderus. They kiss Geske's

apron.)

MME. ABRAHAMS. We have come here to-day to offer our most humble

congratulations and to témoigner the heartfelt joy and delight that

we feel at your advancement, and at the same time to recommend

ourselves to your favor and affection.

GESKE. Tres humble servitoor! I wonder if you wouldn't like to drink

a cup of coffee.

MME. ABRAHAMS. We thank Madam Burgomaster, but this time we have

come only to offer congratulations.

GESKE. Tres humble servitoor! But I know you like coffee. Perhaps

you just want to be urged. Be so good as to sit down; the coffee is

all ready. Henrich!

HENRICH. Gracious madam?

GESKE. Have you put the syrup in the coffee?

HENRICH. Yes, I have. [Exit.

GESKE. Please, good ladies, won't you have some?

MME. SANDERUS. I hope you will be so good as to excuse us, but we

never drink coffee.

GESKE. Oh, nonsense, I know better I beg you be seated.

MME. SANDERUS (aside to Mme. Abrahams). Oh, ma soeur, I am sick at

the mere thought of that syrup.

GESKE. Henrich, come fill the cups.

(Enter Henrich.)

MME. SANDERUS. That is enough, my good man. I can drink only half a

cup.

HENRICH. I am to ask Madam Burgomaster to step in for a moment and

speak to the burgomaster.

GESKE. Excuse me, good ladies, I must go for an instant. You shall

shortly have the honor of seeing me again.

[Exeunt Henrich and Geske.

SCENE 6

MME. ABRAHAMS. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! Whom is the joke

on now, my sister, she whom we laugh at in our sleeves as we sit

here, or we who have to drink coffee with syrup in it?

MME. SANDERUS. For Heaven's sake don't mention the syrup again! My

stomach comes up into my throat when I think of it.

MME. ABRAHAMS. Did you notice the airs she put on when we kissed her

apron? Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! I shall never forget as long as I live

that "Tres humble servitoor." Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!

MME. SANDERUS. Don't laugh so loud, sister, I'm afraid they can hear

it.

MME. ABRAHAMS. Oh, it is a real art to be able to keep from

laughing. And wasn't that the sweetest dog she had in her arms? The

loveliest watch-dog one might wish for. I am sure it was called

"Joli" into the bargain. Heavens, heavens, how true it is, as people

always say, that no one is more arrogant than those who come up from

the dregs into positions of honor! That is why nothing is more

dangerous than these sudden changes. People who are of good stock

and are properly brought up are only too glad to stay as they were,

or even to become more humble, when they rise to higher distinction.

But those who grow up quickly out of nothing, like mushrooms, seem

to come naturally by intolerable pride.

MME. SANDERUS. I wonder what the reason can be? I should think such

people ought rather to be humbled by the thought of their former

position.

MME. ABRAHAMS. The reason must be that those who come from good

families have never suspected any one of despising them, and

consequently don't worry about how they are received, whereas common

people have always suspected every one, and think that every word

and every glance is intended as a reflection on their previous

state, and so they seek to assert their dignity by making themselves

imperious and tyrannous. Believe me, dear sister! There is something

in springing from good stock. But here comes the boy; we had better

be still.

SCENE 7

(Enter Henrich.)

HENRICH. The good ladies must not let the time seem long. The madam

is coming back in a minute. The burgomaster has presented her with a

new collar for her dog, but it was a little too wide; so the tailor

is in there taking the measure of the dog's neck. As soon as that's

settled, she will come back. But I hope you good ladies won't take

it amiss, if I ask you a favor: will you be so good as to think of

me in a little remembrance, for I have heavy work, and slave like a

beast here in the house.

MME. ABRAHAMS. Gladly, my friend! Here is a gulden,--you will

accept it.

HENRICH. Ah, my best thanks! I hope that I may serve you ladies

again. Now, you must drink your fill while the mistress is out; she

won't be angry, or if she is, I will make it all right.

MME. ABRAHAMS. My good man, the greatest service you can do us is

not to urge us.

HENRICH. As I say, gentle ladies, I know the mistress won't mind;

you simply must drink. Perhaps it isn't sweet enough. I will go get

some more syrup.--But here she comes herself.

SCENE 8

(Enter Geske.)

GESKE. I beg your pardon for staying away so long. ladies, you

haven't drunk a thing in all this time! We simply must empty the

pot, and then when you have the coffee, you must taste our ale. If I

do say it it is as good as any ale in town.

MME. SANDERUS. Oh, I feel so very bad, you must pardon me if I am

unable to stay any longer. My sister will stay and try it.

MME. ABRAHAMS. Oh, no, it would be a sin to desert my sister. We

commend ourselves to the affection of Madam Burgomaster.

GESKE. Then you must have a glass of brandy--it will make you

perfectly well again--it drives out the wind. Henrich! run get a

glass of brandy--the lady's not feeling well.

MME. SANDERUS. No, excuse me; I must go. [Exeunt.

SCENE 9

(Enter another Councillor's Wife.)

COUNCILLOR'S WIFE. Your humble servant. I have come dutifully to

extend my felicitations.

(Geske reaches out her hand to be kissed, and the lady kisses it.)

GESKE. It will be a pleasure to me if I or the burgomaster can be of

any service. Won't you sit down, please? Don't stand on ceremony,

just imagine that you are among your equals.

COUNCILLOR'S WIFE. I am deeply obliged, madam! (Sits down.)

GESKE. Some of your colleagues were just here and drank some coffee

with me; I think there must be a couple of cups left, if you should

like some. The bottom's the best. I don't believe I can drink any

more, because I've got so much in me already that my stomach's like

a drum.

COUNCILLOR'S WIFE. I thank you humbly, but I have just had some

coffee.

GESKE. As you wish. We gentlefolk don't urge any one. Oh, listen,

dear madam--do you know of any Frenchwoman to recommend for my young

lady? I want her to learn French.

COUNCILLOR'S WIFE. Yes, my lady, I know one who is very

satisfactory.

GESKE. Good; but I want to have her understand at the outset that I

cannot tolerate having her call me "Madame" as the French people

usually do. Not that I am proud, but I have my own ideas on the

point.

COUNCILLOR'S WIFE. Oh, no, of course she must not. But might I not

also have the privilege of kissing your daughter's hand?

GESKE. I should be delighted. Henrich! Call the young lady and tell

her that a lady of the council is here and wishes to kiss her hand.

HENRICH. I don't think she can come, because she's darning her

stockings. [Exit.

GESKE. Just listen to that lout, how he stands there and talks at

random! Ha, ha, ha! He means to say "embroidering."

SCENE 10

(Enter Arianke, the Blacksmith's Wife. (This part is played by a

man.))

ARIANKE. Oh, my dear sister Geske! Is it true that your husband has

been made burgomaster? I am as pleased as if I had been given two

marks. Let us see now that you haven't become proud, but acknowledge

your old cronies. (Geske does not answer?) When was your husband

made burgomaster? (Geske says not a word.) You are getting

absent-minded, sister. I am asking you when your husband was made

burgomaster.

COUNCILLOR'S WIFE. You must show a little more respect, dear Madam,

to a burgomaster's wife.

ARIANKE. No, I don't have to stand on ceremony with sister Geske,

for we have been like body and soul. But what is the matter, sister?

It seems to me that you have grown a bit haughty.

GESKE. My good woman, I don't know you.

ARIANKE. The Lord preserve us! When you needed money, you knew me

well enough. You can't be sure but my husband may come to be the

same as yours some time before he dies.

(Geske turns faint and uses a bottle of smelling-salts.)

HENRICH. Get out, you smith's hag! Do you think you're standing in a

smithy and talking?

[Takes her by the hand and leads her off.]

GESKE. Oh, madam, it is a sorrow to associate with these low-born

people. Henrich! you will get into trouble if you let in any more

commoners' wives after this.

HENRICH. She was drunk as a pig; the brandy fairly stuck out off her

throat.

COUNCILLOR'S WIFE. The incident pains me, for I fear that Madam

Burgomaster has been overcome by anger. People of rank cannot endure

much. The higher one advances in position, the more delicate one's

health becomes.

GESKE. Yes, I can assure you that I am far from having the health

now that I had in my former rank.

COUNCILLOR'S WIFE. I can believe that easily. Madam will have to

take physic every day. All other burgomaster's wives have had to do

it.

HENRICH (aside to the audience). I think, by Jove, that I haven't

the health I used to have, since I became reutendiener. I've got a

stitch--oh, oh!--right here in my left side. You laugh at it, good

people, but I am really in earnest. Ma foi, I am afraid that before

I know it I shall have gout on me.

COUNCILLOR'S WIFE. Madam must also engage a doctor by the year for

her whole household, and he can give her some drops which she can at

least leave standing in a bottle, whether she uses them or not.

GESKE. Yes, I certainly shall follow your advice. Henrich! Later on

you must run to Doctor Hermelin's and ask him to make me a visit

when he has time.

COUNCILLOR'S WIFE. I must now take my leave, madam, and commend

myself to your affection.

GESKE. Already so commended, my dear lady! You have but to speak

frankly to me or to Master Herman--I mean to Burgomaster von

Bremenfeld. What service we can do to you or to those dear to you,

you shall never lack.

COUNCILLOR'S WIFE (kissing her apron). Your most humble servant!

GESKE. Adieu! (Exit the Councillor's Wife.) Let us go in, for my

husband is giving audience here.

ACT V

SCENE I

(Same as Act IV. Henrich, alone.)

HENRICH. Well, well, here comes grist to my mill; it's the audience

hour. Now, you shall see, good people, if a man who had been twenty

years in the service could bear himself better than I.--There's some

one knocking. Whom do you wish to see, my good men?

(Enter two Lawyers.)

FIRST LAWYER. We should very much like to have the honor of speaking

to the burgomaster.

HENRICH. He is not up yet.

FIRST LAWYER. Not up at four in the afternoon?

HENRICH. Oh, he is up, to be sure, but he has gone out.

FIRST LAWYER. But we just met a man at the door who had been talking

to him.

HENRICH. He really is in, but he is not well. (Aside.) These fellows

are as stupid as cattle, they don't seem to grasp my meaning.

FIRST LAWYER (aside). I perceive, mon frere, that this fellow wants

to be oiled; we must slip a gulden into his fist, and then the

burgomaster will come fast enough. Listen, my friend! You will not

refuse a couple of gulden to drink our healths with?

HENRICH. Oh, no, my dear sirs, I never take anything as a present.

FIRST LAWYER. What shall we do, then, mon frere? Evidently we must

go away until another day.

HENRICH (beckons to them). Hey, gentlemen! you are in too much of a

hurry. For your sake I will accept the two guldens; otherwise you

might think that I was proud and our house would be ill spoken of in

consequence.

FIRST LAWYER. Here, comrade! Here are two guldens, if you will accept

them; now be good enough to obtain us an audience.

HENRICH. Your most humble servant. For your sake I shall do all I

can. The burgomaster is really as sound as a horse, but still he is

not well enough to talk with every one. But seeing that it is you,

gentlemen, it is another story. If you will be so good as to wait a

moment, gentlemen, I will announce you. But there's some one else

knocking. Whom do you want to see, my good man?

(Enter a Man.)

MAN (feeling in his breeches pocket). I should like to have the

honor of talking with the burgomaster.

HENRICH (aside). This man knows the ropes: he goes right for his

pocket. (Aloud.) Yes, sir, he is at home. You may speak to him

immediately.

(Henrich reaches out his hand, but the other instead of money merely

pulls out his watch.)

MAN. I see it is already four o'clock.

HENRICH. Who was it you wished to see?

MAN. The burgomaster.

HENRICH. He is not at home, sir.

MAN. You just said that he was at home.

HENRICH. Perhaps I did, sir, but if I did, I made a mistake. (Exit

Man. Henrich goes on, aside.) Look at that sharper! Now you shall

see if the burgomaster is at your beck and call! (To the lawyers.) I

shall announce you immediately. [Exit

FIRST LAWYER. Just see how that rascal knows how to fit into his

place already. Keep good countenance, mon frere, it is we who shall

start the plaguing of the good tinker. Our comrades will complete

the tale. But here he comes.