Inviolable threshold
Guardeth an oath, the Furies' child...."
HASSENREUTER
[_Jumps up, runs about and roars._] Oath, oath, oath, oath!!! Don't you
know what an oath is, Käferstein? "Guardeth an oath!!--the Furies'
child." This oath is said to be the child of the Furies, Dr. Kegel!
You've got to use your voice! The audience, to the last usher, has got to
be one vast quivering gooseflesh when you say that! One shiver must run
through every bone in the house! Listen to me: "For this house's ...
threshold Guardeth an oath!!! The Furies' child, The fearfullest of the
infernal deities!"--Go ahead! Don't repeat these verses. But you can stop
long enough to observe that an oath and a Munich beer radish are, after
all, two different things.
SPITTA
[_Declaims._]
"Ireful my heart in my bosom burneth...."
HASSENREUTER
Hold on! [_He runs up to SPITTA and pushes and nudges the latter's arms
and legs in order to produce the desired tragic pose._]--First of all,
you lack the requisite statuesqueness of posture, my dear Spitta. The
dignity of a tragic character is in nowise expressed in you. Then you did
not, as I expressly desired you to do, advance your right foot from the
field marked ID into that marked IIC! Finally, Mr. Quaquaro is waiting;
so let us interrupt ourselves for a moment. So; now I'm at your service,
Mr. Quaquaro. That is to say, I asked you to come up because, in making
my inventory, it became clear that several cases and boxes cannot be
found or, in other words, have been stolen. Now, before lodging
information with the authorities which, of course, I am determined to do,
I wanted first to get your advice. I wanted to do that all the more
because, in place of the lost cases, there was found, in a corner of the
attic, a very peculiar mess--a find that could appropriately be sent to
Dr. Virchow. First there was a blue feather-duster, truly prehistoric,
and an inexpressible vessel, the use of which, quite harmless in itself,
is equally inexpressible.
QUAQUARO
Well, sir, I can climb up there if you want me to.
HASSENREUTER
Suppose you do that. Up there you'll meet Mrs. John, whom the find in
question has disquieted even more than it has me. These three gentlemen,
who are my pupils, won't be persuaded that something very like a murder
didn't take place up there. But, if you please, let's not cause a
scandal!
KÄFERSTEIN
When something got lost in my mother's shop in Schneidemühl, it was
always said that the rats had eaten it. And really, when you consider the
number of rats and mice in this house--I very nearly stepped on one on
the stairs a while ago--why shouldn't we suppose that the cases of
costumes were devoured in the same way. Silk is said to be sweet.
HASSENREUTER
Very excellent! Very good! You're relieved from the necessity of
indulging in any more notion-shopkeepers' fancies, my good Käferstein!
Ha, ha, ha! It only remains for you to dish up for us the story of the
cavalry man Sorgenfrei, who, according to your assertion, when this house
was still a cavalry barracks, hanged himself--spurred and armed--in my
loft. And then the last straw would be for you to direct our suspicions
toward him.
KÄFERSTEIN
You can still see the very nail he used.
QUAQUARO
There ain't a soul in the house what don't know the story of the soldier
Sorgenfrei who put an end to hisself with a rope somewhere under the
rooftree.
KÄFERSTEIN
The carpenter's wife downstairs and a seamstress in the second story have
repeatedly seen him by broad daylight nodding out of the attic window and
bowing down with military demeanour.
QUAQUARO
A corporal, they says, called the soldier Sorgenfrei a windbag an' gave
him a blow outa spite. An' the idjit took that to heart.
HASSENREUTER
Ha, ha, ha! Military brutalities and ghost stories! That mixture is
original, but hardly to our purpose. I assume that the theft, or whatever
it was, took place during those eleven or twelve days that I spent on
business in Alsace. So look the matter over and have the goodness, later,
to report to me.
_HASSENREUTER turns to his pupils. QUAQUARO mounts the stairs to the
loft and disappears behind the trap-door._
HASSENREUTER
All right, my good Spitta: Fire away!
_SPITTA recites simply according to the sense and without any tragic
bombast._
"Ireful my heart in my bosom burneth,
My hand is ready for sword or lance,
For unto me the Gorgon turneth
My foeman's hateful countenance.
Scarce I master the rage that assails me.
Shall I salute him with fair speech?
Better, perchance, my ire avails me?
Only the Fury me affrighteth,
Protectress of all within her reach,
And God's truce which all foes uniteth."
HASSENREUTER
[_Who has sat down, supports his head on his hand and listens resignedly.
Not until SPITTA has ceased speaking for some moments does he look up, as
if coming to himself._] Are you quite through, Spitta? If so, I'm much
obliged!--You see, my dear fellow, I've really gotten into a deuce of a
situation as far as you are concerned: either I tell you impudently to
your face that I consider your method of elocution excellent--and in that
case I'd be guilty of a lie of the most contemptible kind: or else I tell
you that I consider it abominable and then we'd get into another beastly
row.
SPITTA
[_Turning pale._] Yes, all this stilted, rhetorical stuff is quite
foreign to my nature. That's the very reason why I abandoned theology.
The preacher's tone is repulsive to me.
HASSENREUTER
And so you would like to reel off these tragic choruses as a clerk of
court mumbles a document or a waiter a bill of fare?
SPITTA
I don't care for the whole sonorous bombast of the "Bride of Messina."
HASSENREUTER
I wish you'd repeat that charming opinion.
SPITTA
There's nothing to be done about it, sir. Our conceptions of dramatic art
diverge utterly, in some respects.
HASSENREUTER
Man alive, at this particular moment your face is a veritable monogram of
megalomania and impudence! I beg your pardon, but you're my pupil now and
no longer the tutor of my children. Your views and mine! You ridiculous
tyro! You and Schiller! Friedrich Schiller! I've told you a hundred times
that your puerile little views of art are nothing but an innate striving
toward imbecility!
SPITTA
You would have to prove that to me, after all.
HASSENREUTER
You prove it yourself every time you open your mouth! You deny the whole
art of elocution, the value of the voice in acting! You want to
substitute for both the art of toneless squeaking! Further you deny the
importance of action in the drama and assert it to be a worthless
accident, a sop for the groundlings! You deny the validity of poetic
justice, of guilt and its necessary expiation. You call all that a vulgar
invention--an assertion by means of which the whole moral order of the
world is abrogated by the learned and crooked understanding of your
single magnificent self! Of the heights of humanity you know nothing! You
asserted the other day that, in certain circumstances, a barber or a
scrubwoman might as fittingly be the protagonist of a tragedy as Lady
Macbeth or King Lear!
SPITTA
[_Still pale, polishing his spectacles._] Before art as before the law
all men are equal, sir.
HASSENREUTER
Aha? Is that so? Where did you pick up that banality?
SPITTA
[_Without permitting himself to be disconcerted._] The truth of that
saying has become my second nature. In believing it I probably find
myself at variance with Schiller and Gustav Freytag, but not at all with
Lessing and Diderot. I have spent the past two semesters in the study of
these two great dramaturgic critics, and the whole stilted French
pseudo-classicism is, as far as I'm concerned, utterly destroyed--not
only in creative art itself but in such manifestations as the boundless
folly of the directions for acting which Goethe prescribed in his old
age. These are mere superannuated nonsense.
HASSENREUTER
You don't mean it?
SPITTA
And if the German stage is ever to recuperate it must go back to the
young Schiller, the young Goethe--the author of "Götz"--and ever again to
Gotthold Ephraim Lessing! There you will find set down principles of
dramatic art which are adapted to the rich complexity of life in all its
fullness, and which are potent to cope with Nature itself!
HASSENREUTER
Walburga! I'm afraid Mr. Spitta is taking us for each other. Mr. Spitta,
you're about to give a lesson! Walburga, you and your teacher are free to
retire to the library.--If human arrogance and especially that of very
young people could be crystallised into one formation--humanity would be
buried under that rock like an ant under the granite masses of an
antediluvian mountain range!
SPITTA
But I wouldn't in any wise be refuted thereby.
HASSENREUTER
Man, I tell you that I've not only passed through two semesters of formal
study, but I have grown grey in the practice of the actor's art! And I
tell you that Goethe's catechism for actors is the alpha and the omega of
my artistic convictions! If you don't like that--get another teacher!
SPITTA
[_Pursuing his argument calmly._] According to my opinion, Goethe with
his senile regulations for actors denied, in the pettiest way, himself
and his whole original nature. What is one to say of his ruling that
every actor, irrespective of the quality of the character represented by
him, must--these are his very words--show an ogre-like expression of
countenance in order that the spectator be at once reminded of the nature
of lofty tragedy. Actually, these are his very words!
_KÄFERSTEIN and KEGEL make an effort to assume ogre-like
expressions._
HASSENREUTER
Get out your note-book, most excellent Spitta, and record your opinion,
please, that Manager Hassenreuter is an ass, that Schiller is an ass,
Goethe an ass, Aristotle, too, of course--[_he begins suddenly to laugh
like mad_]--and, ha, ha, ha! a certain Spitta a--night watchman!
SPITTA
I'm glad to see, sir, that, at least, you've recovered your good humour.
HASSENREUTER
The devil! I haven't recovered it at all! You're a symptom. So you
needn't think yourself very important.--You are a rat, so to speak. One
of those rats who are beginning, in the field of politics, to undermine
our glorious and recently united German Empire! They are trying to cheat
us of the reward of our labours! And in the garden of German art these
rats are gnawing at the roots of the tree of idealism. They are
determined to drag its crown into the mire!--Down, down, down into the
dust with you!
_KÄFERSTEIN and KEGEL try to preserve their gravity but soon break
out into loud laughter, which HASSENREUTER is impelled to join.
WALBURGA looks on in wide-eyed astonishment. SPITTA remains serious._
_MRS. JOHN is now seen descending the stairs of the loft. After a
little while QUAQUARO follows her._
HASSENREUTER
[_Perceives MRS. JOHN and points her out to SPITTA with violent
gesticulations as if he had just made an important discovery._] There
comes your tragic Muse!
MRS. JOHN
[_Approaches, abashed by the laughter of HASSENREUTER, KEGEL and
KÄFERSTEIN._] Why, what d'you see about me?
HASSENREUTER
Nothing but what is good and beautiful, Mrs. John! You may thank God that
your quiet, withdrawn and peaceful life unfits you for the part of a
tragic heroine.--But tell me, have you, by any chance, had an interview
with ghosts?
MRS. JOHN
[_Unnaturally pale._] Why do you ax that?
HASSENREUTER
Perhaps you even saw the famous soldier Sorgenfrei who closed his career
above as a deserter into a better world?
MRS. JOHN
If it was a livin' soul, maybe you might be right. But I ain't scared o'
no dead ghosts.
HASSENREUTER
Well, Mr. Quaquaro, how did it look under the roof there?
QUAQUARO
[_Who has brought down with him a Swedish riding-boot._] Well, I took a
pretty good look aroun' an' I came to the conclusion that, at least, some
shelterless ragamuffins has passed the night there; though how they got
in I ain't sayin'. An' then I found this here boot.--
[_Out of the boot he draws an infant's bottle, topped by a rubber
nipple and half filled with milk._
MRS. JOHN
That's easily explained. I was up there settin' things to rights an' I
had little Adelbert along with me. But I don' know nothin' about the
rest.
HASSENREUTER
Nobody has undertaken to assert that you do, Mrs. John.
MRS. JOHN
When you considers how my little Adelbert came into the world ... an'
when you considers how he died ... nobody c'n come an' tell me nothin'
about bein' a reel mother ... But I gotta leave now, sir ... I can't be
comin' up here for two three days. Good-bye! I has to go to my
sister-in-law an' let Adelbert enjoy the country air a little.
[_She trots off through the door to the outer hall._
HASSENREUTER
Can you make anything of her wild talk?
QUAQUARO
There's been a screw loose there ever since her first baby came, an' all
the more after it took an' died. Now since she's got the second one,
there's two screws what's wobbly. Howsoever, she c'n count--that's a
fac'. She's got a good bit o' money loaned out at interest on pawned
goods.
HASSENREUTER
Well, but what is the injured party--namely, myself--to do?
QUAQUARO
That depends on where the suspicion falls.
HASSENREUTER
In this house?--You'll admit yourself, Mr. Quaquaro ...
QUAQUARO
That's true all right. But it won't be long before we'll have a little
cleanin' up aroun' here! The widow Knobbe with all her crowd is goin' to
be put out! An' then there's a gang in wing B, where there's some tough
customers by what Policeman Schierke tells me. Well, they're goin' to
come from headquarters pretty soon and blow up that crowd.
HASSENREUTER
There must be a glee club somewhere in the house. At least I hear
excellent male voices singing from time to time things like "Germany, our
highest glory," and "Who has built thee, noble wood," and "In a cool
galley turneth."
QUAQUARO
Them's the very fellers! That's right! An' they do sing fine! The sayin'
is that bad men has no songs, but I wouldn't advise no one to fool with
_them_! I wouldn't go into that company my own self without Prince.
That's my bull dog. You just go an' lay information against 'em an' you
won't be doin' no harm, sir.
[_QUAQUARO exit._
HASSENREUTER
[_Referring to QUAQUARO._] The gleam in his eye demands security. His
lips demand cash. His fist portends immediate warning. He's a lucky
creature who doesn't dream of him at the end of the month. And whoever
dreams of him roars for help. A horrible, greasy fellow. But without him
the people who rent this old shell would get no money and the
army-treasurer could strike the income of these rentals from his
books.--[_The door bell rings._]--That Is Miss Alice Rütterbusch, the
young soubrette with whom, unfortunately, I haven't been able to make a
hard and fast contract yet on account of the way the aldermen of
Strassburg shilly shally about their final decision. After my
appointment, which I will secure by God's help, her engagement will be my
first managerial act.--Walburga and Spitta, march up into the loft! Count
the contents of the six boxes marked "Journalists" in order that we may
complete our inventory at the proper time.--[_To KÄFERSTEIN and DR.
KEGEL._] You may withdraw into the library in the meantime....
[_He steps forward in order to open the door._
_WALBURGA and SPITTA disappear swiftly and very willingly into the
loft; KÄFERSTEIN and KEGEL retire into the library._
HASSENREUTER
[_In the background._] If you please, step right in, my dear lady! I
_beg_ your pardon, sir! I was expecting a lady ... I was expecting a
young lady ... But, please, come in.
_HASSENREUTER comes forward accompanied by PASTOR SPITTA. The latter
is sixty years old. A village parson, somewhat countrified. One might
equally well take him to be a surveyor or a landowner in a small way.
He is of vigorous appearance--short-necked, well-nourished, with a
squat, broad face like Luther's. He wears a slouch-hat, spectacles
and carries a cane and a coat of waterproof cloth over his arm. His
clumsy boots and the state of his other garments show that they have
long been accustomed to wind and weather._
PASTOR SPITTA
Do you know who I am, Mr. Hassenreuter?
HASSENREUTER
Not quite exactly, but I would hazard ...
PASTOR SPITTA
You may, you may! You needn't hesitate to call me Pastor Spitta from
Schwoiz in Uckermark, whose son Erich--yes, that's it--has been employed
in your family as private tutor or something like that. Erich Spitta:
that's my son. And I'm obliged to say that with deep sorrow.
HASSENREUTER
First of all, I'm very glad, to have the privilege of your acquaintance.
I hasten at once to beg you, however, dear Pastor, not to be too much
worried, not to be too sorrowful concerning the little escapade in which
your son is indulging.
PASTOR SPITTA
Oh, but I am greatly troubled, I am deeply grieved. [_Sitting down on a
chair he surveys the strange place in which he finds himself with
considerable interest._] It is hard to say; it is extremely difficult to
communicate to any one the real depth of anxiety. But forgive me a
question, sir: I was in the trophy-chamber.--[_He touches one of the
armored dummies with his cane._] What kind of armor is this?
HASSENREUTER
These figures are to represent the cuirassiers in Schiller's
"Wallenstein."
PASTOR SPITTA
Ah, ah, my idea of Schiller was so very different! [_Collecting
himself._] Oh, this city of Berlin! It confuses me utterly. You see a man
before you, sir, who is not only grieved, whom this Sodom of a city has
not only stirred to his very depths, but who is actually broken-hearted
by the deed of his son.
HASSENREUTER
A deed? What deed?
PASTOR SPITTA
Is there any need to ask? The son of an honest man desiring to become an
... an ... an actor!
HASSENREUTER
[_Drawing himself up. With the utmost dignity._] My dear sir, I do not
approve of your son's determination. But I am myself--_honi soit qui mal
y pense_--the son of an honest man and myself, I trust, a man of honour.
And I, whom you see before you, have been an actor, too. No longer than
six weeks ago I took part in the Luther celebration--for I am no less an
apostle of culture in the broadest sense--not only as manager but by
ascending the boards on which the world is shadowed forth as an actor!
From my point of view, therefore, your son's determination is scarcely
open to objection on the score of his social standing or his honourable
character. But it is a difficult calling and demands, above all, a high
degree of talent. I am also willing to admit that it is a calling not
without peculiar dangers to weak characters. And finally I have myself
proved the unspeakable hardships of my profession so thoroughly that I
would like to guard anyone else from entering it. That is the reason why
I box my daughters' ears if the slightest notion of going on the stage
seizes them, and why I would rather tie stones about their necks and
drown them where the sea is deepest than see them marry actors.
PASTOR SPITTA
I didn't mean to wound any one's feelings. I admit, too, that a simple
country parson like myself can't very well have much of a conception of
such things. But consider a father now--just such a poor country
parson--who has saved and hoarded his pennies in order that his son might
have a career at the university. Now consider, further, that this son is
just about to take his final examinations and that his father and his
mother--I have a sick wife at home--are looking forward with anxiety and
with longing, whichever you call it, toward the moment in which their son
will mount the pulpit and deliver the trial sermon before the
congregation of his choice. And then comes this letter. Why, the boy is
mad!
_The emotion of the Pastor is not exactly consciously directed; it is
controlled. The trembling of the hand with which he searches for the
letter in his inner pocket and hands it to the manager is not quite
convincing._
HASSENREUTER
Young men search after various aims. We mustn't be too much taken by
surprise if, once in a while, a crisis of this kind is not to be avoided
in a young man's life.
PASTOR SPITTA
Well, this crisis _was_ avoidable. It will not be difficult for you to
see from this letter who is responsible for this destructive change in
the soul of a young, an excellent, and hitherto thoroughly obedient
youth. I should never have sent him to Berlin. Yes, it is this so-called
scientific theology, this theology that flirts with all the pagan
philosophers, that would change the Lord our God into empty smoke and
sublimate our blessed Saviour into thin air--it is this that I hold
responsible for the grievous mistake of my child. And to this may be
added other temptations. I tell you, sir, I have seen things which it is
impossible for me to speak of! I have circulars in every pocket--"Ball of
the Élite! Smart waitresses!" and so on! I was quietly walking, at half
past twelve one night, through the arcade that connects Friedrich street
with the Linden, and a disgusting fellow sidles up to me, wretched,
undergrown, and asks me with a kind of greasy, shifty impudence: Doesn't
the gentleman want something real fetching? And these show windows in
which, right by the pictures of noble and exalted personages, naked
actresses, dancers, in short the most shocking nudities are displayed!
And finally this Corso--oh, this Corso! Where painted and bedizened vice
jostles respectable women from the sidewalk! It's simply the end of the
world!
HASSENREUTER
Ah, my dear Pastor, the world doesn't so easily come to an end--nor,
surely, will it do so on account of the nudities that offend or of the
vice which slinks through the streets at night. The world will probably
outlive me and the whole scurrilous interlude of humanity.
PASTOR SPITTA
What turns these young people aside from the right path is evil example
and easy opportunity.
HASSENREUTER
I beg your pardon, Pastor, but I have not observed in your son the
slightest inclination toward leading a frivolous life. He is simply
attracted to literature, and he isn't the first clergyman's son--remember
merely Lessing and Herder--who has taken the road of literary study and
creative art. Very likely be has manuscript plays in his desk even now.
To be sure, I am bound to admit that the opinions which your son defends
in the field of literature frighten even me at times!
PASTOR SPITTA
But that's horrible! That's frightful! That far exceeds my worst fears!
And so my eyes have been opened.--My dear sir, I have had eight children,
of whom Erich seemed our fairest hope and his next-oldest sister our
heaviest trial. And now, it seems, the same accursed city has demanded
them both as its victims. The girl developed prematurely, she was
beautiful ... and ... But I must mention another circumstance now, I
have, been in Berlin for three days and I haven't seen Erich yet. When I
tried to see him to-day, he was not at home in his rooms. I waited for a
while and naturally looked about me in my son's dwelling. And now: look
at this picture, sir!
[_Replacing ERICH'S letter in his pocket he extracts therefrom a
small photograph and holds it immediately under HASSENREUTER'S eyes._
HASSENREUTER
[_Takes the picture and holds it at varying distances from him. He is
disconcerted._] Why should I look at this?
PASTOR SPITTA
The silly little face is of no importance. But pray look at the
inscription.
HASSENREUTER
Where?
PASTOR SPITTA
[_Reads._] "From Walburga to her only sweetheart."
HASSENREUTER
Permit me!--- What's the meaning of this?
PASTOR SPITTA
It simply means some seamstress if not, what is worse, some shady
waitress!
HASSENREUTER
H-m. [_He slips the picture into his pocket._] I shall keep this
photograph.
PASTOR SPITTA
It is in such filth that my son wallows. And consider the situation in
which it puts me: with what feelings, with what front shall I
henceforward face my congregation from the pulpit ...?
HASSENREUTER
Confound it, what business is that of mine? What have I to do with your
offspring, with your lost sons and daughters? [_He pulls out the
photograph again._] And furthermore, as far as this excellent and
sound-hearted young lady is concerned, you're quite mistaken in your
ideas about waitresses and such like. I'll say nothing more. All other
matters will adjust themselves. Good-bye.
PASTOR SPITTA