THE SECOND ACT
A small room in the house of WILHELM ANSORGE, weaver and cottager in the village of Kaschbach, in the Eulengebirge.
In this room, which does not measure six feet from the dilapidated wooden floor to the smoke-blackened rafters, sit four people. Two young girls, EMMA and BERTHA BAUMERT, are working at their looms; MOTHER BAUMERT, a decrepit old woman, sits on a stool beside the bed, with a winding-wheel in front of her; her idiot son AUGUST sits on a foot-stool, also winding. He is twenty, has a small body and head, and long, spider-like legs and arms.
Faint, rosy evening light makes its way through two small windows in the right wall, which have their broken panes pasted over with paper or stuffed with straw. It lights up the flaxen hair of the girls, which falls loose on their slender white necks and thin bare shoulders, and their coarse chemises. These, with a short petticoat of the roughest linen, form their whole attire. The warm glow falls on the old woman's face, neck, and breast—a face worn away to a skeleton, with shrivelled skin and sunken eyes, red and watery with smoke, dust, and working by lamplight—a long goître neck, wrinkled and sinewy—a hollow breast covered with faded, ragged shawls.
Part of the right wall is also lighted up, with stove, stove-bench, bedstead, and one or two gaudily coloured sacred prints. On the stove rail rags are hanging to dry, and behind the stove is a collection of worthless lumber. On the bench stand some old pots and cooking utensils, and potato parings are laid out on it, on paper, to dry. Hanks of yarn and reels hang from the rafters; baskets of bobbins stand beside the looms. In the back wall there is a low door without fastening. Beside it a bundle of willow wands is set up against the wall, and beyond them lie some damaged quarter-bushel baskets.
The room is full of sound—the rhythmic thud of the looms, shaking floor and walls, the click and rattle of the shuttles passing back and forward, and the steady whirr of the winding-wheels, like the hum of gigantic bees.
MOTHER BAUMERT
[In a querulous, feeble voice, as the girls stop weaving and bend over their webs.] Got to make knots again already, have you?
EMMA
[The elder of the two girls, about twenty-two, tying a broken thread] It's the plagueyest web, this!
BERTHA
[Fifteen.] Yes, it's real bad yarn they've given us this time.
EMMA
What can have happened to father? He's been away since nine.
MOTHER BAUMERT
That he has! yes. Where in the wide world c'n he be?
BERTHA
Don't you worry yourself, mother.
MOTHER BAUMERT
I can't help it, Bertha lass.
[EMMA begins to weave again.
BERTHA
Stop a minute, Emma!
EMMA
What is it!
BERTHA
I thought I heard some one.
EMMA
It'll be Ansorge comin' home.
Enter FRITZ, a little, barefooted, ragged boy of four.
FRITZ
[Whimpering.] I'm hungry, mother.
EMMA
Wait, Fritzel, wait a bit! Gran'father'll be here very soon, an' he's bringin' bread along with him, an' coffee too.
FRITZ
But I'm awful hungry, mother.
EMMA
Be a good boy now, Fritz. Listen to what I'm tellin' you. He'll be here this minute. He's bringin' nice bread an' nice corn-coffee; an' when we stops workin' mother'll take the tater peelin's and carry them to the farmer, and the farmer'll give her a drop o' good buttermilk for her little boy.
FRITZ
Where's grandfather gone?
EMMA
To the manufacturer, Fritz, with a web.
FRITZ
To the manufacturer?
EMMA
Yes, yes, Fritz, down to Dreissiger's at Peterswaldau.
FRITZ
Is it there he gets the bread?
EMMA
Yes; Dreissiger gives him money, and then he buys the bread.
FRITZ
Does he give him a heap of money?
EMMA
[Impatiently.] Oh, stop that chatter, boy.
[She and BERTHA go on weaving for a time, and then both stop again.
BERTHA
August, go and ask Ansorge if he'll give us a light.
[AUGUST goes out accompanied by FRITZ.
MOTHER BAUMERT
[Overcome by her childish apprehension, whimpers.] Emma! Bertha! where c'n the man be stay-in'?
BERTHA
Maybe he looked in to see Hauffe.
MOTHER BAUMERT
[Crying.] What if he's sittin' drinkin' in the public-house?
EMMA
Don't cry, mother! You know well enough father's not the man to do that.
MOTHER BAUMERT
[Half distracted by a multitude of gloomy forebodings.] What … what … what's to become of us if he don't come home? if he drinks the money, an' don't bring us nothin' at all? There's not so much as a handful o' salt in the house—not a bite o' bread, nor a bit o' wood for the fire.
BERTHA
Wait a bit, mother! It's moonlight just now. We'll take August with us and go into the wood and get some sticks.
MOTHER BAUMERT
Yes, an' be caught by the forester.
ANSORGE, an old weaver of gigantic stature, who has to bend down to get into the room, puts his head and shoulders in at the door. Long, unkempt hair and beard.
ANSORGE
What's wanted?
BERTHA
Light, if you please.
ANSORGE
[In a muffled voice, as if speaking' in a sick-room.] There's good daylight yet.
MOTHER BAUMERT
Is we to sit in the dark next?
ANSORGE
I've to do the same mayself.
[Goes out.
BERTHA
It's easy to see that he's a miser.
EMMA
Well, there's nothin' for it but to sit an' wait his pleasure.
Enter MRS. HEINRICH, a woman of thirty, heavy with child; an expression of torturing anxiety and apprehension on her worn face.
MRS. HEINRICH
Good evenin' t'you all.
MOTHER BAUMERT
Well, Jenny, and what's your news?
MRS. HEINRICH
[Who limps.] I've got a piece o' glass into my foot.
BERTHA
Come an' sit down, then, an' I'll see if I c'n get it out.
[MRS. HEINRICH seats herself, BERTHA kneels down, in front of her, and examines her foot.
MOTHER BAUMERT
How are ye all at home, Jenny?
MRS. HEINRICH
[Breaks out despairingly.] Things is in a terrible way with us!
[She struggles in vain, against a rush of tears; then weeps silently.
MOTHER BAUMERT
The best thing as could happen to the likes o' us, Jenny, would be if God had pity on us an' took us away out o' this weary world.
MRS. HEINRICH
[No longer able to control herself, screams, still crying.] My children's starvin'. [Sobs and moans.] I don't know what to do no more! I c'n work till I drops—I'm more dead'n alive—things don't get different! There's nine hungry mouths to fill! We got a bit o' bread last night, but it wasn't enough even for the two smallest ones. Who was I to give it to, eh? They all cried; Me, me, mother! give it to me!… An' if it's like this while I'm still on my feet, what'll it be when I've to take to bed? Our few taters was washed away. We haven't a thing to put in our mouths.
BERTHA
[Has removed the bit of glass and washed the wound.] We'll put a rag round it. Emma, see if you can find one.
MOTHER BAUMERT
We're no better off'n you, Jenny.
MRS. HEINRICH
You has your girls, any way. You've a husband as c'n work. Mine was taken with one o' his fits last week again—so bad that I didn't know what to do with him, and was half out o' my mind with fright. And when he's had a turn like that, he can't stir out o' bed under a week.
MOTHER BAUMERT
Mine's no better. He's goin' to pieces, too. He's breathin's bad now as well as his back. An' there's not a farthin' nor a farthin's worth in the house. If he don't bring a few pence with him today, I don't know what we're to do.
EMMA
It's the truth she's tellin' you, Jenny. We had to let father take the little dog with him to-day, to have him killed, that we might get a bite into our stomachs again!
MRS. HEINRICH
Haven't you got as much as a handful o' flour to spare?
MOTHER BAUMERT
An' that we haven't, Jenny. There's not as much as a grain o' salt in the house.
MRS. HEINRICH
Well, then, I don't know … [Rises, stands still, brooding.] I don't know what'll be the end o' this! It's more'n I c'n bear. [Screams in rage and despair.] I'd be contented if it was nothin' but pigs' food!—But I can't go home again empty-handed—that I can't. God forgive me, I see no other way out of it.
[She limps quickly out.
MOTHER BAUMERT
[Calls after her in a warning voice.] Jenny, Jenny! don't you be doin' anything foolish, now!
BERTHA
She'll do herself no harm, mother. You needn't be afraid.
EMMA
That's the way she always goes on.
[Seats herself at the loom and weaves for a few seconds.
AUGUST enters, carrying a tallow candle, and lighting his father, OLD BAUMERT, who follows close behind him, staggering under a heavy bundle of yarn.
MOTHER BAUMERT
Oh, father, where have you been all this long time? Where have you been?
OLD BAUMERT
Come now, mother, don't fall on a man like that. Give me time to get my breath first. An' look who I've brought with me.
MORITZ JAEGER comes stooping in at the low door. Reserve soldier, newly discharged. Middle height, rosy-cheeked, military carriage. His cap on the side of his head, hussar fashion, whole clothes and shoes, a clean shirt without collar. Draws himself up and salutes.
JAEGER
[In a hearty voice.] Good-evenin', auntie Baumert!
MOTHER BAUMERT
Well, well now! and to think you've got back! An' you've not forgotten us? Take a chair, then, lad.
EMMA
[Wiping a wooden chair with her apron, and pushing it towards MORITZ.] An' so you've come to see what poor folks is like again, Moritz?
JAEGER
I say, Emma, is it true that you've got a boy nearly old enough to be a soldier? Where did you get hold o' him, eh?
[BERTHA, having taken the small supply of provisions which her father has brought, puts meat into a saucepan, and shoves it into the oven, while AUGUST lights the fire.
BERTHA
You knew weaver Finger, didn't you?
MOTHER BAUMERT
We had him here in the house with us. He was ready enough to marry her; but he was too far gone in consumption; he was as good as a dead man. It didn't happen for want o' warnin' from me. But do you think she would listen? Not she. Now he's dead an' forgotten long ago, an' she's left with the boy to provide for as best she can. But now tell us how you've been gettin' on, Moritz.
OLD BAUMERT
You've only to look at him, mother, to know that. He's had luck. It'll be about as much as he can do to speak to the likes o' us. He's got clothes like a prince, an' a silver watch, an' thirty shillings in his pocket into the bargain.
JAEGER
[Stretching himself consequentially, a knowing smile on his face.] I can't complain, I didn't get on so badly in the regiment.
OLD BAUMERT
He was the major's own servant. Just listen to him—he speaks like a gentleman.
JAEGER
I've got so accustomed to it that I can't help it.
MOTHER BAUMERT
Well, now, to think that such a good-for-nothin' as you was should have come to be a rich man. For there wasn't nothin' to be made of you. You would never sit still to wind more than a hank of yarn at a time, that you wouldn't. Off you went to your tomtit boxes an' your robin redbreast snares—they was all you cared about. Isn't it the truth I'm telling?
JAEGER
Yes, yes, auntie, it's true enough. It wasn't only redbreasts. I went after swallows too.
EMMA
Though we were always tellin' you that swallows was poison.
JAEGER
What did I care?—But how have you all been gettin' on, auntie Baumert?
MOTHER BAUMERT
Oh, badly, lad, badly these last four years. I've had the rheumatics—just look at them hands. An' it's more than likely as I've had a stroke o' some kind too, I'm that helpless. I can hardly move a limb, an' nobody knows the pains I suffers.
OLD BAUMERT
She's in a bad way, she is. She'll not hold out long.
BERTHA
We've to dress her in the mornin' an' undress her at night, an' to feed her like a baby.
MOTHER BAUMERT
[Speaking in a complaining, tearful voice.] Not a thing c'n I do for myself. It's far worse than bein' ill. For it's not only a burden to myself I am, but to every one else. Often and often do I pray to God to take me. For oh! mine's a weary life. I don't know … p'r'aps they think … but I'm one that's been a hard worker all my days. An' I've always been able to do my turn too; but now, all at once, [she vainly attempts to rise] I can't do nothin'.—I've a good husband an' good children, but to have to sit here and see them…! Look at the girls! There's hardly any blood left in them—faces the colour of a sheet. But on they must work at these weary looms whether they earn enough to keep theirselves or not. What sort o' life is it they lead? Their feet never off the treadle from year's end to year's end. An' with it all they can't scrape together as much as'll buy them clothes that they can let theirselves be seen in; never a step can they go to church, to hear a word o' comfort. They're liker scarecrows than young girls of fifteen and twenty.
BERTHA
[At the stove.] It's beginnin' to smoke again!
OLD BAUMERT
There now; look at that smoke. And we can't do nothin' for it. The whole stove's goin' to pieces. We must let it fall, and swallow the soot. We're coughin' already, one worse than the other. We may cough till we choke, or till we cough our lungs up—nobody cares.
JAEGER
But this here is Ansorge's business; he must see to the stove.
BERTHA
He'll see us out o' the house first; he has plenty against us without that.
MOTHER BAUMERT
We've only been in his way this long time past.
OLD BAUMERT
One word of a complaint an' out we go. He's had no rent from us this last half-year.
MOTHER BAUMERT
A well-off man like him needn't be so hard.
OLD BAUMERT
He's no better off than we is, mother. He's hard put to it too, for all he holds his tongue about it.
MOTHER BAUMERT
He's got his house.
OLD BAUMERT
What are you talkin' about, mother? Not one stone in the wall is the man's own.
JAEGER
[Has seated himself, and taken a short pipe with gay tassels out of one coat-pocket, and a quart bottle of brandy out of another.] Things can't go on like this. I'm dumfoundered when I see the life the people live here. The very dogs in the towns live better.
OLD BAUMERT
[Eagerly.] That's what I says! Eh? eh? You know it too! But if you say that here, they'll tell you that it's only bad times.
Enter ANSORGE, an earthenware pan with soup in one hand, in the other a half-finished quarter-bushel basket.
ANSORGE
Glad to see you again, Moritz!
JAEGER
Thank you, father Ansorge—same to you!
ANSORGE
[Shoving his pan into the oven.] Why, lad you look like a duke!
OLD BAUMERT
Show him your watch, Moritz. An' he's got a new suit of clothes, an' thirty shillings cash.
ANSORGE
[Shaking his head.] Is that so? Well, well!
EMMA
[Puts the potato-parings into a bag.] I must be off; I'll maybe get a drop o' buttermilk for these.
[Goes out.
JAEGER
[The others hanging intently and devoutly on his words.] You know how you all used to be down on me. It was always: Wait, Moritz, till your soldierin' time comes—you'll catch it then. But you see how well I've got on. At the end o' the first half-year I had my good conduct stripes. You've got to be willin'—that's where the secret lies. I brushed the sergeant's boots; I groomed his horse; I fetched his beer. I was as sharp as a needle. Always ready, accoutrements clean and shinin'—first at stables, first at roll-call, first in the saddle. An' when the bugle sounded to the assault—why, then, blood and thunder, and ride to the devil with you!! I was as keen as a pointer. Says I to myself: There's no help for it now, my boy, it's got to be done; and I set my mind to it and did it. Till at last the major said before the whole squadron: There's a hussar now that shows you what a hussar should be!
[Silence. He lights his pipe.
ANSORGE
[Shaking his head.] Well, well, well! You had luck with you, Moritz!
[Sits down on the floor, with his willow twigs beside him, and continues mending the basket, which he holds between his legs.
OLD BAUMERT
Let's hope you've brought some of it to us.—Are we to have a drop to drink your health in?
JAEGER
Of course you are, father Baumert. And when this bottle's done, we'll send for more.
[He flings a coin on the table.
ANSORGE
[Open mouthed with amusement.] Oh my! Oh my! What goings on to be sure! Roast meat frizzlin' in the oven! A bottle o' brandy on the table! [He drinks out of the bottle.] Here's to you, Moritz!—Well, well, well!
[The bottle circulates freely after this.
OLD BAUMERT
If we could any way have a bit o' meat on Sundays and holidays, instead o' never seein' the sight of it from year's end to year's end! Now we'll have to wait till another poor little dog finds its way into the house like this one did four weeks gone by—an' that's not likely to happen soon again.
ANSORGE
Have you killed the little dog?
OLD BAUMERT
We had to do that or starve.
ANSORGE
Well, well! That's so!
MOTHER BAUMERT
A nice, kind little beast he was, too!
JAEGER
Are you as keen as ever on roast dog hereabouts?
OLD BAUMERT
Lord, if we could only get enough of it!
MOTHER BAUMERT
A nice little bit o' meat like that does you a lot o' good.
OLD BAUMERT
Have you lost the taste for it, Moritz? Stay with us a bit, and it'll soon come back to you.
ANSORGE
[Sniffing.] Yes, yes! That will be a tasty bite—what a good smell it has!
OLD BAUMERT
[Sniffing.] Fine as spice, you might say.
ANSORGE
Come, then, Moritz, tell us your opinion, you that's been out and seen the world. Is things at all like to improve for us weavers, eh?
JAEGER
They would need to.
ANSORGE
We're in an awful state here. It's not livin' an' it's not dyin'. A man fights to the bitter end, but he's bound to be beat at last—to be left without a roof over his head, you may say without ground under his feet. As long as he can work at the loom he can earn some sort o poor, miserable livin'. But it's many a day since I've been able to get that sort o' job. Now I tries to put a bite into my mouth with this here basket-mak-in'. I sits at it late into the night, and by the time I tumbles into bed I've earned three-halfpence. I puts it to you as knows things, if a man can live on that, when everything's so dear? Nine shillin' goes in one lump for house tax, three shillin' for land tax, nine shillin' for mortgage interest—that makes one pound one. I may reckon my year's earnin' at just double that money, and that leaves me twenty-one shillin' for a whole year's food, an' fire, an' clothes, an' shoes; and I've got to keep up some sort of a place to live in. An' there's odds an' ends. Is it a wonder if I'm behindhand with my interest payments?
OLD BAUMERT
Some one would need to go to Berlin an' tell the King how hard put to it we are.
JAEGER
Little good that would do, father Baumert. There's been plenty written about it in the news-papers. But the rich people, they can turn and twist things round … as cunning as the devil himself.
OLD BAUMERT
[Shaking his head.] To think they've no more sense than that in Berlin.
ANSORGE
And is it really true, Moritz? Is there no law to help us? If a man hasn't been able to scrape together enough to pay his mortgage interest, though he's worked the very skin off his hands, must his house be taken from him? The peasant that's lent the money on it, he wants his rights—what else can you look for from him? But what's to be the end of it all, I don't know.—If I'm put out o' the house … [In a voice choked by tears.] I was born here, and here my father sat at his loom for more than forty year. Many was the time he said to mother: Mother, when I'm gone, keep hold o' the house. I've worked hard for it. Every nail means a night's weavin', every plank a year's dry bread. A man would think that …
JAEGER
They're just as like to take the last bite out of your mouth—that's what they are.
ANSORGE
Well, well, well! I would rather be carried out than have to walk out now in my old days. Who minds dyin'? My father, he was glad to die. At the very end he got frightened, but I crept into bed beside him, an' he quieted down again. Think of it; I was a lad of thirteen then. I was tired and fell asleep beside him—I knew no better—and when I woke he was quite cold.
MOTHER BAUMERT
[After a pause.] Give Ansorge his soup out o' the oven, Bertha.
BERTHA
Here, father Ansorge, it'll do you good.
ANSORGE
[Eating and shedding tears.] Well, well, well!
[OLD BAUMERT has begun to eat the meat out of the saucepan.
MOTHER BAUMERT
Father, father, can't you have patience an' let Bertha serve it up properly?
OLD BAUMERT
[Chewing.] It's two years now since I took the sacrament. I went straight after that an' sold my Sunday coat, an' we bought a good bit o' pork, an' since then never a mouthful of meat has passed my lips till to-night.
JAEGER
We don't need no meat! The manufacturers eats it for us. It's the fat o' the land they lives on. Whoever don't believe that has only to go down to Bielau and Peterswaldau. He'll see fine things there—palace upon palace, with towers and iron railings and plate-glass windows. Who do they all belong to? Why, of course, the manufacturers! No signs of bad times there! Baked and boiled and fried—horses and carriages and governesses—they've money to pay for all that and goodness knows how much more. They're swelled out to burstin' with pride and good livin'.
ANSORGE
Things was different in my young days. Then the manufacturers let the weaver have his share. Now they keeps everything to theirselves. An' would you like to know what's at the bottom of it all? It's that the fine folks nowadays believes neither in God nor devil. What do they care about commandments or punishments? And so they steals our last scrap o' bread, an' leaves us no chance of earnin' the barest living. For it's their fault. If our manufacturers was good men, there would be no bad times for us.
JAEGER
Listen, then, and I'll read you something that will please you. [He takes one or two loose papers from his pocket.] I say, August, run and fetch another quart from the public-house. Eh, boy, do you laugh all day long?
MOTHER BAUMERT
No one knows why, but our August's always happy—grins an' laughs, come what may. Off with you then, quick! [Exit AUGUST with the empty brandy-bottle.] You've got something good now, eh, father?
OLD BAUMERT
[Still chewing; his spirits are rising from the effect of food and drink.] Moritz, you're the very man we want. You can read an' write. You understand the weavin' trade, and you've a heart to feel for the poor weavers' sufferin's. You should stand up for us here.
JAEGER
I'd do that quick enough! There's nothing I'd like better than to give the manufacturers round here a bit of a fright—dogs that they are! I'm an easy-goin' fellow, but let me once get worked up into a real rage, and I'll take Dreissiger in the one hand and Dittrich in the other, and knock their heads together till the sparks fly out o' their eyes.—If we could only arrange all to join together, we'd soon give the manufacturers a proper lesson … we wouldn't need no King an' no Government … all we'd have to do would be to say: We wants this and that, and we don't want the other thing. There would be a change of days then. As soon as they see that there's some pluck in us, they'll cave in. I know the rascals; they're a pack o' cowardly hounds.
MOTHER BAUMERT
There's some truth in what you say. I'm not a bad woman. I've always been the one to say as how there must be rich folks as well as poor. But when things come to such a pass as this …
JAEGER
The devil may take them all, for what I care. It would be no more than they deserves.
[OLD BAUMERT has quietly gone out.
BERTHA
Where's father?
MOTHER BAUMERT
I don't know where he can have gone.
BERTHA
Do you think he's not been able to stomach the meat, with not gettin' none for so long?
MOTHER BAUMERT
[In distress, crying.] There now, there! He's not even able to keep it down when he's got it. Up it comes again, the only bite o' good food as he's tasted this many a day.
Re-enter OLD BAUMERT, crying with rage.
OLD BAUMERT
It's no good! I'm too far gone! Now that I've at last got hold of somethin' with a taste in it, my stomach won't keep it.
[He sits down on the bench by the stove crying.
JAEGER
[With a sudden violent ebullition of rage.] An' yet there's people not far from here, justices they call themselves too, over-fed brutes, that have nothing to do all the year round but invent new ways of wastin' their time. An' these people say that the weavers would be quite well off if only they wasn't so lazy.
ANSORGE
The men as says that are no men at all, they're monsters.
JAEGER
Never mind, father Ansorge; we're makin' the place hot for 'em. Becker and I have been and given Dreissiger a piece of our mind, and before we came away we sang him "Bloody Justice."
ANSORGE
Good Lord! Is that the song?
JAEGER
Yes; I have it here.
ANSORGE
They calls it Dreissiger's song, don't they?
JAEGER
I'll read it to you,
MOTHER BAUMERT
Who wrote it?
JAEGER
That's what nobody knows. Now listen.
[He reads, hesitating like a schoolboy, with incorrect accentuation, but unmistakably strong feeling. Despair, suffering, rage, hatred, thirst for revenge, all find utterance.
The justice to us weavers dealt
Is bloody, cruel, and hateful;
Our life's one torture, long drawn out:
For Lynch law we'd be grateful.
Stretched on the rack day after day,
Hearts sick and bodies aching,
Our heavy sighs their witness bear
To spirit slowly breaking.
[The words of the song make a strong impression on OLD BAUMERT.
Deeply agitated, he struggles against the temptation to interrupt
JAEGER. At last he can keep quiet no longer.
OLD BAUMERT [To his wife, half laughing, half crying, stammering.] Stretched on the rack day after day. Whoever wrote that, mother, wrote the truth. You can bear witness … eh, how does it go? "Our heavy sighs their witness bear" … What's the rest?
JAEGER
"To spirit slowly breaking."
OLD BAUMERT
You know the way we sigh, mother, day and night, sleepin' and wakin'.
[ANSORGE had stopped working, and cowers on the floor, strongly agitated. MOTHER BAUMERT and BERTHA wipe their eyes frequently during the course of the reading.
JAEGER
[Continues to read.]
The Dreissigers true hangmen are,
Servants no whit behind them;
Masters and men with one accord
Set on the poor to grind them.
You villains all, you brood of hell …
OLD BAUMERT
[Trembling with rage, stamping on the floor.] Yes, brood of hell!!!
JAEGER
[Reads.]
You fiends in fashion human,
A curse will fall on all like you,
Who prey on man and woman.
ANSORGE
Yes, yes, a curse upon them!
OLD BAUMERT
[Clenching his fist, threateningly.] You prey on man and woman.
JAEGER
[Reads.]
The suppliant knows he asks in vain,
Vain every word that's spoken.
"If not content, then go and starve—
Our rules cannot be broken."
OLD BAUMERT
What is it? "The suppliant knows he asks in vain"? Every word of it's true … every word … as true as the Bible. He knows he asks in vain.
ANSORGE
Yes, yes! It's all no good.
JAEGER
[Reads.]
Then think of all our woe and want,
O ye who hear this ditty!
Our struggle vain for daily bread
Hard hearts would move to pity.
But pity's what you've never known,
You'd take both skin and clothing,
You cannibals, whose cruel deeds
Fill all good men with loathing.
OLD BAUMERT
[Jumps up, beside himself with excitement.] Both skin and clothing. It's true, it's all true! Here I stands, Robert Baumert, master-weaver of Kaschbach. Who can bring up anything against me?… I've been an honest, hard-workin' man all my life long, an' look at me now! What have I to show for it? Look at me! See what they've made of me! Stretched on the rack day after day, [He holds out his arms.] Feel that! Skin and bone! "You villains all, you brood of hell!!"
[He sinks down on a chair, weeping with rage and despair.
ANSORGE
[Flings his basket from him into a corner, rises, his whole body trembling with rage, gasps.] An' the time's come now for a change, I say. We'll stand it no longer! We'll stand it no longer! Come what may!