The same room as in the first act. The bed, in which MRS. HENSCHEL lay, is no longer there. The window which it covered is wide open. HANNE, her face toward the window, her sleeves turned up above her elbows, is busy at the washtub.
FRANZ, his shirt-sleeves and trousers also rolled up, his bare feet in wooden pattens, comes in carrying a pail. He has been washing waggons.
FRANZ
[With awkward merriment.] Hanne, I'm comin' to see you! Lord A'mighty! Has you got such a thing as some warm water?
HANNE
[Angrily throwing the piece of linen which she has on the washboard back into the tub and going over to the oven.] You come in here a sight too often!
FRANZ
Is that so? What's wrong, eh?
HANNE
[Pouring hot water into the pail.] Don't stop to ask questions. I got no time.
FRANZ
I'm washin' waggons; I'm not idlin' neither.
HANNE
[Violently.] You're to leave me alone! That's what you're to do! I've told you that more'n once!
FRANZ
What am I doin' to you?
HANNE
You're not to keep runnin' after me!
FRANZ
You've forgotten, maybe, how it is with us?
HANNE
How 'tis with us? No ways; nothin'! You go you way an' I goes mine, an' that's how it is!
FRANZ
That's somethin' bran' new!
HANNE
It's mighty old to me!
FRANZ
That's how it seems.—Hanne, what's come between us!
HANNE
Nothin', nothin'! Only just leave me alone!
FRANZ
Has you anythin' to complain of? I been true to you!
HANNE
Oh, for all I care! That's none o' my business! Carry on with anybody you want to! I got nothin' against it!
FRANZ
Since when has you been feelin' that way?
HANNE
Since the beginnin' o' time!
FRANZ
[Moved and tearful.] Aw, you're just lyin', Hanne!
HANNE
You don't need to start that way at me. 'Twon't do you no good with me! I don't let a feller like you tell me I'm lyin'! An' now I just want you to know how things is. If your skin's that thick that you can't be made to notice nothin' I'll tell you right out to your face: It's all over between us!
FRANZ
D'you really mean that, Hanne?
HANNE
All over—an' I want you to remember that.
FRANZ
I'll remember it all right! [More and more excited and finally weeping more than speaking.] You don't need to think I'm such a fool; I noticed it long before to-day. But I kept thinkin' you'd come to your senses.
HANNE
That's just what I've done.
FRANZ
It's all the way you look at it. I'm a poor devil—that's certain; an' Henschel—he's got a chest full o' money. There's one way, come to think of it, in which maybe you has come to your senses.
HANNE
You start at me with such talk an' it just makes things worse an' worse. That's all.
FRANZ
It's not true, eh? You're not schemin' right on to be Mrs. Henschel? I'm not right, eh?
HANNE
That's my business. That don't concern you. We all has to look out for ourselves.
FRANZ
Well, now, supposin' I was to look out for myself, an' goes to Henschel an' says: Hanne, she promised to marry me; we was agreed, an' so….
HANNE
Try it, that's all I says.
FRANZ
[Almost weeping with pain and rage.] An' I will try it, too! You take care o' yourself an' I'll take care o' myself. If that's the way you're goin' to act, I c'n do the same! [With a sudden change of front.] But I don't want to have nothin' more to do with you! You c'n throw yourself at his head for all I cares! A crittur like you isn't good enough for me!
[Exit hastily.
HANNE
So it worked at last. An' that's all right.
While HANNE continues busy at her washing, WERMELSKIRCH appears in the passage at the rear. He is a man in the fifties; the former actor is unmistakable in him. He wears a thread-bare dressing-gown, embroidered slippers, and smokes a very long pipe.
WERMELSKIRCH
[Having looked in for a while without being noticed by HANNE.] Did you hear him cough?
HANNE
Who?
WERMELSKIRCH
Why, a guest—a patient—has arrived upstairs.
HANNE
'Tis time they began to come. We're in the middle of May.
WERMELSKIRCH
[Slowly crosses the threshold and hums throatily.]
A pulmonary subject I, Tra la la la la, bum bum! It can't last long until I die, Tra la la la la, bum bum!
[HANNE laughs over her washing.] Things like that really do one good. They show that the summer is coming.
HANNE
One swallow don't make no summer, though!
WERMELSKIRCH
[Clears a space for himself on the bench and sits down.] Where is Henschel?
HANNE
Why he went down, to the cemetery to-day.
WERMELSKIRCH
To be sure, it's his wife's birthday. [Pause.] It was a deuce of a blow to him, that's certain.—Tell me, when is he coming back?
HANNE
I don't know why he had to go an' drive there at all. We needs the horses like anything an' he took the new coachman with him too.
WERMELSKIRCH
I tell you, Hanne, anger spoils one's appetite.
HANNE
Well, I can't help bein' angry! He leaves everythin' in a mess. The 'bus is to leave on time! An' the one-horse carriage sticks in the mud out there an' Hauffe can't budge it! The old fellow is as stiff as a goat!
WERMELSKIRCH
Yes, things are beginning to look busy. The chef upstairs starts in to-day. It's beginning to look up in the tap-room too.
HANNE
[With a short derisive laugh.] You don't look, though, as if you had much to do!
WERMELSKIRCH
[Taking no offence.] Oh, that comes later, at eleven o'clock. But then I'm like a locomotive engine!
HANNE
I believe you. There'll be a lot o' smoke. You won't let your pipe get cold whatever happens.
WERMELSKIRCH
[Smiling a little.] You're pleased to be pointed in your remarks—pointed as a needle.—We've got to-day, for our table music, wait now, let me think—: First of all, a bass violin; secondly, two cellos; thirdly, two first violins and two second violins. Three first, two second, three second, two first: I'm getting mixed up now. At all events we have ten men from the public orchestra. What are you laughing at? Do you think I'm fooling you? You'll see for yourself. The bass violin alone will eat enough for ten. There'll be work enough to do!
HANNE
[Laughing heartily.] Of course: the cook'll have a lot to do!
WERMELSKIRCH
[Simply.] My wife, my daughter, the whole of my family—we have to work honestly and hard.—And when the summer is over we've worked ourselves to the bone—for nothing!
HANNE
I don't see what you has to complain of. You've got the best business in the house. Your taproom don't get empty, if it's summer or winter. If I was Siebenhaar upstairs, you'd have to whistle a different tune for me. You wouldn't be gettin' off with no three hundred crowns o' rent. There wouldn't be no use comin' around me with less'n a thousand. An' then you'd be doin' well enough for yourself!
WERMELSKIRCH
[Has arisen and walks about whistling.] Would you like anything else? You frighten me so that my pipe goes out!
GEORGE, a young, alert, neat waiter comes very rapidly down the stairs behind the glass door, carrying a tray with breakfast service. While still behind the door he stops short, opens the door, however, and gazes up and down the passage way.
GEORGE
Confound it all! What's this place here?
HANNE
[Laughing over her tub.] You've lost your way! You has to go back!
GEORGE
It's enough, God knows, to make a feller dizzy, No horse couldn't find his way about this place.
HANNE
You've just taken service here, eh?
GEORGE
Well o' course! I came yesterday. But tell me, ladies an' gentlemen! Nothin' like this has ever happened to me before. I've been in a good many houses but here you has to take along a kind o' mountain guide to find your way.
WERMELSKIRCH
[Exaggerating the waiter's Saxonian accent.] Tell me, are you from Dresden, maybe?
GEORGE
Meissen is my native city.
WERMELSKIRCH
[As before.] Good Lord A'mighty, is that so indeed?
GEORGE
How do I get out of here, tell me that!
HANNE
[Alert, mobile, and coquettish in her way in the waiter's presence.] You has to go back up the stairs. We has no use down here for your swallow tails.
GEORGE
This is the first story, eh? Best part o' the house?
HANNE
You mean the kennels or somethin' like that? We'll show you—that we will! The very best people live down here!
GEORGE
[Intimately and flirtatiously.] Young woman, do you know what? You come along an' show me the way? With you I wouldn't be a bit afraid, no matter where you lead me to. I'd go into the cellar with you or up into the hay loft either.
HANNE
You stay out o' here! You're the right kind you are! We've got enough of your sort without you.
GEORGE
Young woman, do you want me to help with the washin'?
HANNE
No! But if you're aimin' at it exackly, I c'n help you to get along! [Half drawing a piece of linen out of the suds.] Then you'd be lookin' to see where your starched shirt-front went to!
GEORGE
O dear! You're not goin' to mess me up that way, are you? Well, well, that wouldn't do! We'd have to have a talk about that first! That so, young woman? Well, o' course! We'll talk about it—when I has time, later.
[He mounts the stairs and disappears.
WERMELSKIRCH
He won't lose his way very often after this! Siebenhaar will see to it that he gets to know the way from the dining hall to the kitchen.—Hanne, when is Henschel coming back?
HANNE
About noon, I s'pose! D'you want me to give him a message?
WERMELSKIRCH
Tell him—don't forget, now—tell him that I—send him my regards.
HANNE
Such foolishness. I might ha' thought …!
WERMELSKIRCH
[Passing her with a slight bow.] Thoughts are free … I wish you a good morning.
[Exit.
HANNE
[Alone, washing vigorously.] If only Henschel wasn't such a fool!
Above the cellar, outside, the pedlar FABIG, kneeling down, looks in at the window.
FABIG
Good mornin', young woman! How are you? How's everythin'?
HANNE
Who are you anyhow?
FABIG
Why—Fabig, from Quolsdorf. Don't you know me no more? I'm bringin' you a greetin' from your father. An' he wants me to tell you … Or maybe you'd want me to come in?
HANNE
Aw, I know. I believe you. He wants money again. Well, I has none myself.
FABIG
I told him that myself. He wouldn't believe me. Are you all alone, young woman?
HANNE
Why d'you ax?
FABIG
[Lowering his voice.] Well now you see, there's more'n one thing I has on my heart. An', through the window, people might be hearin' it.
HANNE
Oh well, I don't care. You c'n come in! [FABIG disappears from the window.] That that feller had to be comin' to-day …!
[She dries her hands.
FABIG enters. He is a poorly clad, strangely agile, droll pedlar, with a sparse beard, about thirty-six years old.
FABIG
A good mornin' to you, young woman.
HANNE
[Fiercely.] First of all, I'm no young woman but a girl.
FABIG
[With cunning.] Maybe so. But from all I hears you'll be married soon.
HANNE
That's nothin' but a pack o' mean lies—that's what it is.
FABIG
Well, that's what I heard. It's no fault o' mine. People is sayin' it all over; because Mrs. Henschel died …
HANNE
Well, they can talk for all I care. I does my work. That's all that concerns me.
FABIG
That's the best way. I does that way myself. There's little that folks hasn't said about me some time … In Altwasser they says I steals pigeons. A little dog ran after me … o' course, they said I stole it.
HANNE
Well now, if you got anythin' to say to me, go ahead an' don't waste words.
FABIG
Now you see, there you are. That's what I always says too. People talks a good deal more'n they ought to. They has a few rags to sell an' they talks an' talks as if it was an estate. But I'll say just as little as possible. What I wants to tell you about, young woman—now don't fly up: the word just slipped out!—I meant to say: lass—what I wants to tell you about is your daughter.
HANNE
[Violently.] I has no daughter, if you want to know it. The girl that father is takin' care of, is my sister's child.
FABIG
Well now, that's different, that is. We've all been thinkin' the girl was yours. Where is your sister?
HANNE
Who knows where she is? She's not fool enough to tell us. She thinks, thinks she: they c'n have the trouble an' see how they gets along.
FABIG
Well, well, well! There you see again how folks is mistaken. I'd ha' taken any oath … an' not me, not me alone, but all the folks over in Quolsdorf, that you was the mother o' that child.
HANNE
Yes, I knows right well who says that o' me. I could call 'em all by name! They'd all like to make a common wench o' me. But if ever I lays my hands on 'em I'll give 'em somethin' to remember me by.
FABIG
Well, it's a bad business—all of it! Because this is the way it is: the old man, your father, I needn't be tellin' you—things is as they is—he don't hardly get sober. He just drinks in one streak. Well, now that your mother's been dead these two years, he can't leave the little thing—the girl I mean—at home no more. The bit o' house is empty. An' so he drags her around in the pubs, in all kinds o' holes, from one village taproom to the next. If you sees that—it's enough to stir a dumb beast with pity.
HANNE
[With fierce impatience.] Is it my fault that he swills?
FABIG
By no means an' not at all. Nobody c'n keep your old man from doin' his way! 'Tis only on account o' the child, an' it's that makes a body feel sorry. But if that there little one can't be taken away from him an' given in the care o' decent folks, she won't live no ten weeks after this.
HANNE
[Hardening herself.] That don't concern me. I can't take her. I got all I can do to get along!
FABIG
You'd better come over to Quolsdorf some time an' look into it all. That'd be best, too. The little girl … 'tis a purty little thing, with bits o' hands an' feet like that much porcelain, so dainty an' delicate.
HANNE
She's not my child an' she don't concern me.
FABIG
Well, you better come over an' see what's to be done. It's hard for people to see such things goin' on. If a man goes into an inn, in the middle of the night or some time like that—I got to do that, you see, in the way o' business—an' sees her sittin' there with the old man in the midst o' tobacco smoke—I tell you it hurts a body's soul.
HANNE
The innkeepers oughtn't to serve him nothin'. If they was to take a stick an' beat him out o' their places, maybe he'd learn some sense.—A waggon's just come into the yard. Here you got a sixpence. Now you get along an' I'll be thinkin' it all over. I can't do nothin' about it this minute. But if you goes aroun' here in the inns an' talks about it—then it's all over between us.
FABIG
I'll take good care, an' it don't concern me. If it's your child or your sister's child—I'm not goin' to poke my nose in the parish register, nor I'm not goin' to say nothin' neither. But if you want a bit o' good advice,'tis this: Tell Henschel straight out how 'tis. He won't tear your head off by a long way!
HANNE
[With increasing excitement as HENSCHEL'S voice grows more clearly audible.] Oh this here jabberin'! It's enough to drive you crazy.
[Exit into the adjoining room.
HENSCHEL enters slowly and seriously. He wears a black suit, a top hat and white knitted gloves.
HENSCHEL
[Remains standing and looks at FABIG with an expression of slow recollection. Simply and calmly.] Who are you?
FABIG
[Alertly.] I buy rags, waste paper, furniture, cast off clothes, anythin' that happens to be aroun'.
HENSCHEL
[After a long glance, good-naturedly but with decision.] Out with the fellow!
FABIG withdraws with an embarrassed smile.
HENSCHEL
[Takes off his top-hat and wipes his forehead and neck with a manicoloured handkerchief. Thereupon, he places his hat on the table and speaks toward the door of the next room:] Girl, where are you?
HANNE
I'm with Gustel here in the little room.
HENSCHEL
All right. I c'n wait. [He sits down with a sigh that is almost a groan.] Yes, yes, O Lord—a man has his troubles.
HANNE
[Enters busily.] The dinner'll be ready this minute.
HENSCHEL
I can't eat; I'm not hungry.
HANNE
Eatin' and drinkin' keeps body an' soul together. I was once in service with a shepherd, an' he said to us more'n one time: If a body has a heartache or somethin' like that, even if he feels no hunger, 'tis best to eat.
HENSCHEL
Well, cook your dinner an' we'll see.
HANNE
You shouldn't give in to it. Not as much as all that. You got to resign yourself some time.
HENSCHEL
Was that man Horand, the bookbinder, here?
HANNE
Everythin's attended to. He made forty new billheads. There they are on the chest.
HENSCHEL
Then the work an' the worry begins again. Drivin' in to Freiburg mornin' after mornin' an' noon after noon haulin' sick people across the hills.
HANNE
You're doin' too much o' the work yourself. Old Hauffe is too slow by half. I can't help it—if I was you I'd get rid o' him.
HENSCHEL
[Gets up and goes to the window.] I'm sick of it—of the whole haulin' business. It c'n stop for all I care. I got nothin' against it if it does. To-day or to-morrow; it's the same to me. All you got to do is to take the horses to the flayers, to chop up the waggons for kindlin' wood, an' to get a stout, strong bit o' rope for yourself.—I think I'll go up an' see Siebenhaar.
HANNE
I was wantin' to say somethin' to you when I got a chance.
HENSCHEL
Well, what is it, eh?
HANNE
You see, it's not easy for me. No, indeed. [Elaborately tearful.] But my brother—he needs me that bad. [Weeping.] I'll have to leave—that's sure.
HENSCHEL
[In extreme consternation.] You're not right in your mind. Don't start that kind o' business!
HANNE, shedding crocodile tears, holds her apron to her eyes.
HENSCHEL
Well now, look here, lass: you're not goin' to play me that kind of a trick now! That would be fine! Who's goin' to manage the house? Summer's almost with us now an' you want to leave me in the lurch?
HANNE
[With the same gesture.] 'Tis the little one I feels sorry for!
HENSCHEL
If you don't take care of her, who's goin' to?
HANNE
[After a space collecting herself apparently by an effort of the will. Quietly:] It can't be done no different.
HENSCHEL
Everythin' c'n be done in this world. All you needs is to want to do it.—You never said nothin' about it before. An' now, suddenly, you talk about your brother!—Maybe I been offendin' you some way? Don't you feel suited with me no more?
HANNE
There's no end to the gossip that's goin' round.
HENSCHEL
What kind o' gossip?
HANNE
Oh, I don't know. I'd rather be goin out o' the way of it.
HENSCHEL
I'd like to know just what you mean!
HANNE
I does my work an' I takes my pay! An' I won't have nobody say such things o' me. When the wife was still alive I worked all day; now that she's dead, I don't do no different. People c'n say all they wants to; I'm tryin' to make you think I'm fine, an' I want dead people's shoes. I'd rather go into service some other place.
HENSCHEL
[Relieved.] You needn't say no more if that's all it is!
HANNE
[Takes up some piece of work as an excuse for leaving the room.] No, no, I'll go. I can't never stay!
[Exit.
HENSCHEL
[Talking after her.] You c'n let people talk an' not say much yourself. All them tongues has to wag for an occupation. [He takes off his black coat and hangs it up. Sighing.] The pack o' troubles don't get no smaller.
SIEBENHAAR comes in slowly. He carries a decanter full of water and a glass.
SIEBENHAAR
Good morning, Henschel.
HENSCHEL
Good mornin' Mr. Siebenhaar,
SIEBENHAAR
Am I disturbing you?
HENSCHEL
Not a bit; not at all. You're very welcome.
SIEBENHAAR
[Placing the decanter and the glass on the table.] I've got to drink the medicinal spring water again. I'm having that old trouble with my throat. Well, dear me, a man has to die of something!
HENSCHEL
You must just go ahead an' drink the waters. They'll cure you.
SIEBENHAAR
Yes, that's just what I'm doing.
HENSCHEL
An' not from the Mill Spring nor from the Upper Spring. Ours is the best.
SIEBENHAAR
Well now, to change the subject. [Half lost in thought he has been toying with a sprig of ivy. Now he observes this, starts slightly, runs his eyes over the top-hat and HENSCHEL himself and says suddenly:] This was your wife's birthday, wasn't it?
HENSCHEL
She'd ha' been thirty-six years old to-day.
SIEBENHAAR
Is it possible?
HENSCHEL
Oh, yes, yes.
[Pause.]
SIEBENHAAR
Henschel, I'd better leave you alone now. But when it's agreeable to you—to-morrow maybe, I'd like to talk over some business with you.
HENSCHEL
I'd rather you went ahead right now.
SIEBENHAAR
It's about the thousand crowns …
HENSCHEL
Before we says any more, Mr. Siebenhaar. You c'n just keep that money till winter. Why should I be lyin' to you? You see? I don't need the money. I don't care exackly when I gets it; an' that it's safe, I'm satisfied o' that.
SIEBENHAAR
Well, Henschel, in that case I'm very grateful to you. You're doing me a great favour. During the summer I take in money; you know that. Just now it would have been difficult for me.
HENSCHEL
Well, you see, so we c'n agree fine.
[Pause.]
SIEBENHAAR.
[Walking to and fro.] Yes, yes, I sometimes wonder over myself. I grew up in this house. And yet, to-day, if I could but make a decent closing out, I could leave it quite calmly.
HENSCHEL
I wouldn't like to go, I must say. I wouldn't hardly know where to go to.
SIEBENHAAR
Things have moved ahead with you, Henschel. But the same set of conditions that has counted in your favour, has been that against which I've had to struggle to keep my head above water.
HENSCHEL
The shoe pinches one man in this place an' another man in that. Who's goin' to say which is worse off? You see, I got a good, hard blow, too. An' if I'm goin' to recover … well, I don't hardly feel like myself yet.
[Pause.]
SIEBENHAAR
Henschel, there's a time for everything! You'll have to conquer that now. You must go out among people, hear things, see things, drink a glass of beer once in a while, plunge into business, perhaps—somehow, put an end to this sad business. It can't be helped, and so—forward!
HENSCHEL
'Tis just as you say! You're quite right!
SIEBENHAAR
To be sure, your wife was the best, most faithful woman. There's only one opinion about that. But you are in the full current of life, Henschel; you're in your best years; you still have a great deal to do in the world: who knows how much. You needn't forget your wife on that account; on the contrary. And that's entirely out of the question in the case of a man like you. But you must honour her memory in a saner way. This kind of brooding does no good. I've been watching you for a good while and I determined, without saying anything, to make a really strong appeal to you one day. You're letting yourself be actually downed.
HENSCHEL
But what's a man to do against it? You're right—that you are; but times I hardly know what to do! You say: Plunge into business. But there's somethin' lackin' all around. Four eyes sees better'n two; four hands—they c'n do a sight more. Now I got all these coaches here in the summer! An' there's no one to see to things at home! 'Tis not easy, I c'n tell you that.
SIEBENHAAR
I thought that Hanne was quite a capable girl.
HENSCHEL
Well, you see, she's given me notice, too.—'Tis too hard for a man to get along without a wife. Yon can't depend on no one. That's just it; that's just what I says!
SIEBENHAAR
Why don't you marry, Henschel?
HENSCHEL
'Twould be best!—What c'n I do without a wife? A man like me can't get along without one. I was thinking in fact, of goin' upstairs an' askin' the missis if, maybe, she could give me some advice in that direction. She died an' left me alone in the midst of all these worries.—An', also, to tell you the truth, this business of mine's not what it used to be. How long is it goin' to be before the railroad comes here? Well, you see, we'd put by a little, an' we wanted to buy a small inn—maybe in two years or so. Well, that can't be done without a woman neither.
SIEBENHAAR
True. You won't be able to get along this way permanently. You can't remain a widower the rest of your life. If for no other reason but for the child's sake.
HENSCHEL
That's what I always says.
SIEBENHAAR
Of course I have no right to interfere in your affairs. Still, we're old friends. To wait, Henschel, just on account of what people will think—that's sheer nonsense, no more, no less. If you are quite seriously thinking of marrying again, it would be better both for you and for the child if you did it soon. You needn't be overhasty; assuredly not! But if you've quite made up your mind, then—go straight ahead! Why should you hesitate? [After a pause during which HENSCHEL scratches his head.] Have you any one particular in view?
HENSCHEL
—If I got some one in view? That's what you'd like to know? Maybe I has. Only I can't marry her.
SIEBENHAAR
But why not?
HENSCHEL
You know it yourself.
SIEBENHAAR
I? I know it? How's that?
HENSCHEL
All you got to do is a little thinkin'.
SIEBENHAAR
[Shaking his head.] I can't say that I recall at this moment.
HENSCHEL
Didn't I have to go an' promise my wife …
SIEBENHAAR.
———?—Oh, yes!!—You mean the girl—Hanne?—
[Pause.]
HENSCHEL
I been thinkin' an' thinkin'. There's no use in denyin' it. When I wakes up during the night, I can't sleep for a couple o' hours sometimes. I got to be thinkin' of it all the time. I can't get over it any way!—The girl's a good girl. She's a bit young for an old fellow like me, but she c'n work enough for four men. An' she's taken very kindly to Gustel; no mother could do more'n she. An' the girl's got a head on her, that's sure, better'n mine. She c'n do sums better'n I can. She might go an' be a calculator. She knows a bit o' business to the last farthing, even if six weeks have come an' gone since. I believe she could make a fool o' two lawyers.
SIEBENHAAR
Well, if you're so thoroughly convinced of all that …!
HENSCHEL
There wouldn't be no better wife for me! An' yet … an' yet! I can't get over it.
[Pause.]
SIEBENHAAR
I do remember quite dimly now what you mean. It was quite at the end of her life.—But I confess to you quite frankly: I didn't take that matter so very seriously. Your wife was in a very excited condition. And that was caused largely by her illness.—I can't think that that is the main question. The real question must finally be whether Hanne is really suitable for you! She has her advantageous qualities: no doubt about that. There are things about her that I like less. However: who hasn't some faults. People say that she has a child.
HENSCHEL
That she has. I've inquired. Well, even so. I don't care nothin' about that. Was she to wait for me, eh? She didn't know nothin' about me when that happened. She's hot-blooded; all right. That'll come out somehow. When the pears is ripe, they falls to the ground. On that account—no, that don't trouble me none.
SIEBENHAAR
Well, then! The other matter is trivial. Perhaps not trivial exactly. I can well understand how it's taken hold of you. Still, one must get free of it. To be bound by it, in spite of one's saner thought—that's clearly folly, Henschel.
HENSCHEL
I've said that to myself ten times over. You see, my wife she didn't never want anythin' but what was for my best good. I mean, in the days when she was well. She wouldn't want to stand in my way. Wherever she is, maybe, she'd want to see me get along.
SIEBENHAAR
Assuredly.
HENSCHEL
Well, I went out to her grave to-day. The missis had a wreath put there too. I thought to myself I'd better go there, that's what I thought. Maybe she'll be sendin' you some message. Mother, I said in my thoughts, give me a sign. Yes or no! Anyway you answers, that way it'll be! An' I stood, there half an hour.—I prayed, too, an' I put it all to her—just to myself, o' course—about the child an' the inn an' that I don't know what to do in my business—but she didn't give me no sign.
HANNE enters throwing sidelong glances at the two men, but at once going energetically to work. She puts the washbench and tub aside and busies herself at the stove.
SIEBENHAAR
[To HENSCHEL.] God give the dead peace and blessedness. You are a man; you're in the midst of life. Why should you need signs and miracles? We can find our way in this world by depending with fair certainty on our reason. You simply go your way. You're captain on your own ship. Overboard with all these fancies and sickly notions! The more I think of your plan, the more rational it seems to me …
HENSCHEL
Hanne, what do you say about it?
HANNE
I don't know. How c'n I tell what you're talkin' about?
HENSCHEL
You just wait: I'll tell you later.
SIEBENHAAR
Well, good morning, Henschel. I'll see you later. Meanwhile—good luck!
HENSCHEL
I'll hope I'll have it.
SIEBENHAAR
I'm not worried about you. You had a lucky way with you always.
[Exit.
HENSCHEL
Yon shouldn't be sayin' it! 'Tis bad luck.
HANNE
If you spits three times, it'll take the curse off.
[Pause.]
HANNE
I can't help thinkin' as you're too good.
HENSCHEL
What makes you think so?
HANNE
People just robs you: that's what I says.
HENSCHEL
Did you think he wanted somethin' of me?
HANNE
Well, what else? He ought to be ashamed to come beggin' o' poor people.
HENSCHEL
Hanne, you don't know what you're sayin'.
HANNE
I knows well enough.
HENSCHEL
That's what you don't. An' you couldn't know. But some day, later on, you'll come to understand.—Now I'll be goin' to the taproom an' buy me a mug o' beer. It'll be the first time these eight weeks. After that we c'n eat, an' after the dinner then—listen to me—then we might say a word to each other. Then we c'n see how everythin' c'n be straightened out.—Or, maybe, you don't care about it?
HANNE
You was sayin' yourself: We c'n see.
HENSCHEL
An' that's what I says now. We c'n wait.
[Exit.
[Pause.]
HANNE
[Works on undisturbed. When HENSCHEL is out of hearing, she suddenly ceases, scarcely mastering her joyous excitement, she dries her hands and tears off her apron. In involuntary triumph:] I'll show you. Watch out!
