The curtain rises on the the Major, the Burgomaster, Otto, the Secretary and Isabelle.

Mr. Burgomaster, Lieutenant Karl von Schaunberg has been murdered on your premises, in your grounds. One of your gardeners has been arrested near the spot where the crime was committed. We may therefore presume him to be the culprit. In any case, I shall consider him such, until I have proof to the contrary; and that is enough. We must make an example; our safety demands it; and our safety outweighs all other considerations. In war-time, the best form of justice is the promptest. Your gardener, therefore, will be shot at seven o’clock precisely, unless between now and then you hand over the person who, in your opinion, is the criminal. You know the character and disposition of your servants better than I do; and you are therefore better able to discover the malefactor. I have it in my power to command the most terrible reprisals. Any one else, in my place, would have ordered the town to be pillaged and set on fire and sentenced a third or a half of the inhabitants to death. It would have been more regular. Yielding to the wishes of Lieutenant Otto Hilmer, I will be satisfied with a single victim. Let me have no cause to regret my clemency and my moderation.

I repeat what I said to the men who arrested him: it is quite impossible for old Claus, my head-gardener, to have committed the crime. He has been in my service for over forty years; and I can answer for him as I would for myself. He is the gentlest of men, the most patient, the most harmless. The reason why he was found in the little wood where the Lieutenant was killed is that the wood contains a nursery-garden where I myself sent him, this morning, to bud the rose-trees. He had no weapons on him except his pruning-shears and his grafting-knife. Besides, I am convinced that, of all my servants and workmen, Claus is perhaps the only one who has never handled a gun or a revolver in his life.

Mr. Burgomaster, you do not seem to perceive that, by exonerating your head-gardener, you are accusing and condemning yourself. But I will not argue with you; the enquiry is not my affair. Manage it as you please; what I have said I have said. I need a culprit; and that culprit has to be shot at seven o’clock. It shall be whichever of your men you choose to name; it shall be yourself, if you give me no one else. Meanwhile, please consider yourself under arrest in your own house. It is guarded; and any attempt at escape will be pitilessly suppressed. I will let you know at four o’clock the amount of the fine, over and above the war-levy, which the town will have to pay before twelve o’clock to-morrow morning. (Exit.)

This is sheer lunacy! To expect me to name the criminal among my servants, when I know that it is physically impossible for any of them to be guilty! And, if I do not hand him over before this evening, it means delivering myself to the firing-party!... You must admit that this Major of yours, with his “clemency” and his “moderation,” has a very unpleasant sense of humour. I would rather deal with a brute who runs amuck and destroys everything with fire and sword: then at least I should know where I am.

What would you have him do? As things are, he can hardly act differently.

Otto!

But, after all, it’s true! You can see for yourself, we are surrounded by enemies and traitors; we are surrounded by hatred on every side; we live in a perpetual trap; our lives hang by a thread; and every one of us can expect a bullet through his head at any moment. It is only natural that we should protect ourselves, when we are treated like this! I think the Major’s decision most reasonable, most fair, most humane. He had the right, it was almost his duty, in fact, to put the whole town to death; and he is contented with a single victim. Surely you can’t ask that a crime of this sort should remain unpunished! It would be the end of us! Besides, you will easily find the criminal; you have only to confirm the evidence that points to him. The mere fact of his presence in the wood implies so grave a presumption that you will never destroy it, however hard you try. All you have to do is to leave things alone and not interfere. Then, if the Major is wrong, the mistake will be on his head!

I can hardly believe my ears, Otto! The war has altered you completely. You know old Claus as well as I do. You know that, of all men in my employment, he alone most likely is absolutely incapable of an act of this kind. If it were any one else, I might have a doubt, I might say: “Very well, perhaps. In war-time, you can never tell.” But Claus! It’s as much out of the question as though you suggested that the shot had been fired by the child which Isabelle is about to bring into the world!... “A grave presumption!” How dare you say that? You know why the poor fellow was in the nursery-garden: I sent him there myself, when he came to take my orders at six o’clock this morning. If I don’t do all that can be done to prove his innocence, it is as though I myself were commanding the firing-party....

And, if you do prove his innocence, you will be putting yourself in his place, in front of the firing-party.

Very well, I’d rather have it that way!... But surely that isn’t possible.

It won’t be, unless you want it yourself. We have ample time before us. It is almost certain that the real criminal will be discovered between now and this evening.

The real criminal? Do you know where you’ve got to look for him? Among your own men! It is simply one of your soldiers who has taken the opportunity to rid himself of an officer who ill-treated him. You yourself told me, before the Major came in, that Lieutenant von Schaunberg was an insufferable lout and that he was generally hated and loathed.

I dare say; but it’s a far cry from that to murder. In any case, I will myself make enquiries on that side; you, on yours, had better question Claus; he may give us a clue that will prove useful.

I don’t mind, but I don’t expect much: the poor man evidently knows nothing, or he would have told me already. Between ourselves, do you think the Major was speaking seriously? Does he really mean to place me in this awful dilemma and condemn me to death if I refuse to surrender an innocent man?

You stand no chance whatever that way. I have never known him to go back upon a decision which he has once taken. There is no hope of that at all; but there is every hope elsewhere. We will all of us set to work. You begin by questioning Claus; I’ll go and see my men.

And may I go out?

What for?

You can’t expect me to sit quiet while my father’s life is at stake! I want to go into the town, to see people, talk to them, ask them questions, to do something!... Surely our united efforts....

Very well, come with me, I’ll get the permit.

Is Claus there?

He’s under arrest and guarded by my men; I’ll send him to you. (Exit with Isabelle.)

I will leave you also, Mr. Burgomaster. I must go and see the sheriffs and councillors. Perhaps they can take steps or interfere in some way....

Yes, my dear Pierre, go. (Shakes hands with him.) There are bad moments in a man’s life.... But here is Claus. Leave me with him.

(Exit the Secretary. Enter Claus, with his clothes torn and his head covered with bruises and scratches.)

Good-morning, Mr. Burgomaster.

Well, my poor Claus? Why, what have they been doing to you? You’re bleeding at the mouth and forehead.

There’s no great harm done, Mr. Burgomaster. They knocked me about a bit, because I didn’t at once understand what they wanted with me; but there’s no great harm done. Luckily I had on an old shirt and my third-best trousers.

You know what you’re accused of?

Yes, Mr. Burgomaster; I didn’t understand at first, but Mr. Otto has explained.

You and I have worked together for over forty years, my dear old Claus, and neither of us has anything to say against the other. Do you trust me?

Yes, Mr. Burgomaster.

Then tell me all you know. Speak without fear. I give you my word that whatever you say will remain between ourselves.

I don’t know much, Mr. Burgomaster. I was in the nursery-garden where you told me to go this morning; I was trimming the rose-trees. They needed it, Mr. Burgomaster, I can tell you, especially the Paul Nerons, which had suckers as high as that. And the Malmaisons and Marshal Neils are getting the blight, Mr. Burgomaster.

The blight? I’m surprised at that; I didn’t notice any two days ago. How much of the insecticide have we left?

Only a gallon or so, Mr. Burgomaster.

That’s not enough. I’ll order some more to-morrow.... And then what happened?

Then, Mr. Burgomaster, I heard a shot.

From which side? At what distance?

Not very far, Mr. Burgomaster. Perhaps forty or fifty yards from where I was working.

And then?

I went on with my work, Mr. Burgomaster, saying to myself that a shot more or less in war-time was no reason to make me desert my rose-trees. Then I heard shouts; I came out of the nursery, to see what was happening; some German soldiers saw me, fell upon me, shook me, struck me and kept shouting, “Kaput! Kaput!” Then they dragged me to the house; and Mr. Otto rescued me from them and locked me up in the seed-house.

After the shot was fired, did you see no one near you, no one running away under the trees? Did you hear nothing, notice nothing?

As you know, Mr. Burgomaster, there’s a thick hedge all the way round the nursery and you can’t see what happens in the woods.

Now is there any one whom you suspect among the workmen and gardeners? Is there any one who has let himself go at all and who has said things that may put us on the right track? Once more, I give you my word that all this will remain strictly between ourselves.

The young men, Mr. Burgomaster, the hot-headed ones, are gone: they have all joined the army. There’s none left here but old men like you and me, who know that you can’t fight against God’s will and that any show of violence only makes things worse for us.

Well, in the town or outside, don’t you know of some reckless fellow who might have committed the murder?

That’s not so easy to answer, Mr. Burgomaster. But I’ve thought and thought; and, since the young men are gone, there’s no one I can think of.

You’re a Christian, Claus, you’re a religious man; and I’ve always respected you for it. Do you swear that what you have told me is the exact truth and that you are keeping nothing from me?

I swear it, Mr. Burgomaster, as I hope to be saved.

I believe you, my dear old Claus, and there was no need for you to take that oath. But the fact is that all this is very important to me, for my life depends upon it....

Your life? How do you mean, Mr. Burgomaster?

I may as well tell you that, if I declare you to be innocent and if I don’t produce the criminal, it’s I who will be shot in your place this evening.

You, Mr. Burgomaster? Why? You’ve done nothing! It’s impossible; people don’t do such things!

Yes, they do, my dear Claus: it’s what they did at Aerschot, what they’ve done everywhere and what they mean to do here as well. Otto himself told me that nothing could prevent it.

It can’t be possible, Mr. Burgomaster, it would be too unjust!... We shall find the man who did it, or the man himself when he hears, will feel ashamed and will give himself up.... Or else you will be able to escape: Mr. Otto will help you. Something will happen; and I am sure that God will not permit....

He permits plenty of other things, my poor Claus; He is permitting everything to-day. The only thing that will happen is my death; and we may think ourselves lucky if nothing worse happens. You know as I do that escape is quite impossible. Otto might try and help me, as a last resort; but then he would be shot in my place; and that would not be fair either. But all hope is not lost. Otto is at this moment making enquiries among his men; that may lead to something. You, in your turn, must collect our labourers and speak to them. You have great influence with them; they will listen to you. Explain the position to them; and, if one of them knows the guilty man, you must arrange things among yourselves. I do not ask them to betray him or to surrender him. I will not mix myself up in it. They must settle among themselves what is the right thing to do.

I will speak to them, Mr. Burgomaster; and you may be sure that, if the man who did it is one of them, he will do his duty.

Get them to come to the palm-house; say there’s some urgent work to be done because of the damage last night. I will ask Otto to let you come and go freely. Ah, here he is!

(Enter Otto.)

Otto, I have questioned Claus; I told you that he was as innocent as you or I; as I thought, he has no information to give me. Can you take it upon yourself to let him move about freely, so that he may see the gardeners and workmen and make enquiries which may lead to the discovery of the murderer?

By all means; I trust him fully. Come with me, Claus; I’ll give the necessary orders. (Exit with Claus.)

(Taking out his watch and looking at the clock.) Three o’clock. There’s not much time to lose. (Enter Otto.) Well, what have you learnt on your side?

I am feeling a little less uneasy; but everything depends on you. To begin with, Dr. van Cassel, of this town, has made a hurried post-mortem examination. It appears that the bullet entered by the back of the neck, passed through the brain and came out at the forehead. The bullet has not been found. The wound shows that it was of military calibre.

That’s something, at any rate, for it proves that there is no question of a sporting-gun.

Yes, but it may have been a revolver-bullet. Also, I don’t believe it is possible that one of our men committed the crime. At the time when the shot was fired, we had only a hundred and fifty men here, in addition to a dozen Uhlans. The soldiers stacked their rifles in the square and never left the square. Six men, with their arms, were posted in the little yard behind the stables and they never left the yard. These are the men who ran up after the shot was fired. As for the Uhlans, with the exception of two who were on sentry duty outside the house, they were grooming their horses in the stable of the Unicorn Hotel. I have personally examined the arms of those six men. They did not look as if they had been used this morning at all; the barrels were oiled and shiny, they might have just come from the gunsmith’s.

It is easy enough to polish up a rifle-barrel.

Of course; but remember that the Major will never admit that one of his men committed the murder, unless we bring him a concrete and undeniable proof.

So there is nothing more to be hoped for in that direction?

I fear not.

That closes one more door against us. Have you seen the Major since?

Yes; and I came away with a very hopeful feeling. But, once more, everything will depend upon yourself.... First of all, though, here is the proclamation which he handed me for you to sign. I may tell you, it is already in print and will soon be posted in the town.

Show me the proclamation.

I’ll read it to you: “A dastardly attack having been committed on an officer of the German army, if the culprit is not delivered before seven o’clock this evening precisely, the Burgomaster of the town of Stilemonde, being responsible, will be publicly shot at the hour aforesaid. If any other attempt were made, the town will be looted and set on fire; and the tenth man of all the male inhabitants will be put to death.”

He wants me to sign that, does he?

You must. Besides, he has taken your consent for granted, for your signature already appears at the foot of the sheet.

Then it was scarcely worth while asking me to sign it.

It was more regular and more correct.

And suppose I refuse?

You will be no better off; he will do without and will not forgive you for refusing.

What more can he do than shoot me?

You are not the only one whom he can order to be shot.

That’s true. After all, I am only signing my own death-warrant and am wronging nobody. (Signing the paper.) There, that’s done. But wait: what about improving the grammar a bit?

You had better not try. He is persuaded that it is above criticism.

My poor Otto, I believe there’s nothing left for me to do but make my will. It is made; but I should like to revise it and alter a few of the bequests.

Don’t say that and don’t lose courage; you still have several chances of escape.

Really? I don’t see one.

To begin with, there’s this: the Major is so thoroughly convinced of Claus’s guilt that he is quite capable of having him shot together with yourself, if you persist in proclaiming his innocence. He has taken it into his head that you are absolutely determined to save Claus from the punishment which he deserves. In reality, he is not at all keen on having you shot; I could see that; he bears you no ill-will....

That’s very good of him....

But he must have an example at all costs; on this point his mind is fully made up; and I am bound to say that I agree with him. I gathered that, if need be, he will cease to demand that you should declare Claus guilty. It will be enough for you to keep quiet, to make no fuss and not to protest the man’s innocence. You have only to know nothing of what happens.

Indeed? And you, what would you do in my place?

I should not hesitate. After all, as there are two innocent men, why should you, who are unquestionably the more innocent of the two, be the one to suffer? We are at war; war brings strokes of good and bad luck which have nothing in common with the chances of ordinary life. Those upon whom ill-luck falls can only accept their fate. The others are not responsible for an injustice in which they have no more share, in which they take no more part than, let me say, in the injustice of a bridge that breaks down or a factory-chimney that falls to the ground, burying a dozen victims in its ruins.

All this is much too subtle for me. I see and understand one thing only: Claus is innocent. If I do not declare the fact aloud, by your Major’s own decision my silence becomes tantamount to a formal accusation and, to save my own life, I shall be sending a man whom I know to be innocent to face the firing-party. Is there a name for that action in German?

You refuse to understand. Whatever happens, from your point of view an injustice is bound to be committed. The question is who shall be the victim, you or Claus. Why should you die rather than he?

And why he rather than I?

Because he has been appointed by fate, chance, destiny, or whatever you like to call it. You are not responsible for his death; and there is no reason why you should shout, like Nisis, “I, I am here, I did it! Let me die in his stead!” This is not the time and place for theatrical display or inopportune heroism.

You are quite right; and, if, in order to save Claus, I went and said to the Major, “You need look no further, it is I who killed the Lieutenant,” I should, as you say, be making a display of inopportune heroism for which I am not at all fitted. There is nothing of the hero about me; I am just a poor, respectable man, like the other men of this town; like the other men, I fear death; and I am as much attached to life as any one else, indeed perhaps more, for my life hitherto has been happier than I deserved. I should like to end it as calmly as possible, but even so, I want to end it decently. It is all very well for you to say that Claus, innocent as he is, must die because he has been selected by fate and that I am not responsible for what happens to him. But I too am selected by fate! If an unlucky chance brought him on the scene of the murder, a similar and equally unlucky chance has placed me at the head of this town at a moment of terrible responsibility and danger. Our position, looked at from the point of view of ill-luck and of the excuse which you are trying to find in destiny, is absolutely the same. If Claus had in his hands the power which I have in mine, if my life or death depended on his evidence alone and if, knowing me to be innocent, he proclaimed me guilty, you would consider him a monster or the meanest of cowards; yet he would be doing exactly what you wish me to do. He and I are both marked down, to the same extent, by the same fatality and we stand an equal chance; but you are urging me to cheat and to take an unfair advantage against a decent man who cannot protect himself and who trusts me. I should be only too glad to be convinced by what you say, but that is out of the question; and I cannot understand how you yourself do not understand!

Very well, let us drop argument, since you will not listen to reason. Let us admit that the position is the same in both cases; but, as a choice has to be made between two lives, would you consider your own, which is useful and necessary to all, of no more value than that of a poor devil who has no relations, no children, no one to regret him, who does no public service and who will soon be a burden to the community?

Old Claus’s life is worth just as much as mine; and my answer would be the same if, instead of being the respectable, God-fearing man that he is, he were the lowest of scoundrels. It is here a question not of weighing the value or the usefulness of a man’s life, but of knowing whether or not I am to dishonour my own.

You really amaze me! You scarcely seem to be the same man, the wise, prudent person, the man of tact and discretion, who did me the honour to entrust me with his daughter!

I certainly did not realize to what sort of man I was giving her.

I will be fairer and more reasonable than you are; and I do not abandon the hope of saving you in spite of yourself. You have time for reflection; you have three hours before you; and I shall see that you are free to make your choice until the very last minute.

My choice is made. The longer I reflect, the more clearly I shall see that any decent man in my place would do as I am doing and that I cannot do otherwise. (Enter Claus.) But here comes Claus, bringing us news, which perhaps will show how futile all this discussion has been. Well, Claus, what have you heard?

I’ll tell you, Mr. Burgomaster. I called my gardeners into the palm-house. They were all there except old Decoster, who is ill in bed, and the young men who left a fortnight ago. I told them what had happened and what was going to happen. They understood and they were wild with indignation. I saw quite plainly that they knew nothing and could do nothing. And I also know that, if the guilty man was among them, they would have no need to accuse him and to hand him over. He would have handed himself over. They all had tears in their eyes, Mr. Burgomaster, and in their hearts something of which I won’t speak, in Mr. Otto’s presence.

I was sure of it.

And now, Mr. Burgomaster, may I make a suggestion? I will say this in Mr. Otto’s presence, for there is no harm in his repeating it to the Major.

What is it, Claus?

It’s like this, Mr. Burgomaster; I’ve been thinking things over. I’m an old man, I shall be sixty-three by the end of next month. I’m a widower, Mr. Burgomaster, and I have no children. I suffer a good deal; and my life, which is nearly finished, isn’t worth much, Mr. Burgomaster. So I said to myself, Mr. Burgomaster, “Claus, old man, seeing that you were found near the Lieutenant who was killed, it would perhaps be better if you did not say that it wasn’t you who killed him.”

Then you admit that you killed him?

No, Mr. Otto, I can’t admit that I killed him, because I didn’t. I have only to say nothing next time they accuse me. Or else I will ask the Major to have me shot instead of the Burgomaster. The Burgomaster’s life is necessary to everybody here, especially at this time, whereas mine is no longer of much use to anybody.

You see? It’s exactly what I said. There’s no more ground for hesitation. This good man understands his duty and yours better than you do. Claus, old fellow, give me your hand.

(Withdrawing his hand.) No, Mr. Otto, excuse me. I have been digging up the ground and I should soil your white gloves.

I not only want to shake both your hands, though they be covered with earth, but I want to take you in my arms as I would a brother, my dear old Claus. (Clasps him in his arms.) And now let there be no more question of all this. What you propose to do is very beautiful and, coming from you, does not astonish me at all; but it is not practicable. To begin with, I have no right to accept your sacrifice. It is very fine of you to offer it, but it would be mean and hateful of me to accept it. Besides, if I did accept it, unless you formally declared yourself guilty, it is pretty nearly certain that the Major on his side would refuse it. What he wants, in order to make a striking example, is not your life, but mine, or the murderer’s.

I will say anything that I have to, so as to die in your place, Mr. Burgomaster.

(To the Burgomaster.) In that case, the Major will accept; I’ll answer for him. Leave it to me and look upon yourself as saved.

But don’t you see that it’s the same thing as before, that it means handing over an innocent man to execution and that, the more you try to obscure it, the clearer my duty becomes? If I will not permit Claus to die voluntarily in my stead while declaring himself innocent, still less can I allow him to do so by declaring himself guilty, when I know that he is not. That would be committing two mean actions instead of one.

(Trying to drag Claus away.) Come, Claus, we will save him in spite of himself. Come along to the Major.

Claus, stay here. You love me, my dear old Claus: you have just given me the most beautiful and positive proof that one man can give to another. I will ask you for yet another proof, perhaps even more trying; it shall be the last. Promise me that, whatever happens, you will not go to the Major.

Mr. Burgomaster, Mr. Burgomaster, you know what is right better than I do.... (Sobbing.) But I meant it with all my heart, Mr. Burgomaster.

(Embracing him.) Good-bye, my dear Claus.

Good-bye, Mr. Burgomaster.

I can’t understand a syllable of all this. It’s simply a mad craving for martyrdom.

No, my dear fellow, it’s only the way decent folk behave in this country. (A knock at the door.) Come in! (Enter the Footman.) What is it?

Mr. Burgomaster, the Major has sent to ask you and Lieutenant Otto to go with him to the Town-hall.

Of course, I was forgetting the war-levy and the fine. We shall have a tough discussion. I’m reckoning on you, Otto.

I will do my best, but I can’t promise much: the Major seldom allows any one to differ from him.

What’s the time? Past four? And here was I quietly attending to private matters, as though I were all alone in the world! It is time that we were thinking of others.