Scene Fourth
The House of Correction.—A corridor.—Diethelm, Rheinhold, Ruprecht, Helmuth, Gaston and Melchior.
Diethelm.
Here is a twenty pfennig piece!
Rheinhold.
What shall we do with it?
Diethelm.
I will lay it on the floor. Arrange yourselves about it. Who can get it can keep it.
Ruprecht.
Won’t you join us, Melchior?
Melchior.
No, thank you.
Helmuth.
The Joseph!
Gaston.
He can’t do anything else. He is here for recreation.
Melchior.
(To himself.)
It is not wise for me to separate myself from them. They all have an eye on me. I must join them——or the creature goes to the devil——imprisonment drives it to suicide.——If I break my neck, all is well!——If I escape, that is good, too! I can only win. Ruprecht would become my friend. He has acquaintances here.——I had better give him the chapter of Judas’ daughter-in-law, Thamar, of Moab, of Lot and his kindred, of Queen Vashti and of Abishag the Shunammite.——He has the unhappiest physiognomy of the lot of them.
Ruprecht.
I have it!
Helmuth.
I’ll get it yet!
Gaston.
The day after to-morrow, perhaps.
Helmuth.
Right away!——Now!——O God! O God!——
All.
Summa——Summa cum laude!!
Ruprecht.
(Taking the money.)
Many thanks!
Helmuth.
Here, you dog!
Ruprecht.
You swine!
Helmuth.
Gallows bird!
Ruprecht.
(Hits him in the face.)
There! (Runs away.)
Helmuth.
(Running after him.)
I’ll strike you dead!
The Rest of Them.
(Running after.)
Chase him! Chase him! Chase him! Chase him!
Melchior.
(Alone, wandering toward the window.)
The lightning rod runs down there.——One would have to wind a pocket handkerchief about it.——When I think of them the blood always rushes to my head. And Moritz turns my feet to lead.——I’ll go to a newspaper. If they pay me by space I’ll be a free lance!——collect the news of the day——write——locals——ethical——psychophysical——one doesn’t starve so easily nowadays. Public soup houses, Café Temperance——The house is sixty feet high and the cornice is crumbling——They hate me——they hate me because I rob them of liberty. Handle myself as I will, there remain misdemeanors——I dare only hope in the course of the year, gradually——It will be new moon in eight days. To-morrow I’ll grease the hinges. By Sunday evening I must find out somehow who has the key.——Sunday evening, during prayers, a cataleptic fit——I hope to God nobody else will be sick!——Everything seems as clear to me as if it had happened. Over the window-frames I can reach easily—a swing—a clutch—but one must wind a handkerchief about it.——There comes the head inquisitor. (Exit to the left.)
(Dr. Prokrustes enters from the right with a locksmith.)
Dr. Prokrustes.
The window is on the third floor and has stinging nettles planted under it, but what do the degenerates care for stinging nettles!——Last winter one of them got out of the trap door on the roof, and we had the whole trouble of capturing him, bringing him back, and locking him up again——
The Locksmith.
Do you want the grating of wrought iron?
Dr. Prokrustes.
Of wrought iron——riveted so they cannot meddle with it.