That depends on where the suspicion falls.

Ha.s.sENREUTER

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 k.n.o.bbe 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.

Ha.s.sENREUTER

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, n.o.ble 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._

Ha.s.sENREUTER

[_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 sh.e.l.l 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 Rutterbusch, 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 Stra.s.sburg shilly shally about their final decision. After my appointment, which I will secure by G.o.d'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 KaFERSTEIN 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; KaFERSTEIN and KEGEL retire into the library._

Ha.s.sENREUTER

[_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.

_Ha.s.sENREUTER 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. Ha.s.senreuter?

Ha.s.sENREUTER

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.

Ha.s.sENREUTER

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?

Ha.s.sENREUTER

These figures are to represent the cuira.s.siers 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.

Ha.s.sENREUTER

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!

Ha.s.sENREUTER

[_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 h.o.a.rded 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._

Ha.s.sENREUTER

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 G.o.d 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 elite! 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 n.o.ble 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!

Ha.s.sENREUTER

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.