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Richard G. Badger, Publishery Bosion






{A mystical tale of the glass-works, in four acts)

By Gerhart Hauptmann
Translated from the German by Mary Harned


Tagliazoni, skilled Italian glass-worker

PiPPA, his daughter

The Manager of the glass-works

Old Huhn, a former glass-blower

Michael Hellriegel, a travelling journeyman

Wann, a mythical personality

Wende, landlord of the tavern at Redwater Glen

The Bar-maid, in the same tavern

Schaedler, ) 1 •

. > master eiass-pamters

Anton, j ^ ^

First, second, third, fourth woodmen

Jonathan, deaf and dumb servant to Wann

Glass-blowers and glass-painters, guests at the tavern

A goitrous player on the ocarina

The scene is laid in the Silesian mountains, in midwinter


The bar-room in old Wende' s tavern at Redwater Glen. To the right
and in the background, doors, the latter leading into the entrance hall. In
the corner, right, the stove of glazed tiles; left, the bar. Very small windows
benches against the walls, ceiling of dark timbers. Three tables to the left,
all occupied. The nearest to the bar is occupied by woodmen. They are
drinking schnaps and beer and smoking pipes. At the second table a little
further forward, are seated better dressed people: the master glass-painters,

*Pippa tanzt. Ein Glashiitten-marchen in 4 akten von Gerhart Hauptmann.
Copyrif^ht 1906 by S. Fischer Verlag.
Copyright 1907 by the Poet Lore Company.


SchaedUr and Anton, a fnv others and an Italian about fifty years of age,
named Tagliazoni\ an msolenf-looking tnan. They are playing cards.
At the table nearest the front of the stage, the Manager of the glass-works
has seated himself; he is a tall, slender, keen-looking man with a small
head, and is about forty years of age. He wears ri ding-boots, trousers, and
jacket. A half bottle of champagne stands in front of him, and a fine, pointed
wine glass filled with the champagne. On the table near them lies a riding-
whip. It is after midnight. Outside, the iveather is bitter cold. A few
lamps spread a meager light. Moonlight penetrates through the windows
into the smoky room. The old landlord fVende and a country bar-maid
senr the guests.

ff'ende {gray haired, with an impassive, serious face, says to the Man-
ager). Another half bottle, sir ?

The Manager. — What else, Wende ? — A whole one! — Has my mare
been well rubbed down ?

Wende. — I saw to it myself. An animal like that deserves good
care; it looked like a white horse it was so covered with foam.

The Manager. — Hard riding!

Wende. — Government horse.

The Manager. — She has good blood in her! Several times she stuck
in the snow up to her belly. Pushed through, every time!

Wende {mildly ironical). — A faithful old customer, our manager.

The Manager {drums on the table, laughs noisily). — It is queer, isn't it .?
A r\vo hour ride through the woods, in January, old fellow — ludicrous
devotion! Are my trout nearly ready .f*

Wende. — A good thing is worth waiting for!

The Manager. — True, true, true! But don't be disagreeable! — Is
it my fault that you are here in this half Bohemian, half German thieves'
den, Wende ?

Wende. — Of course not, sir! At the most it could only be your fault
if I have to get out of here.

The Manager. — You old grumbler, stop talking!

Wende. — Just look out the window there!

The Manager. — I know it all without looking, our old rival factory
all in ruins. One of these days it will be sold for the material in it, just
so that they won't be forever starting up the furnaces again. — What have
you to complain of? Business is very good here! The men come here
anyhow, if it does take them two or three hours, and leave their money
here, heaps of it.

Wende. — How long is the trouble going to last ^ When the glass-works


near here were running their two furnaces, we were sure of eating our
bread in peace — now we are reduced to living like hogs.

The Manager. — Oh, you old sore-head! Go see to it that I get my

{Wende goes away shrugging his shoulders. At the table where the
players are an altercation has arisen.)

Tagliazoni {violently). — Non, signore! non, signore! impossible! I
did put down a gold piece. Non, signore! You are mistaken! Non,
signore —

Master Schaedler. — Hold on there! That's a damned lie!

Tagliazoni. — Non, signore! by Bacco! Thieves! Thieves! Murderers!
I'll kill you!

Master Anton {to Schaedler). — There lies your money!

Master Schaedler {discovers the missing gold piece). — That was lucky
for you, you damned, lousy hedgehog!

The Manager {calling across to the players). — See here, you scoundrels,
when are you going to stop this ?

Master Anton. — When our manager rides home.

The Manager. — By that time very Hkely you'll run behind my nag
naked, for you'll have gambled the shirts off your backs.

Master Anton. — We'll see about that, sir!

The Manager. — This all comes from the count's allowing you to make
such a sinful amount of money. I shall have to cut your wages on piece
work. The more you have, the more you squander!

Master Anton. — The count earns money, the Manager earns money,
and the master-painters have no wish to starve either.

Tagliazoni [has shuffled the cards and now begins a new game. Near
each player lie actual piles of gold). — Enough! Let us begin now.

The Manager. — Where is your daughter today .''

Tagliazoni. — Asleep, signore! Time for her to be, it seems to me.

The Manager. — Of course! Quite right! Yes, yes!

{He IS silent, apparently slightly embarrassed. In the meantime,
fVende himself places the trout before him and directs the bar-maid who brings
in the potatoes and the bottle of champagne at the same time.)

The Manager {with a sigh). — It's abominably dull here at your place
today, Wende. I spend such a lot of money and get nothing for it.

fVende {stops short m his zealous efforts for his guest and says churl-
ishly). — Well, in future you better go elsewhere.

The Manager {turns round and looks through the little window behind
him). — Who's this coming jingling over the snow? — It sounds as if he
were stamping over broken glass.


fVenJt- — Well, there's plenty of broken glass around the old tumble-
down glass-house.

The Manager. — A gigantic shadow! Who can it possibly be ?

Wende {breathes on the window). — Most likely it's Huhn, the old
glass-blower. Another of the ghosts from the old glass-works that can
neither live nor die. — You, with your Sophienau works, have ruined
business here sure enough; why don't you carry this on as a branch estab-
lishment .''

The Manager. — Because there's no profit in it, and it costs a devilish
lot of money. {Continuing to look out of the window.) Thermometer
at zero! Clear! Bright as broad day-light! The heavens so full of
stars they drive you mad! Blue, everything blue! {He turns and bends
over his plate.) Even the trout — Lord, how the little wretches stretch
their mouths!

{A gigantic ?nan enters. He has long, red hair, red, bushy eyebrows
and red beard, and is coveied from top to toe with rags. He puts off his
heavy icooden clogs, stares around with red-rimmed, watery eyes, at the same
time muttering to himself and opening and closing moist, puffy lips.)

The Manager {eating the trout evidently without appetite). — Old
Huhn! He is muttering something to himself. Get old Huhn a good stiff
grog, Wende! — W^ell, w^hy do you keep your eyes fastened on me .''

{Still muttering to himself and staring at the Manager, old Huhn has
pushed himself behind an empty table standing against the right wall between
the stove and the door.)

First Woodman. — He won't believe it, that there's no more work
here in Redwater Glen.

Second Woodman. — They say he often comes round and haunts the
old place over there at all hours of the night alone.

First Woodman. — He makes himself a fire there, in a chilled furnace,
and stands in front of his old furnace door and blows great big glass balls.

Second Woodman. — His lungs are like a pair of bellows. No one else
could ever come up to him at that, I know!

Third Woodman. — What's old Jacob doing, Huhn? That's his way;
he never talks to a human being but he has a jackdaw at home and he talks
to him the whole day long.

The Manager. — Why is the fellow idle, why doesn't he come to us ?
He could have work at the Sophienau furnaces.

First Woodman. — That's too far out in the great world for him.

The Manager. — When you look at the old man and think of Paris,
you don't believe in Paris.


Wende {seats himself modestly at the Manager s table). — Have you been

to Paris again ?

The Manager. — I came back just three days ago. Got some big


Wende. — Well, that was worth while.

The Manager. — Worth while! — You spend money and get some:
only more! — Ever}'thing seems crazy when you get to Paris, Wende:
restaurants all Hghted up! duchesses in gold and silk and Brussels lace!
the ladies of the Palais-Royal! on the tables our glasses, the finest crystal;
things which perhaps a hairy giant like that one made! — Thunderation,
what a sight it is! To see a real slender, deHcate hand Hft one of these
glass flowers, one of these precious ice flowers over the bare bosom to the
hot, painted hps, with passionate glances: — you wonder that the glasses
don't melt away under such a sinful glance.— Your health! {He drinks.)
Your health, Wende! The things that come from our works are not
recognizable there.

The Bar-maid {setting the grog down in front of old Huhn). — Don t

touch it! Hot!

{Old Huhn picks up the glass and gulps down the grog without further


The Manager {noticing this). — Good Lord, preserve us!

{The woodmen burst out laughing.)

First Woodman. — Just pay for another half quart and you can see
him swallow glowing coals.

Second Woodman. — He hits a oeer mug — breaks it to pieces, nibbles
at the broken bits as if they were sugar and swallows them.

Third Woodman. — But you should just see him dance with the litttle
Italian girl when blind Francis plays the ocarina.

The Manager. — Come, Francis, bring out your ocarina! {Calls to
Tagliazoni). Ten lire, if Pippa dances.

Tagliazoni {playing). — It won't go. Impossible, signore padrone.

The Manager. — Twenty lire! — Thirty — } —

Tagliazoni. — No!

Wende. — She is having such a good sleep, sir.

The Manager {without waverings suddenly vehement). — Forty.? —
Do let a little of hell loose for awhile! It's so dull here! What do I come
here for? Not even a lousy Gypsy girl! I'll not set foot again in this
smugglers' nest! {Offering more.) Fifty lire!

Tagliazoni {continues playing, says obstinately over his shoulder).—
No! no! no! no! no! no!


The Manager. — A huiulrod lire!

Tagliazotii {curtly). — A hundred, yes!

[He twists himself around, and skillfully catches a blue banknote which
the Manager tosses to him).

The Manager {losing something of his equanimity). — Has my lioness
had an\thing to eat?

The Bar-maid. — Certainly, sir, the dog has eaten.

The Manager {roughly). — Be quiet.

The Bar-maid. — When you ask a question, I certainly have to

The Manager {curtly, tvith suppressed anger). — Be still, hold your
dirty tongue! — Don't smoke such asafoetida, you pack! — How is the
child to breathe here.

Tagliazoni {has risen and gone to the hall door from which he calls
harshly to the upper part of the house).— Fippzl Pippa! Come down here
right-away! Pippa! Come here! — Come along!

The Manager (rises itidignantly). — Hold your tongue, let her sleep,
you Dago scoundrel!

Tagliazoni. — Pippa!

The Manager. — Keep your money, fellow, and let her sleep! Keep
your money, fellow, I don't want her!

Tagliazoni. — As you wish. Thank you, signore! —

{fVith a fatalistic shrug of the shoulders he takes his place again uncon-
cernedly at the card-table.)

The Manager. — Saddle my horse, Wende! Get the nag out of the

{Pippa appears in the doorway; she leans sleepily and timidly against
the door-post.)

The Manager {notices her and says with some embarrassment). — Here
she is, now! — Pshaw, Pippa, go and have your nap out! — Or haven't
you been asleep ? — Come, wet your lips, moisten your lips, here's some-
thing for you.

{Pippa comes obediently to the table and sips from the glass of cham'

The Manager {holding toward her the richly ornamented glass, from
which he drinks). — Slender convolvulus! Slender convolvulus! It, too,
is a Venetian! — Does it taste good to you, Httle one ? —

Pippa. — Thank you, it is sweet!

The Manager. — Do you want to sleep again, now ?

Pippa. — No.


The Manager. — Are you very cold ?

Pippa. — I am cold here, most of the time.

The Manager. — Make a roaring fire, there! — It does not surprise
me in the least that you are so cold, you delicate, graceful tendril, you!
Come, sit down, put my cloak around you! You must have sprung from
the glass furnaces; at least, I dreamed you had, yesterday.

Pippa. — Brr! I like to sit close to the glass furnaces.

The Manager. — In my dream, you liked best to sit right in them.
You see, I am a foolish fellow! An old ass of a manager, who, instead
of casting up accounts, dreams. When the white-hot glow breaks from
the furnace doors, I often see you before me, quivering salamanderlike
in the glowing. air. Only as the furnace light grows dim, do you slowly

Old Huhn. — I too, have had beautiful dre^s before the furnace

The Manager. — What is that monster mutterlig, now "t

{Pippa turns her little head persistently and looks at the old man, and
at the same time, pushes her heavy, fair, unbound hair over her shoulder
with her right hand.)

Old Huhn. — Shall we dance again, little spirit ^.

The Manager {roughly). — What are you talking about! I no longer
care for the dancing! {Aside, to Pippa.) I am satisfied just to have
you here, charming child!

The Bar-maid {behind the bar, to the inn-keeper). — Now the Manager
is in a good humor again.

Wende. — Well, if he is, what business is it of yours 1

The Manager. — Tired! Go sleep, poor thing! You belong in courts
with the fountains! — And you have to stay in this gin shop. Shall I take
you, just as you are, lift you on my black horse and ride away with you ?

{Pippa shakes her head slowly no.)

The Manager. — So you like it better here .? Well, at any rate, you
are shaking your little head no again. — How long have you been living
in this house .''

Pippa (reflects, stares at him blankly). — I don't know.

The Manager. — And before you came here, where did you live ?

Pippa (reflects, laughs at her ignorance). — It was — Why, haven't
I always been here .''

The Manager. — You? in the midst of dumb and talking tree trunks!

Pippa.— What .?

The Manager. — In this frozen, snow-bound land of barbarians ? —


{Calling across to TogUazoni.) Where did you say her mother came
from ?

Tagliazoni {over his shoiilJrr). — Yes, signore! Pieve di Cadore.

The Manager. — Pieve di Cadore, is that so ? That is on the other
side of the great water-shed.

Tagliazoni {laughing). — We are relatives of the great Tiziano, signore.

The Manager. — Well, little one, then, perhaps we too, are kindred,
for he looks like my uncle, the Commissioner of Woods and Forests. So
you really belong half and half here too; but the wind blows your gold
hair elsewhere!

{A goitrous, tattered little man comes in, playing the ocarina, and plants
himself in the middle of the room. He is greeted with a halloo by the wood-
men who are sitting round one of the tables smoking and drinking schnaps.)

First Woodman. — Huhn must dance!

Second Woodman. — The little one must dance!

Third Woodman. — ^^ If she'll dance, I'll give a nickel toward it.

Fourth Woodman. — Just look what faces Huhn is making!

The Manager. — There's not going to be any dancing, you clod-
hoppers! Do you understand me?

First Woodman. — You wanted it yourself, sir!

The Manager. — The devil take me! Well, now I don't want it!

{Huhn rises to his full height and starts to come out from behind the
table, but never takes his eyes from Pip pa, staring at her feverishly all the

The Manager. — Sit down, Huhn!

Wende {comes forward resolutely and determinedly and seizes Huhns
arm). — Sit down! Not a twitch! — You'll stamp through my floor next
thing. {To the ocarina player). Stop your silly tootling. {Huhn remains
standing, staring stupidly as before. The ocarina is silent.)

{The card players have finished another game. Tagliazoni pockets
a little pile of gold. Master-painter Anton jumps up suddenly and thumps
the table with his fist, so that the gold pieces roll all round the room.)

Master-painter Anton. — There's someone among us who's cheating!

Tagliazoni.— Who .? I .? I ? Tell us! Who .?

Master-painter Anton. — I don't say who it is! I only say someone
is! There's some trickery here.

First Woodman. — Well, any one who plays with these Italians may
expect a little of the black art thrown in.

Master-painter Schaedler. — My money has disappeared, the last
piece of my money is missing.


First Woodman.— Just look out, the lamp's going out in a minute!
He'll probably put up some nice little game on you.

The Manager.— Well, don't let rascals hold the bank!

Tagliazom {scooping in the money unconcernedly, turning half round
to the manager).— Ahro\ The others are rascals, not I. Enough! Let's
go to bed! Pippa, go on! Come along!

Master-painter Anton.— \\hd.t^ Now he wants to go to bed, now,
when he has gotten our money away from us ? You'll stay here! There's
going to be some more playing now!

Tagliazoni.— Oh, very weW. Why not ? Til play with you! As you

wish! As you wish, signori!

{The bar-maid, the inn-keeper, the ocarina player, one of the glass
painters and one of the woodmen pick up the gold pieces from the floor.) _

Second Woodman {at the table).— I won't help look for money m this
place, because later, they're sure to say some of it is missmg.
t -5 {Michael Hellriegel, a travelling journeyman, about twenty-three years
old, enters from the hall; he carries a thin visor cap, and a small knapsack
with a brush buckled on it; his coat as well as his vest and trousers are still
fairly respectable, his shoes, on the contrary, are worn out. The effects of
a long and fatiguing walking tour are plainly shown in the wan and exhausted
looks and movements of the youth. His features are delicate, not common-
place, indeed almost distinguished. On his upper lip there is the soft down
of a first mustache. There is a suggestion of the visionary and also a sug-
gestion of sickliness in the slender figure.)

The Bar-maid.— Oh, Lord, here's a journeyman yet, at this time

of night! Ill

Hellriegel {stands in the circle of light cast by the lamps, blinded by
the biting smoke, winking and looking out feverishly from under his long
lashes; he twists his cap with his hands and makes an effort to conceal how
much his hands and feet ache with the frost).— Is there a night's lodgmg here
for a travelling journeyman ? ...

The Manager.— A queer fellow, Pippa, isn't he? {Humming ironi-
cally.) To those whom God wishes to show great favor, he sends — and
so on. This fellow sings, too, when he has his wits about him. I bethmi
thirteen bottles of champagne, he even has poems of his own in his knapsack!

Pippa {rises mechanically, and with a certain embarrassment, looks
now at the lad, now helplessly at the rest of the men around her; suddenly
she runs up to the Manager).— Vndronal Padrone! the stranger is weeping!

The Manager. — Weak and Hne

Is not in my line!


Mastfr-paititer SchacJlcr {comes over from the cord table and stands
in a military position before tJie^lauager). — I am a man of honor, sir!

The Manager. — Well, what then ? Why do you say that to me now,
after niidnieht, in this Iser mountain tavern ?

Master-pai titer Schaedler {luipes the cold sweat from his forehead). —
I am an irreproachable master-workman.

The Manager. — W^ell, what of it ?

Master-painter Schaedler. — I would like to have some money advanced

The Manager. — Do you think I drag the office safe around with me
in mv riding-coat ?

Master-painter Schaedler. — On your own account! —

The Manager. — On my own account I'll not think of it! I should
only help to ruin you completely.

Master-painter Schaedler. — That dog has fleeced everyone of us.

The Manager. — Why do you play with him .? Have nothing more to
do with the scoundrel.

Master-painter Schaedler.— We'll have something to do with him
later, all right!

The Manager. — You have a wife and children at home —

Master-painter Schaedler. — We all have them, sir, but when the
devil gets loose here —

The Manager. — No! I'll not back you up in any such madness.

{Schaedler shrugs his shoulders and betakes himself to Wende, who is
behind the bar. It is seen that he urges him to advance htm the money,
that Wende refuses for a long time, but finally yields. The purneyman,
in the meanwhile, drinks greedily the hot grog which the bar-maid has put
on the bench in front of him. Now she brings him food, and he eats.)

The Manager (raises his glass and says to the lad). — Well, you belated
swallow! Your health!

{Hellriegel rises, in courteous acknowledgment, his glass in his hand,
drinks and sits down again.)
: The Manager. — Your castle in the air is still pretty far away.

Hellriegel {who is about to sit down, jumps up again). — But I have
the wish to do and perseverance!

The Manager. — And you spit blood!

Hellriegel. — A little doesn't matter!

The Manager. — No. If you only knew what you wished to do. Why
do you constantly start up so strangely, just as if you had felt an electric
shock ?


Hellriegel. — Often I seem to be actually hurled on with impatience.

The Manager. — Like a child in a dark room, eh ? When dear mamma
on the other side of the door is lighting the first candles on the Christmas
tree? Right now, right now! But Rome wasn't built in a day!

Hellriegel. — Everything must be changed. — The whole world!

The Manager. — And first of all, your highness! {To Pippa.) This is
a stupid fellow, child, one of the very clever kind that we used to see only
in preserving glasses! {To Hellriegel.) "And shouldst thou take the
wings of the dawn — " briefly, your journey has its difficulties. {To
Pippa). Gallop, gallop, over stick and stone {he tries to draw her
down on his knees, she resists and looks at Hellriegel. Hellriegel starts up
and grows red in the face).

Hellriegel. — I would like to be permitted a direct remark!

The Manager. — Has something new come into your head ?

Hellriegel. — Not just at this minute.

The Manager. — Well, perhaps confusion will.

{Michael looks at the Manager vacantly and forgets to sit down.)

Wende. — Why not ? for money and fair words. {As the lad looks
round and finds no vacant seat.) Sit on the schnaps keg here, and count
out your money on the stove-bench. If there's anything else you want —
there's room enough there.

First Woodman. — Where are you going so late, journeyman ?

The Manager. — Into the land where milk and honey flow!

Hellriegel {bowing humbly, first to the woodman, then to the Manager). —
I was anxious to get over the mountains into Bohemia.

The Manager. — What is your trade?

Hellriegel. — The art of glass-making.

Second Woodman. — He doesn't seem to be quite right in his head.
To climb over the mountains in such bitter cold weather, and here, where
there is no road and no foot-path ? Does he want to be a snowman over
there, and die miserably trying to be one ?

Wende. — That's his afi^air, it doesn't concern us!

Third Woodman. — You certainly don't come from the mountains,
Johnny ? You can't know anything of the winters here ?

{Hellriegel has listened with modest courtesy; now he hangs up his
cap decorously, takes off his little knapsack and puts it and his stick to one

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