The coming of peace (A family catastrophe) — John Shaqi
The coming of peace (A family catastrophe)Hauptmann, Gerhart
General
The coming of peace (A family catastrophe)
Hauptmann, Gerhart
Christmas plays; German drama -- Translations into English
WILLIAM.
Now you shall—I must force myself to tell you what this—between me and my
father—yes, Ida, I _will_ do it—(_They walk arm in arm._) Just imagine!
I was here on a visit.—No, I can’t begin like that, I must go farther
back. You know before that I had been making my own way for a long time.
I suppose I hadn’t told you that?
IDA.
No—But quietly, only not so much—Don’t excite yourself so, Willy!
WILLIAM.
You see—there again! I am a coward. I’ve never yet dared to tell you what
my life has been. In any case it’s a risk—it’s a risk—even to one’s self.
Ah! well, if I can’t even bring myself to that point, how shall I ever
manage to go up to father?
IDA.
Ah, don’t—don’t torture yourself so! just now, when you have so much to
bear!
WILLIAM.
Ah! you are afraid? You’re afraid of what you may hear?
IDA.
Sh! you must not speak like that.
WILLIAM.
Well then, just picture it. Father spent his life up there. He had always
lived alone till he met mother, and he soon fell back into the old
lonely, fantastic way of life. All of a sudden he descended on us—Robert
and me,—he never troubled his head about Augusta.... Ten solid hours a
day we pored over books; when I look at our prison—even to-day—it was
next his study—you must have seen it?
IDA.
The great room upstairs?
WILLIAM.
Yes, that one. Once we had entered that room, the sun might shine as
brightly as it liked through the windows, it was night for us inside.
Well, then, you see, we used to take refuge with mother; we simply ran
away from him; and then there used to be scenes—mother pulling me by one
arm, father by the other. It came to this, that Friebe had to carry us
upstairs. We defended ourselves: we used to bite his hands. Of course,
nothing was any use; our life only became more unendurable—but we
remained obstinate and—I know now—father began to hate us. We drove him
to such a point that one day he hunted us downstairs; he couldn’t endure
us any more, the very sight of us was hateful to him.
IDA.
But your father—you’ll admit he meant well—he wanted you to learn a great
deal, and so—
WILLIAM.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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