JOHN
We're ready to start. But come quickly, before they gets round to the back door.
MRS. DREISSIGER
[_In a transport of fear, throwing her arms around JOHN'S neck._] John, John, dear, good John! Save us, John. Save my boys! Oh, what is to become of us?
DREISSIGER
Rosa, try to keep your head. Let John go.
JOHN
Yes, yes, ma'am! Don't you be frightened. Our good horses'll soon leave them all behind; an' whoever doesn't get out of the way'll be driven over.
MRS. KITTELHAUS
[_In helpless anxiety._] But my husband ... my husband? But, Mr.
Dreissiger, my husband?
DREISSIGER
He's in safety now, Mrs. Kittelhaus. Don't alarm yourself; he's all right.
MRS. KITTELHAUS
Something dreadful has happened to him. I know it. You needn't try to keep it from me.
DREISSIGER
You mustn't take it to heart--they'll be sorry for it yet. I know exactly whose fault it was. Such an unspeakable, shameful outrage will not go unpunished. A community laying hands on its own pastor and maltreating him--abominable! Mad dogs they are--raging brutes--and they'll be treated as such. [_To his wife who still stands petrified._] Go, Rosa, go quickly! [_Heavy blows at the lower door are heard._] Don't you hear?
They've gone stark mad! [_The clatter of window-panes being smashed on the ground-floor is heard._] They've gone crazy. There's nothing for it but to get away as fast as we can.
[_Cries of_ "Pfeifer, come out!"--"We want Pfeifer!"--"Pfeifer, come out!" _are heard._
MRS. DREISSIGER
Pfeifer, Pfeifer, they want Pfeifer!
PFEIFER
[_Dashes in._] Mr. Dreissiger, there are people at the back gate already, and the house door won't hold much longer. The smith's battering at it like a maniac with a stable pail.
[_The cry sounds louder and clearer_: "Pfeifer! Pfeifer! Pfeifer!
come out!" _MRS. DREISSIGER rushes off as if pursued. MRS. KITTELHAUS follows. PFEIFER listens, and changes colour as he hears what the cry is. A perfect panic of fear seizes him; he weeps, entreats, whimpers, writhes, all at the same moment. He overwhelms DREISSIGER with childish caresses, strokes his cheeks and arms, kisses his hands, and at last, like a drowning man, throws his arms round him and prevents him moving._
PFEIFER
Dear, good, kind Mr. Dreissiger, don't leave me behind. I've always served you faithfully. I've always treated the people well. I couldn't give 'em more wages than the fixed rate. Don't leave me here--they'll do for me! If they finds me, they'll kill me. O God! O God! My wife, my children!
DREISSIGER
[_Making his way out, vainly endeavouring to free himself from PFEIFER'S clutch._] Can't you let me go, fellow? It'll be all right; it'll be all right.
_For a few seconds the room is empty. Windows are shattered in the drawing-room. A loud crash resounds through the house, followed by a roaring_ "Hurrah!" _For an instant there is silence. Then gentle, cautious steps are heard on the stair, then timid, hushed ejaculations_: "To the left!"--"Up with you!"--"Hush!"--"Slow, slow!"--"Don't shove like that!"--"It's a wedding we're goin'
to!"--"Stop that crowdin'!"--"You go first!"--"No, you go!"
_Young weavers and weaver girls appear at the door leading from the hall, not daring to enter, but each trying to shove the other in. In the course of a few moments their timidity is overcome, and the poor, thin, ragged or patched figures, many of them sickly-looking, disperse themselves through DREISSIGER'S room and the drawing-room, first gazing timidly and curiously at everything, then beginning to touch things. Girls sit down on the sofas, whole groups admire themselves in the mirrors, men stand up on chairs, examine the pictures and take them down. There is a steady influx of miserable-looking creatures from the hall._
FIRST OLD WEAVER
[_Entering._] No, no, this is carryin' it too far. They've started smashin' things downstairs. There's no sense nor reason in that. There'll be a bad end to it. No man in his wits would do that. I'll keep clear of such goings on.
_JAEGER, BECKER, WITTIG carrying a wooden pail, BAUMERT, and a number of other old and young weavers, rush in as if in pursuit of something, shouting hoarsely._
JAEGER
Where has he gone?
BECKER
Where's the cruel brute?
BAUMERT
If we can eat grass he may eat sawdust.
WITTIG
We'll hang him when we catch him.
FIRST YOUNG WEAVER
We'll take him by the legs and fling him out at the window, on to the stones. He'll never get up again.
SECOND YOUNG WEAVER
[_Enters._] He's off!
ALL
Who?
SECOND YOUNG WEAVER
Dreissiger.
BECKER