Every Sunday, signalman Thiel sat in the church in Neu-Zittau, except the days on which he had duty, or was ill and was lying in bed. In the course of ten years, he had only been ill twice: the first time was as a result of a piece of coal, which fell the tender of a passing locomotive, and had struck him and had hurled him, with a broken leg, into the ditch alongside the track; the other time was on account of a wine bottle, which flew out of the express train speeding by on to the middle of his chest. Apart from these two accidents, nothing was able to keep him away from the church, so long as he was free.
For the first five years, he had to make his way from Schön-Schornstein, a hamlet on the river Spree, over to Neu-Zittau alone. Then on one beautiful day, he appeared in the company of a frail and ill-looking woman, who, as people said, scarcely suited his herculean figure. And on one beautiful Sunday afternoon, he ceremonially gave his hand to this very same person at the church altar in the life-long bond of marriage. Then for two years, the young, sensitive woman sat at his side in the church-pew; for two years, her hollow-cheeked, delicate face next to his, browned by the weather, looked into the ancient hymn-book. Then suddenly, as before, the signalman sat there alone.
On one of the previous weekdays, the Death-bell had sounded: that was her lot.
On the signalman, so the people assured, one had hardly perceived any changes. The buttons of his clean Sunday-suit were made as shiny as before, and as always, his red hair was well oiled and militarily parted; only that he carried his broad, hairy neck a little lower and that he listened to the sermon more closely or sang more eagerly, than he had previously done. It was a common view that the death of his wife had not upset him considerably, and this view was enforced, when he, after the course of a year, was married for a second time, to a big, strong woman, a dairymaid, from the Alte-Grund.
Also the parish-priest allowed himself to express his misgivings, when Thiel came to announce the wedding.
'So you want to marry again, already?'
'I cannot keep house with a dead woman, Father!'
'Now, of course. But I say, you are hurrying a little.'
'I shall lose my boy, Father.'
Thiel's wife had died in the weeks following child-birth, and the boy, which she had brought into the world, lived and had taken the name of Tobias.
'Ah, the boy,' said the priest, and he made a gesture, which clearly showed that he had now, for the first time, remembered the child.
'That is something else. Where have you been keeping him while you were on duty?'
Thiel now told of how he had given Tobias over to an old woman, who had once nearly allowed him to burn, while on another occasion, he had rolled off her lap on to the floor, without, fortunately, suffering more than a large bump. So he said that this could not go on any longer to the boy, who, weak as he was, needed a totally special kind of nursing. So, because he had promised his dead wife to carry the substantial worry of the welfare of the boy at all times, he decided upon this course of action.
The people definitely had nothing to object to concerning the new couple, who now came every Sunday to the church. The earlier dairymaid seemed as she were made for the signalman. She was hardly half-a-head smaller than him, and she surpassed him in the corpulence of limbs. Also, her face was made as coarsely as his; only that there was a difference with his, in that her face lacked soul.
If Thiel had only wanted in his second wife to have an untiring worker and an exemplary house-keeper, then this wish was surprisingly fulfilled. However, he had taken three things he did not know about in taking this wife: a hard, domineering nature, nagging and a brutal temper. After the course of half a year, it was made known in the hamlet, who ruled the roost in the signalman's small house. One felt sorry for the signalman.
The outraged husbands said that it was lucky for 'the hussy' that she had such a good lamb as Thiel for a husband; if she were to come up against some men, she would get terribly hurt. Such an 'animal' must be tamed, they said, and if things do not go otherwise, then start with the beating. She ought to be thoroughly beaten, so that it really made her sore.
However, Thiel was not the man to give her a beating, despite his wiry arms. That, about which the people got excited, seemed to cause him little worry. He usually let the endless lectures from his wife wash over him, without saying a word, and if he were to answer back, the slow-tempo, as well as the soft, cool sound of his voice was in the most peculiar contrast to the squeaking nagging of his wife. The outside world seemed to be able to affect him little; it was as if he bore something in himself, in which all evil done to him was amply offset with good.
Despite his untiring apathy, there were moments, in which he did not stand for it. It was always so on the occasions which concerned Tobias. Then, his childly-good, submissive nature gained a coat of strength, to which such a fierce temper as that of Lene herself dared not oppose.
However the moments in which he turned out this side of his nature became, with time, more and more rare, and eventually, became lost. A certain suffering resistance, which he had put up against the domineeringness of Lene during the first year, lost itself as well in the second year. He did not go to work any more with the earlier indifference after he had had row with her, if he had not calmed her down before. At the end, he nearly always condescended himself to ask her to be nice to him again. - Not as before was his post in the middle of the Brandenburg pine-forest his most belovŠd abode. The quiet, devoted thoughts of his dead wife were frustrated by those of his living wife. Not reluctantly, as at first, did he make his way back home, after he had earlier counted the hours and minutes until quitting time, but with an impassioned haste.
He, who had been bound with his first wife through a more spiritual love, driven by the power of natural urges into the control of his second wife, became at the end, in almost all things, totally dependent on her. At times he felt guilty about the reversal of things, and he required a number of extraordinary aids, in order to help himself get over this. So he secretly declared the signalman's hut and the stretch of track, which he looked after, in a way, as sacred land, which was said to be dedicated exclusively to the spirit of the dead woman. With the help of all kinds of excuses, he had been successful, up to this time, in keeping his wife from accompanying him to the hut.
He hoped that he could continue to do this. She would not have known in which direction she ought to start out, in order to find his hut, whose number she also did not know.
So Thiel calmed his thoughts in being able to split conscientiously, for himself, the available time between his living and dead wives.
Often, admittedly, especially in his moments of solitary thought, if he had been intimately bound with his dead wife, he saw his present situation in the light of truth, and he felt a revulsion for it.
When he had day duty, his spiritual contact with his dead wife was limited to a collection of belovŠd memories from the time he had spent living with her. However, in the dark, when the snow storms blew through the pines and across the track, in the deep middle of the night, by the light of his lantern, the signalman's hut became a chapel.
A faded photograph of the dead woman lay on the table before him, a hymn-book and a Bible lay open, he alternated between reading and singing through the long night, only interrupted from doing these things at the times when the trains rushed by; and as a result, this turned into an ecstacy, which heightened itself into visions, in which he saw the dead woman personified before him.
But the post, which the signalman had held now, unbroken for ten years, had in its isolation, boosted his mysterious inclination.
The hut stood at least three-quarters of an hour from every settlement in all of the four wind-directions and close by a railway-crossing, whose barriers the signalman also had to operate.
In summer went days, in winter weeks, without a human foot, except those of
the signalman and his colleague, passing the stretch of track. The weather and
the change of the times of the year brought, in their periodical recurrence,
the only changes to this solitude. The events, which, incidentally, had broken
the regular running of Thiel's duty time, apart from the two accidents, were
easy to review. Four years ago, the Kaiser's special train had gone by, which
the Kaiser himself had taken to
A spring, close behind the hut, provided several diversions for the signalman. From time to time, busy railway- and telegraph-workers took a drink here, and naturally, a short conversation would result with him. Also, the forester came here occasionally, in order to quench his thirst.
Tobias developed only slowly: not until the end of his second year of life, did he learn to just speak and to just walk. To his father, he proved a totally special affection. As he became to understand more, the old love of his father was awoken again. In the time as this grew, the love of his step-mother towards Tobias decreased, and was transformed in to an unmistakable dislike, when Lene, after the course of another year, also gave birth to a boy.
From then on, a terrible time began for Tobias. He became, especially in the
absence of his father, incessantly tormented and he had to devote, without the
smallest reward, his weak strength in the services of the small squalling baby,
whereby he became more and more worn out. His head grew to an unusual size; his
fire-red hair and his chalky-white face, in conjunction with his remaining
wretched figure, made an unsightly, pitiable impression. In such a way,
whenever the backward Tobias dragged himself down to the
signalman
Hauptmann uses several words throughout the book to describe Thiel. For
continuity, 'signalman' is preserved throughout. The Bahnwärter, or signalman,
was in the lowest-paid group of workers in the German Railways, as organised
before the Second World War.
Neu-Zittau
Neu-Zittau is a real village about 50km south-east of
ditch alongside the track
Alongside many railway-tracks, of which this is one, there is a ditch, into
which water can flow, collect and disperse to prevent it flooding the line, and
undermining its structure.
Schön-Schornstein
This is the hamlet near Neu-Zittau where Thiel lived.
Spree
The Spree is a slow-moving river which flows through the forests around
her lot
This is direct translation, which has no equivalent idiomatic meaning in
English.
Alte-Grund
This is an agricultural area near to Neu-Zittau.
parish-priest
The clergyman is no doubt Protestant. Although 'priest' is a general term
for a member of the clergy, it is very often associated with a Catholic. Here,
'priest' makes for a better translation.
Father
Although 'Father' would be the preferred form of address to a Catholic
priest, here 'Father' makes for a batter translation.
hussy
This is a direct translation from the German. The more modern translation
of the word would be 'slut'. It is a characteristic of Novellen to allow the
author some way of expressing his personal feelings towards a character. In
this Novelle, Hauptmann perhaps uses the feelings of the villagers to echo his
thoughts.
nearly always
The German uses 'not seldom', which is best translated as 'nearly always'.
Brandenburg
The German adjective for this is 'märkisch'.
their
'Their' refers to the original owners of the bottle of wine.
spring
The German word used is 'Brunnen', which has several meanings, the most
likely of which is 'spring'. A favoured alternative would be 'well', but taking
its isolation into account, this is unlikely.
On one June morning towards seven o'clock, Thiel arrived back from his duty.
His wife had not so soon as finished her greeting, when she began to complain
in her usual manner. The lease on the field, which had, up to this time,
provided the family with its potato requirement, had been terminated weeks ago,
and Lene had not yet succeeded in finding a replacement. Even though the care
of the field was part her responsibilities, Thiel had to hear about this once
again, that no-one, except he, would be to blame, if this year, they had to buy
ten sacks of potatoes for a considerable sum of money. Thiel only muttered and
he took himself immediately off to the bed of his eldest son, which he shared
with him in the nights while he was on duty, paying little attention to Lene's
speech. Here, he stooped and watched the sleeping child with an anxious
expression on his good face, whom he eventually woke, after he had, for a
while, kept the troublesome flies away from him. In the blue, deep-lying eyes
of the awaking boy a touching peace reflected itself. He hastily reached out
for his father's hand, while he shaped the corner of his mouth into a pitiful
smile. The signalman helped him to get dressed into the small pieces of
clothing, when something, like a shadow, suddenly ran through his mind, as he
noticed that on the right-hand, slightly-swollen side of the child's back, a
few finger marks standing out, white on red.
When Lene came back at breakfast, with increased enthusiasm concerning the aforementioned
housekeeping matter, Thiel cut her words with the news that the railway-inspector had let him have a piece
of land along-side the railway-track right next to the signalman's hut, for
nothing, supposedly because it was too remote for him, the railway-inspector.
At first, Lene did not want to believe this. However, little by little, her
doubts went away, and now she changed into a noticeably good mood. Her
questions about the size and quality of the field became really mixed up with
others, and when she found out that in addition at this place were two dwarf
fruit-trees, she became totally crazy! When she had no-more questions left to
ask, and had mercilessly rung the door-bell of the grocer's shop, which,
incidentally, could be heard in every house in the hamlet, she rushed out, in
order to spread the news in the small hamlet.
While Lene was in the grocer's dark room, packed with goods, the signalman
occupied himself at home with Tobias. The boy sat on his knee and played with a
single pine-cone, which Thiel had brought out of the forest with him.
'What do you want to be?' his father asked him; and this question was as stereotypical
as the boy's answer: 'A railway-inspector.' There was no question, that with
God's help, something extraordinary ought to come out of Tobias, for the dreams
of the signalman aspired in such heights, and he harboured the wish and the
hope, in all seriousness. As soon as the answer, 'a railway-inspector', came
from the bloodless lips of the small boy, who naturally did not know what that
was to mean, Thiel's face began to lighten up, until it really shone with an
inner bliss.
'Go Tobias, go and play!' he said abruptly, while he lit his pipe with a
lighted spill from the cooking-stove, and the small boy took himself directly
out towards the door with a cautious joy. Thiel undressed and went to bed and
fell asleep, after he had stared, for some considerable time, full of thought,
at the low, cracked ceiling. Towards twelve o'clock midday, he woke up, dressed
himself, and went outside into the street, while his wife was preparing lunch
in her noisy manner, where he immediately picked up little Tobias, who was
scratching chalk out of a hole in the wall and putting it into his mouth. The
signalman took him by the hand and went with him past about eight houses in the
hamlet, down to the
The entire hamlet was used to seeing him here in this place, if the weather
was at all tolerable. The children especially, hung around him and called him
'father Thiel' and were taught, in particular, a number of games, which he
remembered from his childhood. The best of his memories, however, he kept for
Tobias. He cut for him a reed-dart, which flew higher than all of those of the
other boys. He cut for him a small willow-pipe and even allowed himself to be
persuaded to sing the magic formula, in
his rusty bass voice, while he tapped the bark softly with the horn-handle of
his pocket knife.
The people were not at all pleased by his childish tricks; it seemed
incomprehensible to them that he was able to spend so much time with the snotty-nosed children. However, they
allowed him to be content for the reason that the children were well-looked
after in his care. Moreover, Thiel also instructed them in more serious things:
he went through the older ones' school work, helped them to learn hymn and
Bible verses and he spelt with the younger ones: F-R-O-M - from; Y-O-U - you,
and so on.
After lunch, the signalman laid himself down once more for a short rest.
After it was over, he drank his afternoon coffee and immediately began to
prepare for going on duty. He need a lot of time to do all of his preparations;
each movement had been worked out for many years; the carefully laid out
objects on the small, walnut chest-of-drawers were always put into his clothes'
pockets in the same sequence: knife, note-book, comb, a horse's tooth and the
old, cased watch. A small book, wrapped in red paper, was handled with special
care. During the night, it had lain under the signalman's pillow and was,
during the day, always carried around in the breast pocket of his work clothes.
On the label, under the wrapping, in awkward, but ornamental, lettering, was
written by Thiel's hand, 'Savings book of Tobias Thiel.'
The wall-clock with the long pendulum and the yellow face showed a
quarter-to-five, when Thiel set off. A small rowing-boat, his property, took
him across the river. On the far bank of the
Terrible weather, thought Thiel, when he awoke from deep thought and looked
up.
Suddenly, however, his thoughts took another direction. He vaguely felt that
he had left something at home, and after searching through his pockets, he was
missing his sandwiches, which he was always obliged to take for halfway through
the long duty-time. Hesitantly, he stood there for a while, then suddenly, he
turned around, and hurried back in the direction of the village.
After a short-time, he had reached the
Of the inhabitants of the small hamlet, about twenty fishermen and
forest-workers with their families, nothing was to be seen.
The sound of a screeching voice broke the silence, so loud and shrill that
the signalman paused involuntary in his running. A wave of violently
forced-out, discordant sounds struck his ears, which seemed to be coming out of
the open gabel-window of a house close by, which he knew only too well.
Making the noise of his footsteps as quiet as possible, he crept nearer and
distinguished rather clearly the voice of his wife. Only a few more steps
further, and he was able to understand most of her words.
'What, you merciless, heartless scoundrel! Should the miserable worm cry out
its belly from hunger? - What? Eh? Wait, just wait, I'll teach you a lesson -
I'll give you something to remember!' For a few moments it was quiet; then a
noise could be heard, like if pieces of clothing were being hit. Directly
afterwards, a new storm of abusive words vented itself.
'You detestable, little idiot!' rang out in the quickest tempo. 'Do you mean
that I ought to leave my own child to hunger, because of such a miserable
wretch like you?' she shouted, as a
soft-wimpering became audible, 'Or I'll give you a beating that you won't
forget for a week.'
The wimpering did not fall silent.
The signalman felt his heart beating heavily and irregularly. He began to
shake slightly. His glance hung, as if absent, firmly on the ground, and his
clumsy, hard hand several times pushed a tuft of wet hair to the side, which
each time fell back over his freckled brow.
For a moment, something threatened to over-power him. It was a cramp, which
made his muscles swell and the fingers of his hand clench into a fist. It
abated and a dull weariness remained.
The signalman trod with unsure footsteps into the narrow tiled hallway.
Wearily and slowly, he climbed the creaking wooden stairs.
'Shame, shame, shame!' she began again,
and in the process one could hear how someone spewed this out, three times in
succession, with all signs of rage and contempt. 'You detestable, vile,
deceiptful, malicious, cowardly, nasty lout!' The words followed each other in
a rising tone and her voice, which she was forcing out, broke now and again
from the strain. 'What, you want to hit my boy? You miserable brat, you have
the impudence to hit the helpless child on the mouth? - What? - Eh, what? I do
not want to dirty myself on you, however...'
At this moment, Thiel opened the living-room door, as the end of the started
sentence stuck in the startled woman's throat. She was as white as chalk with
anger; her lips twitched violently; she raised up her right-hand, she lowered
it, and reached out for the milk jug, from which she tried to fill a baby's
bottle. However, she left this task half finished, since the greater part of
the milk ran over the neck of the bottle on to the table. Completely beside
herself through rage, she reached in one moment for this thing, in the next
moment for that thing, unable to hold on to it for longer than a few seconds;
and finally, she plucked up enough courage to scold her husband violently. What
did it mean, that he had come home at such an unusual time; he would not at all
want to keep an eye on her; 'That would be still the last straw!' she said, and straight
afterwards, she had a clear conscience and she needed to lower her eyes before
no-one.
Thiel heard little of what she said. He cast a fleeting glance over the
small, howling Tobias. For a moment, it seemed as if he had to forcibly hold
back something terrible, which aroused in him; then the old apathy suddenly
laid itself over his tense expression, strangely revived by a furtive, longing
gleam in his eyes.
For a seconds, he glanced over the powerful limbs of his wife, who, busying
about with her face turned away, still sought self-control. Her full,
half-naked breasts swelled themselves from rage and threatened to spring from
her bodice, and her tucked-up skirt
appeared to make her broad hips still broader. A power seemed to come from the
woman, unconquerable, inescapable, to which Thiel did not feel himself to be a
match.
Like a fine spider's web, and just like a net of iron, it easily laid itself
around him, binding, surmounting, enervating. In this condition, he would not
have been able to direct any word at her, at the very least a harsh one. And so
Tobias, who was bathed in tears, crouched, frightened, in a corner, had to
watch how his father, without turning around to him again, took his forgotten
sandwiches from the oven shelf, holding them out to the mother as the only
sign, and with a short, distracted shake of the head, he immediately
disappeared again.
railway-inspector
The railway-inspector or Bahnmeister was an official of fairly high rank in
the railway system and was fairly well paid compared to the signalmen such as
Thiel.
magic formula
It was tradition to sing such a song while making these pipes.
snotty-nosed
This is a direct translation from the German.
timber forest
The pine forests in the surrounding of Neu-Zittau were used extensively for
timber production. See note on '
young wood
This was an area of land on which saplings had been planted to replace
those trees which were cut down.
she shouted
The German in fact does not refer to Lene herself, but to the words being
shouted. In translation, it is less clumsy to refer to the speaker.
she began again
See note above on 'she shouted'.
last straw
The German literally says 'that would be the last'. This is best translated
idiomatically as '...last straw'. Compare this use of 'das Letzte' here with
the 'das ganze', used in chapter 1 - see note above on 'her lot'.
tucked-up skirt
It was the fashion in such times for women to wear several layers of skirt.
Through anger, Lene's layers of skirt have ridden up around her hips, making
them seem broader.
Although Thiel made his way back to his forest solitude with the greatest
possible haste, he arrived, however, fifteen minutes later than the official
time at the place of his work.
His colleague, with whom he shared the duty, a man who had tuberculosis as a
result of the quick, unavoidable temperature changes on his duty, was already
standing, ready to go, on the small, sandy platform of the little hut, whose
big number, black on white, shone for a long way through the trees.
The two men shook hands, exchanged a few, short pieces of information, and
parted. One of them disappeared into the hut, the other went across the track,
taking the continuation of the path, which Thiel had used. One heard his
convulsive cough, first near by, then further away through the trees, and with
this, the only human noise in this solitude went silent. So Thiel began today,
as always, with arranging things, for the night, in his way, in the narrow,
square stone cage of the signalman's hut. He did this mechanically, while his
mind was pre-occupied with the impression of the last few hours. He placed his
supper on the narrow, brown, painted table by one of the two slit-like
side-windows, from which one could comfortably see across the track. Then he
lit a fire in the small, rusty stove and placed a pot of cold-water on it.
Finally, after he had put the tools in order: shovel, spade, vice, etc., he
began with the cleaning of his lantern, which he filled immediately afterwards
with fresh paraffin.
When this had been done, the bell announced, with three shrill strikes,
which repeated itself, that a train from in the direction of
He had finished his work, and he now leant, waiting, against the black and white barrier-post.
The track cut right and left in a straight line into the boundless, green
forest, and to both sides, the mass of needles held back, as it were, leaving a
lane free between them, which the reddish-brown, gravel-strewn railway
embankment filled out. The black, parallel-running lines on this glistened in
their entirety like a monstrous, iron meshing of a net, whose narrow strands
came together at the extremes of North and South at a point on the horizon.
The wind had got up and blew soft waves down along the edge of the forest
and into the distance. From the telegraph poles, which ran alongside the track,
a buzzing harmony sounded. On the wires, which entwined themselves like a web
of a giant spider from pole to pole, flocks of twittering birds huddled
together in close rows. A woodpecker, laughing, flew away over Thiel's head, at
which he did not even deign to give a glance.
The sun, which hung just under the edges of the mighty clouds, before
sinking into the black-green sea of tree-tops, poured streams of crimson over
the forest. The pillared arcade of the trunks of the pine trees on that side of
the embankment themselves lit up, as it were, from the inside, and glowed like
iron.
Also the lines began to glow, like fiery snakes; however, they went out
first of all. And now the glow climbed slowly from the ground into the sky;
leaving behind, in cold fading light, first of all, the trunks of the pine
trees, then the largest part of their crowns, and finally, only touching the
extreme edge of the tree-tops with a red shimmer. Silently and solemnly, this
was carried out like an exalted play. The signalman still stood motionless at
the barrier. Finally he took a step forward. A dark point on the horizon, there
where the lines met each other, grew bigger. Growing from second to second, it
seemed as if it stood in once place. Suddenly, it had movement and got nearer.
Through the lines went a vibration and a buzzing, a rhythmical clicking, a
muffled noise, which becoming louder and louder, and finally was not dissimilar
to the hoof-beats of a roaring, approaching squadron of cavalry.
A panting and roaring filled the air in fits and starts from the distance.
Then, suddenly, the silence was ripped apart. A racing thundering and raging
filled the air, the lines bent, the earth shook - a strong thrust of air - a
cloud of dust, steam and smoke, and the black, snorting monster went by. And as
it had grown, so the noise died away, little by little. The dust went away.
Shrunken to a point, the train disappeared in the distance, and the old, holy
silence came over this corner of the forest.
'Minna,' whispered the signalman, as if he woke from a dream, and he went
back to his hut. After he had brewed himself a weak coffee, he sat down and
stared, from time to time taking a sip, at a dirty piece of newspaper, which he
had picked up from somewhere on the track.
Little by little, a rare uneasiness came over him. He pushed the piece of newspaper on to the stove's glowing
embers, whose light filled the room, and he tore off his jacket and waistcoat,
in order to lighten himself. Since that did not help, he got up, took a spade
out of the corner and took himself off to the field, which had been given to
him.
It was a narrow sandy strip, densely overgrown with weeds. Like a snow-white
foam, the young blossom lay on the branches of the two dwarf fruit-trees, which
stood here.
Thiel became calm, and a quiet pleasure came over him.
Now, to work.
The spade cut into the ground, grinding; the wet clods of earth fell back
with a thud, and broke apart.
For a time he dug without interruption. Then he paused suddenly and said
loudly and audibly to himself, while he shook his head back and forth,
anxiously, 'No, no, that really cannot be', and again, 'No, no, that really
cannot be.'
It suddenly occurred to him, that now Lene would indeed have to come out
here often, in order to attend to the field, through which then the traditional
way of life would be put into serious disturbance. And suddenly, his joy of
having the field turned into a revulsion. Hastily, as if he had it in mind to
do something terrible, he tore the spade out of the ground and carried it back
to the hut. Here, once again, he sunk into deep thought. He knew little of why,
but the prospect of having Lene with him on duty for whole days long, became
for him, as so he very much tried to reconcile this, even more intolerable. It
seemed to him, as if he had something of value to defend, as if someone were
trying to encroach upon that which was most sacred to him; and his muscles
tensed themselves involuntarily in a light cramp, while a short, forced laugh
came from his lips. He was shocked by the echo of this laugh, he looked up, and
then, he lost the thread of his thoughts. As he found it again, he burrowed
back, as it were, into his old condition.
And suddenly, something like a thick, black curtain tore into two pieces,
and his fogged-over eyes gained a clear view. He felt for the first time, as if
he had awoken from a two-year-long death-like sleep, and he now looked at all
the hair-raising things with an unbelieving shake of the head, which he ought
to have done in this condition. The sorry story of his eldest son, which only
the impression of the last few hours had been able to seal, carried itself
clearly before his soul. Compassion and remorse seized him, just like a deep
shame, that he had lived with the whole time in a humiliating toleration,
without taking care of the dear, helpless creature, not finding the strength to
admit to himself how he suffered.
Through all of his self-tormenting ideas, of all of his sins of omission, in
a heavy tiredness, came over him, and so he fell asleep with his back arched,
his forehead on his hand, which lay on the table.
For a time, he lay like this, when, in a muffled voice, he called the name
of Minna several times.
A roaring and buzzing filled his ears, like an immense mass of water; it
became dark around him, he opened his eyes and awoke. His limbs shook, a cold
sweat from fear came through all his pores, his pulse was irregular, his face
was wet from tears.
It was pitch-dark. He wanted to look over to the door, but he did not know
in which way he ought to turn. Staggering, he got up, his great anxiety
persisted still. The forest outside was roaring like a surging sea, the wind
threw hail and rail against the windows of the hut. Thiel aimlessly felt around
with his hands. For a moment, he felt as if he were a drowning man. Then
suddenly, a blue, dazzling light shone, like when drops of unearthly light fade away into the earth's
dark atmosphere, and become instantly smothered by it.
This moment was enough for the signalman to bring himself together. He
reached for his lantern, which, fortunately, he caught hold of, and at this moment
it began to thunder on the furthest edge of the
The panes clattered, the ground quaked.
Thiel made light. His first glance, after he regained his composure, was for
his watch. There was hardly five minutes between now and the arrival of the express-train.
Since he thought that he had not heard the signal-bell, he took himself, as
quickly as the storm and the darkness would allow, to the barrier. While he
occupied himself closing the barrier, the signal-bell rang. The wind tore its
sound apart and threw it in all directions. The pine-trees bent and their
branches rubbed against each other, eerily creaking and squeaking. For a moment
the moon became visible, as it lay just like a pale-yellow shawl between the
clouds. In its light, one saw the wind burrowing into the black crowns of the
pine-trees. The hanging leaves of the birch-trees on the railway embankment
blew and flapped like ghostly horses' tails. Down below lay the lines of the
track, which glistening from the wet, and absorbed the pale moonlight in
various places.
Thiel tore the cap from his head. The rain made him feel comfortable as it
ran, mixing with the tears, over his face. His brain brewed; unclear memories
of that which he had seen in the dream dispelled each other. It seemed to him
as if Tobias were being ill-treated by someone, and indeed in such an horrific
manner, that his heart stood still at the thoughts. One of the other scenes, he
remembered more clearly. He had seen his dead wife. She had come from somewhere
out of the distance on one of the railway-lines. She had looked really ill, and
instead of clothes, she wore rags. She had gone past Thiel's hut without
looking at it, and finally - here the remembrances became unclear - she had,
for some reason or other, only moved forward with great difficulty, and she had
even collapsed several times.
Thiel thought further, and now he knew, that she was in flight. It was now
without all doubt as to why she had sent back these anxiety-filled glances and
had dragged herself further on, although her feet were failing her. Oh these
terrible glances!
But there was something that she was carrying with her, wrapped in cloth,
something limp, bloody, pale, and the way in which she looked down at it,
reminded him of past events.
He thought about his dying wife, who had just given birth to a child, whom
she had to leave behind, looking steadily with an expression, which Thiel could
just as little forget, as that of he had a mother
and a father.
Where had she come from? He did not know that. But now it was clear before
his soul: she had rejected him in not looking at him; she had dragged herself
further and further away through the stormy, dark night. He had shouted to her,
'Minna, Minna!' and he was awoken by this.
Two red, round lights penetrated the darkness like the goggle-eyes of a huge monster. A blood-coloured glow went
before them, which turned the raindrops in its area into drops of blood. It was
as if blood were raining down from heaven.
Thiel felt a horror, and as the train came ever nearer, an ever so large a
fear; dream and reality for him melted into one. Still he saw the wandering
woman on the rails, and his hand felt for the ammunition pouch, as if he had
the intention of bringing the speeding train to a halt. Fortunately, it was too
late, for already the lights shimmered before Thiel's eyes, and the train
roared by.
For the remaining part of the night, Thiel found little peace in his work.
He felt urged to be at home. He longed to see little Tobias again. He felt as
if he had been separated from him for years. Finally, he had, several times,
through increasing worry about the condition of the boy, tried to leave his
duty.
In order to pass the time, Thiel decided, as soon as it became light, to
inspect his stretch of track. In his left hand a stick, in his right hand a
long, iron spanner, he went out then also straightaway into the dark-grey
dawn-light on to the back of a rail.
Now and again he tightened a bolt with the spanner or hit one of the round
iron bars, which the lines bound together under one another.
The rain and wind had gone, and between the tattered strips of cloud, a few
pieces of a pale blue sky could be seen.
The monotonous knocking of his soles on the hard metal, together with the
sleepy noise of the dripping trees, little by little, calmed Thiel down.
At six o'clock in the morning, he was relieved and started on the path for
home without delay.
It was a lovely Sunday morning.
The clouds had parted and had sunken half-way below the circle of the
horizon. The sun poured, in its ascent, sparkling like a huge, blood-red jewel,
a pure sheet of light over the forest.
In sharp lines, the bundles of rays shot through the maze of the trunks,
here an island of soft bracken, whose frond of finely worked lace glistened,
covered faintly with a glow, there the silver-grey lichen of the forest-floor
turning into a red coral.
From tree-tops, trunks and grasses flowed the fiery dew. A deluge of light
appeared to be poured over of the earth. There was a freshness in the air,
which echoed right to the heart, and also behind Thiel's fore-head the pictures of the night had to
gradually fade.
However, the moment, at which he came into the small room and saw little
Tobias more red-cheeked than ever lying in the sun-lit bed, they had totally
disappeared.
No doubt that this was so! During the course of the day, Lene thought
several times that she had noticed something strange in him; like in the
church-pew, when he, instead of looking into the book, looked at her from the
side, and then also at lunch-time, when he, without saying a word, took the
baby, which Tobias usually had to carry out into the street, from Tobias' arms
and placed it on her lap. Apart from these things, however, there was nothing
the least strange about him.
Thiel, who had not laid himself down throughout the day, crept to bed just
towards nine o'clock, since he had day-duty the following week. Just as he was
on the point of falling asleep, he wife announced to him that she would go with
him on the following morning into the forest, in order to dig over the land and
set the potatoes.
Thiel winced; he had become totally awake; however, his eyes stayed firmly
shut.
Lene said that it was high time that something ought to be done with the
potatoes, and she added that she had to take the children with her, since it
would presumably take the whole day. The signalman muttered a few
incomprehensible words, to which Lene did not pay any more attention. She had
turned her back to him and busied herself in the light of a tallow candle
undoing her bodice and letting down her skirt.
Suddenly she turned around, without knowing herself for what reason, and
looked into the earth-coloured face of her husband, distorted with passion, who
stared at her with burning eyes, half sat up, his hands on the bed clothes.
'Thiel!' his wife shouted, half angry, half shocked, and like a
sleep-walker, on calling his name, he awoke from his stupor, he stuttered a few
confused words, threw himself back on to the pillow and pulled the bed-cover
over his ears.
Lene was the first, who got up the following morning. Without making any
noise, she prepared everything necessary for the outing. The smallest child was
laid in the pram, then Tobias was woken and dressed. When he learnt as to where
he was going, he had to smile. After everything was prepared and also the
coffee was standing ready on the table, Thiel awoke. Displeasure was the first
feeling at the sight of all the things prepared. He probably would have liked
to have said something against it, but he did not know where to begin. And
also, what convincing reasons could he have given to Lene?
Gradually then, the small, increasingly beaming face began to exercise an
influence over Thiel, so that finally, for the sake of the joy, which the
outing gave the boy, he was not able to think to raise any objection.
Nevertheless, Thiel did not remain free from restlessness during the walk
through the forest. He pushed the small pram arduously through the deep sand
and had laid all kinds of the flowers on it, which Tobias had collected.
The boy was exceptionally cheerful. He hopped around in his little brown
velvet-cap between the ferns and sought, in a free, somewhat clumsy manner, to
catch the clear-winged dragonflies, which flicked around overhead. As soon as
they had arrived, Lene went to inspect the field. She threw the small sack with
the pieces of potato, which she had brought for seed, on to the edge of the
grassy edge of a birch-wood, she knelt down and ran some darkly coloured sand
through her hard fingers.
Thiel observed her eagerly: 'Now, how is it?'
'Just as good as the Spree-Ecke!'
The signalman felt a burden go from his soul. He had feared that she would have
been discontented, and he scratched the stubble of his beard quietly.
After the woman had hastily consumed a thick crust of bread, she threw off
her shawl and jacket and began to dig, with the speed and stamina of a machine.
At particular intervals, she straightened herself up and took in deep
breaths of air, but it was only for a moment each-time, if the small baby had
to be breast-fed, which she did hastily with a panting breast, dripping with
sweat.
'I have to go to walk the track, I will take Tobias with me!' shouted the
signalman after a while from the platform in front of the hut over to her.
'Oh what! Nonsense!' she shouted back; 'Who will stay with the baby? Come
over here!' she shouted back louder, while the signalman, as if could not hear
her, went off with small Tobias.
At first, she wondered as to whether she ought to run after them, and only
the loss of time prevented her from leaving the work. Thiel went along the
track with Tobias. The small boy was very
excited; everything was new and strange for him. He did not understand what
the thin, black lines, warmed by the sun-light meant. Mercilessly, he asked all
kinds of peculiar questions. Of all the things, the ringing of the
telegraph-poles was the most strange. Thiel knew the sound of each single one
in his area, so that he would always have known, with closed eyes, on which
part of the line he was.
Often he stopped, Tobias by his hand, in order to listen to the wonderful
sounds, which streamed from the wood like the sonorous chanting from the inside
of a church. The poles towards the south of his area had an especially full and
beautiful chord. There was a throng of sounds from the insides, which rang
forth, without interruption, in one breath, as it were; and Tobias ran around
the weather-beaten wood, in order to, as he thought, discover, by means of an
opening, the maker of the lovely sound. The signalman changed into a solemn
mood, similarly like in church. Moreover, with time, he distinguished a voice,
which reminded him of his dead wife. He imagined this to be a choir of belovèd spirits, in which she mixed her
voice, and this idea awoke in him a yearning, an emotion to tears.
Tobias asked for some flowers, which were to the side, and Thiel, as always,
gave them to him.
Pieces of blue sky seemed to have sunken on to the floor of the wood, for
the small, blue flowers stood there so amazingly close together. Just like
little fluttering coloured-flags, the butterflies flitted silently between the
shining white of the tree-trunks, meanwhile a gentle drizzle fell through the
pale green leafy-masses of the crowns of the birch-trees.
Tobias picked flowers and his father looked at him, pondering. Occasionally the latter raised his view and looked
through the gaps in the clouds in the sky, which absorbed the golden light of
the sun like an enormous, perfectly blue crystal bowl.
'Father, is that the Dear Lord?'
the small boy asked suddenly, on seeing a small brown squirrel, which darted
over to a pine-tree, standing alone, with scraping noises on the trunk.
'Silly lad,' was all that Thiel
could reply, while torn-away pieces of bark fell from the trunk in front of his
feet.
The mother was still digging, when Thiel and Tobias came back. Half of the
field had already been turned over.
The trains followed each-other in short intervals, and Tobias watched them
roar past, each time open-mouthed.
The mother herself had her pleasure in his funny face-pulling.
The lunch, consisting of potatoes and the remainder of a cold pork-roast,
was consumed in the hut. Lene had tidied up, and also Thiel seemed to want to
submit to the inevitable with good decency. He talked with his wife during the
meal about all kinds of things that were done in his job. And so, he asked her
whether she could imagine for herself that in a single piece of rail there were
forty-six bolts, and in others more.
In the morning Lene had finished turning over the soil; in the afternoon the
potatoes ought to be planted. She declared that Tobias would look after the
baby, and she took him with her.
'Make sure...' shouted Thiel after her, seized by sudden anxiety, '...make
sure that he does not go too close to the lines!'
A shrug of the shoulders was Lene's answer.
The Silesian express-train had been announced, and Thiel had to be at his
post. He had just stood at the barrier, in readiness, when already he heard it
roaring towards him.
The train became visible, - it came closer - in countless, quick bursts, the
steam hissed from the locomotive's black stack. There: one, two, three,
milky-white streams of steam welled upwards, straight as a die, and similarly,
the air brought with it the whistle of the locomotive - three times, in
succession, short, piercing and frightening. - They are braking, thought Thiel,
but why? And again, the emergency whistle, piercing, sounded this time in a
long, unbroken line, waking the echo.
Thiel moved forwards, in order to be able to look along the line.
Mechanically, he pulled the red flag out of the case and held it out in front
of him over the lines. - Jesus Christ! - Was he blind? Jesus Christ! - Oh
Jesus, Jesus Christ! What was that? There! - There, between the lines... 'Stop!' shouted the
signalman with all his might. It was too late. A dark mass had been pulled
under the train and was thrown around between the wheels, here and there, like
a rubber-ball. A few moments later, and one heard the jarring and squealing of the
brakes. The train stopped.
The isolated track was brought to life. Guards and ticket-inspectors ran
across the gravel to the end of the train. Out of every window peered curious
faces, and now - the crowd came together and moved to the front.
Thiel was panting; he had to hold on to himself, in order not to fall to the
ground like a killed
bull. Truthfully, they waved to him, 'No!'
A shriek tore the air at the place of the accident, a howl followed, like it
was coming from an animal's throat. Who was that?! Lene?! It was not her voice,
and yet...
A man came hurrying along the track.
'Signalman!'
'What has happened here?'
'An accident!' ...The messenger recoiled, for the signalman's eyes moved
strangely. His hat was crooked, his red hair seemed to be standing up.
'He is still alive, perhaps there is still a chance.'
A groan was the only answer.
'Come quickly! Quickly!'
Thiel picked himself up suddenly with immense strain. His limp muscles
tightened themselves; he stood erect, his face was vacant and dead.
He ran with the messenger, he did not see the deadly-pale, shocked faces of
the travellers in the train windows. A young woman shouted out, there was a
business traveller in a fez,
a young couple, apparently on their honeymoon. What was he concerned about? He
did not pay any attention the the contents of this rattling box, his ears were filled with
Lene's howling. Swimming around before his eyes, he saw innumerable yellow
spots, like glow-worms. He recoiled; he stood there. Out of the dance of the
glow-worms emerged something pale, limp and bleeding: a forehead beaten black and blue, blue
lips, over which black blood dripped. It was him.
Thiel did not speak. His face took on a dirty expression. He smiled as if
absent; finally he bent down, and felt the limp, dead limbs heavy in his arms;
he wrapped the red flag around
him.
He went.
To where?
'To the district
doctor! To the district doctor!' everybody shouted.
'We will take him with us,' called the baggage-master, and made in his wagon
a stretcher out of work-clothes and books. 'Now then?'
Thiel made no sign of letting go of the accident-victim. They urged him.
Useless. The baggage-master passed the stretcher out of the luggage-wagon and
ordered a man to assist the father.
Time is costly. The guard's whistle sounded. Coins rained out of the
windows.
Lene behaved as if she were beside herself. 'The poor, poor woman,' she was
called in the compartment, 'The poor, poor mother!'
The guard whistled again - a whistle - the locomotive threw out white,
hissing steam from its cylinders and stretched its iron sinews; a few seconds
later, and the courier-train thundered at double-speed through the forest in a
streaming cloud of smoke.
The signalman, having changed his mind, laid the half-dead boy on to the
stretcher. There he lay, there in his broken figure, and now and again a long,
rattling breath raised his chest, which could be seen under the tattered shirt.
His small arms and small legs, not only broken at the joints, took on an
unnatural shape. The heel of his small foot was turned towards the front. His
arm hung loosely over the edge of the stretcher.
Lene whimpered continuously; every trace of her former defiance moved from
her nature. She repeated continually a story, that she ought to be cleared of
all blame for the incident.
Thiel seemed not to notice her; with a terribly frightened expression, his
eyes clung to the child.
It became quiet all around, deadly quiet; black and hot, the lines lay on
the brilliant gravel. At midday the wind had gone, and the forest stood
motionless, like stone.
The men discussed things with one another quietly. One had to, in order to
take the quickest route to Friedrichshagen, go back to the station, which was
in the direction of
Thiel seemed to be considering as to whether he ought to go along. But at the
moment, there was nobody there who understood the work. A silent hand-movement
signalled to his wife to take the stretcher; she did not dare to refuse,
although she was concerned for the infant left-behind. Thiel accompanied the procession to the end
of his area, then he stopped, and looked at it for a long time. Suddenly he
struck the flat of his hand on his forehead, which sounded for a long way.
He meant to wake himself up, 'It is dream, like yesterday,' he said to
himself, - useless. - Swaying more as he ran, he reached his hut. Inside, he fell on to
the ground, face-down. His cap rolled into the corner, his
carefully-looked-after watch fell out his pocket, the top sprung open, the
glass broke. It was as if an iron fist had stopped him, grabbed by the neck, so
tight that he was not able to move, so much that under his moaning and
groaning, he sought to free himself. His forehead was cold, his eyes dry, his
throat burned.
The signal-bell woke him. Under the influence of each of the self-repeating
three strikes of the bell, the fit elapsed. Thiel was able to get up and do his
duty. His feet were as heavy as lead, the track circled around him like the
spoke of a huge wheel, whose axle was his head; however, he gained enough
strength to hold himself erect for some time.
The passenger-train came along. Tobias had to be in there. Each time it
moved nearer, the more the pictures swam before Thiel's eyes. Finally, he only
saw the boy, broken to pieces, with his bloody mouth. Then it became night.
After a while, he awoke from a faint. He found himself lying close to the
barrier in the hot sand. He stood up, shook the grains of sand from his clothes
and spat them out of his mouth. His head became a little more free, and was
able to think more calmly.
In the hut, he immediately took his watch from the floor and laid it on the
table. It had not stopped, despite the fall. For two hours, he counted the
seconds and the minutes, while he imagined that which he wanted to happen to
Tobias. Now Lene arrived with him; now she stood in front of the doctor. He
examined and felt the boy, and shook his head.
'Bad, very bad - but perhaps... Who knows?' He examined him more closely.
'No,' he said then, 'No, its over.'
'Over, over!' moaned the signalman, but then he got up and shouted, his
rolling eyes raised to the ceiling, his raised hands, turned involuntarily into
a fist, and with his voice, as if he had to burst the small room apart, 'He
must, must live! I tell you, he must, must live!' And now he kicked open the
hut's door again, through which the red fire of evening broke in, and he ran,
more as he went, back to the barrier. Here, he stopped for a while, as if
perplexed, and then suddenly, he moved, both arms stretched out, into the
middle of the track, as if he wanted to stop something, which came from the
direction of the local train. With this, his widely open eyes gave the
impression of blindness.
While he, stepping backwards, seemed to retreat from something, he exclaimed
strongly through his teeth in single, half-comprehensible words, 'You, do you
hear, just stay. You, just listen, stay. Give him back, he's beaten black and
blue. Yes, yes, good, I will beat her black and blue, do you hear? Just stay, give him back to me.'
It seemed as if something were going past him, for he turned and moved, in
order to follow it in the other direction.
'You, Minna!' - His voice became a whimpering, like that of a small child -
'You, Minna, do you hear? Give him back, I want to...' He felt around in the
air as if to hold somebody back. 'Little woman, yes, then I want her... And
then I want to beat her also, black and blue, beat her as well, and I want to
beat her with the chopper, do you see? The kitchen chopper, the kitchen
chopper, I want to hit her with, and then she will die.
And then, yes, with the chopper, the kitchen chopper, yes, black blood!'
There was froth around his mouth, his glazed-over pupils moved violently.
A gentle evening wind blew softly and continually over the forest, and
fiery-pink curly clouds hung in the western sky.
He had followed the invisible something, for about one hundred steps, when
he stopped, apparently despondent, and with terrible fear in his mind, the man
stretched his arms out, pleading, imploring. He strained his eyes and shaded
them with his hand, as if to discover the unreal in the distance once again.
Finally, his hands dropped, and the strained expression on his face turned into
dull lack of expression; he turned around and dragged himself back along the track,
along which he came.
The sun poured its last light over the forest and then faded. The trunks of
the pine-trees stretched themselves like pale, decaying limbs between the
tree-tops, which hung on them like a layer of grey-black mould. The hammering
of a woodpecker penetrated the silence. Across the cold, steel-blue sky went a
single, late red-cloud. It was as cold as a cellar, so that the signalman froze.
Everything was new to him, everything strange. He did not know what it was that
he was walking on, or that which surrounded him. Then a squirrel hurried over
the track, and Thiel thought. He had to think about the Dear Lord, without knowing why. 'The
Dear Lord jumps over the
track, the Dear Lord jumps over the track.' He repeated this sentence
several times, in order to, as it were, find something that had to do with it.
He interrupted himself, a gleam fell into his mind, 'But my God, that is really
crazy!' He forgot everything and turned himself against this new enemy. He
sought to bring order into his thoughts - useless! It was an endless roaming
and wandering. He surprised himself at the most foolish idea and he shuddered
in the knowledge of his powerlessness.
Out of the nearby small birch-wood, came the cry of a child. It was a sign
of rage. Almost against his will, he had to hurry over there, and he found the
infant, about which nobody troubled themselves any more, crying and thrashing
around, lying in the pram without bedding. What did he want to do? What brought
him over here? A swirling current of feelings and thoughts engulfed this
question.
'The Dear Lord jumps over the track.' Now he knew what that meant. 'Tobias'
- She had murdered him, Lene, he was entrusted to her - 'Stepmother,
cruel-mother,' he grunted, 'and her brat lives!' A red fog clouded his mind,
the two eyes of the child penetrated through him; he felt something soft,
fleshy between his fingers. Gurgling and whistling, mixed with a hoarse crying
out, met his ears, and he did not know from whom they came.
Then something fell into his mind, like drops of hot sealing-wax, and it
lifted itself like a stiffness from his spirit. Coming to consciousness, he
heard the echo of the announcement-bell ringing through the air.
Suddenly, he understood, what he had wanted to do: his hand loosened itself
from the throat of the child, which turned under his grip. It sought breath and
then it began to cough and to cry.
'It lives, thank the Lord, it lives!' He left it lying there and he hurried
to the crossing. Dark smoke rolled across the track in the distance, and the
wind pushed it down on to the ground. Behind it, he heard the puffing of a
locomotive, which sounded like the sudden jerking, tormented breathing of an
ill giant.
A cold twilight lay over the area.
After a while, when the smoke-clouds parted, Thiel recognised the
gravel-train, which was going back with empty trucks and was carrying the workers,
who had been working throughout the day on the line.
The train had a generous
schedule and was allowed to stop everywhere, in order to pick up the
workers, still busy, here and there, and to drop others off. A good way before
Thiel's hut, the train began to brake. A loud squeaking, clattering, rattling
and clinking penetrated for a long way into the evening silence, until the
train stood silently after a single, shrill, long-drawn-out whistle.
About fifty male and female workers, were distributed in the trucks. Almost
all of them were standing, a few of the men with bared heads. In all of their beings lay
a mysterious solemnity. When they became visible by the signalman, a whispering
started up between them. The older ones took their pipes from between their
yellow teeth and held them respectfully in their hands. Now and again, a woman
would turn to blow her nose. The guard climbed down on to the track and went up
to Thiel. The workers saw how solemnly he shook his hand, whereon Thiel walked
with slow, strongly military steps to the last wagon.
None of the workers dared to speak to him, although all of them knew him.
Out of the last wagon, the small Tobias was lifted out.
He was dead.
Lene followed him; her face was a bluish-white, brown circles lay around her
eyes.
Thiel did not deign to look at her; but she was shocked at the sight of her
husband. His cheeks were hollow, his eyelashes and beard were stuck together,
his parting seemed to her to be more grey than before. There were the marks of
dried tears all over his face; there was a restless light in his eyes, and she
was overcome with horror by this.
For a while, an unholy stillness ruled. A deep, terrible pensiveness took
hold of Thiel. It became darker. A pack of deer stood to the side on the
railway-embankment. The roebuck stood in the middle, between the lines. He
turned his thin neck curiously around, then the locomotive whistled, and like
lightening, he disappeared together with his herd.
At this moment, when the train put itself into motion, Thiel collapsed.
The train stopped again, and a discussion took place about what ought now be
done. It was decided to put the child's body for the meantime in the
signalman's hut, and instead of the body, to take home, by means of the
stretcher, the raving signalman, whom they had no means of bringing back to
consciousness.
And so it was. Two men carried the stretcher with the unconscious man,
followed by Lene, who continually sobbing, her faced covered with tears, pushed
the pram with the baby through the sand.
Like a huge, glowing, crimson ball, the moon lay between the
pine-tree-trunks on the forest-floor. The higher it rose, the smaller it seemed
to become, and the paler it became. Finally, it hung, just like a hanging lamp,
over the forest, pushing a mass of hazy light through all the holes and gaps in
the tree-tops, which coloured the faces of the people in the little procession
there as if they were dead bodies.
Sprightly but carefully, they moved forward, now through the densely packed young-wood, then
further on, along through the tall trees, which had already been standing there
for a long time; there the pale light had collected like in large, dark basins.
The unconscious man rolled from side to side, or began to hallucinate.
Several times he punched out with his fists, and with closed eyes, tried to get
up.
It was a lot of trouble to get him across the Spree; they had to cross over
a second time, in order to fetch the wife and the child.
When they got up on to the small rise of the hamlet, they met a few
inhabitants, who immediately received the message about the accident.
The whole hamlet got up.
In the face of her acquaintances, Lene broke out into a new wailing.
They carried the ill man, with some difficulty, up the stairs into his flat
and brought him directly to the bed. The workers turned around immediately, in
order to fetch little Tobias' body.
Old experienced people recommended cold compresses, and Lene followed their
advice with eagerness and prudence. She placed towels into ice-cold spring water and renewed them,
for the burning forehead of the unconscious man had heated them through.
Fearfully she watched the breathing of the ill man, which seemed to her to be
more regular every minute.
The excitement of the day had taken a lot out of her, and she decided to
sleep a little, but she found no rest. No matter whether she opened or closed
her eyes, the recent events were brought before her. The infant slept, she had
concerned herself little with it, compared with her usual. She had become a
totally different person. Nowhere was there a mark of her earlier defiance.
Yes, this ill man with the colourless, face, shiny with sweat, ruled her in his sleep.
A cloud covered the moon, it became darker in the room, and Lene heard only
the heavy, but regular, breathing of her husband. She considered whether she
ought to make light. It was eerie for her in the darkness. When she wanted to
stand up, all her limbs became as heavy as lead, her eyelids closed, she fell
asleep.
After the course of a few hours, when the men returned with body of the
child, they found the house door wide open. Confused by this, they went up the
stairs into the upper flat, whose door was in the same way wide open.
They called the name of the woman several times, without getting an answer.
Finally they stuck a match on the wall, and the light, bursting forth, revealed
a ghastly devastation.
'Murder! Murder!'
Lene lay in her own blood, her face unrecognisable, her skull battered.
'He has murdered his wife! He has murdered his wife!'
Panicking, they ran around. The neighbours came, one of them banged into the
cradle. 'Holy heaven!' And he recoiled, pale, with a terror-stricken
expression. There lay the child with a slit throat.
The signalman had disappeared; the search, which was started the same night,
stayed without success. In the morning the relief signalman found him between
the lines, sitting on the spot, where Tobias had been run over.
He held the brown stocking-cap
in his hand and fondled it continually, like something that had life.
The signalman
directed a few questions at him, however, he received no answer, and soon
noticed that he was dealing with someone insane.
The man at the main signal-box, who was informed of this, telegraphed for
help.
Now more men tried to entice him from the lines through friendly persuasion;
however, useless!
The express train, which passed at this time, had to stop; and it was only
through the train-staff's over-powering that they succeeded in removing the ill
man, by force, from the track, who immediately began to rage.
They had to bind his hands and feet, and the policeman, who had been
summoned in the meantime, supervised his transport to the Berlin remand-prison,
from which, however, he was transferred on the first day to the lunatic asylum
of the Charité. On
his delivery, he still held the small brown cap in his hands, and he guarded it
with jealous care and tenderness.
black and white
Black and white were the old national colours of the German province of
Prussia, where the story takes place.
of the forest
In the third chapter, Hauptmann uses two breaks in the text. These are
indicated by a line separating the paragraphs. This is the first of these
breaks, signalling a change from the former descriptive text to the action
text.
piece of newspaper
The German refers to the piece of newspaper with the pronoun 'it'. For a
better translation, this has been substituted with the noun.
unearthly light
This is perhaps a reference to a shooting-star.
a mother and a father
Here, Hauptmann tries to impress upon the reader that Thiel cannot forget
his wife's expression, just as much as the fact that nobody can forget that
they have a mother and a father. Hauptmann may have used this expression in
order to maintain the naturalistic theme in the book.
goggle-eyes of a monster
This is a direct translation from the German.
behind Thiel's fore-head
This means in Thiel's mind.
letting down her skirt
See note for page 6 for 'tucked up skirt'.
Spree-Ecke
This is the area of land which Thiel and Lene had used for potato farming
until they received the notice of the termination of the lease. 'Spree-Ecke' is
literally the Spree-corner, implying that the field was situated on a bend of
the river Spree.
very excited
The German uses 'not a little', best translated as 'very'.
belovèd spirits
German often uses the adjective 'lieb', approximate meaning 'dear', and is
usually attributed to loved ones and to deities. There is no direct equivalent
in English, but here, 'belovèd' suffices.
the latter
This means Thiel.
Dear Lord
German often uses the adjective 'lieb', approximate meaning 'dear', and is
usually attributed to loved ones and to deities. There is no direct equivalent
in English, but here, 'Dear' suffices.
silly lad
This is a direct translation from the German.
Lene's answer
This is the second, and final, break in the text of chapter three, when
there is a move to the accident and Thiel's decline. See also the note page 8
on 'of the forest'.
between the lines
The remarks between the dashes could have been made by the author, by the
train driver/guard or by Thiel himself.
like a killed bull
Hauptmann may have used this phrase (see also the note for page 9 on 'a
mother and a father') to maintain the naturalistic theme.
waved
Here, the German ceases to use the imperfect tense for the action of the
story. It reverts to the present, which technically is the historic present
tense, which is translated as a past tense in English. Note however, that many
of the description verbs remain in the imperfect, together a few of the action
verbs.
fez
The fez is a traditional Arabic head covering. It is best described to be
like a dark-red upturned flower pot, made from thick woollen material, with a
black tasselled cord attached to the centre of the flat-end, extending down the
side.
rattling box
This means the carriage full of people.
black and blue
The phrase 'black and blue' exists in German, but as 'brown and blue'.
It was him.
The German refers to 'it' not 'him'. The reference is to 'Tobiaschen', a
neuter noun.
around him
The German refers to 'it' not 'him'. The reference is to 'Tobiaschen', a
neuter noun.
district doctor
The German for 'district doctor' is 'Bahnarzt', literally 'railway doctor'.
In these fairly backward areas of Germany at this time, the railway was the
only outside link there was, and therefore, a doctor was appointed by the
railway administration for a particular area.
procession
The procession consists of Lene and the unnamed man, ordered to assist the
family, who are carrying the stretcher, on which Tobias is lying.
reached
The German text reverts to the imperfect tense for the action of the story
from the present. See also the note for page 12 on 'waved'.
became night
This does not mean that it literally became night, but for Thiel, it became
night, in that he fainted.
back to me
This section, in which Thiel is rambling, is very difficult to translate
directly, so paraphrasing has been used to overcome certain difficulties. Some
modal verbs are given in the German text with no infinitive, and so an
appropriate one has been added for translation purposes.
will die
The German does not use the standard verb for people dying ('sterben'), but
uses the verb for animals dying ('verrecken'). This has perhaps been done to
emphasize Thiel's hate for Lene.
track
The German uses the word for 'path' and not 'track'; but since we have been
told that Thiel has been walking along the track, the word is used here and
later on for continuity.
Dear Lord
German often uses the adjective 'lieb', approximate meaning 'dear', and is
usually attributed to loved ones and to deities. There is no direct equivalent
in English, but here, 'Dear' suffices.
track
The German uses the word for 'path' and not 'track'; but since we have been
told that Thiel has been walking along the track, the word is used here and
later on for continuity.
Gurgling...they came
The order of this sentence has been changed for translation.
generous schedule
The gravel-train was a train which carried workers and materials for the
building and maintenance of track. Obviously, a strict timetable for such a
train could not be laid down, so it was given a generous schedule, in that
ample time was given for it to stop as often as was necessary.
bared heads
This means that they were not wearing a cap or a hat.
young wood
This was an area of land on which saplings had been planted to replace
those trees which were cut down.
spring
Spring is used for continuity of translation, although in the hamlet, there
may indeed have been a well. The German word used is 'Brunnen', which has
several meanings, the most likely of which is 'spring'. A favoured alternative
would be 'well', but taking its isolation into account, this is unlikely.
ruled...sleep
Hauptmann had described earlier how Lene had ruled over Thiel (see chapter
one), and now he describes how Thiel has rule over Lene.
stocking-cap
This could be translated as 'fur-cap', but considering the time of year,
June, it is more likely to be a stocking-cap. However, Hauptmann earlier
described Tobias, on walking to the line on Monday morning, to be wearing a
velvet-cap. This could be an error on Hauptmann's part.
signalman
Up to this point, Thiel has been described as the signalman. From the time
of Tobias' return, dead, Thiel is totally unable to do the job of signalman,
and so Hauptmann may have considered Thiel to have resigned the position; also,
Hauptmann does not refer to Thiel as the signalman following his collapse. This
reference to 'signalman' is for the relief-signalman.
Charité
The Charité is a famous hospital in