[_He has jumped up and is going to rush at KUTSCHE._]
OLD AND YOUNG WEAVERS
[_Holding him back._] Wittig, Wittig! Don't lose your head!
KUTSCHE
[_Has risen involuntarily, his face pale. He backs towards the door while
speaking. The nearer the door the higher his courage rises. He speaks the
last words on the threshold, and then instantly disappears._] What are
you goin' on at me about? I didn't meddle with you. I came to say
somethin' to the weavers. My business is with them an' not with you, and
I've done nothing to you. But I've this to say to you weavers: The
superintendent of police herewith forbids the singing of that
song--Dreissiger's song, or whatever it is you calls it. And if the
yelling of it on the streets isn't stopped at once, he'll provide you
with plenty of time and leisure for goin' on with it in gaol. You may
sing there, on bread an' water, to your hearts' content.
[_Goes out._
WITTIG
[_Roars after him._] He's no right to forbid, it--not if we was to roar
till the windows shook an' they could hear us at Reichenbach--not if we
sang till the manufacturers' houses tumbled about their ears an' all the
superintendents' helmets danced on the top of their heads.
Pages:
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263