SECTION II: Radio Plays for Children
Much Ado About Kasper and The Cold Heart (with Ernst Schoen) are Benjamin’s radio plays for children.
CHAPTER 30. Much Ado About Kasper A Radio Play
Dramatis personae
KASPER
HERR MAULSCHMIDT, RADIO MAN1
FOOD SELLER
CAROUSEL MAN
BOOTH OWNER
SHOOTING GALLERY MAN
LION KEEPER
PUSCHI, KASPER’S WIFE
Also with
HERR MITTMANN AND HERR GERICKE FROM THE RADIO STATION
TRAIN STATION MASTER
LIPSUSLAPSUS, A SPIRIT
THE FIRST AND SECOND SHOOTER
CHILDREN AND ANIMALS
The sound of whistles and horns from a ship.
KASPER: Sure is a foggy morning. More horns.
KASPER: They’re trying to break our eardrums with that racket. But it’s not easy going for ships in this fog. Just today my wife Puschi sent me to the market. She wants a flounder, a flounder eight centimeters long. Can’t forget that. And it’s gotta be fatter than last time. Eight centimeters, by golly, and I forgot my tape measure at home — I’d just got to the market. The market, where is it anyway? Yikes, I pretty near marched right into the water with all this fog. You can’t see a thing. — But if you can’t see anything, how do I see the fog? It seems to me, you can’t even see the fog on account of all the fog. — Do I see the fog or don’t I! — If I can’t see it then I must be seeing somethin’ else. — And if I do see it, then I see it, and it can’t be foggy.
HERR MAULSCHMIDT: Darn it all! Can’t you just open your eyes? Do you have to barrel into people?
KASPER: How can I barrel into people? I can’t even find ’em in this fog.
HERR MAULSCHMIDT: That’s an interesting take, YOU knock ME in the belly and YOU get cross!
KASPER: Why don’t you buy a foghorn like the other guys? Another horn from a ship.
HERR MAULSCHMIDT: Is there something wrong with you?
KASPER: Just open your ears! Can’t you hear the man blowing his horn? That’ll stop it from happening.
HERR MAULSCHMIDT: You must be out of your mind. That was a steamboat.
KASPER: For all I care, you can jump in the water too, old pal.
HERR MAULSCHMIDT: Who are you anyway? You impertinent fellow!
KASPER: Pardon me, but to whom do I have the honor of introducing myself?
HERR MAULSCHMIDT: Maulschmidt.
KASPER: Come again?
HERR MAULSCHMIDT: Maulschmidt.
KASPER: I have to ask, old pal, how do you smith a mouth? I thought at best they were stuffed.
HERR MAULSCHMIDT: You scoundrel, you! I’m not a mouth-smith, it’s my name.
KASPER: Sure, old pal, but I just asked who you were.
HERR MAULSCHMIDT: What do you think you are?
KASPER: What you are, who you are, now I don’t give a damn.
HERR MAULSCHMIDT: How dare you say such a thing! I’m an upright person.
KASPER: For an uptight person, you seem pretty loose to me.
HERR MAULSCHMIDT: I don’t intend to waste my time with you any longer. March! Give me your name and then it’s off to the precinct with you! Now listen, buster, where do you come from?
KASPER: I come from my native country.
HERR MAULSCHMIDT: And how do you write the name of this country?
KASPER: It’s written with ink on paper.
HERR MAULSCHMIDT: Enough, my patience is wearing thin. Will you tell me your name, or won’t you?
KASPER: If it weren’t so foggy, old pal, you’d know it by now.
HERR MAULSCHMIDT: What’s that supposed to mean? Do you wear your name painted on your chest?
KASPER: No sir, but I have a colorful skirt.
HERR MAULSCHMIDT: So you’re a soldier, are you?
KASPER: Not exactly. — But you know what, old pal, I’ll let you guess my name.
HERR MAULSCHMIDT: How can I guess your name? This is monkey business.
KASPER: Hang on, old pal. Here it is, for last names I write Spar. And my first name starts with a K.
HERR MAULSCHMIDT: Your first name I don’t care to know. So let’s go, off to the precinct, Mr. Spar!
KASPER: So take him in. I’m not Mr. Spar.
HERR MAULSCHMIDT: Rogue! But you just said you were.
KASPER: But you do need my first name.
HERR MAULSCHMIDT: This is a devilish game. (Spoken with increasing excitement, and finally as a joyful cry of discovery.) Kay Spar … Kas-par … Kasper!!!
KASPER: Bravo, old pal, I’m Kasper indeed.
HERR MAULSCHMIDT: What luck, Kasper! This is truly a happy day. I’ve been looking for you for quite some time.
KASPER: You were looking for me, old pal? Whatever for?
HERR MAULSCHMIDT: Kasper, I have to tell you a happy little secret: I’m actually a radio announcer.
KASPER: Well, well, you don’t say!
HERR MAULSCHMIDT: And for a long time it’s been my goal to place you, Kasper, the age-old and famous friend of children, in front of the microphone.
KASPER: That ain’t gonna happen.
HERR MAULSCHMIDT: What’s that, Kasper? Do I hear you correctly? You’d turn down the exalted and solemn honor of speaking on the radio?
KASPER: You bet!
MERR MAULSCHMIDT: But why?
KASPER: You know, old pal, if you really wanna know, I can tell you.
HERR MAULSCHMIDT: Oh Kasper, do tell!
KASPER: But do I understand you correctly, old pal? You’re in radio?
HERR MAULSCHMIDT: Most certainly.
KASPER: You know, with all those sparks [Funken] flying around [rund], I might try to catch one and then I’d catch fire myself.2
HERR MAULSCHMIDT: Kasper, you don’t even know what radio is. Stick close to me and I’m sure you’ll get a better sense of what it’s about.
KASPER: Let me think about it on the way. Street noise.
KASPER (after a while): See this iron fence? The one we’re walking along? I wanna count the stakes.
The sound of him striking each of the stakes.
KASPER: I’ll speak — I won’t speak — speak — won’t speak — speak — won’t speak — speak — won’t speak — speak — won’t speak — speak.
HERR MAULSCHMIDT: Look around you, Kasper, we’ve arrived!
KASPER: Huh? This ugly box?
HERR MAULSCHMIDT: The Radio Palace.
KASPER: There must be more windows than you can count. Is that where they’re locked up and forced to hear radio?
HERR MAULSCHMIDT: Follow me, Kasper, and I’ll explain everything to you.
Pause.
KASPER (softly): So much quiet makes me uneasy.
HERR MAULSCHMIDT: Shhh, you’re not allowed to speak here.
KASPER: I thought you brought me here to speak.
HERR MAULSCHMIDT: In here, Kasper!
KASPER: Funny place. What are all these cages for? Do you keep mice in there?
HERR MAULSCHMIDT: Those are the microphones, Kasper. You’re now about to speak into such a microphone.
KASPER: Then what happens?
HERR MAULSCHMIDT: Then people hear you all over the world.
KASPER: Even in Putzingen? (Aside.) That’s where Seppl lives, I’ve wanted to give him a piece of my mind for some time.
HERR MAULSCHMIDT: Of course, now we’ll switch it on.
KASPER: If I had my druthers, I’d like to listen for a bit first.
HERR MAULSCHMIDT: Certainly, Kasper, with pleasure. Dresden, Posen, Brno, Milan, Brussels, Kassel, Linz, London, Vienna, Riga, Breslau — whatever you want. Just turn this knob and then you hear it!
Good Lord, Kasper, not like that!
We hear a minute of fading noises.
KASPER: It seems to me it’s all the same. It’s a mess. (More fading noises.) This is a wreck, I can’t make anything out.
HERR MAULSCHMIDT: Herr Mittmann, Herr Gericke, come quick! Switch it on. Kasper’s speaking.
KASPER: Now Seppl in Putzingen is hearing this.
HERR MAULSCHMIDT: I should think so. — Everything ready, Herr Mittmann?
Voices: Quiet, Kasper’s speaking.
KASPER: If only it weren’t so far, I’d be in Putzingen now, where I’d wet my whistle so Seppl would hear me loud and clear.
HERR MAULSCHMIDT: If you get stuck, I’ll head right down to the cafeteria and get you a tall one.
KASPER: That would be just fine. Now seems to me the perfect moment. (He clears his throat.) You miserable wretch, you! Sorry creature! You hear me? Who bought you to play the snitch? Just as I was sitting pretty. There’ll be payback, my friend. You cursed lout, you scum! Lemme get my hands on you just once! I got something for you that’ll suit you just fine—
A telephone rings.
Woman’s voice: Long distance service. Yes, sir. I’ll connect you.
New voice: Putzingen police. Is that the radio station?
HERR MAULSCHMIDT: Oh my! Switch it off! Disconnect! Kasper, the menace, the rascal. I turn my back for just a second … Herr Mittmann! Herr Gericke! Get him! Get him! Dead or alive, I must have him, that Kasper.
Sounds of doors slamming, things breaking. Another telephone rings. Cars honking.
Shouts: That way! Around the corner!
HERR MAULSCHMIDT: He’s gone, but we’ll get him. That’ll be a laugh.
Pause.
KASPER: Whew! That’ll leave you gasping for air. Thank heavens I found a peaceful, out-of-the-way place to rest. Finally I can have a breather. A breather? Well put, Kasper. I gotta high-tail it for home. It’s a miracle I’ve still got the fish. And Puschi, she must be starving by now. No, really, I gotta hop the fast train. (He repeats in a pondering tone.) Train, train, train … Just as I say it, there it is. And that’s the station. Damn. Damn. Half past two. The train to Tuntenbühl must be leaving soon. Let’s have a look at who all’s going to Tuntenbühl today.
We hear commotion and the patter of feet.
What’s all that scampering? Someone’s scared to miss the train. And now here comes a whole slew of people? And I know that guy leading the pack. Why, if it isn’t Herr Maulschmidt himself.
HERR MAULSCHMIDT: Hey! Hey! That’s him, walking over there. That’s just like him, off to Munich and then out of sight.
Other voices: But this time we’ve got him. We’re gonna nab him. Let’s make tracks!
KASPER: This is looking a bit dicey to me. If I knew my way around the station, I could surely hide away somewhere. I’ll have a look at the luggage lockers.
HERR MAULSCHMIDT: And check under the bags to make sure he hasn’t holed up in there.
KASPER: Alas, not much hope with the luggage. How about the waiting area?
HERR MAULSCHMIDT: And you, Herr Gericke, go to the waiting room! And look under all the tables!
KASPER: Not much luck in the waiting room either. The best would be if I stood here behind these columns.
HERR MAULSCHMIDT: And you, Herr Mittmann, look behind all the columns!
KASPER: I’ve whistled my last tune.
The whistle of a locomotive.
KASPER: I’ve really blown it. How about if we try knocking? Maybe this glass door will help?
He knocks.
KASPER: No answer.
He knocks harder, everything remains quiet. We hear the sound of a creaking door.
KASPER: The people in this station are so nice. They don’t even lock the doors.
Pause.
Hey, what’s this cap here on the table? A beautiful red cap with a visor. Just like the one Xaverl had, the station master in Hutzelheim. — That cap doesn’t look so bad on you, Kasper. If only they cleaned the mirrors. And that beautiful stick lying on the table, we’d like to take that along as well. Kasper, the teacher always used to say, you need the stick more than anyone.
Again, voices of the pursuers: Kasper’s gone. Vanished. Must be on the train. But this time he won’t get away.
Noises of the train station.
THE STATION MASTER: My cap, my cap! Has anyone seen my cap? Just have a little patience, it’s sure to turn up. Thank God there’s still ten minutes until I have to announce the departure.
KASPER: All aboard!
HERR MAULSCHMIDT: What? We’re leaving already? Herr Gericke, have you found Kasper?
HERR GERICKE: I’ll go now and search the café car. If he’s not there, we’ll have to get off the train again fast.
KASPER: The train is leaving the station!
We hear the whistle of the locomotive and the sound of the train pulling away.
KASPER: So, the coast is clear. What do we say to a little relaxation, Herr Kasper, how about a leisurely stroll? — A fine idea. — That’s nice. I knew it, I always agree with myself. It’s not every day you find someone who always agrees with you. So I’ll take this opportunity to talk with myself a bit more. Beautiful weather we’re having, Kasper, isn’t it?—
The answers are always from the same speaker, but in a deeper voice.
— Very beautiful.
— I wouldn’t have thought so after such a foggy morning. Would you?
— It would never have occurred to me that today would become so beautiful.
— You see, I was just thinking to myself that you were not thinking that.
— And I was just thinking to myself that you were just thinking that I would never have thought that.
— What, are you making fun of me?
— Who do you think you are? I have one thing to say to you.
For a long time now I’ve been fed up with always agreeing with myself.
— You’re getting a slap. One, two, three.
The sound of someone being smacked. The same voice that just spoke cries:
Ow! — That slap I just gave myself? It’s not good to argue with yourself. Be sensible, Kasper, and just listen to the music coming from over there.
Noises from the fair. From the sounds of the barrel organ, the voices of the criers and the bells of the carousel, the voice of a Chinese food seller stands out. He is delivering his pitch as an elaborate performance with a discreet musical accompaniment of flutes and castanets.
THE FOOD SELLER: I’m a Chinese food seller. I come from China. I haven’t made much of myself since I was a child. But now I have a wine and food store at the fair. I’m not after profits or loss, only the happiness of my customers. I’ve got all kinds of food here. Listen up and I’ll tell you what I have: chicken boiled in water, meat dumplings baked in oil, hard and crispy and sprinkled with lots of sugar, smoked ham, sea cucumbers, swallow’s nests, large pieces of mutton with five different delicious spices; and then there’s the rice dishes. You want rice or flour? If you want dishes with flour, I can make those, too. There’s also dry rice, and when you’re done eating, I’ll give you a cup of tea. — Dear customers, whether you’ve got money or not, step right on up. Just leave a piece of clothing for deposit and I’ll write you a bill.
KASPER: Oh my, I’ve been dying for that for ages. Finally, Chinese food. But the Chinese eat rotten eggs and earthworms. Mister cook, please take my cap. And for that I’d like a great meal of Chinese wedding food.
THE FOOD SELLER: My dear man, I can’t take your cap. The cap you have there is worn neither in Europe nor China. And as far as I’ve traveled the world, I’ve never before seen a cap with bells.
KASPER: No hard feelings, old pal, you can also take my jacket for a meal of great Chinese food.
THE FOOD SELLER: Sure, but don’t you see my sign hanging there?
We don’t take things that have been patched.
KASPER: Then you’ll get something you’re sure to take.
THE FOOD SELLER: And what would that be, sir?
A cracking sound.
KASPER: A slap.
THE FOOD SELLER (breaking into a long elaborate wail): Ow-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow!
KASPER: Such a beautiful language, Chinese.
We hear the bells of the carousel.
Excuse me, I just wanted to ask how much a ride costs.
THE CAROUSEL MAN: One ride costs five cents.
KASPER: And then afterward I can get out?
THE CAROUSEL MAN: Of course, then you have to get out.
KASPER: But if I sit in a ship …
THE CAROUSEL MAN:… you still have to get out.
KASPER: But if I’m on an elephant, I can stay?
THE CAROUSEL MAN: If you pay for two rides.
KASPER: But then I’ll really not want to get out.
THE CAROUSEL MAN: So how long do you want to ride?
KASPER: I was thinking an hour or so.
The occasional sound of carousel music and bells ringing.
THE CAROUSEL MAN: Then you have to take nine tickets.
KASPER: And how much would that cost, old pal?
THE CAROUSEL MAN: I reckon that’d cost nine times five cents.
KASPER (pausing, a bit baffled): So it would, old pal, so it would.
THE CAROUSEL MAN: So, what don’t you get?
KASPER: I just wanna write it out.
THE CAROUSEL MAN: Please, be my guest.
KASPER: How would I go about starting to write that, old pal?
THE CAROUSEL MAN (impatient): Five times nine is forty-five. Right?
KASPER (slowly): Forty-five, I’m writing it down, starting with an F.
THE CAROUSEL MAN: Go ahead and just write “4” and “5.”
KASPER: Sure, four, I know how to write that.
THE CAROUSEL MAN: Here you go, let me tell you how: a line from top to bottom, then one from left to right, and then one more from top to bottom makes 4.
KASPER: Makes three.
THE CAROUSEL MAN: Makes four.
KASPER: Makes three.
The exchange of words accelerates. Kasper counts off: One line, and then another line, and then another makes three. — Makes four. (Etc.)
THE CAROUSEL MAN: But I’m telling you, it’s a four. Didn’t you learn anything in school?
KASPER: It may suit you to make fun of people. First you say one line, then you say another, and then finally a third. That makes three. And you’re about to see how that makes three.
The sound of three slaps to the face.
One slap, and then another slap, and then another slap. That makes three slaps. And with that we conclude our counting.
The exchange devolves into a brawl. After a pause:
KASPER: I don’t like the carousel any more. Instead, let’s listen to what we have next door.
The voice of a booth owner is heard over the sounds of the fair.
THE BOOTH OWNER: Treasured guests, gather round! Ladies and gentlemen, step right up! What does this tent say to you, my honored listeners? Do you imagine something upon looking at my modest hut? And please, ladies and gentlemen, don’t mistake it for the infamous swindle booths you see around you. Because this, ladies and gentlemen, this simple tent houses the earthly presence of the supernatural spirit Lipsuslapsus, the invisible, all-knowing, and great magician who will have the honor and pleasure of predicting your precious and happy future. Ask his advice, ladies and gentlemen, and Lipsuslapsus will discover lost objects, teach you foreign languages while you sleep, explain your dreams, and do your schoolwork.
KASPER: For years I’ve wanted to lead a more honorable life. Maybe this invisible spirit can help me.
THE BOOTH OWNER: Bravo, young man! Be certain he can help you. To the left, please, enter to the left! And please, don’t forget your twenty cents for my humble tent.
Pause.
KASPER (softly): It’s a bit damp in here. Actually, it feels more like a basement. I’m beginning to feel a bit uneasy, but I think I have to check it out.
The following play of echoes should be enacted with ceremony and solemnity. The answers especially must seem as if echoes from afar.
KASPER: If you would be so kind, Lipsuslapsus, I have questions about my future that I would like to ask.
LIPSUSLAPSUS (the echo): Ask!
KASPER: What should I do with my life so that later on I will regret nothing?
LIPSUSLAPSUS: Nothing!
KASPER: How do I begin to assess my abilities?
LIPSUSLAPSUS: Tease!
KASPER: Should I not perhaps study philosophy? For what is a man without wisdom?
LIPSUSLAPSUS: Dumb!
KASPER: But that’s a difficult life. Can you live just from the things you know?
LIPSUSLAPSUS: No!
KASPER: So I need to find a lucrative line of work?
LIPSUSLAPSUS: Work!
KASPER: The law is a tough road. I’m not sure I would pass.
LIPSUSLAPSUS: Pass!
KASPER: I think becoming a doctor would be fruitful.
LIPSUSLAPSUS: Fool!
KASPER: You don’t think medicine would be a decent life course?
LIPSUSLAPSUS: Of course!
KASPER: With not too much pressure?
LIPSUSLAPSUS: Sure!
KASPER: Perfect. Is there nothing about life that a doctor doesn’t enjoy?
LIPSUSLAPSUS: Joy!
KASPER: Then I’ll be a statesman. Do you have anything to say against diplomacy?
LIPSUSLAPSUS: Messy!
KASPER: Right you are, Lipsuslapsus, many more capable men have had little success.
LIPSUSLAPSUS: Yes!
KASPER: So I guess I’ll find a rich widow.
LIPSUSLAPSUS: Uh-oh!
KASPER: But then I’d have money. What’s stopping me from being fulfilled?
LIPSUSLAPSUS: Guilt!
KASPER: Then what should I do to make money with merit?
LIPSUSLAPSUS: Inherit!
KASPER (By his tone of voice and from the background noise, it’s clear that he’s left the tent.): This spirit is no help at all. That just wasn’t right. I’ve got a hunch, in fact I believe it was the booth guy. I’d like to knock his spirit for a loop.
Again, the voices of the pursuers:
FIRST VOICE: I just saw him whizz by, Herr Maulschmidt.
SECOND VOICE: This time we’ll get that scoundrel.
Other voices: To the left, Herr Mittmann! And you cut him off from the right! Quick, Herr Gericke! Look! There he goes!
Shots are heard.
VOICE OF THE SHOOTING GALLERY OWNER: Here, here, gents, step right up, ladies and gentlemen! I’m offering you a one-time chance to put the world to rights with a single shot. Please have a gander at my tableau here, where you’ll see original human dummies and other wonders: this father here, hit him on the bull’s-eye and just like that, he kicks into motion this little cradle where his youngest babe is asleep. And at back right, the violinist: hit him square on and he starts to play the fiddle, the sight and sound of which defies description. And have you seen the Moor behind the locked gate? Shoot him in the pinky toe, gentlemen, and watch the gate spring open in front of your unbelieving eyes to reveal the inside of the sultan’s palace in all its splendor and glory. But, gentlemen, if you want to do a noble deed and free a prisoner from the dungeon, you just have to hit his dungeon window and in a trice he’s out and about. This, ladies and gentlemen, is the eighth wonder of the world, Doctor Crackbang’s world-famous shooting gallery.
The speech is interrupted by more rumbling voices of the pursuers. — Now and again we hear the sound of shots, as during the speech by the shooting gallery owner.
FIRST SHOOTER: Okay, Gustav, I’m aiming at the bear. He dances when you hit him.
SECOND SHOOTER: Hey, wait a sec, that one in the back is swell. I’ve never seen one like that in a booth.
FIRST SHOOTER: And he looks so real. I’d swear he wasn’t painted.
SECOND SHOOTER: I just can’t find the bull’s eye we have to shoot at.
FIRST SHOOTER: But wait, Gustav, what do you think he’ll do if you hit him?
SECOND SHOOTER: Well, we’re about find out.
The sound of the gun being cocked.
KASPER: Mercy, gentlemen. Please don’t shoot. Take pity on old Kasper.
FIRST SHOOTER: Well, you don’t say! The dummy can talk.
KASPER: Gentlemen, may I take the liberty to point out, in all sincerity: I’m no dummy. Under pressing circumstances I was unfortunately compelled to pose here as a dummy.
THE SHOOTING GALLERY OWNER (very loudly): Silence! This is no place for chit-chat! How dare you bring disorder into my establishment. Who are you, anyway?
KASPER (aside): The coast is clear. The mob has moved on.
Voices of the pursuers: He’s nowhere. Foiled again.
KASPER: I beg you, Herr Shootout Director, I just wanted to show off my skills. Take a nickel. And give me a rifle.
THE SHOOTING GALLERY OWNER: Please, be my guest.
KASPER: Do you have something with music?
THE SHOOTING GALLERY OWNER: But of course. Right here we have a little radio orchestra. If you hit the conductor, you hear the overture from the opera “Plimplamplasko or the Enchanted Monkey Prince.”
The sound of a shot, followed by the playing of a cheery music box, which is eventually drowned out by the noises of the fair.
KASPER: Everything would be just fine if only I hadn’t lost my flounder talking to that Lipsuslapsus. What do I do now? The market’s been closed for ages. Where can a guy get a fish at this hour? There’s no way I can go home to Puschi without a fish. But here’s an idea! How about it, Kasper? You’ve long been wanting to visit the zoo, now, haven’t you? Don’t think twice! One leap and we’re over the wall.
He claps his hands.
No time to lose. At the bottom of the pond we’re gonna catch ourselves a fish!
CHILDREN’S VOICES: Hey Kasper, hello, hello, can’t you hear us? Over here!
FIRST CHILD: Kasper, what are you doing here?
KASPER: Oh, good day. Hello, Hans. Well, you know, I … actually I wanted to … You know what? I came to study a little animal language.
FIRST CHILD: What? You’re here to learn language?
KASPER: No, you see … actually, I already know them all. It’s just that with the guinea pigs there are still a few words I have to learn. That’s really why I came.
FIRST CHILD: Oh, Kasper, if you know animal language, you have to come with us and tell us what all the animals are saying.
CHILDREN’S VOICES: Come with us! Come with us! First the apes! No, the rhino! No, wait! He should start with the big birds!
LITTLE GIRL: Kasper, pretty please can you come see the antelopes?
KASPER: Kids, kids, easy now. One at a time. How about we start with the foxes and wolves?
CHILDREN’S VOICES: Yes, good, let’s! Let’s!
Sound of wolves howling and foxes baying. After a pause:
CHILDREN’S VOICES: Now, Kasper, what are they saying? Tell us, Kasper!
KASPER: So, they’re saying … You want to know what they’re saying, huh? Well, they’re talking about what each of them wants done with his fur once he’s dead.
CHILDREN’S VOICES: We don’t understand, Kasper. What does that mean?
KASPER: OK, look over there. That little fox with the torn and shabby fur, he’s saying: later, when he’s dead, he’d most like to be on a soldier’s satchel going off to war.
CHILDREN’S VOICES: And the wolf over there, what’s he saying?
KASPER: That wolf? Ideally he’d like to become a doormat at a hunter’s cottage in the middle of the woods.
CHILDREN’S VOICES: And the cute little blue fox? What does he say?
KASPER: All his life he’s wished just once to meet the people from the neighborhood. Now he thinks he’d like to later become a muff that a little girl sticks her hands in.
CHILDREN’S VOICES: Next, Kasper! Over here, Kasper! To the apes! What are they saying?
Grunting sounds and children screaming.
KASPER: You have to be quiet! The language of apes is difficult.
Otherwise I can’t understand it.
FIRST CHILD: But I thought apes didn’t have any language.
VOICES OF THE OTHER CHILDREN: Quiet!
KASPER: Well, it’s a remarkable story. See that big baboon sitting up there in the tree? Right now he’s lecturing the younger apes, strictly warning them that they should always act silly when humans are around. He’s saying: the dumber you seem, the better.
FIRST CHILD: But why?
KASPER: Well, that’s what the younger apes are asking now. And you know what his answer is? If humans don’t know how smart we are, and don’t notice that we have a language of our own, then they won’t force us to work.
FIRST CHILD: And now what are they saying?
KASPER: Now they’re discussing the pros and cons of captivity. Most of them are pretty content, because they have food and playmates and a warm cage to protect them from the rain and cold.
The shrill cry of an ape.
FIRST CHILD: And the little one? What’s he saying?
KASPER: He doesn’t agree with the others. He says it would all be just fine, but he can find no comfort when here in the cage there are only apes, apes, and more apes, and an occasional human; he’d gladly give up all the apes and people for the sight of one parrot, or a giraffe, or even the tiniest butterfly.
Grunting noises.
KASPER: Did you kids hear the grunt from the orangutan over there? He’s saying that it’s a complete injustice that the butterflies have no cage in the zoo.
FIRST CHILD (whispering): You know something? I think he’s lying. — Kasper, what are the elephants talking about over there?
KASPER: Ah, they’re not happy because the sparrow hasn’t shown up today, and every morning he brings them news of the other animals.
FIRST CHILD: Ask him how his baby is, Kasper.
Kasper growls something, and then:
KASPER: He says today the baby has already drunk ten bottles.
THE CHILDREN: But he doesn’t have a baby. It isn’t true.
FIRST CHILD: Kasper, what are the lions roaring about?
KASPER: They’re trying to figure out what day it is.
FIRST CHILD: Ask them if they want some candies!
Kasper lets out a few screams, and then:
KASPER: Yes, very much so, they say.
THE CHILDREN: They don’t eat candies. This is a hoax. (Louder and louder.) It’s all a hoax! Shame on you, Kasper! Boo, Kasper! Get outta here!
Whistles and cries.
THE ZOOKEEPER: These kids are out of control again today. They’re a menace, these brats. — Ah, life’s tough. — I’m just pushing my meat cart around. But since my big lion Maholy died a few weeks ago, this whole feeding round just isn’t the same. How I miss his deep and friendly roar when I would approach his cage with his evening meal! And how I miss that sparkle in his wild eyes, and the cloud of swirling sand that his tail would make as it lashed the ground of his cage. But my sorrow finds some consolation in the fact that the kind wardens have heeded my plea to have our good Maholy stuffed. At least now I’m spared the sight of his empty cage, because I can see just a little piece of his paw. We hid him way in the back there, behind the shed, so he wouldn’t fade in the sun, and seeing just that little bit of his paw makes me feel so much better. But what am I standing around here for, blabbing away? My rounds aren’t even half done.
Voices of the pursuers: Seal off the entire place! Kasper must be here in the zoo! Call the police! This time we’ll get him for sure. Hey kids, where’s Kasper?
KASPER: That awful Maulschmidt. He’s back again with his posse, and quick. I haven’t had a moment’s peace since that business with the radio. What do I do now? Hang on! What’s that there? The lion cage. Didn’t Puschi say to me just yesterday that they’ve got a stuffed lion in there? Stuffed or alive, anything’s better than having those louts on my heels. Be brave, Kasper, get in there and close the door behind you!
From an interior space.
KASPER: “Feeding and teasing prohibited.”—I could feed him all I want, but if he’s kicked the bucket, he won’t taste much.
Voices of the pursuers, as above.
KASPER: That Herr Maulschmidt is still onto me. But this time I’ll show him.
No longer from an interior space:
KASPER: Yes sir, gentlemen, come a little closer, please. All visitors are welcome. Entrance is free, ladies and gentlemen! And my friend here would be glad to say hello. Permit me to step on back and let him know you’re here.
Again from the interior space: a ferocious roar.
HERR MAULSCHMIDT: Heaven forbid, the lion!
KASPER (from the interior space): And yes, my friend has agreed. Allow me to open the door for you and he’ll come out and show you the way.
As soon as Kasper has finished speaking, he lets out a slowly escalating roar.
Voices of the pursuers: Heaven forbid! He’s letting the lion out! Run for your lives! Help! Help!
The voices of the pursuers fade.
KASPER (with a diabolical laugh): Ladies and gentlemen, I think we’ve seen each other today for the last time.
Pause.
KASPER: Taxi!
Street noise.
Driver! Doohickey Alley 1–12, and fast!
Driver’s voice: There must be a mistake, sir, there’s only two houses on that street.
KASPER: On my street we count the windows, too. Now go!
Street noise. After a while, the sound of an explosion. Pause.
Bells tolling.
KASPER: I’ve been asleep. And those are the bells of Saint Catherine.
It’s six in the evening and I’m still in bed?
FRAU PUSCHI: Not so loud, Kasper, you have to rest. Are you feeling any better?
KASPER: Back to being happy as a king.
FRAU PUSCHI: Oh, dear Kasper, when I think how they brought you to me. Your leg bandaged, on a stretcher.
KASPER: I’ll hear nothing of it. That’s over now. It doesn’t hurt at all. Tell me, dear, what are these packages about?
FRAU PUSCHI: The children brought them for you, the ones you were with at the zoo.
KASPER: Show me some, Puschi!
Amid the rustling of paper, Kasper and Puschi take turns calling out the contents of the packages.
KASPER AND PUSCHI: A box of chocolate cigars. — A marzipan revolver. — A praline doll. — A chocolate grandfather clock. — A demon made of baked plums. — A festive bowl. — An edible vase. — A gingerbread house. — A candied-sugar sword.
KASPER: Shall I eat the revolver first, or the sword?
FRAU PUSCHI: I want the revolver.
KASPER: You get the demon.
FRAU PUSCHI: No, the grandfather clock. I wanna eat it as a soup.
KASPER: We will begin with the vase, as an appetizer.
FRAU PUSCHI: That’s not the way it works, Kasper. I’m the housewife, I make the menu.
KASPER: Right you are, and I have to make a plan.
FRAU PUSCHI: What sort of plan are you making?
KASPER: On account of Herr Maulschmidt.
FRAU PUSCHI: Why do you need a plan for him?
KASPER: I need to think about which of his bones to break first when I see him again.
FRAU PUSCHI: But Kasper!
KASPER: Perhaps we’ll begin with the collarbone. Yes, I think it’s nice to start with the collarbone. Then I imagine the shin would come next. Now, if I only knew which, the right or the left. I wouldn’t like to break both. That would be mean. — After that, if we continue on, the ribs would be up next. At this point one must be very careful not to break the wrong rib. How many ribs does Herr Maulschmidt have? What do you say, Puschi? He’s so long, he must have at least twenty.
FRAU PUSCHI: But, Kasper, that’s nonsense. Every person has only twelve ribs.
KASPER: A rib here, a rib there. — But say, Puschi, what was that whole thing with David and Goliath?
FRAU PUSCHI: But you learned all that at school, Kasper.
KASPER: I mean the guy who toppled over. Was that David?
FRAU PUSCHI: That was Goliath.
KASPER: Then my plan is done. — You just have to borrow a cart.
FRAU PUSCHI: But why do I need a cart?
KASPER: I’ll tell you why. — When I break all of Herr Maulschmidt’s ribs, he’ll no longer be able to walk.
FRAU PUSCHI: He probably won’t.
KASPER: So then! We’ll just drive him around in the cart. And now I’ll tell you where. We’ll drive him to the market, right by the statue of Herr Kewlies, the guy who slayed the lions. We’ll lean him up against it, and when enough people have gathered around, you’ll walk around with a cup and I’ll sing the whole story, just as it happened. Listen up, I’ve even written the song.
Half-sung, half-spoken in the style of street song:
Because Puschi had commanded
That he go and fetch a fish
At the market Kasper landed
A gloomy morning full of mist.
Knocking.
FRAU PUSCHI: Who is it?
HERR MAULSCHMIDT: I’m only here to give Kasper an envelope.
KASPER: Blast! Herr Maulschmidt again!
HERR MAULSCHMIDT: Good day, Kasper. I’m glad to see you’re feeling better. I’m also glad to be able to deliver this.
KASPER: An envelope?
FRAU PUSCHI: An envelope?
HERR MAULSCHMIDT: And what’s inside.
FRAU PUSCHI: A thousand marks?
HERR MAULSCHMIDT: Your fee from the radio station.
KASPER: The radio station?! The one that nearly had me killed?
HERR MAULSCHMIDT: Well, in doing so, we also got what we wanted.
KASPER: What’s that supposed to mean?
HERR MAULSCHMIDT: It means that you spoke on the radio, even if you didn’t know it.
KASPER: Well, that must have been in my sleep.
HERR MAULSCHMIDT: Not in your sleep, but in your bed.
FRAU PUSCHI: In bed?
HERR MAULSCHMIDT: He who laughs last, laughs loudest. We at the radio station are even cleverer than you. While you were out in the city perpetrating your scandalous deeds, we secretly installed a microphone in your room, under your bed, and now we have everything you said, on a record, and I just happened to bring one along for you. Listen to this:
The text above begins to play from the record, but in a somewhat distorted tone.
The record: … the guy who slayed the lions. We’ll lean him up against it, and when enough people have gathered around, you’ll walk around with a cup and I’ll sing the whole story, just as it happened. Listen up, I’ve even written the song.
Because Puschi had commanded
That he go and fetch a fish
At the market Kasper landed
A gloomy morning full of mist.
KASPER: I’ve just heard for the first time what radio is.
FRAU PUSCHI: And I’ve seen for the first time what a thousand marks looks like.
KASPER AND FRAU PUSCHI: And we thank you very much, Herr Maulschmidt.
The ringing of bells, as above.
HERR MAULSCHMIDT: The honor is mine! And goodbye to you both! I must hurry as we’re making a broadcast from Pumpernickel. This has been one unforgettable day.
“Radau um Kasperl,” GS, 4.2, 674–95, with additional notes in GS, 7.2, 831–6. Translated by Jonathan Lutes.
Broadcast on Southwest German Radio, Frankfurt, on March 10, 1932, and on Western German Radio, Cologne, on September 9, 1932.
The Frankfurt broadcast was announced in the Südwestdeutsche Rundfunk-Zeitung for March 10, 1932, from 7:45–8:45 pm; it was advertised as “Much Ado About Kasper, A Radio Play for Children by Walter Benjamin.” The listing notes that the broadcast would be directed by Benjamin. It also makes a request: “As the title implies, Kasper’s experiences in this play are also connected with Radau [racket, row, hubbub, din]. Children are asked to guess what the noises mean, and to share their opinions with the radio station.”3
The Cologne broadcast on September 9, 1932, from 4:20–5:00 pm, was scheduled as part of the station’s youth radio programming and was directed by Carl Heil.
Much Ado About Kasper is the only broadcast of Benjamin’s for which an audio-recording exists, albeit a partial one. Benjamin’s voice cannot be heard. The audio fragment is most likely from the production in Cologne.
In a letter to Scholem dated February 28, 1933, Benjamin gave Much Ado About Kasper an affirmative spin rare for his comments about his radio works. Speaking of his “works for radio” generally, he notes that even he hasn’t “been successful in collecting them all. I am speaking of the radio plays, not the series of countless talks, which [will] now come to an end, unfortunately, and are of no interest except in economic terms, but that is now a thing of the past. Moreover, most of these radio plays were written together with others. Notable from a technical point of view perhaps is a piece for children, which was broadcast last year in Frankfurt and Cologne; I may be able to secure you a copy at some point. It’s called ‘Radau um Kasperl.’”4
1 The name Maulschmidt, when broken down into its components in German, can be understood literally as Maul, “snout,” “mug,” or “muzzle,” and Schmidt, or the common “smith.” Together they create a satirical proper name that is not common in German. An English equivalent might be something like: mouth-smith, mug-maker, or snout-forger.
2 The German for radio and broadcasting, Rundfunk, is made up of the words rund, which means round, and Funke., spark. The English “radio” carries a similar connotation of dissemination outward, as in radiality. Kasper’s humor depends on the embedded German connotation of radiating fire or disseminating sparks, which cannot be conveyed in the English.
3 In addition to the typescript of the play, the Benjamin archive includes a text entitled “Kasper and the Radio: A Story with Noise” [Kasper] und der Rundfunk: Eine Geschichte mit Lärm], which the GS editors tentatively conclude was related to the Frankfurt broadcast and the above request for the children to guess what the sounds were. The text of “Kasper and the Radio” (reproduced in GS, 7.2, 832–6), is something like an outline or summary version of Much Ado About Kasper. It describes the scenes of the play and the interrupting noises, and is divided into divided into six “hubbubs” [Radau]. The text begins with an introduction: “The following draft outlines a storyline containing a series of episodes in a fixed framework. The basis of these episodes is a variety of characteristic types of sounds punctuated here and there with hints and words. In a short introduction the speaker indicates the gist of the following radio play to his listeners, placing before them the task of envisioning the episodes, which are not fully fleshed out. The listeners are then asked to assess the respective sounds according to their imagination and wishes, and to send their solutions to the radio station for a potential prize” (GS, 7.2, 832–3). This short summary version, in other words, emphasizes the acoustic elements and sound-play of the play.
4 Benjamin, The Correspondence of Walter Benjamin, 403–4.
CHAPTER 31. The Cold Heart
A Radio Play Adapted from Wilhelm Hauff’s Fairy Tale1
By Walter Benjamin and Ernst Schoen2
Dramatis personae
RADIO ANNOUNCER
COAL PETER
LITTLE GLASS MAN
DUTCH MICHAEL
EZEKIEL
SCHLURKER
DANCE HALL KING
LISBETH
BEGGAR
MILLER
MILLER’S WIFE
MILLER’S SON
A VOICE
POSTILION
Prologue
RADIO ANNOUNCER: Dear Radio Listeners, welcome once again to the Youth Hour. Today I think I will read you another fairy tale. But which one shall I read? Let’s have a look in our big dictionary, filled with the names of all of the writers of fairy tales, kind of like a telephone book. I should be able to pick one out from there. So, A as in abracadabra? That’s not for us. Let’s leaf through the book a little further. B as in Bechstein … that would be good, but we just had him recently.
A knock at the door.
C as in Celsius, as opposed to Réaumur. D, E, F, G.
Louder knocking at the door.
H as in Hauff, Wilhelm Hauff, yes, that’s the one for us.
Even louder pounding at the door.
What is this devilish noise here at the radio station? Good heavens! How are we to get on with our Youth Hour! Very well, come on in! (Whispering.) They are ruining the whole Youth Hour — Well, what is it then? How strange you are! What do you want?
COAL PETER: We are the characters from “The Cold Heart,” the fairy tale by Wilhelm Hauff.
ANNOUNCER: From “The Cold Heart” by Wilhelm Hauff? Well, you have come right on cue! But how did you get here? Don’t you know this is a radio station? You can’t just come barging in!
COAL PETER: Are you the Announcer?
ANNOUNCER: Indeed, I am.
COAL PETER: Well, then we are in the right place. Everybody, come on in and close the door. And perhaps now we should introduce ourselves.
ANNOUNCER: Yes, but—
The introduction of each character from the fairy tale is accompanied by a little melody played on a music box.3
COAL PETER: I am Peter Munk, born in the Black Forest. They call me Coal Peter, because along with my father’s guild jacket with the silver buttons, and the red stockings for special occasions, I also inherited the trade of charcoal-burner.
LITTLE GLASS MAN: I am the Little Glass Man. I am only three and a half feet tall, but I have great power over the fates of human beings. If you were born lucky, Mr. Announcer, and some day you’re taking a walk through the Black Forest, and you see a little man in front of you in a peaked hat with a broad brim, a doublet, pantaloons, and short red stockings, then make your wish quick, for then you have caught sight of me.
DUTCH MICHAEL: And I am Dutch Michael. My jacket is of dark linen, I wear my trousers of black leather with broad, green suspenders. And in my pocket I carry a ruler made of brass, and along with that I wear the boots of a raftsman, but all of it is so grossly oversized that for the boots alone a dozen calves were needed.
EZEKIEL: I am fat Ezekiel, so named because my girth is so colossal. And I can afford it. I am considered the richest man in the area, and rightly so. Twice a year I travel to Amsterdam to deliver lumber, and while all the others must return on foot, I can ride in a coach.
SCHLURKER: I am tall Schlurker, the tallest and thinnest man in the whole of the Black Forest. I am also the boldest; in an overcrowded pub, I always take up more room than four fat men together.
DANCE HALL KING (coyly): Allow me to introduce myself, Mr. Announcer. I am the Dance Hall King.
DUTCH MICHAEL (interrupting him): That’ll do, Dance Hall King, no need to put on airs here. I know where your money comes from, and that you were once a lowly woodcutter.
LISBETH: I am Miss Lisbeth, the daughter of a poor lumberjack. I am, however, the most beautiful and virtuous woman in all the Black Forest and I am engaged to be married to Peter Munk.
BEGGAR: And I am the very last, for I am nothing but a poor beggar. Yet, I will have an important, if small, role to play.
ANNOUNCER: Well, I’ve heard so much about you, my head is spinning. But what brings you here to the radio station? Why are you disturbing me in my work?
COAL PETER: To tell you the truth, Mr. Announcer, we really wanted to visit Voice Land just once.
ANNOUNCER: Voice Land? Coal Peter, how am I supposed to understand that? You will have to explain in a little more detail.
COAL PETER: You see, Mr. Announcer, we’ve already been in Hauff’s fairy-tale book for one hundred years now. Normally, we can only speak to one child at a time. But now it is supposedly the fashion for fairy-tale characters to step out of books and cross over into Voice Land, where they can introduce themselves to many thousands of children all at once. That’s what we would like to do and we were told that you, Mr. Announcer, were just the man to help us.
ANNOUNCER (flattered): That may be true, if you mean the Radio Voice Land.
DUTCH MICHAEL (rudely): That’s what we do mean! So, let us in, Mr. Announcer, there’s no time to show us the fine print.
EZEKIEL (rudely): Stop your blabbing, Michael. Here in Voice Land one can’t see anything at all!
COAL PETER: One certainly can see in Voice Land, but one cannot be seen. That’s what’s bothering you, I can tell. You are, of course, not happy when you can’t get all rigged up in your chains and scarves and handkerchiefs. But consider what you get in return. Everyone can hear you, as far as the eye can see from the highest mountain in the Black Forest and beyond, and you don’t even have to raise your voice.
DANCE HALL KING: Thinking about it, Coal Peter, I still can’t agree. The Black Forest, well, that’s a place I know my way around — but Voice Land, there I would get lost, I’m afraid, and every moment stumble over roots.
EZEKIEL: Roots! There aren’t any roots in Voice Land!
COAL PETER: Don’t let yourself be deceived, Dance Hall King. Of course there are roots. Just as on Earth, Voice Land has a Black Forest, and villages, cities, rivers, and clouds. But they can’t be seen on Earth, only heard; on Earth, everything that goes on in Voice Land can be heard but not seen. But once you’ve entered, you’ll quickly know your way around just as well as you do here.
ANNOUNCER: And if anything goes wrong — that’s why I’m here: the Announcer. We at the radio station know our way around like the back of our own hands.
DUTCH MICHAEL (rudely): Well then, Mr. Announcer, let us in already.
ANNOUNCER: Not so fast, Dutch Michael, you brute! It’s not that easy! You can come into Voice Land and speak to thousands of children, but I patrol the borders of this country and there’s a condition you must first fulfill.
LISBETH: A condition?
ANNOUNCER: Yes, indeed, Miss Lisbeth, and one that will be especially difficult for you to fulfill.
LITTLE GLASS MAN: Well then, name your condition. I am certainly used to conditions, I often set them myself.
ANNOUNCER: Alright, listen closely, Little Glass Man, and you others too: whoever wishes to enter Voice Land must be very modest. He must surrender all finery and relinquish all external beauty, so that nothing is left but his voice. However, his voice will then be heard by thousands of children simultaneously.
Pause.
Well, I’m afraid that is the condition from which I cannot stray. Think it over for a moment if you like.
COAL PETER (whispering): What do all of you think of that? Are you ready, Lisbeth, to give up your pretty Sunday dress?
LISBETH (whispering): Yes, of course, what is it to me! If we can really speak to thousands of children!
EZEKIEL (whispering): Hoho! That’s not as easy as it sounds.
(Jingling his coins) And what will become of these shiny ducats?
LITTLE GLASS MAN (whispering): Just be happy you’re rid of them so easily, you scoundrel! (Aloud) Well, Mr. Announcer, we consent to your condition.
ANNOUNCER: Very good, Little Glass Man, in you come.
COAL PETER: We have but one request, however.
ANNOUNCER: And what would that be, Coal Peter?
COAL PETER: Well, you see Mr. Announcer, we have never actually been in Voice Land!
ANNOUNCER: Indeed, indeed! And so?
COAL PETER: Well, how will we find our way around?
ANNOUNCER: Good point, Coal Peter.
COAL PETER: I was thinking, since you’re already the border patrol of Voice Land, couldn’t you come with us as our guide?
DANCE HALL KING: As I always say: those who cling together swing together!
LISBETH: No one’s going to swing, you dumb Dance Hall King!
But please, if you would be so kind, Mr. Announcer—!
ANNOUNCER (flattered): Well then, I will guide you, only don’t be upset if my papers occasionally rustle. (Rustling paper) Without my map, even I can’t find my way around in Voice Land.
Pause.
Well, if you’ve got nothing against it, I must ask you to go to the coat room! Miss Lisbeth, you must leave your Sunday bonnet here! Also the money belt — and the fancy buckled shoes — here, in exchange, is your voice robe. Mr. Peter Munk, the doublet with the silver buttons must go and the red stockings as well.
COAL PETER: Here they are.
ANNOUNCER: And you, Little Glass Man, must give up your hat, waistcoat, and bloomers.
LITTLE GLASS MAN: Already done.
ANNOUNCER: And how about you, Dutch Michael? No, no, no — no ruler, that has to stay here as well as your raftsman’s boots.
DUTCH MICHAEL: If we must. Raise the devil!
ANNOUNCER: And Mr. Dance Hall King is ready, I see, and you, poor beggar, haven’t much to leave behind! But what’s that I see — fat Ezekiel has hung his ducat purse around his neck! No, my good friend, that won’t do! Where we’re going, your ducats will be of no use to you. All you need is a good, clear voice, one that hasn’t been worn out in the tavern like yours has.
EZEKIEL (ranting): No, no, I won’t go along with it! My good money is worth more than your entire Voice Land!
DUTCH MICHAEL: By Jove, I’ve got something to say to that! Hand over the money, you miserable wretch, or I’ll smash you to pieces!
ANNOUNCER: Peace, my dear friends! Mr. Dutch Michael, control your temper, and you, Mr. Ezekiel, I can assure you that you will get your money back, down to the last penny, after your appearance in Voice Land.
EZEKIEL: Very well then, Mr. Announcer. Now, if I could get that in writing!
ANNOUNCER: Off to Voice Land!
Gong.4
Music: Peter.
ANNOUNCER: Hello, Coal Peter, hello!
Several voices: Hello!
COAL PETER: Can you see anything, Announcer? Who’s that calling “hello”? Where are we?
ANNOUNCER: No, Coal Peter, in Voice Land there is nothing to be seen, only something to be heard.
Music: Mill.
MILLER’S SON: Can you see anything, father?
MILLER: There is so much fog that you can’t see your hand in front of your face. I could trip over my own mill. What do you think, wife?
MILLER’S WIFE: Now I hear the voices coming closer.
Music.
COAL PETER: Announcer? There is a great whooshing sound here, as if there were a river. In all my days, I have never known even the tiniest brook here.
ANNOUNCER: You say here, Peter? As if you knew where you were?
Now, don’t be too shocked when I tell you, but we’re lost.
COAL PETER: Lost? It can’t be. I just heard voices.
ANNOUNCER: Strange voices.
Once again: Hello! Hello!
MILLER’S WIFE: Goodness me, where are you coming from so late at night?
ANNOUNCER: Hello, good woman, is it so late?
MILLER: Almost ten o’clock at night.
COAL PETER: Well, good evening, my good people. We’ve actually lost our way.
MILLER: You’ve been on your feet a long time.
COAL PETER: It didn’t seem that long to us. But my bones are starting to ache.
ANNOUNCER: Mine too, Peter. But that doesn’t help. I must go back and look for my other friends in Voice Land.
We hear: Good evening, Announcer. Be well. Good night. Bye!
MILLER’S WIFE: All right, come on in, Mr. Peter, for that must be your name. Be careful you don’t get covered with dust. It’s always dusty in a mill. Hurry, Hanni, bring the young man last night’s potato fritters and a cherry brandy.
Pause. Sound of clattering plates.
MILLER’S SON (whispering): Mother, how strange Mr. Peter looks.
MILLER’S WIFE: What do you mean?
MILLER’S SON (whispering): As if something had spooked him.
MILLER’S WIFE: Silly boy, off to bed. And you, Mr. Peter, will not stay up much longer either. For as you know, at the mill, the racket starts early. It is no place for people who like to sleep in.
COAL PETER: Right, Mrs. Miller. But first you must allow me to thank you sincerely for the potato fritters.
MILLER’S WIFE: Don’t mention it. But come along. I’ll show you to your bed.
COAL PETER: I’m sure to sleep well here. So many pillows! They reach almost to the ceiling.
MILLER’S WIFE: Well you see, here in the Black Forest we don’t have double windows. One must have thick comforters when the winter frost comes.
Again, voices: Have a good night’s sleep! Good night! Don’t forget to blow out the candles!
COAL PETER (yawning): Aah, how amazing that a person could be so tired. I believe that if the devil himself were to appear, I’d just lie here and turn the other way.
Brief pause. A knock.
COAL PETER: Was that a knock? It’s not possible. They’re all asleep. Another knock.
COAL PETER: Someone must be at the door. Come in!
MILLER’S SON: Dear Mr. Peter, please, please, don’t tell on me. Let me stay here with you for a little while. I am so afraid.
COAL PETER: Come now, what’s wrong? Why are you so afraid?
MILLER’S SON: Mr. Peter, you’d be afraid too, if you had seen what I saw today. — Perhaps you did notice it when you came in — that book bound in red velvet lying on the table.
COAL PETER: Oh the album, yes, of course. With pictures inside, no?
MILLER’S SON: There are indeed pictures in it, Mr. Peter, and on one page there are three that I can’t get out of my head; their eyes follow me everywhere. Fat Ezekiel and tall Schlurker and the Dance Hall King are their names, it says so underneath.
COAL PETER: What’s that you say? Fat Ezekiel, tall Schlurker … I’ve heard those names before. And the Dance Hall King? Isn’t that the poor man who once was a servant to a lumber merchant and then became filthy rich all of a sudden? Some say he found a pot of gold under an old pine tree, while others insist that he speared a bundle of gold in the river Rhine, not far from Bingen, with a spear like those that raftsmen use to catch fish, and that the gold belonged to the great treasure of the Nibelungen that was buried there. In short, he had suddenly become rich, and young and old regarded him as a prince.
MILLER’S SON: But his eyes! You should have seen his eyes!
COAL PETER: Well, you know, it’s quite possible. People who see something especially horrible can get a peculiar look in their eyes forever.
MILLER’S SON: But what do you think he might have seen that was so very horrible?
COAL PETER: Well, I’m not sure, but did you know that on the other side of the Black Forest, where the lumberjacks and raftsmen live, people say that something not quite right is going on?
MILLER’S SON: Oh, I know, you must be talking about Dutch Michael. My father has already told me about him. He’s the giant of the forest, the coarse, broad-shouldered chap, and those who have seen him say they would not like to pay for the calves’ hides it would take to make one pair of his boots.
COAL PETER: Yes, I was just thinking of him.
MILLER’S SON: So you do know something about him after all, Mr. Peter.
COAL PETER: Shame on you, child, for saying such a thing. How should I know anything about Dutch Michael? Sometimes when I hear what people are saying, I ask myself: Isn’t it just envy? Aren’t they simply envious of the lumberjacks who are always swaggering around like lords in their doublets with buttons, buckles, and chains, draped in half a hundredweight of silver? Anybody could get jealous, seeing that.
MILLER’S SON: Have you been envious of it too, Mr. Peter?
COAL PETER: Envious, good heavens no, I have no cause for that; I’m the last one to be envious.
MILLER’S SON: So that means then that you yourself are that rich, Mr. Peter? Or maybe even richer?
COAL PETER: Surely, my boy, you must have noticed that I am a poor wretch. I don’t have an ounce of silver on me, here or at home. But I have something even better. Only I can’t tell you what it is.
MILLER’S SON: Now you’ve made me curious. I won’t leave your room until you’ve told me.
COAL PETER: Well, can you keep a secret?
MILLER’S SON: Of course, Mr. Peter, I promise you that no one will hear it from me.
COAL PETER: In that case, let me ask you something. Have you ever heard of the Little Glass Man? The Little Glass Man who never shows up without his peaked hat with a broad rim, a doublet, white trousers, and red stockings. The friend of glass makers and coal burners and all the other poor people who live on this side of the woods.
MILLER’S SON: The Little Glass Man? No, Mr. Peter, never heard of him.
COAL PETER: Then perhaps you’ve heard of Sunday’s Child?
MILLER’S SON: Oh, yes, those who are born on Sunday at noon.
COAL PETER: Well, that’s me. Do you understand? — but that’s only half my secret. The other half is my rhyme.
MILLER’S SON: Now, I can’t follow a word you are saying, Mr. Peter.
COAL PETER: The Little Glass Man, you see, he appears to Sunday’s Children, but only under a pine hillock, where the trees are so dense and stand so tall that even in broad daylight it’s almost night, and where one hears neither an ax nor even a bird, if one knows the right rhyme. And that my mother taught me.
MILLER’S SON: Surely, you are to be envied, Mr. Peter.
COAL PETER: Yes, one might envy me had I memorized the little rhyme, but when I stood there before the pine tree and wanted to recite it, I realized I had forgotten the last line. The Little Glass Man vanished as quickly as he had appeared. “Mr. Glass Man,” I called, after some hesitation, “be so kind as not to make a fool of me. Mr. Glass Man, if you think I didn’t see you, you are quite mistaken. I saw you peeking out from behind the tree.” But there was no answer, and only at times did I hear a soft, rasping chuckle from behind the tree. Finally, I thought, with one leap, I could catch that little guy. When I sprang behind the pine tree, though, there was no Little Glass Man anywhere to be found; there was only a dainty little squirrel racing up the trunk.
MILLER’S SON: So, Mr. Peter, you’ve just come from the Little Glass Man?
COAL PETER: That’s right.
MILLER’S SON: But now you must tell me your rhyme, as much as you remember of it.
COAL PETER: No, my boy. It’s gotten late and we should get some sleep — and your three bad men, you will have forgotten them by tomorrow, and when we wake up, we’ll all be cheerful.
MILLER’S SON: Well then, good night, Mr. Peter. But I’m not cheerful, because you didn’t tell me the rhyme.
We hear the two saying goodnight.
COAL PETER: Now I’m alone and want to sleep. I don’t want to recite the rhyme to anyone but the Little Glass Man, oh, if only I remembered it!
A little music. Peter sings along in a drowsy voice.
Keeper of wealth in the forest of pine,
Hundreds of years are surely thine:
Thine is the tall pine’s dwelling place—5
COAL PETER (in a drowsy voice): The tall pine’s dwelling place, the tall pine’s dwelling place — if I only knew the rest.
The music comes to an end. After a short pause, we hear six chimes.
ANNOUNCER: Here I am again, back in the Black Forest mill, together with Coal Peter. It’s six o’clock. I bet Coal Peter slept the whole night in the back of a cart and it won’t be so easy to wake him. Coal Peter is snoring. Faint music grows slowly stronger. We hear one or two verses sung.
COAL PETER (very drowsy): Huh, a music box for an alarm clock. I would like to wake up to lovely music every morning, like a prince. But no, it’s coming from outside: apprentice craftsmen! They’re certainly up early.
We hear singing:
I stood upon the brightest place,
I gazed upon the plain,
And then — oh then — I saw that face,
I never saw again.6
COAL PETER: Hey, you there! Encore, encore! Sing it again!
The music fades away and the singing becomes fainter.
Well, they don’t care much for me. And they’re gone, beyond the hills.
(More quietly and wistfully.) How did it go again? (Humming quietly to the same melody.) Oh then — I saw that face, oh then — I saw that face — so then, “face,” that’s the rhyme. Face for place, now Little Glass Man, let’s have our little chat again.
He whistles a little to himself.
ANNOUNCER: What’s your hurry, Mr. Peter Munk? I had just been hopelessly wondering how to get you back on your feet and on your way home. And suddenly here you are, racing by in such haste.
COAL PETER (in a hurry): Let me go, Mr. Announcer, let me go. I just remembered my rhyme—
ANNOUNCER: Rhyme? What sort of rhyme?
COAL PETER: Shh, I’m on a mission. I can’t say another word. You’ll find out soon enough. Goodbye, Mr. Announcer!
ANNOUNCER: What an odd bird. (Calling after him.) Just steer clear of Dutch Michael! Bye, Peter!
COAL PETER: So, here’s the tall pine. Now pay attention Peter, here we go:
Keeper of wealth in the forest of pine,
Hundreds of years are surely thine,
Thine is the tall pine’s dwelling place,
Those born on Sunday see thy face.7
LITTLE GLASS MAN: You didn’t get it quite right, but since it’s you, Coal Peter, I’ll let it slide. Did you run into that rascal, Dutch Michael?
COAL PETER: Indeed I did, Keeper of Wealth, and I was terribly scared. I’ve come to ask your advice. Things aren’t going well for me, they’re not easy. A coal burner won’t get very far, and being young, I thought, perhaps I could make more of myself. I often look at others and think how far they’ve gotten in such a short time — I need only mention Ezekiel and the Dance Hall King, who are rolling in the dough.
LITTLE GLASS MAN: Don’t talk to me about them, Peter! What good does it do them, if for a few years they appear to be happy yet afterwards are just as unhappy? Don’t scorn your trade; your father and grandfather were honorable men, and they plied the same trade, Peter Munk! I do hope it’s not laziness that brings you to me.
COAL PETER: No, not laziness. Mr. Keeper of Wealth in the Forest of Pine, I know very well that laziness is at the root of all vice; but you can’t hold it against me if another rank pleases me more than my own. A coal burner is regarded as very lowly in this world, while the glass blowers and the raftsmen and the clockmakers are held in high esteem.
LITTLE GLASS MAN: Pride goeth before a fall. You humans are a curious race! You’re hardly ever satisfied with the condition into which you were born and raised. What’s it all about? If you are a glassmaker, you would rather be a lumber merchant, and if you are a lumber merchant, you covet the forester’s duties or the magistrate’s residence. But so be it! If you promise to work hard, Peter, I will help you to attain something better. I grant three wishes to every Sunday’s Child who knows how to find me. But be careful. With every wish I knock my glass pipe on this pine tree. The first two are free; the third I can refuse, if it’s foolish. So wish for something now, Peter, but make it something good and useful.
COAL PETER: Hooray! You are a splendid Little Glass Man, and rightly do they call you the Keeper of Wealth; you do control a wealth of treasures. I shall wish what my heart desires. My first wish is that I be able to dance better than the Dance Hall King and always bring twice as much money to the tavern as he does. Knocking of the pipe.
LITTLE GLASS MAN: You fool! What a pathetic wish this is, to be able to dance well and have money for gambling! Aren’t you ashamed, dumb Peter, to cheat yourself out of your own happiness like this? What good does it do you and your poor mother, if you dance well? What good is your money if it’s squandered at the tavern, like that of the miserable Dance Hall King? Afterwards you’ll have nothing left for the rest of the week and you’ll suffer want just as before. I will give you one more wish freely; but be careful to make a more reasonable wish!
COAL PETER (after some hesitation): Well, then, I wish for the most beautiful and richest glass factory in the entire Black Forest with all its trappings and the money to run it.
LITTLE GLASS MAN: Nothing else, Peter? Nothing else?
COAL PETER: Well, you could add a horse and a small carriage.
LITTLE GLASS MAN: Oh, you stupid Coal Peter! (The pipe shatters.) Horse? Carriage? Brains, I tell you — it’s brains, common sense and good judgment you should have wished for, not a horse and carriage. Now, don’t be so sad, we will see to it that it doesn’t cause you any harm; after all, the second wish wasn’t entirely foolish. A good glass factory feeds its owner and workmen; if only you had added brains and good judgment to it, horses and carriages would have come into the bargain.
COAL PETER: But, Mr. Keeper of Wealth, I do have one wish left. I could wish for brains if you think I am in such need of them.
LITTLE GLASS MAN: No way! You will encounter many difficulties, and so, be glad you still have one wish left. Now go home! Here are two thousand guldens — and that’s it — don’t come back to ask me for more money; I’d hang you from the highest pine tree! That’s how I’ve been handling things ever since I came to live in the forest. Three days ago, old Winkfritz died; he had that big glass factory in the lower forest. Go there early tomorrow morning and make a fair bid! Comport yourself well, be diligent, and I will come visit you now and again to advise and assist you, because you didn’t ask for any brains. But, I say this to you in earnest, your first wish was evil. Beware of the taverns, Peter! They’ve never done anyone any good.
COAL PETER: He’s gone? He can really smoke, that Keeper of Wealth. The smoke’s so thick, I can hardly see him. (He sniffs.) I must say, though, it is a pleasant blend.
Gong.
ANNOUNCER: Yes, well then, where were we? You children have just listened in on the conversation between our good Peter Munk and our little Keeper of Wealth. You heard the foolish wishes Peter made, and how the Little Glass Man disappeared in a cloud of good Dutch tobacco smoke. Now let’s see what comes next. (He rustles some papers.) Where is that next installment? (Louder rustling.)
LITTLE GLASS MAN (whispering): What’s going on? Why aren’t we continuing with the play?
ANNOUNCER (whispering): I have no idea what to do next, Mr. Keeper of Wealth. Fancy that! The forest wind must have blown away some of the pages; now we’re in a jam. I have no idea how we will ever find our place again.
DANCE HALL KING (whispering): Disastrous, disastrous! What are we going to do?
DUTCH MICHAEL (whispering): As if you had any ideas, you dumb Dance Hall King. It’s going to take something big. Let me think a minute!
DANCE HALL KING (whispering): That’s a laugh: you, thinking! If only it were possible, Dutch Michael.
DUTCH MICHAEL (whispering): Save it, Dance Hall King. Go sing “The Watch on the Rhine.”8 So, Coal Peter, now you have a huge amount of money from the Little Glass Man and you’ve got yourself a glass factory.
COAL PETER: That’s right, that’s right, Mr. Dutch Michael, I did indeed have a nice, big glass factory.
DANCE HALL KING: Yes, right, you had it, Coal Peter, but sure enough, you up and gambled it away with Fat Ezekiel at the tavern. Isn’t that true, Fat Ezekiel?
EZEKIEL: Oh, give it a rest, Dance Hall King. I don’t ever want to be reminded of that evening again.
ANNOUNCER: Yes, that’s right, Coal Peter! I still remember that myself. You gambled away your glass factory. But you must ask yourself: wasn’t that a colossal mistake on Coal Peter’s part, wishing from the Keeper of Wealth that he would always have as much money in his pocket as Fat Ezekiel? It goes without saying that one evening you wouldn’t have a single penny left and would have to sell your glass factory the very next day. Wait a minute: Had to sell — had to sell—? There it is on page sixteen! Thank God, I’ve found the thread again! Let’s go, people, we can continue! While the bailiff and appraiser looked around the glass factory and checked and estimated the value of everything that was for sale, that’s when Coal Peter thought: “It’s not that far to the pine forest; if the little fellow couldn’t help me, then I’m going to try it again with the big one.” He ran to the pine forest as if the bailiffs were at his heels; as he ran past the place in the forest where he first spoke to the Little Glass Man, he felt as if an invisible hand were holding him back; but he tore himself away and kept running, all the way to the boundary he remembered from before. Well, Peter, now you’re on your own; I certainly don’t envy you for what happens next.
COAL PETER (breathless): Dutch Michael, Mr. Dutch Michael!
DUTCH MICHAEL (laughing): So you’ve come, Coal Peter. Did they fleece you and try to sell you off to your creditors? Well, keep calm, as I said before, all of your misery comes from the Little Glass Man, that separatist, that hypocrite! When one gives, one really has to give — not like that cheapskate! So come, come into my house; we’ll see if we can make a deal.
COAL PETER: A deal, Dutch Michael? What is there to negotiate with you? Should I serve you somehow? What else do you want? And how will I make it over this great chasm?
DUTCH MICHAEL (as if through a megaphone): Just sit on my hand and hold on to my fingers. You won’t fall.
Music with various rhythms that sound like ticking clocks; first softly, then louder.
So, here we are! Take a seat on the bench by the stove and let’s drink a pint of wine together. Cheers, here’s to your health, you poor fellow. Is it true that you’ve never left the gloomy Black Forest your whole life?
COAL PETER: Not yet, indeed, Dutch Michael, how would I?
DUTCH MICHAEL: In different company, of course! Every year I get to float down the Rhine to Holland atop a raft of timber. Not to mention the trips to foreign countries I allow myself in my free time.
COAL PETER: Oh, to do that just once!
DUTCH MICHAEL: It’s up to you. Until now your heart has gotten in the way of everything.
COAL PETER: My heart?
DUTCH MICHAEL: When, in your whole body, you might have the courage and strength to do something, but a few beats of your stupid heart make you tremble, as do your misfortunes and insults to your honor — why should a smart fellow like you have to worry about such things? Was it your head that bothered you when they called you an impostor and a scoundrel? Did your stomach ache when the bailiff came to throw you out of your house? Tell me, please, what was paining you?
COAL PETER: My heart.
DUTCH MICHAEL: You have, and don’t resent me for saying this, thrown away hundreds of guldens on vile panhandlers and other riff-raff; what good did it do you? They wished you good blessings and a healthy body; are you any healthier for it? For half that squandered money you could have gotten a doctor. Blessings — nice blessings those, when you are seized for debt and evicted! And what was it that drove you to reach in your pocket every time a beggar stretched out a tattered hat? — Your heart, once again, your heart, and not your eyes or tongue, arms or legs, but your heart; you took it, as they say, too much to heart.
COAL PETER: But what can be done to stop it? I try as hard as I can to stifle it, but nonetheless my heart beats, bringing me pain.
DUTCH MICHAEL (with a sneering laugh): You, poor rascal, can do nothing about it; but give me the palpitating thing and then you’ll see how good you have it.
COAL PETER (horrified): Give you my heart? I would die on the spot! Never!
DUTCH MICHAEL: Well, if you had one of those honorable surgeons remove your heart from your body, you would surely die; but with me it’s different; come into this room and see for yourself!
Music: Fugue of the Pounding Heart.
COAL PETER: For God’s sake! What is that?
DUTCH MICHAEL: Yes, take a good look at what’s in those spirit glasses! They cost me a wad of dough! Take a closer look and read the names on the labels.
After reading each name aloud, corresponding music.
Here we have the bailiff and here Fat Ezekiel. This is the heart of the Dance Hall King and that of the Head Forester. And here we have a whole collection of racketeers and recruiting officers. Look, all of them got rid of a life of fear and worry; none of these hearts beats with worry and fear anymore, and their former owners feel they’ve gotten an unruly guest out of the house.
COAL PETER (fearfully): But what do they carry in their chests now?
DUTCH MICHAEL: A meticulously manufactured stone heart like this one here.
COAL PETER (shuddering): Really? A heart of marble? Listen here, Mr. Dutch Michael, that must feel awfully cold in one’s chest.
DUTCH MICHAEL: Well, yes, but quite pleasantly cool. Why should a heart be warm? In the winter that warmth is of no use to you at all — a good cherry brandy is of greater help than a warm heart. And during the summer, when it’s hot and humid, you wouldn’t believe how such a heart can cool you down. And as I said, neither fear nor dread, nor foolish compassion nor any other misery throbs in such a heart.
COAL PETER (annoyed): And that’s all you have to offer? I was thinking of money, and you offer me a stone!
DUTCH MICHAEL: Well, I think, 100,000 guldens should be enough for you as a start. If you manage it shrewdly, you will soon be a millionaire.
COAL PETER (happy): Hey you, don’t beat so fiercely in my chest! We will soon be done with one another. Very well, Michael, give me the stone and the money, and remove the worry from its dwelling place!
DUTCH MICHAEL (happy): I knew you were a sensible fellow. Come, let’s have a drink, and then I’ll fork over the money.
The heart music fades into a Post Horn Fugue.
COAL PETER (wakes up and stretches): Aah! I slept a long time. Was that a post horn that just woke me? Am I awake, or am I still dreaming? It seems to me that I am riding somewhere, and there is a postilion and horses up ahead. I am, in fact, sitting in a stagecoach. And the mountains, back there in the distance, that’s the Black Forest. And even my clothes have changed. Why am I not even a little melancholy that I am leaving, for the first time, the forests where I lived for so long? What is my mother doing? How strange, she’s probably sitting there, helpless and in despair, and yet this thought cannot draw a single tear from my eye. I am indifferent to it all. Why? Oh, that’s right, tears and sighs, homesickness and melancholy come from the heart and, thanks to Dutch Michael, mine is cold and made of stone. If he kept his word about the hundred thousand, as he did with my heart, then I should be happy. Sure enough, here is a purse with thousands of coins and bills from the commercial houses of all the big cities.
Post horn melody.
JUMBLE OF VOICES: Frankfurt am Main! Frankfurter sausages! Goethe House! Frankfurt Radio! Apple wine! The Frankfurt Times! Marzipan cookies! Frankfurt is teeming with curiosities!
COAL PETER: What’s there to eat and drink? Wrap up a couple dozen sausages for me, a couple jugs of apple wine, and a couple pounds of marzipan cookies.
Post horn melody.
JUMBLE OF VOICES: Paris! Le Matin! Paris-Midi! Paris-Soir! Cacahouètes, cacahouètes, and cacahouètes! The Louvre! The Eiffel Tower! Eskimo pops, goody bags! Surprises!
COAL PETER (sleepy): Where are we now? Oh, in Paris! Then pack up some champagne, lobsters, and oysters, so I don’t die of hunger and thirst!
A VOICE: Mr. Postilion, who is that sleepy gentleman?
POSTILION: Oh, that’s Mr. Coal Peter from the Black Forest, who ate and drank so much in Frankfurt that he can hardly move.
Post horn melody.
JUMBLE OF VOICES: London! Britannia rules the waves! Ginger ale! Scotch Whisky! Toffees! Muffins! The Morning Post! The Daily News! The Times! Turkey and plumcake!
Coal Peter snores.
A VOICE: Mr. Postilion, who is that snoring gentleman over there?
POSTILION: That’s Mr. Coal Peter from the Black Forest, who ate and drank so much in Paris that he can hardly keep his eyes open. Post horn melody.
JUMBLE OF VOICES: Constantinople! Visit the Bosphorus and the Golden Horn! Carpets! A hookah perhaps? Bagpipes made in Constantinople! Rahat lokum! Visit the whirling dervishes in Gallipoli and the minarets of the Hagia Sophia!
Coal Peter snores.
A VOICE: Mr. Postilion, who is that snoring gentleman over there?
POSTILION: That’s Mr. Coal Peter from the Black Forest who has already eaten and drunk so much at the previous stops that he can’t keep his eyes open at all.
Post horn melody.
JUMBLE OF VOICES: Roma! La Stampa di Roma! Il Corriere della Sera! Il Foro Romano! The Coliseum! Giovinezza! Vino bianco e vino rosso! Spaghetti! Polenta! Risotto! Frutti di mare! Antiquities! Visit the Pope and Il Duce!
Coal Peter snores.
A VOICE: Mr. Postilion, who is that snoring gentleman over there?
POSTILION: That’s Mr. Coal Peter from the Black Forest who has already eaten and drunk so much at the previous stops that he can’t even open his eyes.
Post horn melody.
POSTILION: A town in the Black Forest! Everybody off!
Gong.
ANNOUNCER: Now we have Coal Peter, back at home. You heard the post horn with which the Postilion announced his arrival. Hopefully, you understood all of the other stops the Postilion announced, but you didn’t understand that last one. That is no accident. We don’t know the name of the place Coal Peter calls home. It’s not named in the book from which you, Coal Peter, and you, Fat Ezekiel, and you, Tall Schlurker, and you, Dutch Michael, and you, Little Glass Man, have emerged. And we don’t want to pry. It’s enough that he’s here, back at home, in the Schwabian Black Forest. He knows this, but only in his head, not his heart. He recognizes that he is back home but he doesn’t feel it. What should he do? His charcoal kiln no longer burns, he sold his glass factory, he has so much money that working would seem stupid to him. Therefore, to pass the time, he looks for a wife. He is still a handsome fellow. One cannot see from the outside that he has a heart of stone. Before, when he had his real heart, everyone liked him very much and they all remember this now, especially Lisbeth, the poor lumberjack’s daughter. She lived quietly and in solitude, diligently taking care of her father’s house. She was never seen on the dance floor, not even on Pentecost or at the fair. When Peter heard of this marvel in the Black Forest, he rode to her cottage, which had been pointed out to him, and sought her hand in marriage. The father of beautiful Lisbeth was surprised to see such a distinguished gentleman and was even more astonished when he heard that it was the rich Mr. Peter who wanted to become his son-in-law. He didn’t reflect for long; he thought that all his worries and poverty would come to an end and so he accepted. And Lisbeth, being a good child, was so obedient that she became Mrs. Peter Munk without protest. Lisbeth had no money, but she brought a wonderful dowry to Peter’s house: a cuckoo clock that had been in her family for generations. This clock was quite peculiar; it was not without reason that people said the Keeper of Wealth had given it long ago to someone very dear to him. What was important about the clock was this: it worked like a true Black Forest cuckoo clock, and chimed on the hour. At noon it chimed twelve times, but only if there were no evil person in the room where it was hanging. If there were an evil person in the room, it chimed exactly thirteen times. We are now in the very room where the cuckoo clock hangs. Coal Peter sits at the table with Lisbeth.
The cuckoo clock chimes eleven times.
LISBETH: Eleven o’clock? I must hurry and put the carrots on the stove.
PETER: Carrots again, ugh, disgusting.
LISBETH: But it’s your favorite dish, Peter.
PETER: Favorite dish! Favorite dish, none of this grub pleases me.
Now, if you were to bring me a big glass of brandy … LISBETH: Don’t you remember what the minister said last Sunday, when he spoke of drinking?
PETER (stomping his foot): So, what about it? Are you going to pour me a glass or not? (Threateningly.) Well?
LISBETH (we hear her whimpering): Here, have your way. But it won’t end well.
PETER: As long as it starts well. Life is already sad enough for me.
But it really gets annoying when people go on and on about Sunday or good weather or spring. It all seems quite foolish, to my mind.
LISBETH: Are you in pain?
PETER: No, that’s just it, I feel neither pain nor happiness. Recently I cut my finger and hardly felt it. Remember? When I was chopping up the old chest that you received from your grandmother as a christening present?
A knock at the door.
PETER: Whatever you do, don’t answer it.
A second knock at the door.
PETER: He won’t dare enter before I say “come in.” And I won’t say “Come in.”
LISBETH: Why? You can’t possibly know who it is.
PETER: It’s certainly not the postman delivering a money order. Miserable beggars, no doubt.
A knock at the door.
LISBETH: Come in!
PETER: So there, you impudent fool. Of course it’s a beggar.
BEGGAR: Could you spare a little something?
PETER: You should be asking the devil, and he can have you.
BEGGAR: Have mercy, good woman, and give me a drink of water.
PETER: I’d rather pour a whole bottle of brandy over his head than give him a glass of water.
LISBETH: Leave me alone. I want to give him a drink of wine, a loaf of bread, and a dime to take on his way.
PETER: That’s the way you see things. It’s so typical of you, you idiot. Why can’t you just accept your husband’s wise judgment? Maybe you think I am cruel and hard-hearted. Do you not understand that I have weighed everything carefully? Do you not know what happens once you let such people across the threshold? They are beggars. One tells the next. They leave a secret mark on the door. Their trickster’s code. They spy out every opportunity, which means they take everything that’s not nailed down. Once you have hosted two or three of these wretches, within a year your home will be stripped bare.
BEGGAR: Oh, people as rich as you are, you don’t know how it hurts to be poor, and how much good a cold drink does in such heat.
PETER: Time drags on in the midst of such chatter.
The cuckoo clock begins to chime.
LISBETH: Heaven help me, I have forgotten the carrots, and you, good man, take everything I have and be on your way.
The chiming of the clock must be loud and one chime should follow slowly after another, so that the preceding words of the wife can be heard between the first and second chimes.
PETER (counts along with clock, in a monotonous voice, as if lost in thought): One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve.
Utter silence. The clock strikes for the thirteenth time. We hear a thud.
LISBETH: My God, Peter has lost consciousness. Peter, Peter, what’s wrong with you? Wake up!
Moaning, sighs, and tears.
Gong.
ANNOUNCER: Peter has not only lost consciousness. He has almost lost his life to arrogance and godlessness. Now, as the clock strikes thirteen, he comes to, reflects, and decides, for his third and final wish from the Keeper of Wealth, to ask for his heart back. Let’s see what happens!
Gong.
PETER:
Keeper of wealth in the forest of pine,
Hundreds of years are surely thine:
Thine is the tall pine’s dwelling place—
Those born on Sunday see thy face.9
LITTLE GLASS MAN (in a hollow voice): What do you want, Peter Munk?
PETER: I still have one wish, Mr. Keeper of Wealth.
LITTLE GLASS MAN: Can hearts of stone still wish? You have everything you need for your rotten mind, and I am not inclined to fulfill your wish.
PETER: But you promised me three wishes; I still have one left.
LITTLE GLASS MAN: If it is foolish, I can refuse to grant it. But go ahead, let’s hear your wish.
PETER: Take this dead stone out of me and give me back my living heart.
LITTLE GLASS MAN: Did I make that trade with you? Am I Dutch Michael, who bestows fortunes and cold hearts? You will have to seek your heart from him.
PETER: Oh no, he will never give it back to me.
LITTLE GLASS MAN (after a pause): I pity you, even as bad as you are. But because your wish is not foolish, I cannot deny you my help. Can you remember a verse?
PETER: I think so, even though I once forgot yours, Mr. Keeper of Wealth.
LITTLE GLASS MAN: Then repeat after me. If you forget it, all is lost: “You were not sent here from Holland …” Repeat.
PETER: “You were not sent here from Holland …”
LITTLE GLASS MAN: “Mr. Michael, but from hell-land.” Repeat.
PETER: “Mr. Michael, but from hell-land.” Oh, now I have it, Mr. Keeper of Wealth, that’s great. Surely it’s a magic spell, and when Dutch Michael hears it, he will be powerless to harm me.
LITTLE GLASS MAN: That’s right, but what else?
PETER: What else? Nothing else. I go to him and say:
You were not sent here from Holland,
Mr. Michael, but from hell-land.
With that he will be powerless to harm me.
LITTLE GLASS MAN: That’s one way of seeing it. Although he can no longer do anything to you, as soon as you have spoken these words, Dutch Michael will have disappeared. And the devil knows where. You, however, will stand in front of all those hearts and be unable to find your own.
PETER: O God, how will I manage it?
LITTLE GLASS MAN: That I cannot tell you. So far, you have reflected little in your life. It’s high time you started. And now I have to tend to the woodpeckers on my pines, which don’t cause me as much grief as Sunday’s Children do.
Gong.
ANNOUNCER: Now I have to tell you something: Wait — and if I must wait, I prefer to wait in Human Land than in Voice Land. Here everything seems to be in a dense fog. One can’t see a thing. One can only prick up one’s ears, and I’ve been doing that for hours now. But in the forest, where the Keeper of Wealth lives, not a single branch stirs, no woodpecker pecks. Nor is there a chirrup from a nest. Fine by me, but what kind of stories are these, anyway, that I resort to poetry out of sheer boredom? But I hear some crackling, or is it a whisper? Is that the voice of the Keeper of Wealth, or Coal Peter’s voice?
COAL PETER (very hollow and sad): Coal Peter.
ANNOUNCER: He doesn’t sound so good.
COAL PETER (very hollow and sad): Is there an echo in these woods?
COAL PETER (very hollow and sad): Oh!
ANNOUNCER: You are not very good company in these woods. And what is that I hear ringing from afar? That sounds just like Dutch Michael’s haunting glass music. Well, say something! Why are you so silent?
COAL PETER (as above): Hmm!
ANNOUNCER: Now that’s a bit much. Too mysterious and uncertain. No hard feelings, Mr. Coal Peter, but I’m going to look for a new route.
COAL PETER (as above): Farewell! (He knocks and calls out.) Dutch Michael!
Repeats three times.
DUTCH MICHAEL: Good that you have come. I couldn’t have stood it either, living with Lisbeth, that clumsy, complaining wench who throws money away to beggars. You know what? If I were you, I’d go traveling again. Stay away for a few years. Who knows, when you come home, Lisbeth might be long dead.
COAL PETER: You guessed it, Dutch Michael, I want to go to America. But I do need money for that; it’s rather far away.
DUTCH MICHAEL: And you shall have it, my little Peter, you shall have it. (We hear jingling and counting.) One hundred, two hundred, five hundred, eight hundred, a thousand, twelve hundred. Not marks, dear Peter, all thalers.
COAL PETER: Michael, you’re one in a million but you’re a real crook. You lied to me, saying I had a stone in my chest, and that you had my heart.
DUTCH MICHAEL: Isn’t it true? Can you feel your heart? Isn’t it as cold as ice? Are you afraid or grieving? Are you capable of regret?
COAL PETER: You merely stopped my heart, but I still have it, just as always, in my breast, and the same with Ezekiel. He told me that you lied to us; you cannot tear the heart out of a man’s chest, neatly and unseen; for that you would have to work magic.
DUTCH MICHAEL: But I assure you, you and Ezekiel and all the other rich people who sought me out have cold hearts just like yours, and I have their real hearts in my cabinet.
COAL PETER: Eh, how easily lies flow from your tongue! Find someone else to believe that! Do you really think I haven’t seen such stunts a dozen times in my travels? Those hearts in the cabinet are made of wax. You’re a rich guy, I grant you, but you can’t work magic.
DUTCH MICHAEL: Come on in and read all the labels. That one there, look, that’s Peter Munk’s heart. See how it quivers? Could anyone make that out of wax?
COAL PETER: And yet, it is made of wax; that’s not how a real heart beats. Mine is still in my chest. No, you can’t do magic.
DUTCH MICHAEL: I will prove it to you! You shall experience it yourself — this is your heart. Here, I’ll put your heart back into you! How do you feel now?
COAL PETER: Sure enough, you were right. I just didn’t believe such things were possible!
DUTCH MICHAEL: You see? I can do magic. Now, come here; I want to put the stone back.
COAL PETER: Slow down, Mr. Michael! You can catch mice with bacon, but this time you’re the one who’s been tricked. Listen to this:
He stutters at first and then calls out ever more bravely, louder and faster, repeating his incantation several times:
You were not sent here from Holland,
Mr. Michael, but from hell-land.
The hearts beat loudly. Dutch Michael groans. Thunder.
COAL PETER: See how he writhes, the evil Dutch Michael. But what terrible thunder. I’m afraid. Quick, back home now, to my Lisbeth.
Gong.
ANNOUNCER: Finding anything here in Voice Land is like playing a game of blind man’s bluff. Ah, that must be Coal Peter’s glass factory. As for his wife, she can’t be far away either, for whose voice could that be but dear Lisbeth’s!
LISBETH (singing):
Tiny glasses, hollow blown,
Why must I be so alone?
My dearest Peter sneaking by
Like a scoundrel prone to lie.
I know already what to do:
Little diapers, little shoe
I weave and knit for Peter’s son,
Time passes by, it’s nearly done.
Hollow glasses, tiny all,
Bodice, stockings sewn so small;
Into the world, a baby dear,
All is ready, I am here.
ANNOUNCER: It appears Peter will have a son. That makes it twice as unfair that he prowls around away from home. But it’s a good opportunity for me. I’ve been waiting to speak with Lisbeth for a long time now. Why should I speak only with Peter in Voice Land? So, what shall I do to make her notice me? I can’t just cry out; my deep voice would only frighten her, while she still hears her own, which sounds so sweet.
Brief pause.
I know what I’ll do. I’ll just rap against these glasses.
A snatch of glass music.
COAL PETER: Here I am!
LISBETH AND ANNOUNCER: Who is it?
COAL PETER: I have my heart back.
LISBETH: Mine has always been yours.
ANNOUNCER: Now I take my leave, but first you must promise me one thing: when little Coal Peter is born, choose the Keeper of Wealth to be his godfather.
Brief pause. The names of the months are read aloud.
ANNOUNCER: How quickly a year passes here in Voice Land! There stands Coal Peter in the pine forest, reciting his little rhyme.
Gong.
COAL PETER:
Keeper of Wealth in the forest of pine,
Hundreds of years are surely thine:
Thine is the tall pine’s dwelling place—
Those born on Sunday see thy face.10
Mr. Keeper of Wealth, just hear me out; I want nothing more than to ask you to be godfather to my little son!
Wind.
Then I will take these pine cones to him as a souvenir, as you prefer not to be seen.
ANNOUNCER: Children! Can you imagine what these pine cones turned into? Brand new Schwabian thalers, and not a counterfeit among them. That’s what Baby Peter received as a christening gift from the little man in the pine forest.
— And now, do be kind and give me your thanks. I don’t mean the children who have been listening to us, but Coal Peter and Mr. Keeper of Wealth and Dutch Michael and the whole bunch from Hauff, whom I brought to Voice Land as they wished and whom I will now leave safe and sound at the border.
EZEKIEL: Safe and sound? You talk a good game. I won’t speak of being safe or sound until I have my money back.
LISBETH: Pah, Fat Ezekiel, you’ll never change. And I, Lisbeth, stand by it.
ANNOUNCER: Let him be, Madam. He’ll get his money back, down to the last cent.
LISBETH: Yes, Mr. Announcer, and a special thanks to you for bringing me such joy with your glass music; for it was you, wasn’t it, who played the bottles so delightfully.
ANNOUNCER (in a gruff voice): Yes, yes.
LISBETH: I was a bit worried after everything suddenly came to a stop and you lost your way in Voice Land.
ANNOUNCER: Yes, but do come closer, Mrs. Lisbeth. Look here, on this page … Here, Hauff himself calls for a long pause. And just by chance, imagine, our pause fell on just the same passage.
DUTCH MICHAEL: Well, I call that a blessing in disguise.
ANNOUNCER: Indeed, the writer himself created the pause. And why? This story is like a mountain, like the Black Forest range itself, and its climax is like a peak from which one can look down to either side: to the bad outcome or the good.
A MURMUR OF VOICES: Goodbye, Mr. Keeper of Wealth, Madam, Mr. Peter, etc.
DUTCH MICHAEL: Hello, Hello. Now wait a minute, Ladies and Gentlemen, why are you in such a hurry? I am not very happy with the villainous part I’ve played here. I wanted to let you know that in Hauff’s stories there are all kinds of scoundrels. Read, for example, “The Ghost Ship,” “The Tale of the Severed Hand,” and many other stories by Hauff where even worse rascals than I play their part in the happy ending. But no hard feelings. I see that the others have already left. Goodbye, then!
ANNOUNCER: Goodbye, Dutch Michael. Nice people. But now I am thrilled to be once again alone in my office. Well, I wanted to do a Youth Hour. Was that a Youth Hour?
Gong.
“Das kalte Herz,” GS, 7.1, 316–46. Translated by Diana K. Reese.
Broadcast on Southwest German Radio, Frankfurt, May 16, 1932, with music by Ernst Schoen. “ ‘The Cold Heart: A Radio Play based on Hauff’s Fairy Tale,’ by Walter Benjamin and Ernst Schoen, with Music by Ernst Schoen,” was announced in the Südwestdeutsche Rundfunk-Zeitung for May 16, 1932, from 7:00–8:00 pm.
1 Wilhelm Hauff (1802–1827), German writer best known for his fairy tales, including “The Cold Heart” (Das kalte Herz), first published in 1827. Throughout, Benjamin has incorporated characters and passages, many verbatim or nearly so, from Hauff’s tale.
2 Ernst Schoen (1894–1960), a musician and composer, and a childhood friend of Benjamin’s, was artistic director of the Frankfurt radio station. He is credited with helping Benjamin to obtain work on the radio. For Schoen’s comments on this collaboration with Benjamin, and on the “dramatization of writings for children’s radio or school radio” more broadly, see Schoen and Wilhelm Schüller, “Hörspiel im Schulfunk,” in Der Schulfunk 10 (May 15, 1931), 323–5, cited in GS, 7.2, 651–2.
3 The music for the Benjamin — Schoen production of The Cold Heart was written by Ernst Schoen. None of it is known to have survived. According to the Südwestdeutsche Rundfunk-Zeitung, the production strove to bring “live before the microphone the characters from [Hauff’s] book, through the mediation of a radio announcer, who pops up in the middle of Hauff’s story. The accompanying music, as much as possible written simply for two pianos, introduces the lead character by way of folk songs and children’s songs in a thematic way and provides background atmosphere for various dramatic scenes” (cited in GS, 7.2, 652–3).
4 Benjamin’s text does not indicate an end for the section introduced as “Prologue.” Perhaps this moment of transition, where the characters from Hauff’s story enter into Voice Land, can be read as its close. Still, it is not clear how, if at all, the distinction between the sections would have been rendered on air.
5 The translation of the rhyme is taken from Hauff’s tale in English in Tales from the German: Comprising Specimens from the most Celebrated Authors, trans. John Oxenford and C. A. Feiling (London: Chapman and Hall, 1844), 54.
6 Tales from the German, 59.
7 Ibid., 62.
8 “The Watch on the Rhine” [Die Wacht am Rhein], a nineteenth-century German patriotic anthem.
9 Tales from the German, 77.
10 Ibid.
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