Spring awakening text pdf

I'd like to know why we really are on earth! I'd rather be a cab-horse than go to school! Seven must fail, because the upper classroom will hold only sixty. I believe that is the Charybdis on which one runs when one steers clear of the Scylla of religious folly. The cool wind blows over the mountains. Now I should like to be a young dryad up there in the wood to cradle myself in the topmost branches and be rocked the livelong night.

God knows, it's growing so dark that one can't see one's hand before one's eyes. Where are you? I was thinking over that for the first time the day before yesterday. It seems to me deeply rooted in human nature. Only think, you must appear entirely clothed before your best friend. You wouldn't do so if he didn't do the same thing. I have often thought that if I have children, boys and girls, I will let them occupy the same room; let them sleep together in the same bed, if possible; let them help each other dress and undress night and morning.

In hot weather, the boys as well as the girls, should wear nothing all day long but a short white woolen tunic with a girdle. I believe so decidedly, Moritz! In that respect I believe in instinct. I believe, for example, that if one brought up a male and a female cat together, and kept both separated from the outside world——that is, left them entirely to their own devices——that, sooner or later, the she cat would become pregnant, even if she, and the tom cat as well, had nobody to open their eyes by example.

I believe the same of human beings. I assure you, Moritz, if your boys sleep in the same bed with the girls, and the first emotion of manhood comes unexpectedly to them—I should like to wager with anyone——. And when your girls reached the same age it would be the same with them! Not that the girls exactly—one can't judge that the same, certainly—at any rate, it [Pg 31] is supposable—and then their curiosity must not be left out of account. Speak right out from your heart!

Of course, my children will have to work all day long in yard or garden, or find their amusement in games which are combined with physical exercise.

They must ride, do gymnastics, climb, and, above all things, must not sleep as soft as we do. We are weakened frightfully. From now until fall I shall sleep only in my hammock. I have shoved my bed back of the stove. It is a folding one. Last winter I dreamed once that I flogged our Lolo until he couldn't move a limb. That was the most gruesome thing I ever dreamed. Only for a little while—of legs in light blue tights, that strode over the teacher's desk—to be correct, I thought they wanted to go over it.

I only saw them for an instant. I thought I was incurable. I believed I was suffering from an inward hurt. Yes, yes, dear Melchior, the last three weeks have been a Gethsemane for me. I was more or less prepared for it when it came. I felt a little ashamed of myself. And yet you are a whole year younger than I am. I wouldn't bother about that, Moritz. All my experience shows that the appearance of this phantom belongs to no particular age. He is three years older than I am. God knows, yes!

And we're expected to give thanks for it. I don't remember to have had any longing for this kind of excitement. Why didn't they let me sleep peacefully until all was still again. My dear parents might have had [Pg 36] a hundred better children.

I came here, I don't know how, and must be responsible because I didn't stay away. How should I know it? I see how the hens lay eggs, and hear that Mamma had to carry me under her heart. But is that enough? This feeling has disappeared. At the same time, I can hardly talk with a girl to-day without thinking of something indecent, and—I swear to you, Melchior—I don't know what.

I will tell you everything. I have gotten it partly from books, partly from illustrations, partly from observations of nature. You will be surprised; it made me an atheist. I told it to George Zirschnitz! George Zirschnitz wanted to tell it to Hans Rilow, but Hans Rilow had learned it all from his governess when he was a child. Words—nothing but words and words!

Oh, this feeling of shame! I have Central America and Louis the Fifteenth before me. And then the sixty verses of Homer, the seven equations and the Latin composition. To drudge successfully I must be as stupid as an ox. Come with me to my room. In three-quarters of an hour I will have the Homer, the equations and two compositions. I will put one or two harmless errors in yours, and the thing is done. Mamma will make lemonade for us again, and we can chat comfortably about propagation.

I can't——I can't chat comfortably about propagation! If you want to do me a favor, give me your information in writing. Write me out what you know. Write it as briefly and clearly as possible, and put it between my books to-morrow during recess. I will [Pg 38] carry it home without knowing that I have it. I will find it unexpectedly. I cannot but help going over it with tired eyes——in case it is hard to explain, you can use a marginal diagram or so.

You are like a girl. It will be a very interesting task for me. If it had leaked out I should have been hunted out of school. Let's go out there to the bridge. Ilse says the stream is full of bushes and trees. The boys have built a raft.

Melchi Gabor was almost drowned yesterday. It bothers me day and night. I may not wear short hair like you; I may not wear my hair down my back like Wendla; I may not wear bangs, and I must always do my hair up at home——all on account of my aunt! I'll bring the scissors with me to-morrow to devotions.

For heaven's sake, Wendla! Papa would beat me black and blue, and Mamma would lock me up in the coal hole for three nights. It often seems to me as if they would miss something if they didn't have an ill-conditioned brat like me.

Blue suits me to a T! I fell with my hands out so on the floor. There you have it! The reason I am going away! At least I shall never be able to reproach my mother——.

I lay on the floor and shrieked and howled. Then Papa came in. Rip——he tore off my chemise. Out of the door I went.

What do they beat you with, Martha? Oh, with anything that is handy. I believe they enjoy it——even if they don't say so. If I ever have children I will let them grow up like the weeds in our flower garden. Nobody worries about them and they grow so high and thick——while the roses in the beds grow poorer and poorer every summer. If I have children I shall dress them all in pink. Pink hats, pink dresses, pink shoes. Only the stockings——the stockings shall be black as night! When I go for a walk they shall march in front of me.

Well, Aunt Euphemia hasn't any. That's a matter of taste, I believe, Martha. I rejoice every day that I am a girl. Believe me, I wouldn't change places with a king's son. That I do, Thea. In your place I should be proud of my appearance. Only look how she steps out——how free her glance is—how she holds herself, Martha. Isn't that pride? Why not? I am so happy to be a girl; if I weren't a girl I should break down the next time——.

Oh dear, Greek history! Professor Knochenbruch says he can be first if he wants. He disgraces anybody who is with him. At Rilow's party he offered me some bon-bons. Only think, Wendla, they were soft and warm. Isn't that——? He said he had kept them too long in his trouser's pocket.

Only think, Melchi Gabor told me once that he didn't believe anything——not in God, not in a hereafter——in anything more in this world. A park in front of the grammar school. Can any of you say where Moritz Stiefel is keeping himself? If you don't at once—— [Pg 50].

From good fortune——from happiness——from jubilation—— [Pg 52]. I am promoted! Oh, I don't care what happens now! I don't know——I feel so queer——the ground turns around——Melchior, Melchior, can you realize what I've gone through?

You don't know, Hans, you can't guess, what depends on it. For three weeks I've slunk past that door as if it were a hellish abyss.

To-day I saw it was ajar. I believe that if some one had offered me a million——nothing, oh nothing, could have held me. During all that time the door behind me stood wide open. How I got out——how I came down the steps, I don't know. Then you can't have read correctly.

Counting in the dunce's stool, we, with you and Robert, make sixty-one, and the upper class-room cannot accommodate more than sixty. I read it right enough. I've looked into it too deeply this time for that. I bet five marks that you lose your place.

You haven't anything. I won't rob you. Professors Hungergurt and Knochenbruch pass by. It is inexplicable to me, my dear colleague, how the best of my scholars can fail the very worst of all.

A sunny afternoon—Melchior and Wendla meet each other in the wood. Is it really you, Wendla? If I didn't know you were Wendla Bergmann, I would take you for a dryad, fallen out of your tree.

No, no, I am Wendla Bergmann. I'm hunting waldmeister. At first she intended coming along herself, but at the last moment Aunt Bauer dropped in, and she doesn't like to climb. A whole basketful. Down there under the beach it grows as thick as meadow clover.

Just now I am looking for a way out. I seem to have lost the path. Can you tell me what time it is? I thought it was later. I lay dreaming for a long time on the moss by the brook. The time went by so fast, I feared it was already evening. If nobody is waiting for you, let us linger here a little longer. Under the oak tree there is my favorite place. If one leans one's head back against the trunk and looks up through the branches at the sky, one becomes hypnotized. The ground is warm yet from the morning sun.

We'll go together, then. I'll take the basket and we'll beat our way through the bushes, so that in ten minutes we'll be on the bridge! I've heard, Wendla, that you visit poor people's houses. You take them food and clothes and money also. Do you do that of your own free will, or does your mother send you?

Mother sends me mostly. They are families of day laborers that have too many children. Often the husband can't find work and then they freeze and go hungry. We have a lot of things which were laid away long ago in our closets and wardrobes and which are no longer needed. But the children are dirty, the women are sick, the houses are full of filth, the men hate you because you don't work——. I'd go just the same! It would make me all the happier to be able to help them.

And because of it you expect to go to heaven! So it's true, then, that which has given me no peace for a month past! And, therefore, he must suffer everlasting death. I'll write a paper on it and send it to Pastor Kahlbauch. He is the cause of it. Why did he fool us with the [Pg 60] joy of good works. Why don't you tell your trouble to your dear parents? Let yourself be confirmed, it won't cost you your head.

If it weren't for our horrid white dresses and your long trousers one might be more spiritual. There is no sacrifice! There is no self-denial! I see the good rejoice in their hearts, I see the evil tremble and groan—I see you, Wendla Bergmann, shake your locks and laugh while I am as melancholy as an outlaw.

I dreamed I was a poor, poor beggar girl, who was turned out in the street at five o'clock in the morning. I had to beg the whole long day in storm and bad weather from rough, hard-hearted people. When I [Pg 61] came home at night, shivering from hunger and cold, and without as much money as my father coveted, then I was beaten——beaten——.

I know that, Wendla. You have the silly children's stories to thank for that. Believe me, such brutal men exist no longer. Oh yes, Melchior, you're mistaken. Martha Bessel is beaten night after night, so that one sees the marks of it the next day.

Oh, but it must hurt! It makes one boiling hot when she tells it. I'm so frightfully sorry for her that I often cry over it in my pillows at night. For months I've been thinking how one can help her. I, Melchior, have never been beaten in my life——not a single time. I can hardly imagine what it means to be beaten. I have beaten myself in order to see how one felt then in one's heart——It must be a gruesome feeling. I don't believe a child is better for it. Oh, be quiet! I won't beat you.

I believe you——through all your skirts—— [Pg 64]. He throws the switch aside and beats her with his fists so that she breaks out with a frightful cry. He pays no attention to this, but falls upon her as if he were crazy, while the tears stream heavily down his cheeks.

Presently he springs away, holds both hands to his temples and rushes into the depths of the wood crying out in anguish of soul. Evening in Melchior's study. The window is open, a lamp burns on the table.

Now I'm quite gay again, only a little bit excited. I'm astonished that the pronunciation of the ancient tongue doesn't give me the earache. My pen made a blot in the book. The lamp was smoking when Mathilde woke me; the blackbirds in the elder bushes under the window were chirping so happily——and I felt so inexpressibly melancholy. I put on my collar and passed the brush through my hair. Thanks, I don't smoke. I will work and work until my eyes fall out of my head. I have been first five times in this lamentable conflict, and from to-day it does not bother me!

If he wants he can become a soldier, a cowboy or a sailor. If I fail, my father will feel the blow and Mamma will land in the madhouse. One can't live through a thing like that! He passed me by, though to-day His aureole shines in the distance, so that I dare not lift my eyes by night or day. The natural consequence will be that I shall break my neck if I fall. Life is a worthless commonplace. It wouldn't have been a bad idea if I had hanged myself in the cradle. Your tea will do me good, Melchior!

I feel so strangely spiritualized. Touch me once, please. I see,—I hear,—I feel, much more acutely——and yet everything seems like a dream——oh, so harmonious.

From out the bushes step indefinable figures that slip away in breathless officiousness through the clearings and then vanish in the twilight. It seems to me as if a counsel were to be held under the chestnut tree.

The leaves whisper so busily. Only, unfortunately, she came into the world without a head. She could not eat, not drink, not kiss. She could only communicate with her courtiers by using her soft little hand. With her dainty feet she stamped declarations of war and orders for executions.

Then, one day, she was besieged by a King, who, by chance, had two heads, which, year in and year out, disputed with one another so violently that neither could get a word in edgewise. The Court Conjurer-in-chief took off the smallest of these heads and set it upon the Queen's body.

And, behold, it became her extraordinarily well! Therefore, the King and the Queen were married, and the two heads disputed no longer, but kissed each other upon the brow, the cheeks and the mouth, and lived thereafter [Pg 70] through long, long years of joy and peace.

Since vacation I can't get the headless Queen out of my mind. When I see a pretty girl, I see her without a head——and then presently, I, myself appear to be the headless Queen. Frau Gabor comes in with the steaming tea, which she sets before Melchior and Moritz on the table.

You shouldn't do such things, Herr Stiefel. You [Pg 71] ought to take care of yourself. Think of your health. Don't set your school above your health. Take plenty of walks in the fresh air. At your age, that is more important than a correct use of middle high German. I will go walking. You are right. One can be industrious while one is taking a walk. Why didn't I think of that myself!

You can do your writing here; that will make it easier for both of us. Here is the beadle's report. See that the matter is cleared up once for all! The whole class will attend the burial. You can't know that, Mamma. I feel very well that I am not yet able to grasp the work in its entirety——.

You are old enough, Melchior, to be able to know what is good and what is bad for you. Do what you think best for yourself. I should be the first to [Pg 73] acknowledge your right in this respect, because you have never given me a reason to have to deny you anything. I only want to warn you that even the best can do one harm when one isn't ripe enough in years to receive it properly.

I shall be in my bedroom. The masterpiece does not end with this infamous action! Gretchen might have died of a broken heart for all I care. To be frank with you, Melchior, I have almost the same feeling since I read your explanation.

I was startled. I fastened the door and flew through the flaming lines as a frightened owl flies through a burning wood——I believe I read most of it with my eyes shut. Your explanation brought up a host of dim recollections, which affected me as a song of his childhood affects a man on his deathbed when heard from the lips of another.

I felt the most vehement pity over what you wrote about maidens. I shall never lose that sensation. Believe me, Melchior, to suffer a wrong is sweeter than to do a wrong. To be overcome by such a sweet wrong and still be blameless seems to me the fullness of earthly bliss. Is it enjoyable then, Melchior? The maiden controls herself, thanks to her self-denial.

She keeps herself [Pg 75] free from every bitterness until the last moment, in order that she may see the heavens open over her in an instant.

The maiden fears hell even at the moment that she perceives a blooming paradise. Her feeling is as pure as a mountain spring. The maiden holds a cup over which no earthly breath has blown as yet; a nectar chalice, the contents of which is spilled when it flames and flares. You can think what you like about it, but keep your thoughts to yourself——I don't like to think about it.

Enters by the center door. Her face is beaming. She is without a hat, wears a mantilla on her head and has a basket on her arm.

You are up already, child? Now, that is nice of you! Get dressed quickly! You must take her this basket! A little boy? I must see him, Mother. That makes me an aunt for the third time——aunt to a little girl and two little boys!

And what little boys! I have breastpins enough—— [Pg 78]. I would have liked so much to have known whether he flew through the window or down the chimney. You must ask Ina. You must ask Ina that, dear heart! Ina will tell you that fast enough. Ina talked with him for a whole half hour. Now don't forget, sweet angel! I'm interested myself to know if he came in through the window or by the chimney. Or hadn't I better ask the chimney-sweep?

Not the chimney-sweep, child; not the chimney-sweep. What does the chimney-sweep know about the [Pg 79] stork! He'd tell you a lot of foolishness he didn't believe himself——Wha——what are you staring at down there in the street? A man, Mother,——three times as big as an ox! You are, and always will be a foolish child!

I wonder when you will understand things. I've given up hope of you. So have I, Mother dear, so have I. It's a sad thing about my understanding. Whom in the world should I ask but you! Please tell me, dear Mother! Tell me, dear Mother! I'm ashamed for myself. Please, Mother, speak! Don't scold me for asking you about it.

Give me an answer——How does it happen? Lord, child, but you are peculiar! But why not, Mother? O——O God protect me! But that would be madness! I'll tell you everything——O [Pg 81] Almighty Goodness! Tell me to-day, Mother; tell me now! Right away! Oh, why can't you, Mother dear! You can cover my head with your apron and talk and talk, as if you were entirely alone in the room. I won't move, I won't cry, I will bear all patiently, no matter what may come. Heaven knows, Wendla, that I am not to blame!

Heaven knows it! I will tell you, child, how you came into this world. But it's no use, child! I deserve to be put into prison——to have you taken from me. In order to have a child——one must love—the man—to whom one is married—love him, I tell you—as one can only love a man! Web icon An illustration of a computer application window Wayback Machine Texts icon An illustration of an open book.

Books Video icon An illustration of two cells of a film strip. Video Audio icon An illustration of an audio speaker. Audio Software icon An illustration of a 3. Software Images icon An illustration of two photographs. Images Donate icon An illustration of a heart shape Donate Ellipses icon An illustration of text ellipses. EMBED for wordpress. Top to bottom? Me, too.

Maybe do a little Achilles and Patroclus Fraulein Knuppeldick. Herr Knochenbruch Archly : Home to Bach? Melchior turns to Moritz with a wink, but Moritz waves it away. Ach, Melchi! Sixty lines of Homer, all those quadratic equations I'll be LIp all night again, haunted by another of those And still I won't get through it.

Your dream. By the deepening conviction: some dark part of my destiny may lie there between them? I'll tell you. I got it out of books. But prepare yourself: it made an atheist out of me. A bridge in the countryside. Wendla, Martha, Thea and Anna walk home, talking excitedly. I can't talk it! No-do me a favor: write it down. All of it. Conceal it in my satchel-after Gymnastics -tomorrow. Mid-conversation And the bodice in lace, with a satin bow in back ANNA: Ooh! ANNA: But, they're decking the entire sanctuary in orchids and chrysanthemums!

Anna and Thea exchange a look. THEA: How can you even compare them? Melchi Gabor, he's such a radical. You know what the whisper is? Music begins-an innocent uptempo feel. We've all got our junk, and my junk is you. He doesn't believe in anything. Not in God. See us winter walkin'-after a storm. It's chill in the wind-but it's warm in your arms. We stop, all snow blind-may not be true. But we've all got our junk, and my junk is you.

The Girls gasp in wonder. The lights shift, revealing Georg at his piano. Not in Heaven. Another gasp. And now, the Prelude in C Minor Not in a single thing in this world.

The Girls utter a final, collective sigh. ANNA: They say he's the best, in everything. Latin, Greek, Trigonometry TH EA: The best part is: he doesn't care a whit about any of it As he does, Fraulein Grossebustenhalter touches his hand. He lets out an illicit sigh-a moment of private bliss. The lights shift, revealing Hanschen seated in his bathroom, wearing his nightshirt.

He pulls a reproduction of Correggio's 10 from his pocket. His free hand sneaks under his nightshirt. Hanschen freezes. Hanschen, you all right? But I'll be fine. Hanschen does not move. Slowly and steadily, Hanschen begins to masturbate-building steam as the scene continues. The truth is, I can hardly bear to think of the long nights ahead But it's sucking the marrow from my bones, seeing you lie there. Staring at me, so innocently.

One of us must go-it's you or me. Hanschen waits, listening. Herr Rilow goes. Hanschen redoubles his exertions. One last kiss. Those soft, white thighs breasts Georg turns out and sings.

We enter the world of his fantasy. Fraulein Grossebustenhalter sternly interrupts Georg's playing. No, no! Georg, please. And this time, bring out the left hand.

Hanschen dutifully switches hands-to the left. Darling, why-why-do you press your knees together? Even now, on the brink of eternity? Don't you see it's your terrible chastity that's driving me to Well, you'll have to excuse me, 1 know it's so off, 1 love when you do stuff that's rude and so wrong. Fraulein Grossebustenhalter rips open her bodice, exposing her bustier. Georg beckons her onto his lap and fondles her. Oblivious to their charms, he only has eyes-and thumbs-for his The Boys join in, as a vocal chorus: knocking at the bathroom door.

Yes, sir. Moritz enters, looking pale and agitated. I may be neglectin'the things I should do. Sorry I'm so late. I yanked on a jacket, ran a brush through my hair, and dashed like some phantom to get here. I was up till three in the morning-reading that essay you gave me, till I couldn't see straight. Let me roll you a smoke. You're still with me then-feels so good in my arms. They say you go blind-maybe it's true. As the song reaches a climax, so does Hanschen.

It's like, we stop time. Melchior's study. A lamp burning on the table. Melchior sits alone, writing in his journal. Reading aloud as he writes : 16 October.

What is its origin? And why are we hounded by its miserable shadow? Does the mare feel Shame as she couples with a stallion? Are they deaf to everything their loins are telling them, until we grant them a marriage certificate? I think not. Look at me-I'm trembling. Last night I prayed like Christ in Gethsemane: "Please, God, give me Consumption and take these sticky dreams away from me.

Even now, it seems like Well, I see, and hear, and feel, quite clearly. And yet, everything seems so strange Herr Stiefel, how are you? Very well, thank you, Frau Gabor. Moritz was up, reading all through the night.

Surely, your health is more important than Ancient Greek. At your age? But surely, you boys are now of an age to decide for yourselves what is good for you and what is not. Sighs If you need anything else, children, call me.

The Boys and Girls gather around Melchior and Moritz in radiant light, singing and moving as a chorus. The Boys hold copies of Melchior's essay. Well, your mother certainly is remarkable. It's as if the entire world were mesmerized by penis and vagina. All the more so, I'm afraid, since reading your essay. What you wrote about the I can't stop thinking about it. Pulls out the essay This part here-is it true? What the woman must feel.

Defending yourself until, finally, you surrender and feel Heaven break over you? I just put myself in her place-and imagine And that-O, yeah-now, that's heaven. Now, that I like. God, that's so nice. Now lower down, where the figs lie. Melchior turns bad? The lights shift back to the lamplit study, but the Boys and Girls hover, singing quietly, underscoring the scene. Still in his private moment with the diagrams ; Still, you must admit Mispronouncing, with a "hard g" geni It truly is daunting- I mean, how Tell me-please-all is forgiven.

Consume my wine. Consume my mind. I'll tell you how, how the winds sigh. Would ever want to not- Would ever not want Now, there-that's it-God, that's heaven. I'll love your light. I'll love you right. We'll wander down where the sins cry. Frau Gabor enters, and clears the tea.

I wonder, is that Faust really the best thing for him? Melchior shakes his head, incredulous. The world recedes. All reenter the song. Touch me-just like that. Now lower down, where the sins lie. Love me-just for a bit. We'll wander down, where the winds sigh. Where the winds sigh Where the winds sigh. Melchior and Wendla discover each other in the woods. Melchior Gabor? In disbelief : Wendla Bergman?! Like a tree-nymph fallen from the branches. What are you doing-alone up here?

I thought I'd surprise her with some woodruff. And you? My private place-for thinking. What time is it? Must be close to four. I thought it was later. I paused and lay so long in the moss by the stream, and just let myself dream I thought it must be When you lean back against this oak, and stare up at the clouds, you start to think hypnotic things Well, this morning was wonderful.

Our youth group brought baskets of food and clothing to the day-laborers' children. How much we brightened their day. What do you think, Wendla, can our Sunday School deeds really make a difference? Of course. What other hope do those people have? But I fear that Industry is fast determining itself firmly against them. Wendla and Melchior settle beneath the oak. The lights shift, isolating them in a world of vibrant shadow. A classic arpeggio begins.

Just too unreal, all this. Watching the words fall from my lips. Melchior reaches, tentatively, takes Wendla's hand. They begin a private pas de deux. Wendla Bergman, I have known you all these years, and we've never truly talked. Now that we're older. In a more progressive world, of course, we could all attend the same school. Boys and girls together. Wouldn't that be remarkable? Georg, Hanschen, Ernst and Otto wait expectantly.

OTTO 0, I'm gonna be wounded. Pointing : Look-there he is! Moritz bounds on. So, did you get caught? For pure and certain joy! Melchior enters. Moritz, I've been looking for you. Ijust had to. The good news is: J passed! Everything will now be determined by the final exams. Still, I know I passed. Truly, Heaven must feel like this. The lights shift. Back to the woods. The sun's setting, Melchior. Truly, I'd better go. I'll have you on the bridge in ten minutes.

Headmaster Knochenbruch is revealed, as if in his office. He turns to Fraulein Knuppeldick. They walk off together. Well, well. Herr Knochenbruch? Now that I hardly think we can promote sixty-one. But, let us look to the finals ahead. For God's sake, Wendla, no! Papa beats me enough as it is. THEA: Martha ANNA: Martha, we're your friends Papa yanks out his belt. THEA: But where is your mama? Your father will not be disobeyed. A windy day. Wendla, Martha, Thea and Anna walk arm in arm.

Shall we take the short way home? No no-by the bridge. THEA: Come on! All right, I like that. Martha, careful-your braid's coming loose. Concerned : No. THEA: Just let it. Isn't it a nuisance for you-day and night.

You may not cut it short, you may not wear it down He beats you with a belt? ANNA: We must tell someone. ANNA: But we must. They'd throw me out for good. THEA: Like what happened to lise, you mean. Anna, no. Just like she never saw me The utter degradation Just look what's become of Ilse now! Living who knows where-with who knows who?! My Uncle Klaus says, "If you don't discipline a child, you don't love it.

You say all you want is just a kiss good night, Then you hold me and you whisper, "Child, the Lord won't mind. It's just you and me. Child, you're a beauty. When I have children, I'll let them be free. And they'll grow strong and tall. THEA: Free? But how will we know what to do if our parents don't tell us?

Put on that new nightgown. The pretty ruffled one your father bought you. Knowin'deep inside You are comin'to me, You are comin'to me THEA: A menacing eighth-note guitar riff. We enter the song world of Martha. Her mother, Frau Bessell, casting a long shadow. Over the course of the first verses, Wendla, Anna and Thea walk off, one after the other.

You ain't seen nothin'yet-gonna treat you right. Ilse is revealed in song light. Her father, Herr Neumann, peers out of the dark. Story time. ILSE: I don't scream. Though I know it's wrong. I just play along, I lie there and breathe. Lie there and breathe. Me and my "beauty". Moritz stiffens. You ain't seen nothin' yet-gonna teach you right. Herr Knochenbruch and Fraulein Knuppeldick continue on their way, leaving Moritz looking like a ghost. There is a part I can't tell About the dark I know well.

Moritz wanders off-lost. Melchior sits, writing in hisjournal. The trouble is: the terrible prerogative of the Parentocracy in Secondary Education The lights shift, rising on Moritz in the schoolyard.

Herr Knochenbruch and Fraulein Knuppeldick summon him, 46 you here SO the stream. Dreaming again'? And when he saw what I had done, he yanked out his belt and whipped me. Only in stories. It's terrible. Really, it makes you boiling hot to hear her tell it. Lately, I can't think about anything else. I've never been beaten. Not once. I can't even imagine it.

It must be just awful. With this switch, for example? It's tough. And thin. She offers Melchior the switch. He takes it. Tries it, through the air. It'd draw blood. You can't envy someone being beaten. I've never She offers him her backside. He considers, then strikes her lightly. I don't feel it! Maybe not, with your dress on. On my legs, then. He strikes her again.

How's that then? Martha's father, he uses his belt. He draws blood, Melchi. I'll beat the hell out of you.

Suddenly, he realizes what he's done. He stumbles, sobbing, into the UJoods. Otto and Georg are revealed, soulful members of the band. And again. He turns away in disgust. I can't say I'm surprised. So, now, what are your mother and I supposed to do? Moritz approaches his father, Herr Stiefel.

You tell me, Son. How can she show her face at the Missionary Society? Moritz remains silent. What do I tell them at the Bank? I can see it on your face. How do we go to Church? No response, What do we say? Herr Stiefel strikes Moritz. My son. The thing that sucks-okaY? And I mean, please.

That's all I need. Get real-okay? By now, you know the score. Over the course of the scene, the lights shift back and forth between them. Frau Gabor sits, as if in her study, writing a letter. A driving beat underscores the scene, building as Moritz sings. Not like it's even worth the time. But still, you know, you wanted more. Sorry, it won't change-been there before. I' jill.