Oh, I have just asked him for an explanation, and that does not seem to please him.
Mrs. Brauer.
[_Caressing him_.] Don"t you mind him, George dear. After the wedding you can laugh at him.
Brauer.
Well, we shall see about that!!!
[Mrs. Brauer _and_ Marie _exit_.]
Brauer.
We can"t go on like this, for I fear the consequences; but, nevertheless, I shall handle you without gloves.
George.
Well?
Brauer.
My child loves you. You are her ideal, her all, and the wedding must take place. But tell me, what right have you to all this pride--I might even say arrogance?
George.
Must I perhaps ask your permission----?
Brauer.
That is the same old defiance, the same unreasonable stubbornness of your father"s!!!!!
George.
[_Starts_.] My father has been dead these twenty years--what do you want of him now?
Brauer.
What do I want of him? That he left you to me, to bring up from childhood, I will hardly mention; although that ought to be sufficient to temper your untamable pride--at least towards me; but----
George.
Uncle, you may abuse me as much as you please, but my father I will not have disturbed! My father--you shall let him rest in peace!
Brauer.
And who was it--who took care--who made it possible, that he could rest in peace?
George.
Uncle, what do you mean?
Brauer.
Well then, who was it, when he laid there, dead, before us, who paid his debts of honor and saved your father"s name from disgrace?
[_Pause_.]
George.
Uncle, you should not have said that!
[_Sinks in chair and covers his face with his hands_.]
Brauer.
My boy----[_Emotion stops him from saying more--walks about_.] See here----[_Again the same--tries to light a cigar, breaks it and throws it away_.]
George.
You should not have said that, uncle! No, no----
Brauer.
My G.o.d, you knew of it?
George.
Yes, I knew of it, and yet you should not have said it; you should not have repeated it. Twelve years ago, in our quarrel, when you raised your whip to me--and I reached for the carving-knife--no, no--I should not have done that. You should not have raised your whip, nor I the knife. That is the reason I refused anything from you at all. Now you know it. From that day I swore to scratch the gold from the ground with my finger nails and fling it in your face. From that day I hated you--and rightly so!
Brauer.
And all that because I saved your and your father"s name from dishonor and disgrace?
George.
_No!_ But because you turned that same deed into a weapon to crush my youthful pride.
Brauer.
My boy, one uses the weapon nearest to hand.
George.
[_Bitterly_.] Even if it is only a whip. But then, I see my mistake. I have no right to pride; my fatherly inheritance does not permit it.
Give me your gold! I"ll take it! All--all!
Brauer.
No, no; in your present state of mind I will force nothing on you. You might again turn to hating me.