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!