initial commit of ebook 31081HEADmain

1 files changed, 22996 insertions, 0 deletions

diff --git a/31081.txt b/31081.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d83ee96
--- /dev/null
+++ b/31081.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,22996 @@
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The German Classics, v. 20, by Various
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The German Classics, v. 20
+       Masterpieces of German Literature
+
+Author: Various
+
+Editor: Kuno Francke
+
+Release Date: January 25, 2010 [EBook #31081]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GERMAN CLASSICS, V. 20 ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Charles Bowen, from scans obtained from The
+Internet Archive.
+
+
+
+
+
+Transcriber's Note:
+1. Source of this book is found in the Web Archive at
+http://www.archive.org/details/germanclassicsof20franuoft
+
+2. The diphthong oe is transcribed as [oe].
+
+
+
+
+                               VOLUME XX
+
+
+                               * * * * * *
+
+                            JAKOB WASSERMANN
+
+                          BERNHARD KELLERMANN
+
+                               MAX HALBE
+
+                         HUGO VON HOFMANNSTHAL
+
+                           ARTHUR SCHNITZLER
+
+                             FRANK WEDEKIND
+
+                              ERNST HARDT
+
+
+[Illustration: THE WARDEN OF PARADISE]
+_From the Painting by Franz von Stuck_
+
+
+
+
+
+                          THE GERMAN CLASSICS
+
+
+                   Masterpieces of German Literature
+
+                        TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH
+
+
+                            Patron's Edition
+                           IN TWENTY VOLUMES
+
+
+                              ILLUSTRATED
+
+
+
+
+                     THE GERMAN PUBLICATION SOCIETY
+                               NEW YORK
+
+
+
+
+                             Copyright 1914
+                                   by
+                     THE GERMAN PUBLICATION SOCIETY
+
+
+
+
+
+                      CONTRIBUTORS AND TRANSLATORS
+                               VOLUME XX
+
+                               * * * * * *
+
+                            Special Writers
+
+MRS. AMELIA VON ENDE:
+      The Contemporary German Drama.
+
+                              Translators
+
+PAUL H. GRUMMANN, A.M., Professor of Modern German Literature,
+  University of Nebraska:
+      Mother Earth.
+
+BAYARD QUINCY MORGAN, Ph.D., Assistant Professor of German,
+  University of Wisconsin:
+      The Marriage of Sobeide.
+
+JOHN HEARD, JR.:
+      Tristram the Jester.
+
+KATHARINE ROYCE
+      God's Beloved.
+
+ALBERT WILHELM BOESCHE, Ph.D., Assistant Professor of German,
+  Cornell University:
+      The Court Singer.
+
+A. I. DU P. COLEMAN, A.M. Professor of English Literature,
+  College of the City of New York:
+      Literature.
+
+JULIA FRANKLIN:
+      Clarissa Mirabel.
+
+HORACE SAMUEL:
+      The Green Cockatoo.
+
+
+
+
+
+                         CONTENTS OF VOLUME XX
+
+
+                                                               PAGE
+
+                            JAKOB WASSERMANN
+
+Clarissa Mirabel. Translated by Julia Franklin.                   1
+
+
+                          BERNHARD KELLERMANN
+
+God's Beloved. Translated by Katharine Royce.                    59
+
+The Contemporary German Drama. By Amelia von Ende.               94
+
+
+                               MAX HALBE
+
+Mother Earth. Translated by Paul H. Grummann.                   111
+
+
+                      HUGO VON HOFMANNSTHAL
+
+The Marriage of Sobeide. Translated by Bayard Quincy Morgan.    234
+
+
+                           ARTHUR SCHNITZLER
+
+The Green Cockatoo. Translated by Horace Samuel.                289
+
+Literature. Translated by A. I. du P. Coleman.                  332
+
+
+                             FRANK WEDEKIND
+
+The Court Singer. Translated by Albert Wilhelm Boesche.         360
+
+
+                              ERNST HARDT
+
+Tristram the Jester. Translated by John Heard, Jr.              398
+
+
+
+
+
+                        ILLUSTRATIONS--VOLUME XX
+
+
+                                                               PAGE
+
+The Warden of Paradise. By Franz von Stuck.            Frontispiece
+
+Jakob Wassermann.                                                20
+
+Bathing Woman. By Rudolf Riemerschmid.                           40
+
+Hera. By Hans Unger.                                             70
+
+In the Shade. By Leo Putz.                                      100
+
+Max Halbe.                                                      130
+
+Mother Earth. By Robert Weise.                                  160
+
+Fording the Water. By Heinrich von Zuegel.                       190
+
+Sheep. By Heinrich von Zuegel.                                   220
+
+Lake in the Grunewald. By Walter Leistikow.                     240
+
+Lake in the Grunewald. By Walter Leistikow.                     260
+
+A Brandenburg Lake. By Walter Leistikow.                        280
+
+Arthur Schnitzler.                                              290
+
+Henrik Ibsen. (From Olaf Gulbransson's "Famous
+      Contemporaries")                                          310
+
+Georg Brandes. (From Olaf Gulbransson's "Famous
+      Contemporaries")                                          330
+
+Gerhart Hauptmann. (From Olaf Gulbransson's "Famous
+      Contemporaries")                                          340
+
+Paul Heyse. (From Olaf Gulbransson's "Famous
+      Contemporaries")                                          350
+
+Frank Wedekind                                                  360
+
+Siegfried Wagner. (From Olaf Gulbransson's "Famous
+      Contemporaries")                                          370
+
+Leo Tolstoy. (From Olaf Gulbransson's "Famous
+      Contemporaries")                                          380
+
+D. Mommsen. (From Olaf Gulbransson's "Famous
+      Contemporaries")                                          390
+
+Ernst Hardt                                                     420
+
+A Daughter of the People. By Karl Haider.                       440
+
+Approaching Thunderstorm. By Karl Haider.                       480
+
+
+
+
+
+                             EDITOR'S NOTE
+
+
+This, the last volume of THE GERMAN CLASSICS, was intended to be
+devoted to the contemporary drama exclusively. But the harvest of the
+contemporary German Short Story is so rich that an overflow from Volume
+XIX had to be accommodated in Volume XX. It is hoped that this has not
+seriously crippled the representative character of the dramatic
+selections, although the editors are fully aware of the importance of
+such dramatists as Herbert Eulenberg, Wilhelm Schmidtbonn, or Fritz von
+Unruh. The principal tendencies, at any rate, of the hopeful and eager
+activity which distinguishes the German stage of today are brought out
+in this volume with sufficient clearness, especially in combination
+with the selections from Schoenherr and Hofmannsthal in Volumes XVI and
+XVII.
+
+The European war, unfortunately, has prevented us from making the
+selections from contemporary German painting in Volumes XIX and XX as
+varied and representative as we had hoped.
+
+                                                KUNO FRANCKE.
+
+
+
+
+
+JAKOB WASSERMANN
+
+* * * * * *
+
+CLARISSA MIRABEL (1906)
+TRANSLATED BY JULIA FRANKLIN
+
+
+In the little town of Rodez, situated on the western side of the
+Cevennes and washed by the waters of the river Aveyron, there lived a
+lawyer by the name of Fualdes, a commonplace man, neither good nor bad.
+Notwithstanding his advanced age, he had only recently retired from
+affairs, and his finances were in such a bad shape that he was obliged,
+in the beginning of the year 1817, to dispose of his estate of La
+Morne. With the proceeds he meant to retire to some quiet spot and live
+on the interest of his money. One evening--it was the nineteenth of
+March--he received from the purchaser of the estate, President Seguret,
+the residue of the purchase-money in bills and securities, and, after
+locking the papers in his desk, he left the house, having told the
+housekeeper that he had to go to La Morne once more in order to make
+some necessary arrangements with the tenant.
+
+He neither reached La Morne nor returned to his home. The following
+morning a tailor's wife from the village of Aveyron saw his body lying
+in a shallow of the river, ran to Rodez and fetched some people back
+with her. The rocky slope was precipitously steep at that point, rising
+to a height of about forty feet. A great piece of the narrow footpath
+which led from Rodez to the vineyards had crumbled away, and it was
+doubtless owing to that circumstance that the unfortunate man had been
+precipitated to the bottom. It had rained very heavily the day before,
+and the soil on top had, according to the testimony of a number of
+people who worked in the vineyards, been loose for a long time. It
+seemed a singular fact that there was a deep gash in the throat of the
+dead man; but as jagged stones projected all over the rocky surface of
+the slope, such an injury explained itself. On examination of the
+steep wall, no traces of blood were found on stone or earth. The rain
+had washed away everything.
+
+The news of the occurrence spread rapidly, and all through the day two
+or three hundred people from Rodez--men, women, and children--were
+standing on both shores staring with a look of fascination and
+self-induced horror into the depths of the ravine. The question was
+raised whether it was not a will-o'-the-wisp that had misled the old
+man. A woman alleged that she had spoken with a shepherd who declared
+he had heard a cry for help; this, it is true, occurred about midnight,
+and Fualdes had left his house at eight o'clock. A stout tinker
+contended that the darkness had not been as dense as all believed; he
+himself had crossed the fields, on his way from La Valette, at nine
+o'clock, and the moon was then shining. The inspector of customs took
+him severely to task, and informed him that a new moon had made its
+appearance the day before, as one could easily find out by looking in
+the calendar. The tinker shrugged his shoulders, as if to say that in
+such conjunctures even the calendar was not to be trusted.
+
+When it grew dusk the people wandered homeward, in pairs and groups,
+now chatting, now silent, now whispering with an air of mystery. Like
+dogs that have become suspicious and keep circling about the same spot,
+they strained with hungry eagerness for a new excitement. They looked
+searchingly in front of them, heard with sharpened ears every word that
+was uttered. Some cast suspicious side-glances at each other; those who
+had money closed their doors and counted their money over. At night in
+the taverns the guests told of the great riches that the miserly
+Fualdes had accumulated; he had, it was said, sold La Morne only
+because he shrank from compelling the lessee, Grammont, who was his
+nephew, by legal means to pay two years' arrears of rent.
+
+The spoken word hung halting on the lips, carrying a half-framed
+thought in its train. It was an accepted fact among the citizens that
+Fualdes, the liberal Protestant, a former official of the Empire, had
+been annoyed by threats against his life. The dark fancies spun busily
+at the web of fear. Those who still believed it was an accident
+refrained from expressing their reasons; they had to guard against
+suspicion falling upon themselves. Already a band of confederates was
+designated, drawn from the Legitimist party, now become inimical,
+threatening, arrogant. Dark hatred pointed to the Jesuits and their
+missions as instigators of the mysterious deed. How often had justice
+halted when the power of the mighty shielded the criminal!
+
+The spring sun of the ensuing day shone upon tense, agitated, eager
+faces gradually inflamed to fierceness. The Royalists began to fear for
+their belongings; in order to protect themselves, infected as they,
+too, were by the general horror which emanated from the unknown, they
+admitted that a crime had been perpetrated. But how? and where? and
+through whom?
+
+A cobbler has a better memory, as a rule, and a more active brain, than
+other people. The shoemaker, Escarboeuf, used to gather his neighbors
+and trusty comrades about him now and then at the hour of vespers. He
+remembered exactly what the doctor had said on the discovery of the
+corpse; he was standing close by and had heard every syllable. "It
+almost looks as if the man had been murdered;" those were the
+astonished words of the doctor when he was examining the wound in the
+throat. "Murdered? what are you saying, man?" interposed one of the
+company. "Yes, murdered!" cried the cobbler triumphantly.--"But it is
+said that there was sand sticking to the wound," remarked a young man
+shyly.--"O pshaw! sand, sand!" retorted the shoemaker, "What does sand
+prove anyway?"--"No, sand proves nothing," all of them admitted. And by
+midday the report in all the houses of the quarter ran: Fualdes had
+been murdered, he had been butchered. The word gave the inflamed minds
+a picture, the whispering tongues a hint.
+
+Now, by a strange chance it happened that on that fateful evening the
+night watchman had deposited in the guardroom a cane with an ivory knob
+and a gilt ring, which he had found in front of the Bancal dwelling,
+separated from lawyer Fualdes' house by the Rue de l'Ambrague, a dark
+cross street. Fualdes' housekeeper, an old deaf woman, asserted
+positively that the cane was the property of her master; her assertion
+seemed incontestable. A long time after, it came to light that the cane
+belonged to a traveling tradesman who had spent the night carousing in
+the company of some wenches; but at the time, attention was at once
+turned to the Bancal house, a dilapidated, gloomy building with musty,
+dirty corners. It had formerly been owned by a butcher, and pigs were
+still kept in the yard. It was a house of assignation and was visited
+nightly by soldiers, smugglers, and questionable-looking girls; now and
+then, too, heavily veiled ladies and aristocratic-looking men slipped
+in and out. On the ground floor there lived, beside the Bancal couple,
+a former soldier, Colard, and his sweetheart, the wench Bedos, and the
+humpbacked Missonier; above them, there dwelt an old Spaniard, by the
+name of Saavedra, and his wife; he was a political refugee who had
+sought protection in France.
+
+On the afternoon of the twenty-first of March, the soldier, Colard, was
+standing at the corner of the Rue de l'Ambrague, playing a monotonous
+air on his flute, one that he had learned from the shepherds of the
+Pyrenees. The shopkeeper, Galtier, came up the road, stood still, made
+a pretense of listening, but finally interrupted the musician,
+addressing him severely: "Why do you gad about and pretend to be
+ignorant, Colard? Don't you know, then, that the murder is said to have
+been committed in your house?"
+
+Colard, brushing his scrubby moustache from his lips, replied that he
+and Missonier had been in Rose Feral's tavern, alongside the Bancal
+house, that night. "Had I heard a noise, sir," he said boastfully, "I
+should have gone to the rescue, for I have two guns."
+
+"Who else was at Rose Feral's?" pursued the shopkeeper. Colard
+meditated and mentioned Bach and Bousquier, two notorious smugglers.
+"The rascals, they had better be on their guard," said the shopkeeper,
+"and you, Colard, come along with me; poor Fualdes is going to be
+buried, and it is not fitting to be playing the flute."
+
+Scarcely had they reached the main street, where a great number of
+people had collected, when they were suddenly joined by Bousquier, who
+exhibited a strange demeanor, now laughing, now shaking his head, now
+gazing vacantly before him. Colard cast a shy, sidelong glance at him,
+and the shopkeeper, who thought of nothing but the murder and saw in
+all this the manifestations of a bad conscience, observed the man
+keenly. Those around them, too, became watchful, and it at once struck
+everybody that if any one had a knowledge of the crime committed in the
+Bancal house, it was Bousquier. The excited Galtier questioned him
+bluntly. Bousquier was the worse for liquor, the unusual hubbub
+intoxicated him still more; he seemed confused, but felt himself, at
+the same time, a person of importance. At first he assumed an air of
+unwillingness to speak out, then he related with solemn
+circumstantiality that he was summoned on the night of the murder by a
+tobacco-dealer clad in a blue coat; three times had the stranger sent
+for him, finally he went, was told to carry a heavy bundle, and was
+paid with a gold piece.
+
+Even while he was speaking, an expression of horror ran across the face
+of the loquacious fellow; he grew gradually conscious of the
+significance of his words. The listeners had formed a compact circle
+around him, and a shrill voice rang out from the crowd: "It was surely
+the corpse that was wrapped up in that bundle!"
+
+Bousquier looked uneasy. He had to start at the beginning again and
+again, and the strained glances turned upon him forced him to invent
+new minor details, such as that the tobacco-dealer suddenly disappeared
+in an unaccountable manner, and that his face was concealed by a black
+mask, "Where did you have to carry the body?" asked Galtier, with
+clenched teeth. Bousquier, horrified, remained silent; then,
+intimidated by the many threatening glances, he replied in a low tone:
+"Toward the river."
+
+Two hours later he was arrested and put behind bolts and bars. That
+same evening he was brought before the police magistrate, Monsieur
+Jausion, and when the unfortunate man became aware that the matter was
+growing grave, that his chatter was to be turned into evidence, that
+every word he spoke was being noted down, and that he would have to
+answer for them with his freedom, nay, perhaps with his life, he was
+seized with terror. He denied the story of the tobacco-dealer and the
+heavy bundle, and when the magistrate grew angry, relapsed into
+complete silence. On being remanded to his cell he fell into a dull
+brooding. "Come, wake up, Bousquier," the jailer exhorted him, "you
+mustn't keep the gentlemen waiting; if you are stubborn, you will have
+to pass some bad nights."
+
+Bousquier shook his head. The jailer fetched a heavy folio, and as he
+himself could not read, he called another prisoner, who was made to
+read aloud a passage of the law, according to which a person who was
+present by compulsion at the commission of a crime, and voluntarily
+confessed it, would get off with a year's imprisonment. The jailer held
+the lantern close to the tanned face of the reader and nodded
+encouragingly to Bousquier. The latter was mumbling the Lord's Prayer.
+Greatly agitated, and groping about for a way out of his plight, he
+said finally that everything was as he had first related, only the
+tobacco-dealer had paid him not with a gold-piece but a couple of
+silver coins. He repeated his confession before the magistrate, who had
+been summoned despite the lateness of the hour.
+
+The next morning all Rodez knew that Bousquier had confessed that
+Fualdes had been murdered in the Bancal house, and the body carried at
+night to the river. Lips that had up to that time been sealed with fear
+were suddenly opened. Some one, whose name could not be ascertained,
+declared that he had seen some figures stealing past the house of
+Constans the merchant; he had also noticed that they halted some steps
+further on and drew together for consultation, whereupon, divining the
+horrible deed, he fled. The search for this witness, whose voice died
+away so quickly amid the other voices, and yet who was the first to
+trace, as with an invisible hand, a sketch of the nocturnal funeral
+train, proved vain. Each one's fancy silently carried out the picture
+further; they saw the body itself on the stretcher; the bier was
+depicted with distinctness as if it were a concrete token of the
+mysterious deed; a carpenter even drew it in chalk in bold strokes on
+the wall of the court-house. A woman who suffered from insomnia stated
+that she was sitting at the window that night and in spite of the
+darkness, recognized Bancal as well as the soldier, Colard, who were
+bearing the two front handles of the bier. Furthermore, she had heard
+the laborer, Missonier, who closed the procession, cursing. Summoned
+before the magistrate, she fell into a contradictory mood, which was
+excused on the score of her readily-comprehended excitement. But the
+words had been said; what weight should be attached to them depended on
+the force and peculiarity of the circumstances; the lightly spoken word
+weighed as heavily in the ears of the chance auditor as if it had
+been his own guilt, so that he sought to free himself of the burden
+and passed it on as if it would burn his tongue should he delay
+but a moment. Perhaps it was this sleepless woman, perhaps the
+lips of nameless Rumor herself, that enriched the picture of this
+murder-caravan with the figure of a tall, broad-shouldered man, armed
+with a double-barreled gun, who headed the procession. Now the
+gray web had a central point, and received a sort of illumination and
+vividness through the probable and penetrable criminality of a single
+individual. Twelve hours more, and every child knew the exact order of
+the nocturnal procession: first, the tall, powerful man with the
+double-barreled gun, then Bancal, Bach and Bousquier, bearing the bier,
+then the humpbacked Missonier, as rear-guard. At the last houses of the
+town the road to the river grew narrow and steep; as there was not room
+enough for two people to walk abreast, Bousquier and Colard had to
+carry the body alone, and it was Bousquier, not Missonier, who cursed,
+on that account, cursed so loud that the licentiate, Coulon, was
+startled from his sleep and called for his servant. On the steep place
+in front of the vineyards the body of the dead man was unwrapped and
+thrown into the water, and when that had been done, the tall, powerful
+man, pointing his gun at his confederates, imposed eternal silence upon
+them.
+
+By this action the stranger with the double-barreled gun emerged
+completely from the mist of legend and the position of a merely
+picturesque accessory; his threatening attitude shed a flood of light
+upon the past. What had taken place after the murder, then, had outline
+and life. But had no eye accompanied poor Fualdes on his last walk? Had
+no one seen him leave his house, without any foreboding, and, whistling
+merrily perhaps, pass through the dark Rue de l'Ambrague, where the
+accomplices of the murder doubtless lay in waiting? Yes. The same
+licentiate whom Bousquier's cursing had roused from his sleep had seen
+the old man at eight in the evening turn into the narrow street, and
+shortly after some one follow hastily behind him; whether a man or a
+woman, Monsieur Coulon could not remember. Besides, a locksmith's
+apprentice came forward who had observed, from the mayor's residence,
+some persons signaling to each other. The mayor's dwelling was
+situated, it is true, in a different quarter of the town, but that
+circumstance was considered of little account in so widespun a
+conspiracy--had they not the testimony of a coachman who had seen two
+men standing motionless in the Rue des Hebdomadiers? Many of the
+inhabitants of that street now recalled that they had heard a constant
+whispering, hemming and hawing, and calling, to which, being in an
+unsuspicious mood at the time, they naturally paid no special heed. It
+was an accepted fact that watchers were posted at every corner, nay,
+even a female sentinel had been observed in the gateway of the
+Guildhall. The tailor, Brost, asserted that he had heard the whispering
+or sighing more distinctly than any one else; he had, thereupon, opened
+his window and seen five or six people enter the Bancal house, among
+them the tall, powerful man. Some time after, a neighbor had observed a
+person being dragged over the pavement; believing it was a girl who had
+drunk too much, he attached no further significance to it. Far more
+important than such confused rumors did it seem that as late as between
+nine and ten o'clock, an organ-grinder was still playing in the Rue des
+Hebdomadiers. The purpose was clear: it was to drown the death-cry
+of the victim. It soon turned out that there must have been two
+organ-grinders, one of whom, a cripple, had squatted on the curbstone
+in front of the Rue de l'Ambrague. To be sure, it had been the annual
+fair-day in Rodez, and the presence of organ-grinders would, therefore,
+not have signified anything mysterious, if the lateness of the hour had
+not exposed them to suspicion. Several persons even mentioned midnight
+as the time of the playing. A search was instituted for the musicians,
+and the villages in the vicinity were scoured for them, but they had
+disappeared as completely as the suspicious tobacco-dealer.
+
+On the same morning when the Bancal house was searched and a policeman
+found a white cloth with dark spots in the yard, the Bancals, Bach, and
+the laborer Missonier, were taken into custody and, loaded with chains,
+were thrown into prison. Staring vacantly before them, the five men sat
+in the police wagon, which, followed by a crowd of people, chattering,
+cursing, and clenching their fists, carried them through the streets.
+The report of the cloth discovered in the yard spread in an instant;
+that the spots were blood-spots admitted no doubt; that it had been
+used to gag Fualdes was a matter of course.
+
+Meanwhile Bousquier, all unstrung by his miserable plight, dragged from
+one hearing to another, alarmed by threats, racked by hunger, enticed
+by hopes of freedom and illusory promises, had confessed more and more
+daily. He was driven by the jailer, he was driven by the magistrate;
+for the latter felt the impatience and fury of the people, and the
+fables of the press, like the lash of a whip. Bousquier had seemed to
+be stubborn; but the presentation of his former stories, which now,
+like creditors, extorted an ever-increasing usurious interest of lies,
+sufficed to render him tractable. He appeared to be worn out, to be
+incapable of expressing what he had seen, of describing what he had
+heard,--Monsieur Jausion assisted him by questions which contained the
+required answers.
+
+Thus he admitted that he had gone into the Bancal house, and found the
+Bancals, the soldier Colard, the smuggler Bach, two young women, and a
+veiled lady in the room. The more persons he mentioned, the more
+conciliatory grew the countenance of the magistrate, and, as though
+into the jaws of a hungry beast, he continued unconcernedly throwing
+him bit after bit. He probably recalled other nights spent in the
+motley company, and it struck him that the person of the veiled lady
+would be an addition which might enhance his credit. Monsieur Jausion
+found, however, that an important figure was lacking, and he asked in a
+stern tone whether Bousquier had not forgotten somebody. Bousquier was
+startled and pondered. "Try your best to remember," urged the
+magistrate; "what you conceal may turn into a rope for your neck. Speak
+out, then: was there not a tall, robust man present also?" Bousquier
+realized that this new person must be included. One shadowy shape after
+another, wild, fantastic, started up in his distracted brain, and he
+had to let the puppets play, to satisfy his tormentor. To the question
+of how the tall, powerful man looked and how he was dressed, he
+answered: "Like a gentleman."
+
+And now it was his turn to describe, to vivify the scene of action. On
+the large table in Bancal's room there lay, not the bundle of tobacco
+for which he had been called, but a corpse. He tried to flee, but the
+tall, robust man followed him and threatened him with a pistol.
+
+The magistrate shook his head reproachfully. "With a pistol?" he said.
+"Think well, Bousquier, was it not a gun, perhaps? was it not a
+double-barreled gun?" "All right," reflected Bousquier, infuriated; "if
+they are bent upon a gun, it may just as well have been a gun." He
+nodded as if ashamed, and went on to say that, his life being thus
+threatened, he was obliged to remain in Bancal's chamber and aid and
+abet him. The dead man was wrapped in a linen cloth, bound with ropes,
+and placed upon the stretcher. The stretcher was constructed, in
+Bousquier's imagination, aided by the turnkey, with the utmost
+perfection. When he was about to describe the funeral train, however,
+the tortured man lost consciousness, and when, late in the evening, he
+was again conducted to the hearing--rarely did the night and the
+candle-light in the dreary room fail of their spectral effects--he
+unexpectedly denied everything, cried, screamed, and acted as if
+completely bereft of his senses. In order to encourage and calm him.
+Monsieur Jausion resorted to a measure as bold as it was simple; he
+said that Bach and Colard had likewise made a confession, and it was
+gratifying that their declarations coincided with those of Bousquier;
+if he comported himself sensibly now, he would soon be allowed to leave
+the prison.
+
+Bousquier was startled. The longer he reflected, the more profoundly
+was he impressed by what he had heard. His face blanched and
+he grew cold all over. It was as if a disordered dream were suddenly
+turned into a waking reality, or as if a person in a state of
+semi-intoxication, recounting the fictitious story of some misfortune
+and becoming more and more enmeshed in a web of falsehoods with every
+new detail, suddenly learned that everything had actually taken place
+as he had related. A peculiar depression took possession of him, he had
+a horror of the solitude of his cell, a dread of sleep.
+
+All Rodez had listened to Bousquier's statements with feverish avidity.
+Finally the form of the stranger with the double-barreled gun obtained
+distinctness and tangibility. That he had the air of a gentleman
+spurred the rage of the people, and the Legitimist party, which was
+composed in great part of the rich and the aristocracy, began to
+tremble. It was probably among them that a person was first mentioned
+whose name ran, first cautiously, then boldly, then accusingly, from
+mouth to mouth, and over whose head a thunder-cloud, born of a wreath
+of mist, hung arrested, quivering with lightning. It was well known
+that Bastide Grammont, the tenant of La Morne, in spite of his
+relationship to the lawyer Fualdes, lived in a state of animosity, or
+at least of the oppressive dependence of a debtor, with the old man.
+Every one knew, or thought he knew, that stormy scenes had often taken
+place between uncle and nephew. Was not that enough? Moreover,
+Bastide's domineering temperament and harsh nature, the sudden sale of
+La Morne, and a well connected chain of little suspicious signs--who
+still dared to doubt?
+
+The unwearied architect who was at work somewhere there, in the earth
+below or the air above, took care that the circle of ruin should be
+complete, and enlisted associates with malicious pleasure in every
+street, among high and low. In the forenoon of the nineteenth of March,
+Fualdes and Grammont were walking up and down the promenade of Rodez. A
+woman who dealt in second-hand things had heard the young fellow say to
+the old man: "This evening, then, at eight o'clock." A mason who was
+shoveling sand for a new building had heard Monsieur Fualdes exclaim:
+"You will keep your word, then?" Whereupon Grammont replied: "Set your
+mind at rest, this evening I shall settle my account with you." The
+music-teacher Lacombe remembered distinctly how Bastide, with a
+wrathful countenance, had called to the old man: "You drive me to
+extremity." The idle talk of a chatterbox gained, in the buzz of
+hearsay, the same importance as well established observations, and what
+had been said before and after was blended and combined with audacious
+arbitrariness. Thus, Professor Vignet, one of the heads of the
+Royalists, alleged that he had gone into a fruit store about seven in
+the evening, shortly before the murder, and met one of his colleagues
+there. He related that he had seen Bastide Grammont, who was walking
+rather rapidly on passing him. He declared that he exclaimed: "Don't
+you find that Grammont has an uncanny face?" To which the other
+answered affirmatively and said that one must be on one's guard against
+him. Witnesses came forward who confirmed this conversation. Witnesses
+came forward who claimed to have seen Bastide in front of the Bancal
+house; he had emitted a shrill whistle a number of times and then
+dodged into the shadow.
+
+Bastide Grammont had lived at La Morne for five years. He was perhaps
+the only man in the entire district who never concerned himself about
+politics, and kept aloof from all party activity, and this proud
+independence exposed him to the ill will, nay, the hatred, of his
+fellow-citizens. When upon one occasion a demonstration in favor of the
+Bourbons was to take place in Rodez, and the streets were filled with
+an excited crowd, he rode with grave coolness on his dapple-gray horse
+through the inflamed throng and returned the wild, angry glances
+directed at him with a supercilious smile.
+
+It was related of him that he had wasted his youth and a considerable
+fortune in Paris, and had returned home from there sick and tired of
+mankind. His mode of life pointed to a love of the singular. In former
+years a learned father from the neighboring Benedictine abbey had often
+been his guest; it seemed as if the quiet student of human nature took
+a secret pleasure in the unbridled spirit and the pagan fervor of
+Nature-worship of the hermit, Bastide; but when he forcibly abducted a
+seamstress, pretty Charlotte Arlabosse, from Alby, and lived with her
+in unlawful union, the Benedictine, in obedience to the command of his
+superiors, was obliged to break off the intercourse. Thenceforth,
+Bastide renounced all intimate human contact. He had no friend; he
+wished for none. He secluded himself with disdainful pride; the sight
+of a new face turned his distant and cold; people in society he treated
+with insulting indifference. Perhaps it was only from a fear of
+disappointment that he harshly withstood even the most friendly
+advances, for there lay at times a vague yearning for love in the
+depths of his eyes. To grow hard because unfulfilled claims afflict and
+darken the soul, to retire into solitude because overweening pride
+shuns to lay bare the glowing heart, to be unjust from a feeling of
+shame and misunderstood defiance--that was perhaps his lot, and
+certainly his shortcoming.
+
+For days at a time he would roam about with his dogs in the valleys of
+the Cevennes. He gathered stones, mushrooms, flowers, caught birds and
+snakes, hunted, sang, and fished. If something went wrong and his blood
+was up, he mounted the fieriest horse in his stable and rode over the
+most dangerous paths across the rocks, to Rieux. In winter, in the
+early cold hours, he was seen bathing in the river; in sultry summer
+nights he lay naked and feverish under the open sky. He declared then
+that he saw the stars dance and the earth tremble. At vintage time he
+was, without ever drinking, as if intoxicated; he organized festivals
+with music and torch-light processions, and was the patron of all
+the love-affairs among the workers in the vineyards. In case of
+long-continued bad weather he grew pale, languid, and supersensitive,
+lost sleep and appetite, and was subject to sudden fits of rage which
+were the dread of his servants; on one such occasion he cut down half a
+dozen of the grandest trees in the garden, which, as everybody knew, he
+loved as passionately as if they were his brothers.
+
+That with such an irregular management the income of the estate
+diminished year by year, astonished no one but himself. He fell into
+debt, but to speak or think about it caused him the greatest annoyance,
+and his resource against it was a regular participation in various
+lotteries, to whose dates of payment he always looked forward with
+childish impatience.
+
+* * * * *
+
+When the court, in compliance with the opinion and accusation of the
+people, which could not be ignored, ordered Bastide's arrest, he
+already knew the forces at work against him. He was sitting under a
+huge plane-tree, occupied with some wood-carving, when the constables
+appeared in the yard. Charlotte Arlabosse rushed up to him and seized
+his arm, but he shook her off, saying: "Let them have their way, the
+abscess has been ripe a long time." Stepping forward to meet the
+gendarmes with satirical pomposity, he cried: "Your servant,
+gentlemen."
+
+The occupants of La Morne were subjected to a rigorous examination.
+According to Bastide's own statement, he had ridden to Rodez on the
+afternoon of the nineteenth of March; at seven in the evening he was
+already with his sister in the village of Gros; there he remained over
+night, returned in the morning to La Morne, then upon the news of his
+uncle's death, he had ridden to Rodez once more and spent about half an
+hour in Fualdes' house. His sister confirmed his statement that he had
+passed the night in her house, and added that he had been particularly
+cheerful and amiable. The maid, too, who had waited on him and prepared
+his bed, declared that he had retired at ten o'clock. As to the
+domestics at La Morne, they babbled of one thing and another. In order
+to say something and not stand there like simpletons or accomplices,
+they involved themselves in speeches of significant obscurity; thus one
+of the servants remarked that if the master's gray mare could but speak
+he could tell of some hard riding that night. The maids spoke
+incoherently or shed tears; Charlotte Arlabosse even fled, but was
+captured in the vineyards and incarcerated in the town prison.
+
+These occurrences were by no means concealed from Bousquier and his
+associates; nay, insignificant details were emphatically dwelt upon, in
+order to give them a sense of security and assist their memory. It was
+the smuggler Bach, in particular--who, with the Bancal couple, could
+not at first be induced to make a statement--that the police magistrate
+had in view. He had terrified judges and keepers by his violent
+paroxysms of rage, and, to punish and subdue him, had been put in
+chains. Unconscious of it himself, this man suffered from a fierce
+longing for freedom, for he was the model of a roving vagabond and
+tramp. One night when he had attempted to strangle himself. Monsieur
+Jausion acquainted him with the confession of his comrade, Bousquier,
+and admonished him too to abandon his fruitless stubbornness. Thereupon
+the demeanor of the man changed at once; he became cheerful and
+communicative, and, grinning maliciously, said: "All right, if
+Bousquier knows much, I know still more." And in fact, he did know
+more. He was a stammerer and took advantage of this defect to gain time
+for reflection when his imagination halted, and every time he strayed
+into the regions of the fabulous the keen-witted Monsieur Jausion led
+him gently back to the path of reality.
+
+This was his story: When he entered the room with Bousquier, lawyer
+Fualdes was seated at the table, and was made to sign papers. The tall,
+powerful man, Bastide Grammont, of course--no doubt it was Grammont;
+Bach in this relied upon the information of the magistrate and upon
+glib Rumor--stuck the signed papers in his pocket-book. In the
+meanwhile Madame Bancal cooked a supper, chicken with vegetables, and
+veal with rice; an important detail, indicating the cold-bloodedness of
+the murderers. Shortly before eight o'clock two drummers came in, but
+the face of the host or of the strange gentleman displeased them; they
+thought they were in the way and left, whereupon the gate was locked.
+But there was a knocking several times after that; the preconcerted
+signal was three rapid knocks with the fist, and one after the other
+there entered the soldier Colard with his sweetheart, the humpbacked
+Missonier, an aristocratic looking veiled lady with green feathers in
+her hat, and a tobacco-dealer in a blue coat. The hat with the green
+feathers was a special proof of Bach's powers of invention, and stood
+out with picturesque verisimilitude against the blue-coated
+tobacconist.
+
+At half past eight Madame Bancal went up to the attic to put her
+daughter Madeleine to bed, and now Bastide Grammont explained to the
+old man that he must die. The imploring supplications of the victim
+resulted only in the powerful Bastide seizing him, and, in spite of his
+violent resistance, laying him on the table, from which Bancal hastily
+removed two loaves of bread which some one had brought along. Fualdes
+begged pitifully that he might be given time to reconcile himself with
+God, but Bastide Grammont replied gruffly: "Reconcile yourself with the
+devil."
+
+Here M. Jausion interrupted the relation, and inquired whether a
+hand-organ had not perchance at that moment commenced to play in front
+of the house. Bach eagerly confirmed the supposition, and continued his
+report, which now wrought up the narrator himself to a pitch of
+excitement and horror: Colard and Bancal held the old man's legs, while
+the tobacconist and his sweetheart seized his head and arms. A
+gentleman with a wooden leg and a three-cornered hat held a candle high
+in the air. There was something weird about the emergence of this new
+figure; if it stood for nothing more than a finishing touch to the
+horror of that night of murder, it fulfilled its aim to perfection. The
+wooden-legged man uplifting the candle was like an impious spirit from
+the nether world, and it was not necessary to dwell upon the narrow
+chin, the sneering mouth, the spectral eye.
+
+With a broad knife Bastide Grammont gave the old man a stab; Fualdes,
+by a superhuman effort, succeeded in breaking loose; he sprang up and
+ran, already mortally wounded, through the room; Bastide Grammont,
+pursuing, seized hold of him, threw him again on the table, the table
+rocked, one leg broke; now the dying man was placed upon two benches
+rapidly moved close to each other, and Bastide Grammont thrust the
+knife into his throat. With the last groan of the old man, Bancal came
+and his wife caught up the flowing blood in an earthen pot; the part
+that ran on the floor was scrubbed up by the women. In the pockets of
+the murdered man a five franc piece and several sous were found.
+Bastide Grammont threw the money into the apron of the Bancal woman,
+saying: "Take it! We are not killing him for his money." A key, too,
+was found; that Bastide kept. Madame Bancal had a hankering for the
+fine shirt of the dead man, and remarked covetously that it looked like
+a chorister's shirt; she was diverted from her desire, however, on
+being presented with an amethyst ring on Fualdes' finger. This ring was
+taken away the following day by a stranger for a consideration of ten
+francs.
+
+When Bach's recital with all its circumstantiality and its simulated
+completeness of strange and illuminating details became known, there
+lacked but little to hailing the imaginative scamp as a deliverer.
+Indignation fed belief, and criticism seemed treason. The public, the
+witnesses, the judges, the authorities, all believed in the deed and
+all began to join in invention. Bach and Bousquier, who were confronted
+with each other, quarreled and called each other liars; one claimed
+that lie had gone into the Bancal house before, the other after, the
+murder; one declared that he had assisted in the deed, the other that
+he had only lifted the body, which was wrapped in a sheet and bound
+with ropes. The half-witted Missonnier designated still another batch
+of persons whom he had seen in the Bancal house, two notaries from Alby
+and a cook. In Rose Feral's tavern, where all sorts of shady characters
+congregated, and old warlike exploits and thieveries were the subjects
+of discussion, on the night of the murder the talk fell upon the
+pillaging of a house, the property of a Liberal. This report was
+designed to heighten the apprehension of the quiet citizens, and that
+afterward all the conspirators, even well-to-do people, met in Bancal's
+house gave no cause for astonishment. Everything harmonized in the
+intricate, devilish plot; in the clothes of the dead Fualdes no money,
+on his fingers no ring, had been found; Grammont had the bailiff in his
+house as late as the seventeenth of March, and this circumstance,
+singled out at an opportune moment from the quagmire of lies, inspired
+security. Bastide was hopelessly entangled. The prisoners were thrown
+into a panic by the palpable agitation of the people; each one appeared
+guilty in the other's eyes, each one was ready to admit anything that
+was desired concerning the other, in order to exonerate himself; they
+were ignorant of their fate, they lost all sense of the meaning of
+words, they were no longer conscious of themselves, their bodies, their
+souls; they felt themselves encompassed by invisible clasps, and each
+sought to free himself on his own account, without knowing what he had
+actually done or failed to do. Every day new arrests were made, no
+traveler passing through was sure of his freedom, and after a few weeks
+half of France was seized with the intoxication of rage, a craving for
+revenge, and fear. Of the figures of the ludicrously-gruesome murder
+imbroglio, now this, now that one emerged with greater distinctness and
+reality, and the one that stood out finally as the most important,
+because her name was constantly brought forward, was the veiled lady
+with the green feather in her hat; nay, she gradually became the centre
+and impelling power of the bloody deed, perhaps only because her origin
+and existence remained a mystery. Many raised their voices in suspicion
+against Charlotte Arlabosse, but she was able to establish her
+innocence by well-nigh unassailable testimony; besides, she appeared
+too harmless and too much like a victim of Bastide's tyrannical
+cruelty, to answer to the demoniacal picture of the mysterious unknown.
+
+While Bach and Bousquier, in a rivalry which hastened their own ruin,
+tempted the authorities to clemency by ever new inventions, and,
+encouraged by the gossip which filtered through to them by subterranean
+channels, disturbed further the already troubled waters; while the
+soldier Colard and the Bancal couple, owing to the rigorous
+confinement, the harsh treatment of the keepers, and the excruciating
+hearings, were thrown into paroxysms of insanity, so that they reported
+things which even Jausion, used as he was to extravagance, had to
+characterize as the mere phantoms of a dream; while the other
+prisoners, steering unsteadily between their actual experiences and
+morbid visions, constantly suspected each other, and retracted today
+what they had sworn to yesterday, now whined for mercy, now maintained
+a defiant silence; while the inhabitants of the city, the villages, the
+whole province, demanded the termination of the long-winded procedure
+and the punishment of the evil-doers, with a fanaticism whose fire was
+tended and fed by mysterious agents; while, finally, the court, in the
+uncontrollably increasing flood of accusations and calumnies, lost its
+sense of direction, and was gradually becoming a tool in the hands of
+the populace;--in the meanwhile the boundless forces at work succeeded
+in poisoning the mind of a child, who appeared as a witness against
+father and mother, and led the deluded people to believe that God
+himself had by a miracle loosened the tongue of an infant.
+
+[Illustration: JAKOB WASSERMANN]
+
+At the outset the eleven-year-old Madeleine Bancal had been questioned
+by the police magistrate; she knew nothing. Subsequently the child came
+to the tavern, and at once people came forward who had heard from
+others, who again had heard from third or fourth parties, that the girl
+had seen the old man laid upon the table and her mother receiving
+money. Of course it was ascertained by Counselor Pinaud, the only man
+who retained clarity and judgment in the wild confusion, that Madeleine
+had taken presents from the managers of the tavern, as well as from
+other people; but it was too late by that time to discover and
+extirpate the root of the lie. She was persuaded ever more firmly into
+a belief of her first statement, and the recital kept expanding the
+greater the attention paid her, the more her vanity was flattered,
+until she believed she had really witnessed all that she related, and
+she experienced a feeling of satisfaction in the sympathy and pity of
+the grown people. Her mother had taken her to the attic, so she
+reported, but fearing the cold, she had stealthily crept downstairs and
+hidden herself in the bed in the alcove. Through a hole in the curtain
+she could see and hear everything. When the old man was about to be
+stabbed, the lady with the green feather ran terrified into the room
+and attempted to escape through the window. Bastide Grammont dragged
+her forth and wanted to kill her. Bancal and Colard begged him to spare
+her, and she had to swear an awful oath which pledged her to silence. A
+little later, Grammont, whose suspicions were not silenced, examined
+the bed also. Madeleine pretended to be asleep. He felt her twice, and
+then said to the mother that she must attend to getting rid of the
+child, which Madame Bancal promised to do for a sum of four hundred
+francs. The next morning the mother sent the child to the field, where
+the father had just dug a deep hole. She thought her father meant to
+throw her in, but he embraced her, weeping, and admonished her to be
+good.
+
+Even if people had been ready to doubt every other testimony, the
+report of the child passed as irrefutable, and no one concerned himself
+as to how it had been concocted, how the ignorant young thing had been
+courted, bribed, how she had been intoxicated by fondling, applause,
+or, it may be, even by fear. She was dragged from her sleep at night,
+in order to take advantage of her bewilderment; every new fancy was
+welcomed, the girl thought she was doing something remarkable, and
+played her part with increasing readiness. In such wise she molded out
+of nothing things which were calculated to throw a singularly realistic
+light upon the fevered image of the fateful night; for instance, how
+the mother had cut bread with the same knife with which the old
+gentleman had been stabbed, and how Madeleine had refused the bread,
+because it made her shudder; or how the blood, caught up in the pan,
+had been given to one of the pigs to drink, and how the animal had
+become wild in consequence, and had rushed, screaming madly, through
+the yard.
+
+Bastide Grammont bore hearing after hearing with a cold placidity. His
+frigidly haughty dignity, his mocking smile, the mute shrug of his
+shoulders, caused Monsieur Jausion frequent annoyance. But there were
+times when, carried away by impatience, he interrupted the judge
+outright, and attacked, boldly and eloquently, the frail yet
+indestructible structure of the evidence.
+
+"If it was my intention and interest to do away with my uncle, did it
+require a conspiracy of so many people?" he asked, his face blazing
+with scorn. "Am I supposed to have such a combination of craft and
+stupidity as to ally myself with brothel-keepers, harlots, smugglers,
+old women, and convicted criminals, people who would, as long as I
+live, remain my masters and blackmailers, even supposing silence to be
+among their virtues? Can anything more senseless be imagined than to
+seize a man on an open road and drag him into a house known to be
+suspicious? Why all this elaborate plot? Did no better occasion offer
+itself to me? Could I not have enticed the old man to the estate, shot
+him and buried him in the woods? It is claimed that I forced him to
+sign bills,--where are they, these bills? They would be bound to turn
+up and expose me. You say yourself that the Bancal house is
+dilapidated, that one can look into Bancal's room from the Spaniards'
+dwelling through the rotten boards; why, then, did Monsieur Saavedra
+hear nothing! Aha, he slept! A sound sleep, that. Or is he likewise, in
+the conspiracy, like my mother, my sister, my sweetheart, my faithful
+servants? And admitting all, were not the Bancal couple sufficient to
+help kill a feeble old man and dispose of his body; did I have to fetch
+half a dozen suspicious fellows, besides, from the taverns? Why did not
+my uncle cry out? He was gagged; well and good; but the gag was found
+in the yard. Then he did scream, after all, when the gag was removed,
+and I had the organ-grinders play. But such organs are noisy and draw
+people to the windows and into the street. And why butcher the victim,
+since so many strong men could easily have strangled him? Show me the
+medical report. Monsieur, does it not speak of a gash rather than a
+stab? And what twaddle, that about the funeral train, what betraying
+arrangements in a country where every sign-post has eyes! I am accused
+of having rushed into my uncle's house the following day and stolen
+some papers. Where are those papers? My uncle died almost poor. His
+claim against me was transferred to President Seguret. Why, then, the
+deed? What do they want with me? Who that has eyes sees my hands
+stained?"
+
+This language was defiant. It aroused the displeasure of the court and
+increased the hatred of the multitude, whom it reached in garbled
+shape. Through fear of the people, no lawyer dared undertake Bastide
+Grammont's defense. Monsieur Pinaud, who alone had the courage to point
+out the improbabilities and the fantastic origin of most of the
+testimony, came near paying with his life for his zeal for truth. One
+night a mob, including some peasants, marched to his house, smashed his
+windows, demolished the gate, and set fire to the steps. The terrified
+man made his escape with difficulty, and fled to Toulouse.
+
+Bastide Grammont clearly recognized that, for the present, it was
+useless to offer any resistance; he determined, therefore, to transform
+all his valor into patience and keep his lips closed as if they were
+doors through which his hopes might take flight. He, the freest of men,
+had to pass the radiant spring days, the fragrant summer nights, in a
+damp hole which rendered one's own breath offensive; he, to whom
+animals spoke, for whom flowers had eyes, the earth at times a
+semblance of the glow of love, who walked, strode, roamed, rode, as
+artists produce enchanting creations--he was condemned by the perverse
+play of incomprehensible circumstances to a foretaste of the grave and
+deprived of what he held dearest and most precious. Frequent grew the
+nights of sullenness when his eyes, brimming over with tears, were
+dulled at the thought of disgrace; more frequent the days of
+irrepressible longing, when every grain of sand that crumbled from the
+moist walls was a reminder of the wondrous being and working of the
+earth, the meadow, the wood. From the events which had overshadowed his
+life he turned away his thoughts in disgust, and he scarcely heard the
+keeper when he appeared one morning and exultingly informed him that
+the mysterious unknown, who was destined to become the chief witness,
+the lady with the green feathers, had finally been found; she had come
+forward of her own accord, and she was the daughter of President
+Seguret, Clarissa Mirabel.
+
+Bastide Grammont gazed gloomily before him. But from that hour that
+name hovered about his ears like the fluttering of the wings of
+inevitable Fate.
+
+* * * * * *
+
+This is what took place: Madame Mirabel confessed that on the night of
+the murder she had been in the Bancal house. This confession, however,
+was made under a peculiar stress, and in less time than it took swift
+Rumor to make it public, she retracted everything. But the word had
+fallen and bred deed upon deed.
+
+
+Clarissa Mirabel was the only child of President Seguret. She was
+brought up in the country, in the old Chateau Perrie, which her father
+had bought at the outbreak of the Revolution. Owing to the political
+upheavals, and the uncertain condition of things, she did not enjoy the
+benefit of any regular instruction in her childhood. The profound
+isolation in which she grew up favored her inclination to romanticism.
+She idolized her parents; in the agitated period of anarchy, the girl,
+scarcely fourteen years old, exhibited at her father's side such a
+spirit of self-sacrifice and such devotion that she aroused the
+attention of Colonel Mirabel, who, five years later, came and sued for
+her hand. She did not love him,--she had shortly before entered into a
+singularly romantic relationship with a shepherd,--yet she married him,
+because her father bade her. The union was not happy; after three
+months she separated from her husband; the Colonel went with the army
+to Spain. At the conclusion of the war he returned, and Clarissa
+received an intimation of his desire that she should live with him; she
+refused, however, and declared her refusal, moreover, in writing,
+incensed that he should have sent strangers to negotiate with her. But
+she learned that he was wounded, and this caused a revulsion of
+feeling. In the night, by secret passages, with ceremonious
+formalities, the Colonel was carried into the chateau, and Clarissa
+tended him, in a remote chamber, with faithful care. As long as it
+remained secret, the new sort of relationship to the man as a lover
+fascinated her, but her mother discovered everything and believed that
+nothing stood in the way of a complete reconciliation between the pair.
+Clarissa succeeded in removing him; in a thicket near the village she
+had nightly rendezvous with him. Colonel Mirabel, however, grew weary
+of these singular doings; he obtained a position in Lyons, but died
+soon after from the consequences of his excesses.
+
+Years passed; her mother, too, died, and Clarissa's grief was so
+overwhelming that she would spend entire days at the grave, and the
+influence of her more readily consoled father alone succeeded in
+inducing her to reconcile herself to her lonely, empty existence. Left
+completely to herself, she indulged in the pleasure of indiscriminate
+reading, and her wishes turned, with hidden passion, toward great
+experiences. Her peculiar tastes and habits made her a subject of
+gossip in the little town; she had children and half-grown boys and
+girls come to the chateau, and recited poems to them and trained them
+for acting. Her frank nature created enemies; she said what she
+thought, offended with no ill intention, caused confusion and gossip in
+all innocence, exaggerated petty things and overlooked great ones, took
+pleasure at times in masking, appearing in disguise, and impersonating
+imaginary characters, and captivated the susceptible by the charm of
+her speech, the bright versatility of her spirit, the winning
+heartiness of her manner.
+
+She was now thirty-five years old; but not only because she was so
+exceedingly slender, small, and dainty, did she seem like a girl of
+eighteen--her nature, too, was permeated by a rare spirit of youth; and
+when her eye rested, absorbed and contemplative, upon an object, it had
+the clearness and dreamy sweetness of the gaze of a child. She was a
+product of the border: southern vivacity and northern gravity had
+resulted in a restless mixture; she was fond of musing, and, playful as
+a young animal, was capable of arousing in men of all sorts desire
+mingled with shyness.
+
+The flood of reports concerning the death of the lawyer Fualdes left
+her, at first, unmoved, although her father, by his purchase of the
+domain of La Morne, seemed directly interested in the happenings, and
+new accounts were brought to the chateau daily. The occurrence was too
+complicated for her, and everything connected with it smelt too much of
+the unclean. Only when the name of Bastide Grammont was first mentioned
+did she prick up her ears, follow the affair, and have her father or
+the servants report to her the supposed course of events, displaying
+more interest than astonishment.
+
+She knew nothing about Bastide Grammont. Nevertheless, his name, as
+soon as she heard it, fell like a weight upon her watchful soul. She
+began to make inquiries about him, ventured upon secret rides to La
+Morne, and led one or another of his servants to talk about him; nay,
+once she even succeeded in speaking with Charlotte Arlabosse, who was
+free again at that time. What she learned aroused a strange, pained
+astonishment; she had a feeling of having missed an important meeting.
+
+In addition, she suddenly remembered having seen him. It must have been
+he, if she but half comprehended the confused descriptions of his
+person. It was a year ago, one early morning in the first days of
+spring. Seized by the general unrest with which the vernal season stirs
+the blood and rouses the sleeper sooner than his wont, she had wandered
+from the chateau, over the vine-clad hills, into the woody vale of
+Rolx. And as she strode through the dewy underbrush glistening with
+sunshine, above her the warbling of birds and the glowing blue of the
+celestial dome, beneath her the earth breathing like a sentient being,
+she caught sight of a man of powerful build who was standing erect,
+bareheaded, with nose in the air, and was enjoying with a preternatural
+eagerness, with distended gaze, all that lay open for enjoyment--the
+scents, the sun, the intoxicating dewiness, the splendor of the
+heavens. He seemed to scent it all, sniffing like a dog or a deer, and
+while his upturned face bore an expression of unfettered, smiling
+satisfaction, his arms, hanging by his side, trembled as in a spasm.
+
+She was frightened then; she fled without his perceiving her, without
+his hearing the sound of her footsteps. Now the picture assumed a
+different significance. Often when she was alone she would abandon
+herself to a fancied image of that hour: how she had gone forward to
+meet the singular being, and by skilfully planned questions beguiled
+answer upon answer from his stubborn lips, and how, unable to disguise
+his feelings any longer, he had spontaneously opened his heart to her.
+And one night he came riding on a wild steed, forced his way into the
+castle, took her and rode away with her so swiftly that it seemed as if
+the storm was his servant, and lent wings to his steed. When the talk
+at table or in company turned upon Bastide Grammont and his murderous
+crime, of which no one stood in doubt, Clarissa never occupied herself
+with the enormity of the deed, which must forever separate such a man
+from the fellowship of the good. Enveloped in a voluptuous mist, she
+was sensible of the influence of his compelling force, of the heroic
+soul that spoke in his gestures, of the reality of his existence and
+the possibility of a close approach to the figure which persisted in
+haunting her troubled dreams. She was frightened at herself; she gazed
+into the dreaded depths of her soul, and she often felt as if she
+herself were lying in prison and Bastide were walking back and forth
+outside, planning means for forcing the door, while his swift steed was
+neighing in triumph.
+
+Now she was entangled in all the talk, whisperings, and tales, and the
+whole mass of abominations, too, in which design and arbitrariness were
+hopelessly mingled, passed, steadily growing, before her. The thing had
+an increasingly strange effect upon her, and she felt as if she were
+breathing poisoned air; she would walk through one of the streets of
+Rodez and fancy that all eyes were fastened upon her in accusation, so
+that she hastened her steps, hurried home, pale and confused, and gazed
+at herself in the mirror with faltering pulse.
+
+She had recently been entertained at the estate of a family on terms of
+friendship with her father. One day the master of the house, a scholar,
+was thrown into great agitation over the loss of a valuable manuscript.
+The servants were ordered to ransack every room, but no one was
+suspected of theft. Clarissa fell by and by into a painful state; she
+imagined that she was suspected; in every word she felt a sting, in
+every look a question; she took part in the search with anxious zeal,
+fevered visions of prison and disgrace already floated before her, she
+longed to hasten to her father, to assert her innocence--when suddenly
+the manuscript was found under some old books; Clarissa breathed again
+as if saved from peril of death, and never before had she been as
+witty, talkative, and captivatingly lovable as in the hours that
+followed.
+
+When in the imagination of the multitude the lady with the green
+feathers grew steadily more distinct, along with the other figures
+implicated in the brutal slaughter of poor Fualdes, Clarissa was thrown
+into a consternation with which she only trifled at first, as if to
+test herself in a probability or balance herself upon a possibility,
+like a lad who with a pleasing shudder ventures upon the frozen surface
+of a stream to test its firmness. She devoured the reports in the
+newspapers. The timorous dallying grew into a haunting idea, chiefly
+owing to the fact that she really was the possessor of a hat with green
+feathers. That circumstance could not be regarded as remarkable.
+Fashion permitted the use of green, yellow, or red feathers;
+nevertheless, the possession of the hat became a torment to Clarissa.
+She dared no longer touch it; it seemed to her as if the feathers were
+enveloped in a bloody lustre, and she finally hid it in a lumber-room
+under the roof. She busied herself with plans of travel, and meant to
+visit Paris; but her resolution grew more shaky every day. Meanwhile
+June set in. A traveling theatrical company gave a number of
+performances in Rodez, and an officer by the name of Clemendot, who had
+long been pursuing Clarissa with declarations of love, but who had
+always, on account of his commonplaceness and evident crudity, been
+coolly, nay, at times ignominiously repulsed, brought her a ticket and
+invited her to accompany him to the theatre. She declined, but at the
+last moment she felt a desire to go, and had to suffer Captain
+Clemendot's taking the vacant seat to her right, after the rise of the
+curtain.
+
+The troupe presented a melodrama, whose action dragged out at great
+length and with great gusto the misfortune and gruesome murder of an
+innocent youth. At the close of the last act a woman disguised as a man
+appeared upon the scene; she wore a pointed round hat, and a mask
+covered her face. A hurried love-scene, carried on in whispers, by the
+light of the dismal lamp of a criminal quarter, with the chief of the
+band of murderers, sealed the fate of the unhappy victim, who was
+kneeling in prayer. In the house an eager silence reigned, all eyes
+were burning. Clarissa seemed to hear the hundred hearts beat like so
+many hammers; she grew hot and cold, every feeling of the real present
+vanished, and when, in the ensuing interval. Captain Clemendot in his
+half humble, half impudent way became importunate, a shudder ran
+through her body, and at the fumes of wine which he exhaled she came
+near fainting. Suddenly she threw back her head, fixed her gaze upon
+his muddled, besotted countenance and asked in a low, sharp, hurried
+tone: "What would you say, Captain, if it were I--I--who was present at
+the Bancal house?"
+
+Captain Clemendot turned pale. His mouth opened slowly, his cheeks
+quivered, his eyes glistened with fear, and when Clarissa broke into a
+soft, mocking, but not quite natural, laugh, he rose and, with an
+embarrassed farewell, left her. He was a simple man, as illiterate as a
+drummer, and, like everybody else in Rodez, completely under the sway
+of the blood-curdling reports. When the performance was at an end, he
+approached Clarissa, who, with an impassive air, was making her way to
+the exit, and asked whether she had been trying to jest with him, and
+she, her lips dry, and something like a prying hatred in her eyes,
+answered, laughing again: "No, no, Captain." After that her face
+resumed its earnest, almost sad, expression and her head dropped on her
+breast.
+
+Clemendot went home with a disturbed mind, thoroughly convinced that he
+had received an important confession. He felt in duty bound to speak
+out, and unbosomed himself next morning to a comrade. The latter drew a
+second friend into the secret, they deliberated together, and by noon
+the magistrate had been informed. Monsieur Jausion had the Captain and
+Madame Mirabel summoned. After long and singular reflection Clarissa
+declared that the whole thing was a joke, and the magistrate was
+obliged to dismiss her for the present.
+
+It was not joking, however, that the gentlemen wanted, but earnest. The
+Prefect, advised of what had happened, called in the evening on
+President Seguret and had a brief interview with the worthy man, who,
+shaken to his inmost soul, had to learn what a disgrace, to himself and
+her, his daughter had conjured up, menacing thus the peace of his old
+age. Clarissa was called in; she stood as if deprived of life before
+the two aged men, and the grief which spoke in her father's every
+motion and feature struck her heart with sorrow. She pleaded the
+thoughtlessness of the moment, the mad humor and confusion of her mind;
+in vain, the Prefect openly showed his incredulity. Monsieur Seguret,
+who in spite of his fondness for a jovial life, was of an exceedingly
+suspicious disposition, lacking, too, a firm and clear judgment of men,
+could not help regarding the depressed spirits of his daughter as a
+proof of guilt, and he explained to her, with cutting severity, that
+the truth alone would keep him from thrusting her from his heart.
+Clarissa ceased speaking; words rushed in upon her like destroying
+demons. The President grew sleepless and agitated, and wandered,
+distracted, about the castle all night long. His reflections consisted
+in fathoming Clarissa's nature on the side of its awful possibilities,
+and he very soon saw her impenetrable character covered with the blots
+and stigmas of the vice of romanticism. He, too, was completely under
+the spell of the general fanatical opinion, his experience could not
+hold out against the poisoned breath of calumny; the fear of being
+connected with the monstrous deed was stronger than the voice of his
+heart; suspicion became certainty, denial a lie. When he reflected upon
+Clarissa's past, her ungovernable desire to desert the beaten paths--a
+quality which appeared to him now as the gate to crime--no assumption
+was too daring, and her image interwove itself in the dismal web.
+
+Sleep was banished from Clarissa, too. She surprised her father in the
+gray morning hours in his disturbed wanderings through the rooms, and
+threw herself sobbing at his feet. He made no attempt to console her or
+raise her; to her despairing question as to what she could be seeking
+in the Bancal house, since as a widow she was perfectly free to come
+and go as she pleased and could dispense with secrecy, the President's
+reply was a significant shrug; and so firmly was his sinister
+conjecture imbedded, that upon her dignified demand for a just
+consideration, he only flung back the retort: "Tell the truth."
+
+The news was not slow to travel. Relatives and friends of the President
+made their appearance: amazed, excited, eager, malicious. To see the
+impenetrably peculiar, elusively unapproachable Clarissa cast into the
+mire was a sight they were all anxious to enjoy. A few of the older
+ladies attempted a hypocritically gentle persuasion, and Clarissa's
+contemptuous silence and the pained look of her eyes seemed to imply
+avowals. The Prefect came once more, accompanied by two officials. For
+the Government and the local functionaries everything was at stake; the
+cry for revenge of the citizens, anxious for their safety, the defiance
+and rancor of the Bonapartists, grew more violent every day, the papers
+demanded the conviction of the guilty persons, the rural population was
+on the point of a revolt. A witness who had no share in the deed
+itself, like Madame Mirabel, could quickly change and terminate
+everything; persuasion was brought to bear, she was promised, as far as
+the oath to which she subscribed in the Bancal house was concerned, a
+written dispensation from Rome, and a Jesuit priest whom the Mayor
+brought to the chateau expressly confirmed this. When everything proved
+vain and Clarissa began to oppose the cruel pressure by a stony calm,
+she was threatened with imprisonment, with having her disgrace and
+depravity made public through all France. And at these words of the
+Prefect her father fell upon his knees before her, as she had done that
+morning before him, and conjured her to speak. This was too much; with
+a shriek, she fell fainting to the floor.
+
+Clarissa believed she remembered having spent the evening of the
+nineteenth of March with the Pal family, in Rodez; she believed she
+remembered that Madame Pal herself remarked to her the following day:
+"We were so merry yesterday, and perhaps at that very time poor Fualdes
+was being murdered." Upon referring to this, the Pals made a positive
+denial of everything; they denied that Clarissa had paid them a visit;
+nay, in their vague, cowardly fright, they even declared that they had
+been on bad terms with Madame Mirabel for years.
+
+To human pity spirits blinded by fear and delusion were no longer
+accessible. Even had the sound sense of a single individual attempted
+resistance, it would have been useless; the giant avalanche could not
+be stayed. A diabolical plot was concocted, and it was the Prefect,
+Count d'Estournel, who perfected it in such wise that it promised the
+best success. Toward one o'clock at night a carriage drove into the
+castle grounds; Clarissa was compelled to enter it; the President, the
+Magistrate, the Prefect, were her companions. The carriage stopped in
+front of the Bancal house. Monsieur Seguret led his daughter into the
+ground floor room on the left, a cave-like chamber, gloomy as a bad
+conscience. On the shelf over the stove there stood a miserable little
+lamp whose light fell on two sheriff's officers and a lawyer's clerk,
+with stern countenances, leaning against the wall. The windows were
+hung with rags, the alcoves were pitchy dark, a mute silence reigned
+throughout the house.
+
+"Do you know this place?" asked the Prefect with solemn deliberation.
+All turned their gaze upon Clarissa. In order to soften the frightful
+tension of her breast, she listened to the rain, which was beating
+against the wall outside; all her senses seemed to have gathered in her
+ear to that end. Her body grew limp, her tongue refused to utter more
+than "no" or "yes," and since the first promised new torment and agony,
+but the latter perchance peace, she breathed a "yes:" a little word,
+born of fear and exhaustion, and, scarce alive, winged with a
+mysterious power. Her mind, confused and consumed with longing, turned
+a phantom image, the creation of a thousand effervescent brains, into
+an actual experience. The half consciously heard, half distractedly
+read, became a burning reality. Her existence seemed strangely
+entangled in that of the man of the wood and dale, who had fervently
+lifted his head to heaven, and sniffed in the air with the expression
+of a thirsting animal. Now she stood upon the bridge which led to his
+domain; she beheld herself sitting at his feet, drops of blood from his
+outstretched hand fell upon her bowed head. Consternation on the one
+hand, and the most radiant hope on the other, seized her heart, while
+between there flamed like a torch, there rang out exultant like a
+battle-cry, the name Bastide Grammont, a plaything for her dreams.
+
+An expression of relief flitted over the faces of the men upon this
+first syllable of a significant confession. President Seguret covered
+his eyes with his hand. He resolved in his heart to renounce his love
+for his misguided child. Clarissa felt it; all the ties which had
+hitherto bound her were broken.
+
+She had, then, been in the room on the evening of the nineteenth of
+March? she was asked. She nodded. How had she come there? questioned
+Monsieur Jausion further, and his tone and mien were marked by a
+certain cautiousness and nicety, as if he feared to disturb the still
+timorous spirits of memory. Clarissa remained silent. Had she come by
+way of the Rue des Hebdomadiers? asked the Prefect. Clarissa nodded.
+"Speak! Speak!" thundered Monsieur Seguret suddenly, and even the two
+sheriff's officers were startled.
+
+"I met several persons," Clarissa whispered in a tone so low that all
+involuntarily bent their heads forward. "I was afraid of them, and I
+ran, from fear, into the first open house."
+
+Monsieur Jausion winked to the clerk. "Into this house, then?" he asked
+in a caressing voice, while the clerk seated himself on the bench near
+the stove and wrote in a crouching position.
+
+Clarissa continued in the same plaintive whisper: "I opened the door of
+this room. Somebody seized me by the arm and led me into the alcove. He
+enjoined me to be silent. It was Bastide Grammont."
+
+At last the name! But how different it was to pronounce it than merely
+to think it! Clarissa paused, while she closed her eyes and elapsed her
+hands convulsively. "After leaving me alone a while," she resumed as if
+speaking in her sleep, "he returned, bade me follow him and led me into
+the street. There he stood still and asked whether I knew him. I first
+said yes, then no. Thereupon he asked me if I had seen anything, and I
+said no. 'Go away!' he ordered, and I went. But I had not reached the
+centre of the town when he was again at my side and took my hand in
+his. 'I am not one of the murderers,' he protested, 'I met you and my
+only object was to save you. Swear that you will remain silent, swear
+on your father's life.' I swore, whereupon he left me. And that is
+all."
+
+Monsieur Jausion smiled skeptically. "You claim, Madame, to have fled
+in here from the street," he remarked, "but it has been established by
+unexceptionable testimony that the gate was locked from eight o'clock
+on. How do you explain that?"
+
+Clarissa remained mute, even her breath seemed to stop. The Prefect
+motioned to Monsieur Jausion to desist; for the present enough had been
+attained, it was enough that Bastide Grammont had been recognized by
+Clarissa. The resolve to force the criminal, who denied all share in
+the guilt, to a confession by having him unexpectedly confront the
+witness, came as a matter of course.
+
+The gentlemen led Clarissa to the carriage, as she was scarcely able to
+walk. At home she lapsed into a peculiar state. First she lay back
+lethargically in a chair; suddenly she sprang up and cried: "Take away
+the murderers!" The door opened and the terrified face of a servant
+appeared in the crack. All the domestics stood waiting in the hall,
+most of them resolved to leave the President's service. Clarissa saw
+herself deprived of all the protection of love, and cast out from the
+circle where birth is respected and binding forms are recognized as the
+least of duties. She was exposed to every eye, the boldest gaze could
+pry into her inmost soul, she had become a public object, nothing about
+her was any longer her own, she herself could no longer find herself,
+find anything in herself upon which she could lean, she was branded,
+without and within, food for the general prurience, tossed
+defenselessly upon the filthy floods of gossip, the centre of a fearful
+occurrence from which she could no more dissever her thoughts. Sadness,
+grief, anxiety, scorn, these were no longer feelings for her, her blood
+coursed too wildly for that; uncertainty of herself dominated her,
+doubts as to her perception, doubts as to visible things in general;
+and now and then she would prick her finger with a needle just to feel
+the pain, which would serve as evidence of her being awake and might
+preserve her heart from decay. Added to this, the torment she suffered
+from the intrusive: appeals to tell the truth, the jeers from below,
+the command from above, the thirst for revenge and the ineffaceableness
+of a word once spoken; lastly, she saw the whole world filled with red
+tongues, ceaselessly chattering; bloody tongues with snakelike
+movements, directed toward her; every object she touched turned into a
+slippery tongue. Human countenances grew dim, save one, which, despite
+guilt and condemnation, was enthroned, in heroic suffering, high above
+the others, nay, appeared preeminent through his guilt as well as his
+defiance. And the day she was told that she was to confront Bastide
+Grammont in order to accuse him, her pulses beat in joyous measure
+again for the first time, and she arrayed herself as if for a festival.
+
+The meeting was to take place in the magistrate's office. Besides
+Monsieur Jausion and his clerks, Counselor Pinaud, who had returned,
+was present. Monsieur Jausion cast a malicious glance at him over his
+spectacles as Clarissa Mirabel, decked in lace, rustled in, bowed
+smiling to the gentlemen, and then swept her gaze with cheerful
+calmness over the inhospitable room. From a frame in the centre of the
+wall the fat and ill-humored face of the King looked down upon her, as
+ill-humored as if each one of his subjects were especially repugnant to
+him. She forgot that it was only a picture that hung before her and
+looked up with a coquettish pout.
+
+The magistrate made a sign, a side-door was thrown open, and Bastide
+Grammont, with hands chained together and with an officer of justice on
+either side of him, walked in. Clarissa gave a low cry and her face
+turned livid.
+
+Prison atmosphere enveloped Bastide. The shaggy hair, the long,
+neglected beard, the staring, somewhat dazed look, the slight stoop, as
+of a carrier of burdens, of the gigantic form, the secretly quivering
+wrath upon his newly furrowed brow--all proclaimed their cause and
+origin. Yes, he seemed to carry about him the invisible walls which
+filled him with agony and gloom, and which, month after month, pictured
+to him with more and more hopeless brilliance the images of freedom,
+until finally they refused to delude him with blooming tree or
+flourishing field; then they resembled the desolate gray of an autumn
+evening, when the air already smacks of winter, the hearse rattles
+oftener than usual past the garden-gate toward the little churchyard,
+and the rising half-moon floats in glowing radiance in the misty azure
+like a bleeding, divided heart.
+
+And yet that haughty eye, in which shone the resolve to be true to
+himself? And yet that strangely bitter scorn in his mien which might be
+compared to the cautious and at the same time majestic crouching of a
+tiger cat? The infinite contempt with which he looked at the hands of
+the clerks, prepared to write, his inner freedom and grand detachment
+in spite of the handcuffs and the two soldiers?
+
+It was this that wrung the cry from Clarissa's lips, and drove the mad
+merriment from her face. Not, indeed, because she was forced to behold
+the former genius of the woods and wilds bound and shattered, but
+because she recognized as in a flash of lightning that that hand could
+not have wielded a murderous knife, that such a deed did not touch the
+circle of his being, even if he may have been capable of the act, and
+that all was in vain, an incomprehensible intoxication and madness, an
+impenetrable horror, an exhibition of hypocrisy and disease, A
+dizziness seized her as if she were falling from a high tower. She was
+ashamed of her showy dress, its conspicuous finery, and in passionate
+excitement she tore the costly lace from her arms and, with an
+expression of the utmost loathing, threw it on the ground.
+
+Monsieur Jausion must have interpreted it differently. Again he smiled
+at Monsieur Pinaud, but this time in triumph, as if he would say: the
+sample tallies. "Do you know this lady, Bastide Grammont?" he asked the
+prisoner. Bastide turned his head aside, and his look of careless,
+bitter disdain cut Clarissa to the quick. "I don't know her," he
+replied gloomily, "I have never seen her."
+
+And once more Monsieur Jausion smiled, as if to correct a parsing
+error, and murmured: "That is not possible; Madame Mirabel, dressed at
+that time as a man, and with a hat with green feathers, was in the
+Bancal house, and was led by you yourself to the street, where you
+received her oath. I beg you to call it to mind."
+
+Bastide's face contracted as if at the annoying persistence of a fly,
+and he repeated in a loud, energetic tone: "I don't know the lady. I
+have never seen her." And his tightly compressed lips betrayed his firm
+resolve to remain silent.
+
+Monsieur Jausion adjusted his wig and looked troubled. "What answer
+have you to that, Madame?" he asked, addressing Clarissa.
+
+"He may not know that I saw him," she said in a whisper, but her voice
+had the penetrating quality of the chirping of a cricket.
+
+Bastide turned toward her once more, and in the somewhat oblique glance
+of his wearily brilliant eyes there was a mixture of curiosity and
+scorn, no more, however, than would be bestowed upon a mushroom or a
+spider. Inwardly he weighed, as it were, the slender, childlike form,
+wondered casually at the agitation of her gestures, her flashing eyes,
+the helpless twitching of her lips, wondered at the lace lying on the
+floor, and thought he was dreaming when he became aware that an
+imploring gesture of her hands was meant for him.
+
+The magistrate sprang up and, with distorted face, cried: "Do not jest
+with us, Madame, it may cost you dear. Speak out, then! A forced oath
+is not valid! The peace of your fellow-citizens, the peace of the
+country is at stake. Free yourself from the spell of the wretched
+being! Your infamous smile, Grammont, will be laid to your account on
+the day of the sentence."
+
+Counselor Pinaud stepped forward and murmured a few words into the ear
+of Bastide, who lifted his arms, and with an expression of consuming
+rage pressed his clenched, chained hands to his eyes. Clarissa
+staggered to the magistrate's table, and while a deadly pallor
+overspread her cheeks, she shrieked: "It is all a lie! Lie! Lie!"
+
+Monsieur Jausion measured her from head to foot. "Then I place you in
+the position of an accused person, Madame, and declare you under
+arrest."
+
+A gleam of mournful satisfaction flitted over Clarissa's features.
+Swiftly, with the lightning-like wheeling of a dancer, she turned
+toward Bastide Grammont, looked at him as one looks up at a stormy sky
+after a sultry day, and with a pained, long-drawn breath, she called
+his name in a low voice. He, however, stepped back as if at an impure
+touch, and never before had Clarissa encountered such a glance and
+expression of disdain. Her knees shook, a feeling of distress overcame
+her, her eyes filled with tears. It was only when the door of the
+prison closed behind her that the helpless sensation of being flogged
+left her. Shame and remorse overpowered her; even the mysteriousness of
+her position afforded her but slight consolation. Controlled by no law,
+she seemed to have been shoved off the track upon which, in the
+ordinary course of nature, cause and effect, cumbrously linked
+together, crawl along in the slow process of experience.
+
+In accordance with her station, she had been assigned the best room in
+the prison. The first hours she lay on the straw-bed and writhed in
+agony. When the keeper on her urgent request brought a light, as she
+feared she would go insane in the darkness, the candle-light fell upon
+the image of Christ upon the cross with the crown of thorns, which hung
+upon the gray-tinted wall. She gave a shriek, her overstrained senses
+found in the features of the Saviour a resemblance to those of Bastide
+Grammont. His lips had had the same agonized curve when he pressed his
+clenched hands to his eyes.
+
+Once more she rebelled against the boundless injustice. To live with
+the world was her real element; her entire nature was attuned to a
+kindly understanding with people. She asked for paper and pen, and
+wrote a letter to the Prefect.
+
+"Justice, Count!" she wrote. "It is still time to prevent the worst.
+Remember the difficulty you had in extorting from me what was supposed
+to be the truth, remember the threats which made me compliant. I am a
+victim of circumstances. Whatever I confessed is false. No man of sense
+can discover the stamp of probability in my statements. In a freak of
+desperation I bore false witness. Tell my father that his cruelty is
+more sure to rob him of his daughter than her seeming transgression.
+Already I know not what I should believe, the past escapes my memory,
+my confidence begins to totter. If it is too much to ask for justice,
+then I beg for mercy. My destiny seeks to try me, but my heart is clear
+as the day."
+
+[Illustration: BATHING WOMAN]
+
+It was in vain. It was too late for words, even if the mouth of a
+prophet had proclaimed them in tones of thunder. The next morning many
+of the witnesses and prisoners were brought before Clarissa. Thus there
+were Bach, the Bancals, the soldier Colard, Rose Feral, Missonier, and
+little Madeleine Bancal. Bousquier was ill. The sight of the crushed,
+slouching, phantom-like creatures, intimidated by a hundred torments,
+revengefully ready for any deed, disturbed her to the core, and gave
+her at the same time a feeling of indelible contamination. "Is she the
+one?" each of the unfortunates was asked--and with insolent
+indifference they answered: "It is she." Missonier alone stood there
+laughing like an idiot.
+
+Clarissa was amazed. She had not expected that the answers would be
+characterized by such assurance, such a matter-of-fact air. With inward
+sobs she held from her what was undeniable in the present situation,
+and shudderingly sought a path in her memory to that past situation on
+which the present was founded and which she was asked to verify. Her
+agitated spirit crept back to her earlier years, back to her youth, to
+her childhood, in order to discover her inimical second-self; that
+which had seemed weird and strange gradually became the essence and
+centre of her being, and the fateful night in Bancal's house turned,
+like the rest of the world, into a vision of blood and wounds.
+
+But athwart the gloomy fancies the way led to Bastide Grammont; a
+flowery path among burning houses. It seemed fine to her to be assured
+of his guilt. Perchance he had pressed his lips to hers before he had
+clutched the murderous knife. She coupled her own obscurely felt guilt
+with his greater one. That which cut him off from humanity bound him to
+her. His reasons for the deed? She did not concern herself about them.
+No doubt it had struck root when she had first beheld him, when he had
+swallowed in a breath all the wood, all the springtime. No matter
+whether he dipped his hands in the sunlight or in blood, both pertained
+to his image, to her mysterious passion, and Fualdes was the evil
+genius and the destructive principle. "Ah," she reflected in her
+singular musing, "had I known of it, I should have committed the deed
+myself and might have been a heroine like Charlotte Corday!" Why,
+however, did he deny it, why was he silent? Why that look of
+overwhelming contempt, which she could not forget and which still
+scorched her skin like a brand of infamy? Was he too proud to bow to a
+sentence which put his crime on a level with that of any highwayman? No
+doubt he did not recognize his judges. She could, then, draw him down
+to herself, make him dependent upon the breath of her lips; and she
+forgot the iron alternatives that confront one's destiny here, and let
+herself go like a child that knows nothing of death.
+
+The trial before the court of assizes was set for the sixteenth of
+October. At noon of the tenth, Clarissa requested an interview with
+Monsieur Jausion. Conducted before the magistrate, she declared she
+knew about the whole matter, and wished to confess everything. In a
+voice trembling with excitement. Monsieur Jausion summoned his clerks.
+
+"I came into the room and saw the knife glisten," Clarissa confessed.
+"I took refuge in the alcove, Bastide Grammont hurried after me,
+embraced and kissed me. He confided to me that Fualdes must die, for
+the old devil had destroyed his happiness and made life worthless to
+him. Bastide was intoxicated, as it were, with enthusiasm, and when I
+raised objections, he stopped my mouth with kisses once more, yes, he
+kissed me so hard that I could not offer any resistance. Then he had me
+take an oath, whereupon he left me and I heard a groaning, I heard a
+terrible cry; little Madeleine Bancal, who was lying in bed, raised
+herself suddenly and wept. Then I lost consciousness, and when I
+regained it I found myself in the street."
+
+She recounted this story in a mechanically measured tone; her voice had
+a metallic ring, her eyes were veiled and half closed, her little hands
+hung heavy at her side, and when she ceased she gazed before her with a
+pleased smile.
+
+"You had consorted with Bastide Grammont before that, then?" questioned
+the Magistrate.
+
+"Yes, we met in the forest. In the neighborhood of La Morne there is an
+old well in the field; there, also, we used to meet frequently;
+particularly at night and by moonlight. Once Bastide took me on his
+horse and we rode at a furious pace to the gorge at Guignol. I asked,
+'What are you fleeing from, Bastide?' for I was cold with fright; and
+he whispered: 'From myself and from the world.' Otherwise, however, he
+was always gentle. I have never known a better man."
+
+More and more silvery rang her voice, and finally she spoke like one
+transported or asleep. Her statement was read aloud to her; she affixed
+her signature calmly and without hesitation, whereupon Monsieur Jausion
+stated to her that she was free.
+
+In the chateau she was met by a hostile silence. The few domestics who
+remained whispered insolently behind her back. Nobody looked to her
+comfort, she had to fetch the pitcher of water herself from the
+kitchen. In the meantime when President Seguret returned home, he
+already knew, as did the whole town, about Clarissa's confession. The
+circumstance of her amorous relation to Bastide shed a sudden light
+upon preceding events and wove a halo about her former silence. But
+Monsieur Seguret only hardened his heart all the more, and when he
+passed her as she stood on the threshold of her room, he turned away
+his head with a gesture of disgust.
+
+In the evening the President entertained a number of his friends. In
+the course of the meal the door opened and Clarissa made her
+appearance. Monsieur Seguret sprang from his chair, rage robbing him of
+speech. "Do not dare," he stammered hoarsely, "do not dare!"
+
+Regardless of that, Clarissa advanced to the edge of the table. A
+radiant, bewitching expression lit up her countenance. She turned her
+full gaze upon her father, so that he dropped his glance as if dazzled.
+"Do not revile me, father," she said gently in a tone of captivating
+entreaty.
+
+She turned to one of the guests with a commonplace question. The
+gentleman addressed hesitated, seemed confounded, astonished, but was
+unable to resist. Her features, pallid from the prison atmosphere, had
+acquired something dreamily spiritual; the most ordinary word from her
+lips had a charm of its own.
+
+The conversation became general; the guests conquered, nay, forgot,
+their secret amazement. Clarissa's wit and playful humor exercised a
+great fascination. Along with them, there was a sensuously pungent air
+about her which does not escape men, her gestures had something
+flattering, her eyes glowed with a romantic fire. Disturbed, lending
+but a reluctant ear. Monsieur Seguret could, nevertheless, not wholly
+evade the witchery which took his guests captive. A power stronger than
+his resolve forced him to leniency; he took a timid share in the
+conversation, in spite of the heavy load upon his heart. The talk
+turned upon politics, books, art, hunting, the war, nothing and
+everything--a sparkling interchange of polished phrases and sparkling
+reflections, of smiles and plaudits, jest and earnest. At times it
+seemed like a scene in a play enacted with masterly skill, or as if a
+light intoxication induced by champagne had exhilarated their spirits;
+each one was at his best and strove to outdo himself, and Clarissa held
+and led them all, like a fairy who upon a chariot of clouds guides a
+flock of pigeons.
+
+Shortly after midnight she rose, a fleeting, complacent, capricious
+smile flashing across her face, and, with a rather affected bow, she
+left the room, the men relapsing into a sudden, strange silence.
+Monsieur Seguret was agitated when he conducted his guests to the door,
+and they left the chateau as silently as thieves.
+
+The President strode up and down the entrance-hall awhile, his thoughts
+chasing each other like a fleeing troop of wild animals. As the echo of
+his footsteps struck him unpleasantly, he stepped out into the garden,
+and, strolling in the winding paths, he inhaled the fresh night air
+with a feeling of relief. As lie was leaving the avenue of yews, a
+streak of light fell across the path; Monsieur Seguret stepped upon the
+low wall encircling a small fountain and could thus look into
+Clarissa's room, the windows of which stood open. With difficulty he
+refrained from crying out in astonishment on beholding Clarissa in a
+loose nightdress, dancing with an expression of ecstasy and with
+passionate movements. Her eyes were tightly closed, as if they were
+sealed, her eyebrows lifted in coquettish anxiety, her shoulders rocked
+in a stream of inaudible tones whose tempo seemed now hurried, now
+excessively slow. Suddenly she seized something and held it before
+her,--it was a mirror; glancing into it, she recoiled with a shudder
+and let it fall, so that the listener could hear the clinking of the
+broken glass; then she went up to the window, tore her dress from her
+bosom, laid her hand upon her bare breast and looked straight in the
+direction where Monsieur Seguret was standing. He crouched down as if a
+gun had been aimed at him; Clarissa, however, did not see him; she
+fixed her gaze awhile upon the sweeping clouds and then closed the
+window. The President remained standing at his post some time longer
+and was unable to divert the current of his thoughts. Whom is she
+deceiving? he pondered, distressed--herself, or people in general, or
+God?
+
+For the first time in many days Clarissa enjoyed a peaceful sleep once
+more. Yet when she laid herself in her white bed the pillows seemed to
+assume a purple hue and she fell into slumber as into an abyss. She
+dreamed of landscapes, of weird old houses, and of a sky that looked
+like clotted blood. She herself wandered in the silvery light, and
+without feeling any touch or seeing any human form, she nevertheless
+had a sensation of passionate kisses being pressed upon her lips, and
+there was a stirring in her body as of life taking shape.
+
+This strange mood and agitation endured for days afterward. A silvery
+veil lay between her and the world. For fear of rending it, she spoke
+in low tones and walked with measured steps; beyond it, the sun had no
+more illuminating power than the moon. When, on the evening before the
+trial, she was returning from a stroll in the fields, she saw two women
+standing in the gateway of the chateau. One of them hurried forward to
+meet her, threw herself on her knees and seized her hands. It was
+Charlotte Arlabosse. "What have you done?" murmured the beautiful girl,
+panting. "He is innocent, by Christ's Passion, he is innocent! Have
+mercy, Madame, even if not upon me, at least upon his old mother!"
+
+The crimson of the setting sun lit up her features, distorted by grief.
+Behind Charlotte there stood a lady of portly build, with great warts
+on her hands; yet her face was thin, and her countenance as motionless
+as that of the dead. She resembled a tree exuberant in strength, whose
+crown is blighted.
+
+Clarissa made a deprecatory gesture, yet she retained a friendly and
+calm air. A second later, she thought she beheld herself in the
+kneeling figure, beheld her double; and a cruel triumph filled her
+heart. "Have no care, my child," said she, smiling, in a low voice; "as
+far as Bastide is concerned, everything is already settled." Thereupon
+she opened the gate and walked into the house. Charlotte arose and
+gazed motionless through the grating.
+
+That night Clarissa retired early, but she awoke at four o'clock and
+began dressing. She selected a black velvet dress, and, as her only
+ornament, she fastened a diamond star in the edge of it at her bare
+neck. Her heart beat faster the nearer the hour approached. At eight
+o'clock the carriage drew up; it was a long drive to Alby, where the
+Court of Assizes sat. Monsieur Seguret had ridden away early in the
+morning, nobody knew whither.
+
+The walls of the old town had hardly come in sight before such a mass
+of people was to be seen on the road that the horses were obliged to
+slacken their pace. They surrounded the carriage and gazed with
+strained attention into the open windows; women lifted up their
+children that they, too, might see the famous Madame Mirabel. She did
+not seek to escape the general curiosity; with the happy smile of a
+bride she sat there, her fine black brows lifted high on her forehead.
+
+On the stroke of ten President Enjalran, who was to preside at the
+trial, appeared in the overcrowded hall, and after the reading of the
+lengthy indictment Bastide was summoned to the hearing.
+
+Firm as if cast in bronze he stood before the judge's table. His
+answers were cool, terse, and clear. From beginning to end he now saw
+through the senseless fable, woven of stupidity and malice. By a biting
+sarcasm he showed his unutterable contempt of all the accusations
+against him, thus placing the counsel assigned to him at the last
+moment, with whom he stubbornly refused to confer, in no slight
+embarrassment.
+
+Now and then he turned his glance toward the tall, church-like windows,
+and when he caught sight of a bird that had alighted on the sill and
+dug his yellow bill into the feathers on his breast, he lost his
+self-command for a moment and his lips parted in pain.
+
+His examination lasted but a short time. It was only a matter of form,
+for his fate was sealed. With Bach, Colard, and the other accomplices,
+Monsieur d'Enjalran's task was easy; their testimony was petrified, as
+it were. Bousquier had died in prison. Of the others, each one sought
+to grab at a little remnant of innocence; they produced the impression
+of men crushed and wholly bereft of will-power. A sensation was created
+by old Bancal, who became hysterical during his examination, and then,
+protesting his innocence, behaved like a madman. The humpbacked
+Missonier grinned when the question of his presence at the murder was
+discussed; he had become brutalized by his long imprisonment and the
+repeated examinations. Little Madeleine Bancal behaved like an actress,
+and greeted her acquaintances and patrons in the audience by throwing
+them kisses. Rose Feral turned deadly pale at the sight of the bloody
+rags on the Judge's table, and could not utter a word. Madame Bancal
+remembered that Monsieur Fualdes was dragged into her house by six men,
+that he was made to sign a number of papers, crisscross, as she said.
+The day following, she had found one of these bills, made out upon
+stamped paper, but as it was stained with blood, had burned it. More
+than that she positively refused to confess, met all questions with a
+stolid silence, and declared finally that whatever else she knew she
+would confide to her confessor alone.
+
+The witnesses testified placidly the most incredible things. Their
+memory was so good that they recollected the hour and minute of the
+merest trifles, which are forgotten from one day to the next. In night
+and fog they had seen and recognized people, their features, their
+gestures, the color of their clothes. They had heard speaking,
+whispering, sighing, through thick walls. A beggar by the name of
+Laville, who used to sleep in Missonier's stable, had heard not only
+the organ-grinders but also four men carrying a burden, something like
+men dragging a barrel. Bastide Grammont laughed repeatedly at
+statements which he declared to be shameless lies. When the Bancal
+woman began her testimony he remarked that since it came so late he had
+expected that the old woman would be delivered of it with still greater
+difficulty. To another witness he represented, in a vibrating voice,
+how the hand of Heaven rested heavy upon her, and reminded her of the
+awful death of her child. He was like a fencer whose opponent is the
+mist; nobody, indeed, replied to him, he stood alone, the
+contradictions which he believed he had demonstrated remained there,
+that was all. At first he was self-confident and maintained his
+composure, looked firmly into the witnesses' faces; then he felt as if
+his sense for the significance of words were leaving him, not alone for
+his own but for that of all the words in existence, or as if the ground
+were giving way under him and he were falling irresistibly from space
+to space into an awful, infinite, boundless void. His mind refused to
+work; he asked himself, horrified, whether this was still life, dared
+call itself life; Nature's glorious structure seemed to him ravaged
+like a wall rent by a storm, the speaking mouth of all these people
+struck him as nothing but a chasm convulsively and repellently opening
+and shutting, darkness invaded his spirit, he burned with a feeling of
+shame, he felt ashamed in the name of the nameless God, ashamed that
+his body was molded like that of these creatures around him. He had
+loved the world, had once loved the people in it; now he was ashamed of
+them. It pained him to think that he had ever cherished hopes, buoyed
+up his heart with promises, that sunshine and sky had ever been able to
+lure from him a joyful glance, sportive words a smile; he wished he
+had, like the stone by the wayside, never betrayed what he felt, so
+that he might not have been doomed to bear witness before his own
+branded, scourged, unspeakably humiliated self. Thought alone seemed
+offensive enough to him, how much more so what he could have said; it
+was nothing, less than a breath. What could he depend upon? what hope
+for? They had no faith, not even in his scorn, not even in his silence.
+And Bastide locked himself up, and looked into the dawning countenance
+of Death.
+
+It was already growing dark when the King's evidence, Madame Mirabel,
+was finally summoned to the court-room, and the whole tired assemblage
+started up convulsively like a single body. She entered, and in spite
+of the close air of the room, she seemed to be shivering. She trembled
+visibly on taking the oath. Monsieur d'Enjalran urged her to testify
+in accordance with the truth. In a strange, uniformly dull tone, yet
+speaking rather hurriedly, she repeated the statement that she had made
+before the examining magistrate. An oppressive silence pervaded the
+hall, and her voice, in consequence, grew steadily lower. She knew now
+a multitude of details, had seen the long knife lying on the table, had
+seen Bancal and Colard bring in a wooden tub, and the lawyer Fualdes
+sitting with bowed shoulders near the lamp, writing. She had also seen
+the mysterious stranger with the wooden leg, and noticed that Bach and
+Bousquier unfolded a large white cloth. To the question why she had
+appeared in men's clothes, she gave no reply. And when, with fingers
+convulsively clasped, head bowed, her slender body bent slightly
+forward, writhing almost imperceptibly, as if in the clutches of an
+animal, yet with that blissful, sweet smile which lent her countenance
+an expression of subdued madness, she related with bated breath how
+Bastide had embraced and kissed her in the dark adjoining room, he
+sprang up suddenly, wrung his hands in despair and made a few hurried
+steps until he stood at Clarissa's side. His heavy breathing was
+audible to all.
+
+The presiding officer rebuked him for his behavior, which he designated
+as indelicate, but Bastide cried in a firm, ringing voice: "Before God,
+who hears me and will judge me, I declare that it is all an awful lie.
+I have never as much as touched that woman or set eyes upon her."
+
+Clarissa turned as white as chalk. It seemed to her as if she had but
+just now heard the clinking of the shattered mirror which she had
+dashed to the floor after the dance. When the prosecuting attorney
+asked her to continue, she remained silent; her eyes rolled and her
+whole body shook convulsively.
+
+"Speak out!" exclaimed Bastide, addressing her, and indignation almost
+choked his voice, "speak! Your silence is even more ruinous to me than
+all the lies."
+
+Clarissa lifted her eyes to him and asked with curious emotion: "Do you
+really not know me, Bastide?"
+
+"No! no! no!" he burst out, and looking upward he muttered in distress:
+"She is demented."
+
+Within a second's space Clarissa grew fiery red and again deathly pale.
+And turning toward Bastide once more, she exclaimed in a terrible tone
+of reproach: "Oh, murderer!"
+
+The public applauded. Clarissa reeled, however; an usher of the court
+hurried to her side and caught her in his arms, a number of ladies left
+their places and busied themselves about her, and half an hour elapsed
+before she regained consciousness; but her appearance was as changed as
+if she had suddenly aged by twenty years. Monsieur d'Enjalran tried to
+continue the examination, but she answered only in incoherent words;
+she did not know; it was possible; she did not wish to contradict.
+Bastide Grammont had resumed his seat in the prisoner's dock;
+immeasurable distress and consternation were pictured on his
+countenance. His counsel bade Clarissa, since she had spoken, to
+continue. "I adjure you, Madame, make yourself clear," he said; "it
+depends upon you whether an innocent man shall be saved or shall be
+sent to the scaffold." Clarissa remained silent, as if she had not
+heard; in her breast there surged, like morning mist over the waters, a
+consoling and captivating image. Counselor Pinaud now turned to her
+with a severe exhortation; she was not to think she could make her
+assertions at will and suppress what she wished. The prosecuting
+attorney spoke up for her, saying that the cause of her silence was
+known; she herself had asserted that she entertained a conviction the
+grounds of which she could not state; it should suffice that she had
+uttered what was of the greatest importance; nay, he declared,
+moreover, that any further urging would be improper. He had not
+concluded his speech when Clarissa interrupted him; raising her right
+arm she said in solemn protest: "I have taken no oath."
+
+Bastide Grammont looked up. Shaking off his stupor, he raised himself
+slowly and began in a voice all the more affecting by its calmness:
+"Prison walls do not speak. And yet the time will come when they will
+find a voice and will proclaim the secret means which have been
+employed to force all these wretches to make lies a shameful bulwark of
+their lives. Fualdes was not my enemy, he was only my creditor. If
+covetousness had misled a man otherwise decent and moderate, if it had
+armed his hand, I would never, for all that, have raised it against a
+defenseless old man. If you want a sacrifice, take me; I am ready, but
+do not mingle my lot with that of this brood. My family, who have
+always dwelt in the country, and have followed the customs and simple
+ways of rural life, are disgraced. My mother weeps and is crushed.
+Judge whether I, who am plunged in this sea of misfortune, can still
+cherish a love of life. I loved freedom once, I loved animals, the
+water, the sky, the air, and the fruits of the trees; but now I am
+dishonored, and if there were a future before me it would be sullied
+with shame, and the time would have an ill taste. Is it a court of
+justice before which I have been summoned? No, it is a hunt, the judge
+has become a hunter and prepares the innocent one to be a tidbit for
+the rabble. I ask no longer for justice, it is too late to mete out
+justice to me, too late, were the crown of France itself to be offered
+to me. I surrender myself to you to destroy me, your conscience will be
+loaded with that burden. One guilty man makes many, and your children's
+children will for this flood the living world with disgrace."
+
+A paralyzed silence succeeded these words. But suddenly there burst
+forth an indescribable tumult. The public and the jurors arose and
+clenched their fists at Bastide Grammont, screamed and howled in wild
+confusion, Monsieur d'Enjalran's exhortation dying away unheard. And
+just as suddenly a deathly silence ensued. A faint, long-drawn cry
+which arose in the din, and now continued its plaintive note, petrified
+the faces of the listeners. All eyes tourned toward Clarissa. She felt
+the glances showering down upon her like the beams in a falling
+building.
+
+Her heart was aflame with a desire for expiation ...
+
+The speech of the public prosecutor gathered together once more the
+weapons of hatred which Rumor had forged against its victims; with
+cunning skill, he painted the night of the murder in such colors that
+the horror of it seemed to live for the first time, Bastide's advocate,
+on the other hand, contented himself with high-sounding phrases; he
+waxed warm, his listeners remained cold. While he was speaking there
+was a shoving and pushing in the rear of the hall; some of the ladies
+shrieked, a fair-sized dog ran through an opening in the bar, looked
+around him with glistening eyes, and, giving a short bark, crouched at
+Bastide's feet. Deeply moved, he laid his hand on the animal's neck,
+and motioned the usher, who wanted to remove it, back with a commanding
+gesture.
+
+When the court retired for consultation, no one dared speak above a
+whisper. A woman sobbed and she was told to be quiet; it was the
+Benoit girl, Colard's sweetheart. She had wound her arms about the
+poor wretch's shoulders and her tear-stained face expressed but one
+desire--to share his fate. A relative of Bastide approached him in
+order to speak to him; Bastide shook his head and did not even look at
+the man. A sort of drowsiness had settled on his countenance--at
+any rate, words no longer carried any weight in his ears. Yet it
+happened that he lifted his eyes once more and after coursing through
+illimitable space they met those of Clarissa. Now the strange woman did
+not strike him as so strange. He heard, again the sound of her voice
+when she called him murderer; was it not rather a cry for help than an
+accusation? and that beseeching look, as if invisible hands were
+clutching at her throat? and that most delicate form so singularly free
+from indications of her age, quivering like a young birch in autumn?
+
+Two lonely shipwrecked beings are driven by the currents of the ocean
+to the same spot, coming from opposite ends of the earth, unable to
+abandon the plank upon which their life depends, unable even to grasp
+each other's hands simply driven by the gradually dying wind to unknown
+depths. There was something weird in their mutual feeling of
+compassion. Yet Bastide's pained and gloomy astonishment gave way to
+the dreamy intoxication of fatigue, and the watchful eyes of his dog
+appeared to him like two reddish stars between black tree-tops. He
+heard the sentence of death when the court returned; he had risen, and
+listened to the words of the presiding judge; it sounded like the
+splashing of raindrops on withered leaves. He heard himself say
+something, but what it was he hardly knew. He saw many faces turned
+toward him in the dim light, and they gave him the impression of
+worm-eaten and decaying apples.
+
+The verdict concerning the other accused persons was not to be
+announced until the following day. The crowds in the hall, in the
+entrances, and on the street, dispersed slowly. When Clarissa passed
+through the corridor every one stepped timidly aside.
+
+She had learned that Bastide was not to be taken back to Rodez, but was
+to remain in the prison at Alby. She thereupon dismissed the carriage
+that was waiting for her, betook herself to an inn near by, where she
+asked for a room, and wrote a letter to her father--a few feverishly
+agitated sentences: "I know no longer what is truth and what is
+falsehood; Bastide is innocent, and I have destroyed him, though my
+desire was to help him; Yes and No are in my breast like two
+extinguished flames; if I were to return whence I came I should suffer
+a continual death; for that reason and because people live as they do,
+I go where I must." It was already past midnight when she asked to
+speak to the host. She requested him to send the letter in the morning
+to Chateau Perrie by a reliable messenger; she then asked the  startled
+man to sell her a small basket of fresh fruit. The host expressed a
+polite regret that he had nothing more in his storeroom. Passionately
+urgent, she offered him ten, twentyfold its value and threw a gold
+piece on the table. "It is for a dying person," she said, "everything
+depends upon it." The man gazed anxiously at the pallid, gleaming
+countenance of the distinguished looking woman and pondered, declaring
+finally that he would rouse his neighbor, and bidding her wait. Left
+alone, she knelt down by the bedside, buried her face in the pillows
+and wept. After half an hour the host returned, carrying a basket full
+of pears, grapes, pomegranates, and peaches. Shaking his head, he
+followed her with his eyes as she hastened away, and held the sealed
+letter, which he was to forward, inquisitively up to the light.
+
+The streets were desolate and bathed in shadowy moonlight. The windows
+of the little houses were blinking drowsily; under a gateway stood the
+night-watchman with a halberd and mumbled like a drunken man. In front
+of the low prison building there was an open space; Clarissa seated
+herself on a stone bench, and, as there was a pump near by and she felt
+thirsty, drank her fill. The softly swelling outlines of the hills
+melted almost imperceptibly into the sky, and behind a depression in
+the landscape a fire-light was glowing; she seemed to hear, too, on
+listening intently, the ringing of bells. The whole world was not
+asleep, then, and she could link her anxious heart to human concerns
+once more. After a time she rose, stepped over to the building, set the
+basket of fruit on the ground, and knocked with the knocker at the
+gate. It was a long while before the door-keeper appeared and gruffly
+demanded what she wanted. "I must speak to Bastide Grammont," she
+declared. The man made a face as if a demented person had waylaid him,
+growled in a threatening tone and was about to bang the door in her
+face. Clarissa clutched his arm with one hand, and tore the diamond
+brooch from her breast with the other. "There, there, there!" she
+stammered. The old man raised his lantern and examined the sparkling
+jeweled ornament on all sides. Clarissa misinterpreted his grinning,
+anxious joy, thought he was not satisfied, and gave him her purse into
+the bargain, "What is in the basket?" he inquired respectfully but
+suspiciously. She showed him what it contained. He contented himself
+with that, thought she was most likely the mistress of the condemned
+man, and, upon locking the door, walked on in front of her. They
+descended a few steps, then crossed a narrow passage. "How long do you
+wish to stay inside?" asked the keeper, when they had reached an iron
+door. Clarissa drew a deep breath and replied in a whisper that she
+would give three knocks on the door. The old man nodded, said he would
+wait at the head of the stairs, opened the door cautiously, handed the
+woman his lantern and locked the door behind her.
+
+Inside Clarissa clung to the wall to give her riotous pulses time to
+subside. The room seemed moderately large and not altogether
+uninhabitable. Bastide lay on a pallet along the opposite wall, asleep
+and fully dressed. "What a stillness!" thought Clarissa shuddering, and
+stole softly to the bedside of the sleeping man. What quiet in that
+countenance, too, what a beautiful slumber, thought she, and her lips
+parted in mute sorrow. She placed the lantern on the floor where its
+light would strike his face, then she knelt down and listened to his
+steady breathing. Bastide's mouth was firmly closed, his eyelids were
+motionless, a sign of dreamlessness; his long beard encircled cheeks
+and chin like brown brushwood, his head was thrown slightly backward,
+and his hair shone with a moist gleam. Gradually the peace of his
+countenance passed into Clarissa too; all words, all signs which she
+had brought with her vanished, she determined to do nothing more than
+place her gift by his bed and depart. Accordingly she emptied the
+basket, and started and paused every time she heard but a grain of sand
+crunch under her feet. When she had laid out all the fruit and passed
+her hand tenderly over each, she grew more and more peaceful and calm;
+she felt herself so strangely bound to death that she dismissed the
+thought of leaving this room with a feeling akin to fear, and prepared
+to do what possessed her so strongly, with a composed assurance. A
+desire to kiss him arose within her, and she actually bent down toward
+him, but a commanding awe arrested her, more even than the fear that he
+might awake. Her body twisted and turned, she embraced him in spirit
+and felt as if she were freed from the earth, like a pearl dropped from
+a ring. She then rose quietly, walked softly to the other side of the
+room, stretched herself on the floor, took a small penknife and opened
+the veins in both wrists by deep cuts. Within a quarter of an hour she
+sighed twice, and the hand of Death sought in vain to wipe the
+enraptured smile from her pallid lips.
+
+Bastide still slept on, that abysmal sleep where total oblivion chains
+and numbs body and spirit. Then he began to dream. He found himself in
+a spacious, secluded chamber, the centre of which was occupied by a
+richly decked table. Many people were seated around it; they were
+carousing and having a merry time. Suddenly all eyes were turned to the
+middle of the table, where a vessel of opaque blue glass, which had not
+been there before, now stood. What was in the glass receptacle? what
+could it signify? who brought it? was asked in muffled tones. Thereupon
+an uncanny silence ensued; all gazed now at the blue vessel, now, with
+sullen suspicion, at each other. All at once, the jovial revelers of a
+few moments ago arose and one accused the other of having placed the
+covered dish on the table. A violent clamor now arose, some drew their
+poniards, others swung chairs about, and meanwhile a slim, nude girl's
+figure was seen to emerge, like white smoke, from the vessel on the
+table. Bastide knew the face, it was that of the false witness
+Clarissa; with snake-like glistening eyes she gazed at him, always only
+at him. All the men followed her glance and they hurled themselves upon
+him. "You must die! You must die!" resounded from hoarse throats, but
+while they were still shouting their voices died away, the shadowy arms
+of the false witness stretched themselves out and divided one of the
+walls, exposing to view a blooming garden, in the centre of which stood
+a scaffold hung with branches laden with ripe fruit. Bastide was a boy
+once more; slowly he strode out, Clarissa's hands waved above him and
+plucked the fruit, and his fear of death was dulled by their
+intoxicating perfume, which, like a cloud, filled the entire hall, nay,
+the entire universe.
+
+Here he awoke. His first drowsy glance fell upon the flickering light
+of the lantern, the second upon a huge pear, which, yellow as a rising
+moon, lay at his bedside. In dazed, joyous astonishment he grasped it,
+but on raising it to his lips noticed that it was stained with blood.
+He was startled, thought he was still dreaming. Beyond the windows the
+gray light of dawn was already spreading. Now he caught sight of the
+other fruit, gorgeous and abundant, as if paradise had been pillaged.
+But all was stained with blood ... A little rivulet of blood, divided
+into two streams, trickled over from the corner of the wall.
+
+And Bastide saw ...
+
+He tried to rise, but his unfinished sleep still paralyzed his body.
+
+Bitter and wild grief wrung his breast. He longed no more for the day
+which awoke so drearily outside; weary of his own heart-beats and
+perfectly sure of what had happened and must happen, he yearned for the
+final end. He desired no special knowledge of the consummated fate of
+the being on the other side of the cell, who, dominated by mysterious
+spirits, had trust herself into his path--no knowledge of men and what
+they built or destroyed. Man was an abomination to him.
+
+And yet when his glance fell upon the splendid fruit once more, he felt
+the woe of all creation; he wished at least to close the eyes of the
+giver. But just then the keeper, grown suspicious, turned the key in
+the lock.
+
+
+
+
+
+BERNHARD KELLERMANN
+
+* * * * * *
+
+GOD'S BELOVED (1911)
+TRANSLATED BY KATHARINE ROYCE
+
+
+Before dawn the lawyer rose from his bed, and at that very moment a
+thousand little birds, who lived in his room, began to twitter and
+trill. "Awake so early, little ones!" whispered the lawyer. He never
+spoke aloud.
+
+"Well, good morning! Hush! Hush!"
+
+And the thousand little birds chirped in answer and then obediently
+stopped singing.
+
+The lawyer wrapped a thick woolen shawl around his shoulders, for he
+was always very cold, slipped his feet into his wadded boots, drew on
+his gloves, put his fur cap on his bald head and went out of the house.
+
+It was still night and everything looked unreal and magical. Now and
+then the grass would bow down with a sudden jerk, as people do in their
+sleep, if they dream that they are falling, and then for a moment the
+lawyer would feel a warm breath, which vanished as suddenly as it came.
+A confused mass of gray and black clouds swept rapidly across the sky
+and at the zenith three golden stars were visible in a line, so that
+they looked like a flying spear darting through the clouds. The lawyer
+gazed thoughtfully for some moments at the flying spear while his mind
+struggled with some dim idea. Then he hurried with short shuffling
+steps as quietly as possible along the sandy paths of the asylum
+gardens.
+
+"Hush, keep still!" he whispered, as he passed some bushes in which
+something was stirring.
+
+At the edge of the kitchen-garden there was an old well with a pump
+which was no longer used, and here the lawyer began his task. He put
+the watering-pot under the spout and began to pump, trying to make no
+noise. As there was but little water in the well and the lawyer pumped
+slowly and cautiously, it took him half an hour to fill the pot. Then,
+panting and coughing, the little man carried it to the garden beds, and
+began to water the flowers, smiling happily and speaking lovingly to
+them meanwhile. "Don't be in such a hurry, little ones," he whispered,
+"my dear children, how you drink! Good morning!"
+
+But just then began a great fluttering and stirring in an elder bush.
+Hundreds of little birds suddenly thrust their heads out between the
+leaves and chirped to the lawyer.
+
+He made a startled gesture. "For heaven's sake, be quiet!" said he.
+"You are always trying to be the first! Every morning. Hush!" And
+immediately silence reigned in the elder bush.
+
+The lawyer went quietly from bed to bed and watered his flowers. He
+stopped frequently to draw a deep breath and gazed up at the sky, where
+the motionless golden spear still seemed to be darting through the
+clouds. He pondered for some time over that and shook his head. From
+the "violent ward" came a longdrawn wailing, which at regular intervals
+was merged in pitiful weeping. But the lawyer paid no attention to
+these sounds. He only heard the birds fluttering their wings and
+whetting their beaks in the bushes.
+
+A night nurse passed by, shivering.
+
+"Already at work, so early?" said she, turning her pale face toward
+him.
+
+The lawyer put down his watering-pot, bowed and took off his cap. "One
+must keep at it," he whispered, "the little ones will not wait."
+
+Then he began with the tenderest care to water the beds beside the
+principal buildings. He paused by the open windows of the kitchen,
+which were very low, and examined the window-sills. He shook his head
+and seemed much grieved and disappointed. Yes, they had once more
+forgotten to put out the bread crumbs for his birds! How could any one
+rely upon such maids?
+
+He hunted up a couple of little pebbles on the path and threw them, one
+at a time, into the dark kitchen, laughing softly to himself. They
+really must learn to be more careful. O, he would soon teach them to
+put the bread crumbs regularly on the window-sill. There was plenty of
+gravel on the path. And what if they had already complained so often!
+
+The watering-pot was empty and in the gray light of dawn the lawyer
+walked back to the well.
+
+Ever since his wife's death the poor man had been a friend of birds and
+flowers. When she was dying, she had said, with her last breath, "The
+flowers must always be watered and the birds must always be fed." Those
+had been her last words and the lawyer heard them ringing in his ears
+day and night. He heard them in every breeze, in every conversation,
+even when all was silent they were wafted to him. In his wife's room
+there had stood a dark, heavy clothes press (which, oddly enough, he
+could still remember), and this large, dark object also repeated his
+wife's last words, although it made no sound whatever. The lawyer
+continued to live in seclusion and solitude, and watered the flowers in
+the window-boxes and fed and watered the birds in the cages. The
+flowers withered and the birds died, one by one. The lawyer took no
+notice of his loss. Indeed it seemed to him as if the birds were
+hopping and twittering gaily in their cages. They hatched their young
+and kept on increasing. And the lawyer took a childlike pleasure in
+this increase. Finally there were hundreds, thousands, whose chirping
+he heard from morning till night. They lived in the walls, on the
+ceiling, everywhere. And the good man could not understand why others
+neither saw nor heard them.
+
+As the sun rose, the lawyer had already finished a good part of his
+day's work and turned back to the ward, which looked like a country
+cottage standing in a pretty garden.
+
+In the doorway, leaning against the doorpost, Michael Petroff, a former
+officer in the Russian army, stood smiling, and greeted him with a
+bright, cheerful "Good morning, my friend!"
+
+The lawyer in his woolen shawl, scarf and wadded boots, bowed and
+touched his cap.
+
+"Good morning, Captain!"
+
+They bowed several times, for they respected each other highly, and
+shook hands only after the completion of this ceremony.
+
+"Did you sleep well, Herr Advokat?" asked Michael Petroff, bending
+forward a little and smiling pleasantly.
+
+"Did I sleep well? Yes, thank you."
+
+"I too passed an excellent night," Michael Petroff continued with a
+bright happy laugh. "Really excellent. I had a dream--," he added,
+smiling and gazing out into the garden with his right eye half closed.
+"Yes, indeed!--Now do come into my office, my friend. I have news.
+After you!" He laid his hand on the little lawyer's shoulder and with a
+slight bow allowed him to pass in first.
+
+Captain Michael Petroff was a tall slender man with cheerful steel-blue
+eyes and a small blond mustache, which like his soft, blond, parted
+hair, was beginning to turn white. He was dressed with scrupulous
+neatness and was carefully shaved. His chin was round and exquisitely
+formed, though a trifle weak, the modeling of his mouth was unusually
+fine and delicate, like that of a mere boy.
+
+"Please be seated," said Michael Petroff, while with a gesture he
+invited the lawyer to sit on the sofa.
+
+"But perhaps I am intruding?" whispered the lawyer, and remained
+standing.
+
+"No, indeed! How could you--?" And Michael Petroff led the lawyer over
+to the sofa. The little man sat down timidly, looking gratefully up at
+his host. "You are so very busy--I know--," said he, and nodded at the
+writing table, which was heaped with documents, newspapers, and
+manuscripts.
+
+"I have plenty to do," added Michael Petroff, with a curious smile on
+his pretty boyish lips. "But one has always time for one's friends.
+Here, do listen! I have just outlined a petition to the Hessian
+government--," Michael Petroff smiled and balanced a sheet of paper
+on his hand--"The Hessian government is to be urgently requested,
+most--urgently--requested, to reconsider the verdict in the case of
+a teacher!"
+
+Michael Petroff glanced at his guest while four deep lines suddenly
+appeared on his forehead. "This teacher," he went on, "was sentenced to
+four years' imprisonment, only think--four years. He had ten mouths to
+feed and he embezzled some funds. Voila tout! What do you think of
+that! Ha, ha! That is the way of the world, you see! In my petition I
+demand not merely that the sentence should be revoked, but also that
+officers' salaries should be increased. I demand it--I, Captain Michael
+Petroff, and I shall also appear in the _Non-Partisan_. You will see,
+my friend!" Michael Petroff cast a fearless, triumphant glance at the
+little baldheaded lawyer, who listened and nodded, although he did not
+quite understand what the Captain meant.
+
+"You do a great deal of good!" he whispered, nodding, while a childish
+smile flitted over his sad, pale little face. And after a moment's
+reflection he added, "You are a good man. You surely are!"
+
+Michael Petroff shook his head. "I do my duty!" he declared earnestly.
+And laying his hand on his heart while his clear steel-blue eyes
+flashed, he added: "My sacred duty!"
+
+Captain Michael Petroff, former officer in a St. Petersburg regiment,
+considered it his life work to plead for justice in this world. He
+called himself "The Tribunal of right and justice." He subscribed for
+two large daily papers, and searched them every day for cases in which,
+according to his judgment, injustice had been done to some one. And
+every day Michael Petroff found cases. Cases and nothing but cases.
+These cases he cut out, arranged them in chronological order and
+immediately went to work on them.
+
+He often sat up late in his office, as he called his room, or in his
+editorial sanctum, as he sometimes designated it in an undertone when
+speaking to his confidential friend. There he would sit and write, in a
+hand as neat as copperplate, his memorials, protests, petitions, which
+he delivered every day at six o'clock to the head physician. Dr. Maerz.
+who had undertaken to forward them regularly. Dr. Maerz was glad to
+receive these manuscripts which he laid in a separate pigeonhole, in
+order to use them from time to time as material for his work on
+Graphomania.
+
+The little time that this activity left him, Michael Petroff employed
+in editing his newspaper. And it was because of this paper that he
+sometimes secretly referred to his room as "his editorial sanctum."
+This newspaper did not appear regularly, but only when it happened to
+be ready. It usually appeared once a year, but sometimes twice, if his
+nervous condition urged him to greater haste.
+
+Michael Petroff's paper was a fairly accurate representation of an
+ordinary daily paper, from the heading, in which the conditions of
+subscription were stated, as well as the name of the city in which the
+paper appeared--the city was arbitrarily chosen by Michael Petroff--to
+the fictitious names of the publisher and editor. Like any other paper,
+it contained advertisements, which Michael Petroff simply cut out of
+other papers, a leading article, and contributions. The whole editorial
+part, however, was engaged--with the exception of a few articles which
+were slipped in as a disguise--with the question: Is the confinement of
+Michael Petroff, Captain in the Russian army, justified? The titles of
+the separate articles varied from year to year, although the ideas
+expressed in them were similar. The Russian government's Ultimatum!--A
+letter from the Czar to the head physician, Dr. Maerz! And every year
+the paper appeared under a different name. Michael Petroff called it
+_The Eye of the World, The Conscience of Europe, The Bayonet._
+
+Michael Petroff made no secret of his petitions, but he spoke of his
+newspaper only to his confidant, the lawyer. And although he was
+naturally friendly and very kind-hearted, possibly the reason he was so
+extremely fond of the lawyer was that he could talk to him about his
+paper.
+
+"Just a moment, my friend," said he. "There is such news! I want to
+tell you the very latest. Please stay."
+
+He went to the door and cleared his throat and listened. Then he
+stepped out into the corridor, coughed, looked up and down and came
+back satisfied. He drew out the editorial drawer, the key of which he
+wore around his neck, and with a happy laugh began: "The very latest!
+Listen! This cannot fail to have its effect. Just hear the headline:
+Doctor Maerz arrested!"
+
+"Dr. Maerz arrested?" whispered the lawyer anxiously, looking up at
+Petroff in open-mouthed astonishment.
+
+Michael Petroff laughed.
+
+"Arrested? No, of course not. I go on to explain in the article that
+Dr. Maerz is going to be arrested, and that the only way for him to
+escape arrest is to give Michael Petroff his discharge immediately."
+
+The lawyer nodded. "I see," said he, smiling because he saw Petroff
+looking so cheerful. And yet he was not thinking anything about
+Petroff's article, but only that he must give the birds their water. He
+grew restless and started to rise.
+
+"Just a moment, please!" said Michael Petroff eagerly. "Yes, it is
+really an excellent idea," he continued rapidly, while his cheeks
+flushed with joy. "In my article I emphasize the fact that Dr. Maerz is
+an honorable man and a highly prized and respected physician, so that
+his conduct in this particular case causes widespread astonishment. I
+should like to ask you, my friend, what he will do when he reads this
+article? Ha, ha, ha! They will find out something, my dear fellow. I am
+not going to be unkind to him, not in the least. Well, in fact, in
+fact, I shall say, my dear Doctor, ha, ha! But just look at this too,
+in the _Non-Partisan_. Only look at this title, will you please!"
+
+"Which one--?"
+
+"Why, this one!"
+
+"An interrogation point?"
+
+"Yes! Ha, ha-- Simply an interrogation point! And beneath that: Where
+is Michael Petroff? An appeal to the public! But look at this, in the
+little _Feuilleton_: Michael Petroff, a Captain in the Russian army,
+has just completed his six-volume work on Shooting Stars. All the
+scientific journals are praising the clearness and acumen of this
+epoch-making work. Ha, ha, ha, didn't I tell you that there was news,
+my friend?"
+
+The lawyer crouched in the sofa corner and made such an effort to
+think, that he held his breath.
+
+"I don't understand--?" he whispered and slowly shook his head.
+
+"What don't you understand?"
+
+"That he should keep you in confinement."
+
+Michael Petroff glanced at the lawyer in surprise. Then he leaned
+forward and whispered: "But I have already told you that my relations
+pay him."
+
+"They pay him?"
+
+"Yes, of course!" answered Michael Petroff cheerfully. "Enormous sums.
+Millions!"
+
+"Oh!" The lawyer began to understand now.
+
+"Yes, you see, that is how it is in the world!" said Michael Petroff,
+and snapped his fingers.
+
+But the lawyer did not wholly comprehend yet.
+
+"I do not understand," he began again. "Dr. Maerz is so kindhearted. I
+live here, I have my home and my food and I pay nothing. He has never
+asked me for any money.--I have no money, you know," he ended anxiously
+in a still lower tone.
+
+Michael Petroff laid his hand pompously but protectingly on his
+friend's shoulder. "You work in the garden," said he, "you water the
+flowers. How could he have the face to expect you to pay money? That is
+perfectly simple. But perhaps you too have relations outside who pay
+for you?"
+
+"Relations?"
+
+"Yes. Outside--there!" A bitter smile curved Michael Petroff's
+beautiful boyish mouth. Should he tell this little old man in the
+woolen shawl where he really was? Should he perhaps explain to this
+little old man with the grayish wrinkled face, that there was an
+"outside"--where one could even get into a railway train or wash one's
+hands before sitting down to table? Suddenly he stood up on his tiptoes
+and instantly lost all conception of his own actual body; he seemed to
+himself like a gigantic tower rising up to the clouds, and looking down
+on the little baldheaded man, who had only two thin tufts of gray hair
+above his ears. He was seized with the desire to make the lawyer cry.
+
+But suddenly he bowed slightly to his friend and said: "Please forgive
+Michael Petroff!" He walked across the room, then turned to his guest
+and said in precisely his usual tone: "Will the fair weather last
+today?"
+
+"I think so--I am not sure," answered the lawyer doubtfully.
+
+"Well, we will play cricket this afternoon. Are you cold?"
+
+"Yes," whispered the lawyer and drew his scarf closer.
+
+Michael Petroff gazed at him with his head on one side. "I cannot
+understand how you can be cold today." And he laughed gaily. "Come,"
+said he, "let us--" he paused, for he did not know what he wanted to
+do--"Let us--Oh yes, let us go and see Friend Engelhardt. Come!--The
+Doctor was with him last night," he ended mysteriously.
+
+"The Doctor?"
+
+"Yes. Our friend is ill. Hm, hm." Michael Petroff carefully locked up
+the manuscript of his newspaper, put on a big gray English traveling
+cap, looked in the glass, and they left the room together. Michael
+Petroff laughed a soft guttural laugh. At Engelhardt's door they paused
+to listen, and then knocked.--
+
+There were two great days in the year for Michael Petroff.
+
+One was his birthday, the sixteenth of May. Michael Petroff never
+forgot it. On May sixteenth he would walk about with an important air,
+and looking about him he would say to every one he met: "This is my
+birthday. I thank you for your good wishes!" The attendant always came
+before dinner and asked him to come to Dr. Maerz's room to receive his
+congratulations.
+
+Then Michael Petroff would go, with quick, light steps to Dr. Maerz's
+parlor, shake hands with him and thank him for the wonderful bouquet of
+white roses that Dr. Maerz gave him.
+
+Michael never suspected where the bunch of white roses came from. He
+did not know that, on his birthday, his wife and daughter stood behind
+the portiere of the parlor, nor that they made the long journey every
+year to see him. The first few years the Captain's wife had had golden
+hair, but it had gradually turned gray, and now it was white, although
+she was still quite a young woman. Formerly she used to come alone, but
+for three years past she had always been accompanied by a young lady,
+who wept bitterly when she arrived and when she went away. This young
+lady had but one ear and concealed the disfigurement by the way in
+which she dressed her hair. Michael Petroff had cut off her other ear
+when she was only a child, during the first outbreak of his malady.
+
+Michael Petroff chatted and laughed pleasantly with the head physician
+and carried the roses to his friend, the lawyer.
+
+"Here are some flowers for you. I do not want them!"
+
+The lawyer's eyes opened wide with delight, and he took the roses
+carefully as if they were fragile.
+
+Michael Petroff's second great day was that on which his newspaper
+appeared.
+
+The paper was always printed in the town. Michael Petroff had induced
+the porter of the Sanatorium to undertake take this commission. The
+porter delivered the manuscript to the printer and brought back the
+twenty-five printed copies to Michael Petroff. And then for a few days
+he was in a state of the greatest excitement. He sent the paper to the
+doctors, especially to Dr. Maerz, and waited in suspense to see what
+effect it would have. At such times he could not work, but wandered
+about the house and garden all day. If he met a doctor, he would stop
+and cast a triumphant glance at him, smiling as if secure of victory.
+
+But a few days later he would question the doctors: "May I ask whether
+you have received a newspaper?"
+
+"A newspaper?"
+
+"Yes! I received it myself. _The Bayonet_?"
+
+"Oh yes, I remember now. I will take a look at it."
+
+"Yes, please do. There may be some things in it that will interest you.
+Ha, ha, ha!" And he laid his hand on the Doctor's shoulder and gazed
+meaningly at him.
+
+Finally he asked the head physician himself.
+
+"Yes, yes," answered he, "certainly I read that paper, my dear Captain.
+A curious thing. I made inquiries immediately, but the editors were not
+to be found, in spite of all my pains. They do not seem to be in
+existence. Or else they are gone. I scarcely know what to think of the
+paper, my dear Captain."
+
+Then for a few days Michael Petroff would wander disconsolately about,
+and his depression might even bring on melancholia or frenzy. But
+after a few days he would always regain his cheerful spirits. He would
+greet his friends, and apologize for his disagreeable behavior. And
+immediately he would begin to plan out another newspaper. This time it
+must surely be a success. Take care. Dr. Maerz!
+
+Such was Michael Petroff, Captain in the Russian army.
+
+Friend Engelhardt, whom Michael Petroff and the lawyer were going to
+visit, was a gray-haired man about fifty years old, who had been only a
+year in Dr. Maerz's sanatorium. He was a shoemaker by trade and had sat
+all his life, year in, year out, under his glass globe of water,[A]
+tapping away on leather. He was unmarried, lived much alone and since
+he was industrious and economical, he had laid up a comfortable little
+property. And there he sat under his glass globe and nothing whatever
+happened. But gradually the globe began to look more and more strange
+to him. It flashed upon him and dazzled him, so that he sometimes felt
+for a moment a certain unacknowledged fear of it. It seemed to grow
+bigger and bigger, until at last the time came when Engelhardt's hair
+stood on end with horror--
+
+
+[Footnote A: German shoemakers used a glass globe full of water placed
+in front of their lamp, to concentrate the light upon their work.]
+
+[Illustration: HERA]
+
+And thenceforth he suffered from the strange and terrible delusion that
+he was the centre of the universe and that it was his task to keep the
+whole world in equilibrium. The myriad forces of all creation were
+united in him and he felt with agonizing constancy, how the suns and
+the planets were circling about him, and how everything was rushing and
+whirling through space. If a chain of skaters revolves around one man
+who is in the middle, that man will feel the extraordinary force with
+which the two rushing wings whirl around him, and he will be obliged to
+exert all his strength to maintain his position. Engelhardt felt
+precisely so and since his efforts were unremitting, his delusion
+exhausted him to such an extent, that in one year he had aged as if in
+ten. Even if--so he said--the heavenly bodies had been so marvelously
+ordained by the almighty Creator, that through all eternity they
+revolved in their foreordained circles and spirals (as he said), yet he
+suffered beyond endurance from the slightest disturbance in outer
+space. During the winter he had been unable to sleep for two weeks,
+because a swiftly moving star was pulling at him. Curiously enough, at
+this very time a comet appeared which astonished all the astronomers.
+Just then Schwindt, an attendant, had died under peculiar circumstances
+and Engelhardt--as he himself said--had _drunk in_ his soul, from which
+he had gained fresh strength, sufficient to last him throughout the
+spring and summer. But now again his task was wearing him out more
+every day and his powers were failing rapidly. The shooting stars and
+the swarms of meteors dragged at him, until he became dizzy, and
+especially the moon exerted at this period a terrible power over him.
+It sucked in his strength, and Engelhardt imagined that at any moment
+the ground might give way beneath him and he might sink into the depths
+and the whole universe might collapse above him.
+
+When Michael Petroff and the little lawyer entered Engelhardt's room,
+after vainly knocking at the door for some time, they found him in bed,
+with his thin hairy hands lying helplessly on the coverlet. He was
+gazing directly upward, and indeed his eyes were rolled up so far that
+the whites showed, and he seemed to be looking fixedly at some special
+point in the ceiling. His face was of a somewhat yellowish tone and
+gave the impression of being made of porcelain, the skin was so smooth
+and the bones were so prominent. His forehead was uncommonly large in
+proportion to his small face and mouth, which was drawn together as if
+ready to whistle and was surrounded by many little lines centering at
+the lips. The shoemaker had wasted away so during the year that the
+collar of his bright colored shirt stood out a finger's breadth from
+his thin neck.
+
+"Good morning!" said Michael Petroff gently and cheerfully. "Here are
+some friends to see you!" The lawyer remained timidly standing in the
+doorway.
+
+Engelhardt did not answer. A shudder passed over him, and his thin
+hairy hands twitched from time to time, as if he were receiving an
+electric shock of varying strength.
+
+Michael Petroff smiled and came toward him. "How are you, my dear
+friend?" said he softly and sympathetically, bending over Engelhardt.
+"Did the Doctor come to see you last night?"
+
+Engelhardt rolled his head from side to side on the pillow. He was
+exhausted by a sleepless night and by the effects of the hypnotics that
+the Doctor had given him.
+
+"Very ill!" answered he in a lifeless tone.
+
+"Very ill?" Michael Petroff raised his eyebrows anxiously. He turned to
+the little lawyer, who still stood at the door. "Our poor friend does
+not feel well!" said he.
+
+"Are you in pain?" Michael Petroff bent once more over the sick man and
+held his ear near Engelhardt's mouth.
+
+"Yes," answered the sick man in a dull and lifeless tone, and murmured
+something in Petroff's ear. It sounded as if he were praying.
+
+Michael Petroff straightened up again and glanced at the little lawyer.
+"He says that he has come to the end of his strength, our poor friend.
+He needs a new soul--like that time in the winter, when the attendant
+died, don't you remember?" And he shouted into the ear of the sufferer,
+unnecessarily loud: "I will speak with the Doctor, Friend Engelhardt.
+This is the Doctor's business. In one way or another he will get you a
+soul!"
+
+But the little lawyer suddenly wrapped himself closer in his shawl. He
+was as cold as ice. Ordinarily very few impressions remained in his
+memory, but he still remembered clearly the death of the attendant
+Schwindt--and how Michael Petroff had come to his room and whispered
+mysteriously in his ear: "The attendant is dead. Engelhardt has taken
+his soul, don't you see!" So now he was horrified at the thought that
+Engelhardt might perhaps demand _his_ soul, and there was nothing that
+he feared more than death.
+
+Death dwelt in his confused sick brain as a figure that was invisible
+all but the hands. Suddenly, Oh so suddenly, it would stand near him,
+close by his side. And a horrible chill would stream forth from the
+dread form, and all the flowers, white with frost, would die, and the
+millions of swift little birds would fall frozen through the air, and
+he himself would be changed into a little heap of snow.
+
+The lawyer drew in his head, so that his thin gray beard pushed out
+above his scarf, and gazed timidly at Michael Petroff with his little
+mouse-like eyes and shivered.
+
+Michael Petroff looked at him in astonishment. "What is the matter, my
+dear fellow?" he drawled, smilingly. "Are you afraid! Why should you
+be, I wonder? I shall go at once to Dr. Maerz and explain to him what
+Engelhardt requires. From what I know of him, he will not delay, and so
+everything will be attended to. I would gladly place my own soul at
+your disposal. Friend Engelhardt, but I still need it myself---I have a
+mission to fulfil, you know--I am Napoleon, and I fight a battle every
+day, I am--" But here he paused suddenly and listened.
+
+"The Doctor is coming! Don't you hear him?" he whispered. "He will be
+here immediately--"
+
+Dr. Maerz had come into the ward. He could be heard speaking with some
+one in the corridor, and the three men in the shoemaker's room
+listened. The Doctor's voice was the only one which had the power to
+change the current of their thoughts and to give them hopes, great
+hopes, indefinite though they were. It affected them somewhat as a
+voice affects wanderers, who believe that they are lost in a solitary
+wilderness. And yet Dr. Maerz did not talk much, but he had become a
+master of the art of listening, and would pay attention for hours every
+day to the complaints, the lamentations, and the hundreds of requests
+of his patients. But a few words from him had the power to encourage,
+to comfort, to cheer and to influence the mood of his patients for the
+whole day.
+
+Suddenly the lawyer ceased to shiver, Michael Petroff began to laugh
+happily, and Engelhardt withdrew his gaze from the point in the ceiling
+and looked toward the half open door. He gazed so intently that his
+small bright eyes seemed to squint.
+
+"Listen! The Rajah is talking with him!" said Michael Petroff, holding
+up his finger for silence.
+
+"Nobody is watching you, my dear friend," said the Doctor's quiet
+voice.
+
+And a deep and almost gentler voice replied: "I heard the watchman
+walking back and forth before my door all night, Sir. And I also heard
+the drum when the watch was relieved."
+
+"My friend," answered the Doctor, "You must have been dreaming."
+
+"No," continued the man whom Michael Petroff had called the "Rajah," "I
+excuse you, Sir, because I know that you are only doing your duty. But
+your tact ought to prevent you from carrying out your precautions in
+such an obvious way. I have given you my word of honor not to make any
+attempt to escape. I want you to tell that to the English government,
+by whose authority you are keeping me here in confinement. Neither have
+I any weapons concealed in my room. I want you to search it."
+
+"I know that perfectly well, my friend!"
+
+"All the same, I want you to search."
+
+And the "Rajah" would not be satisfied until the Doctor had promised
+that his room should be searched immediately.
+
+During this conversation Dr. Maerz had appeared in the doorway, with
+the "Rajah" just behind him. Dr. Maerz was a small man, dressed in a
+light-gray suit, with a ruddy beardless face and a quick, searching
+but gentle eye, while the "Rajah" stood behind him, tall and dark,
+and almost filling up the doorway. The "Rajah" had a long black beard
+and a fearless, dark brown face, in which the whites of his eyes showed
+strikingly.
+
+The "Rajah" was simply a teacher, who had taught for a few years in
+India in a German school. A protracted fever had caused an incipient
+delusion, which, after his return to his native land, took entire
+possession of him. He imagined himself to be an Indian prince, who had
+been exiled by the English government.
+
+He was extremely silent and reserved, and never talked with the other
+patients. His bearing expressed an inscrutable calm and an apparently
+quite natural pride. For days together he would favor no one with a
+glance. He would walk up and down the garden, very slowly, gazing
+scornfully at the flowers and trees, and every evening, if the weather
+permitted, he would sit apart on a bench and gaze at the sinking sun,
+turning his dark face toward it until it disappeared. And as he gazed
+at the setting sun, an obscure, wistful sorrow glowed in his dark eyes.
+For he saw palm trees, that seemed to melt into the sun, so that
+only their tops showed, edged with flame, while their trunks were
+invisible--and elephants, stepping proudly, with their little brown
+_mahouts_ upon their necks--and glittering golden temples, and crowds
+of dark, half naked natives, trotting along with branches in their
+hands, and uttering shrill cries--and then too, he saw himself, going
+on board the steamer that was to carry him into exile, while the dark
+people threw themselves down on the quay and wept. The "Rajah's" soul
+was filled with deep and bitter sorrow, and he rose and held his broad
+shoulders more erect, as if he were bearing a heavy burden. And he bore
+it! The "Rajah" never complained, never showed despondency, nor did he
+ever show any sign of what was taking place within him.
+
+Even in his own room he behaved tranquilly. Very rarely was he heard
+to speak, and only once in a while--in his sleep--would he utter
+a long-drawn singing cry, such as street venders use in the Orient.
+
+As Dr. Maerz entered the room, the little baldheaded lawyer bowed, with
+his cap in his hand, and stood modestly against the wall.  His
+gratitude knew no bounds, because the Doctor allowed him to live
+quietly and peacefully among his flowers and birds, without ever asking
+him to pay anything. So today he did not even venture to ask Dr. Maerz
+for crumbs for the birds nor to complain of the negligence of the maids
+in the kitchen, although he had fully determined to do so.
+
+But the lawyer could not look at the "Rajah" who stood dark and
+unapproachable in the passageway, without feeling timid and slightly
+anxious. To express his respect, he bowed low to the "Rajah," and since
+the latter did not notice him, he bowed once more, moving his lips in a
+whisper. But the "Rajah" did not vouchsafe him a glance. For a moment
+the lawyer thought of approaching and kissing the "Rajah's" hand. For
+he recalled a circumstance that had been sharply impressed upon his
+memory: One evening he had met the "Rajah" in the corridor and had
+bowed to him. They had been quite alone. The "Rajah" had come toward
+him and had said in a deep, mysterious voice, "My loyal subject!" and
+had given him his hand to kiss. "Wait!" the "Rajah" had continued, "I
+will show my favor to you. I have very little of the treasure left,
+that I brought with me into exile, but--here, take this." And the
+"Rajah" had slipped a little gray stone into his hand.
+
+Michael Petroff, on the contrary, looked smilingly and questioningly at
+Dr. Maerz, while he stood politely back against the door. Meanwhile he
+tipped his head somewhat backward and sidewise and looked at the
+Doctor, as if he expected some very special news from him and as if he
+knew quite well that Dr. Maerz had such news for him today. So
+confidently did he look at him, while a smile played about his pretty
+boyish mouth.
+
+But Engelhardt, whose brows were drawn up with pain as if they were
+fastened with rivets, had half sat up in bed and was explaining his
+needs and his sufferings to the Doctor. He spoke in a guttural tone,
+rapidly, in a murmur that was hard to understand, and his voice sounded
+like the distant barking of a dog, heard on a still night.
+
+He had come to the end of his strength--the moon was drawing at
+him!--in the night thousands of people had begged him on their knees
+not to give them up to destruction--only a new soul could give him back
+his strength--he felt that he was bending over more and more to the
+left and the whole universe might collapse at any moment: all this he
+muttered indistinctly, confusedly, his distressful eyes fixed
+pleadingly upon Dr. Maerz.
+
+Dr. Maerz listened gravely, as did also Michael Petroff and even the
+"Rajah," who had stepped inside the door. And because they were all
+listening so earnestly--especially the "Rajah," whose large brilliant
+eyes were fixed upon Engelhardt--the little lawyer was once more seized
+with fear. He felt as if his legs were sinking through the floor, as if
+in a swamp, but just when this fear was about to overwhelm him like
+black darkness, a bird lit on the window-sill and chirped, and the
+lawyer seemed suddenly transformed.
+
+"I am coming!" he whispered hurriedly.
+
+"Don't go!" said Michael Petroff softly, taking hold of his arm. "Where
+are you going?"
+
+"He was calling me!" answered the lawyer and slipped quickly away.
+
+"How he is hurrying!" thought Michael Petroff, and heard himself
+laughing inwardly. And presently he said to Dr. Maerz, laying his hand
+confidentially on his shoulder: "The lawyer is certainly a clever, well
+educated man--and yet he thinks that the birds call him! Between you
+and me, Doctor, hasn't it ever occurred to you, that he is not quite
+right--?"
+
+
+After luncheon Dr. Maerz's patients went out into the garden as usual.
+They trotted along in little groups, one after the other, round and
+round the biggest flower bed, at equal distances, silently, lost in
+thought. Only the "Inventor," a young man, sometimes paused, rested his
+hand on his side, put his other hand to his forehead and gazed steadily
+at a point on the ground.
+
+The lawyer was watering his flowers and listening delightedly to the
+thousands and thousands of birds that were hopping in the bushes and
+treetops. Michael Petroff was in high good humor. There was news--!
+Just listen! Just listen! He was smoking a cigarette that Dr. Maerz had
+given him, and was enjoying every whiff of it. He held the cigarette
+with his fingers coquettishly crossed, and swung it in sweeping curves,
+as if he were taking off his hat to some one, and at every whiff he
+drew, he stood still and blew the smoke up into the sunny air and
+watched the blue cloud drift away. Everything gave him pleasure. Even
+walking was a delight to him. His steps were short, his knees sprung
+playfully; and he felt with delight how his toes crackled a little and
+how the elastic balls of his feet rebounded in his thin soled shoes
+from the ground, while his heels touched the path but lightly and his
+knees swung. When he stood still, he set the muscles of his thighs, by
+a certain pressure of the knees, and then enjoyed the firmness with
+which he stood there like a statue. He was convinced that nothing could
+have knocked him down. He walked along smiling and glancing cheerfully
+about him, as if to share his happiness. He greeted everyone, and
+whenever he met an acquaintance he would tell him the great event that
+had happened today.
+
+"Just hear this, my friend!" he called out to the little lawyer, who
+was standing on the lawn, stooping over a tulip bed to water the
+flowers in the middle of it. "Do come over here! There is such news!
+Oh, please do come!"
+
+He waited with friendly impatience until the lawyer had finished and
+came back to the path, meaning to go back to the well with his empty
+green can. "I want to tell you what has happened today," he began
+hastily, "His Majesty the king of Saxony has condescended--"
+
+"Pardon me," the lawyer interrupted him in a whisper and started to
+leave him, "I am in a hurry. It is hot and the flowers are drying up."
+
+"I will walk to the well with you," continued Michael Petroff good
+humoredly, and walked rapidly beside the departing lawyer. "I can tell
+you just as well while we are walking. So I said to the Doctor today:
+'Now, Doctor, haven't you anything for me today?' 'No,' said he, 'my
+dear Captain, nothing at all, I am sorry to say.' 'Really nothing,'
+said I, and I took him by the arm. 'Has not there been a single answer
+for weeks? Really nothing, Doctor?' He looked at me and thought a
+while. 'Oh yes,' he said, 'I had almost forgotten. A document did come
+for you. It is about that carpenter, you know, Captain.' 'A carpenter,
+Doctor? I don't remember'--so I took out my memorandum book, in which I
+enter all the documents that I send out: 'Where did the answer come
+from? From Saxony? Ah!' said I, 'then it must be about the butcher's
+apprentice who was condemned to death.' 'Yes,' said the Doctor, 'that
+is it. The fellow was a butcher's apprentice.' And now listen, my
+friend. Because of my petition, his Majesty the King of Saxony has
+condescended to pardon him. I must write a letter of thanks to His
+Majesty this very day."
+
+"How the sun burns today," the lawyer responded to Michael Petroff's
+tale, and began to work the pump handle. "All the flowers look so
+wilted."
+
+"Ha, ha!" laughed Michael Petroff. "You're not listening at all, are
+you?"
+
+No, the lawyer was not listening. He was looking into his can to see if
+it was full.
+
+Michael Petroff looked at him a while with his head on one side, then
+he laughed quietly to himself and walked rapidly away. He glanced about
+the garden in search of some one to whom he could tell his cheerful
+tale.
+
+Just then he espied the "Rajah," who was walking up and down in the
+vegetable garden between two beds of lettuce. According to his habit,
+the "Rajah" was alone, and in a place where no one else would be apt to
+come.
+
+Michael Petroff rose up on tiptoes and considered whether he had
+better, with one jump, spring over the beds, which separated him by
+about a hundred paces from the "Rajah." He would only have to soar
+upward a very little and he would be there. But he was afraid of being
+impolite to the "Rajah" or perhaps of startling him, so he gave up the
+idea.
+
+The "Rajah" was pacing up and down with his usual pride and dignity,
+but today he was restless and troubled. Engelhardt's words about
+preserving the equilibrium of the universe had taken possession of
+his mind. He had been considering the matter, and after long and
+inexorable reflection he had come to the decision that there was only
+one way--only one--
+
+Just then Michael Petroff came up to him.
+
+"Will you permit me to disturb you?" he asked politely, taking off his
+gray English traveling cap. "I am Captain Michael Petroff."
+
+The "Rajah" gazed at him earnestly with his glowing dark eyes.
+
+"What do you want," he asked quietly.
+
+Michael Petroff smiled. "I want to tell you a piece of good news," he
+began. "This morning I said to the Doctor: 'Now, Doctor, haven't you
+anything for me today--?'"--And beaming with joy, he went on to tell
+the same story that he had told a dozen times that day.
+
+The "Rajah" listened in silence, looking thoughtfully at Michael
+Petroff. Then he said: "I should like to have a word with you."
+
+"I am quite at your service!"
+
+The "Rajah's" eyes wandered over the garden slowly and with dignity.
+
+"Shall we go over to that bench?"
+
+"With pleasure."
+
+The "Rajah" sat down, and with a condescending gesture invited Michael
+Petroff to be seated also.
+
+"I see you writing all the time--" he began,
+
+Michael Petroff lifted his cap. "Michael Petroff, Captain in the
+Russian army," he said politely.
+
+The "Rajah" looked at him and went on, with his usual quiet pride:
+"Since you write, you must understand. And you surely must have gained
+knowledge of men and things from sacred books, which are closed to the
+rest of us, and you must have passed your life in meditation, according
+to the rules of your caste. Very well. Then explain to me the words of
+the Fakir, who, according to the inscrutable decision of the Gods, is
+bearing up the universe on his shoulders. Speak!"
+
+Michael Petroff smiled, highly flattered, and bowed to the "Rajah." He
+did not really understand all that the "Rajah" said, but he perceived
+that his words expressed respect and admiration. He felt that it was in
+some way his duty to confide to the "Rajah" the secret of his paper,
+but to his own surprise he asked: "You mean our friend Engelhardt?"
+
+"You heard what he said?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Then speak!" It appeared that the "Rajah" had not forgotten a single
+word that Engelhardt had said to Dr. Maerz. Michael Petroff, on the
+contrary, remembered almost nothing, and so fell into the "Rajah's"
+disfavor.
+
+"Pardon me!" he apologized. "So many things pass through my head."
+
+"But what will happen if he cannot get another soul?" asked the
+"Rajah."
+
+"Oh, the Doctor will take care of that."
+
+"Even Fakirs are only human. What will happen if his strength gives
+way? Will the world collapse?"
+
+"Surely it will collapse!" replied Michael Petroff, laughing.
+
+"What are you laughing at?" asked the "Rajah" quietly, while his dark
+eyes gleamed. "What will you do if it collapses?"
+
+"I?" Michael Petroff smiled and pointed to the cottage, which showed
+dimly through the shrubbery. "If that house tumbles down," he went on,
+"I will run away as fast as I can, and go back to my own country.
+Russia is my native land. Do you know about Russia? You could hold
+Germany on the palm of your hand, but you couldn't carry Russia even on
+your back. My country is so big."
+
+The "Rajah" considered this idea long and carefully.
+
+Then he said slowly, and as if speaking to himself: "If the world
+collapses, will my kingdom be destroyed too? The mountains and the
+temples, the forests and the towns, will they all fall in ruins?"
+
+Michael Petroff nodded, laughing maliciously. "I suppose so!"
+
+And now the "Rajah" nodded too. He bowed his head slowly several times.
+"All my subjects would be destroyed?" he asked, and nodded. He rose and
+shook his head. "No," he said solemnly, gazing at Michael Petroff.
+"That must not be! We cannot allow it."
+
+The "Rajah" turned away. Through the sunshine he walked, slowly and
+with dignity, back to the ward.
+
+Michael Petroff looked after him. He smiled and shook his head. "What a
+curious being he is though!" said he, laughing. And when he heard his
+own laughter, he laughed again, loudly and gaily and snapped his
+fingers. Ha, ha, ha!
+
+But the "Rajah" went to Engelhardt's room and informed him that he had
+decided to give up his own soul to him. "If the Gods deign to accept my
+sacrifice."
+
+Engelhardt, who lay in his bed as if he were already dead, opened his
+eyes and looked at the "Rajah."
+
+"Will you?" he gasped, while his hands and face twitched convulsively.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"I will try to hold out for three days yet!" gasped Engelhardt.
+
+The "Rajah" closed the door. He went to his own room and wrote, in a
+large rapid hand that wandered in all directions, a short letter to Dr.
+Maerz.
+
+"Your Excellency," he wrote, "It is the will of Heaven. We shall see
+the blue river no more. We shall see no more the flooded rice fields,
+nor the white elephants with bands of gold upon their tusks. It is the
+will of Heaven and we obey. Say to the English Government that we are
+too noble for bitterness or revenge. Say to the English Government that
+we are pleased to rescue our subjects and to yield up our soul, if the
+sacrifice is pleasing to the Gods."
+
+The "Rajah" rang for the attendant and gave him the letter, quietly and
+with great dignity. Then he undressed and went to bed, prepared to die.
+
+
+At nightfall, when it was growing dark, the lawyer, much excited,
+rushed into Michael Petroff's room, without knocking, or waiting at the
+door, as he was in the habit of doing.
+
+"Help me. Captain!" he whispered, and threw himself into the arms of
+the astonished Michael Petroff. The lawyer was trembling with fright.
+
+"What in the world--?" exclaimed Michael Petroff, surprised and
+startled.
+
+"He is standing in the corridor!" whispered the lawyer.
+
+"Who? What is the matter with you?"
+
+"Engelhardt! He is standing at the 'Rajah's' door. He is taking away
+his soul."
+
+"What's that you say?" Michael Petroff laughed softly.
+
+"I saw him standing there. Don't let him come near me. Oh good God!"
+
+"Hush!" interrupted Michael Petroff. "I will attend to it."
+
+The lawyer clung to his knees. "He will come in here! Oh my God, my
+God!"
+
+"My dear friend," Michael Petroff reassured him, "control yourself. He
+shall not come in here. I promise you. But I must go and see!"
+
+The little lawyer cowered on the floor and covered his face with his
+hands. But Michael Petroff left the room. After a while he came back,
+looking somewhat pale, but laughing to keep his courage up.
+
+"Yes," he said in a low tone, "he is standing at the 'Rajah's' door
+listening. What makes you tremble so, my friend?"
+
+"Don't leave me!" whispered the lawyer, still covering his face with
+his hands.
+
+The "Rajah" lay motionless in his bed, gazing far, far away with his
+great, brilliant eyes. His swarthy face was transfigured by a solemn
+peace and resignation. He declined to get up and refused all
+nourishment. Dr. Maerz took his temperature and found it somewhat low,
+and his pulse rather slow, but he could not discover any symptoms of
+bodily disorder or of an approaching illness. With cheerful earnestness
+he advised the "Rajah" to get up and to eat, but as the "Rajah" did not
+answer, he left him in peace. He was accustomed to his patients' whims
+and knew that they went as suddenly as they came.
+
+But Engelhardt, on the contrary, caused him great anxiety. In spite of
+long continued baths and all sorts of quieting treatments, he had
+passed another sleepless and excited night. He now lay in a sort of
+half sleep, and shrank and trembled with the effort that his horrible
+delusion required of him. He heard voices, the cries of millions of
+men, who wrung their hands and begged him not to give them up to
+destruction, he heard the ringing of bells, the chanting of
+processions, the prayers of emperors and kings, bishops and popes. His
+skin was dry and parched, his pulse was rapid and unsteady. Dr. Maerz
+sat for a long time by his bedside watching him attentively, and
+sometimes, closing his eyes for a moment, he would recall with
+lightning rapidity all his knowledge and experience of such cases. At
+last, with a thoughtful and baffled air, he left Engelhardt.
+
+But an hour later he was beside him again.
+
+The patients in the ward showed that special form of nervousness that
+was always present whenever the frequent visits of the doctor indicated
+that some one was very ill. They walked quietly, spoke in undertones,
+and many of them refused to leave the room at all. The little lawyer
+hardly dared to stir and begged the thousands of birds, that lived in
+his room, to be very quiet, when he put their bread and water on the
+table. Again and again some unknown power drove him to look through the
+keyhole. He would stand there a long time, covering his left eye with
+his hand as children do and peering with his right at the white wall of
+the corridor. But whenever a passer-by darkened his outlook, he would
+shrink back startled. If he had to go out to attend to his flowers, he
+opened the door slowly and silently and walked backward, fixing his
+eyes on Engelhardt's door, until he reached the steps. There he would
+turn quickly and hurry away, possessed by the fear that a hand would
+suddenly seize him by the coat collar.
+
+Michael Petroff was the only one upon whom the general restlessness had
+no effect. He sat at his writing table, cut out his cases, numbered,
+registered, pasted, wrote. He shook his head smilingly over the little
+lawyer's terror, but promised him his protection in any case.
+
+"Make your mind easy, my friend!" said he patronizingly. "So long as I
+am living, you have no cause for anxiety!" And with a pompous air he
+added: "I have been to see him. He told me that the "Rajah" had
+promised him his soul. Voila tout. You may rely on Michael Petroff!"
+
+"I thank you!" whispered the lawyer, and started to kiss Michael
+Petroff's hand.
+
+"Oh no! Why should you?" said Michael Petroff, but he felt pleased and
+flattered.
+
+The lawyer was calmer as he turned away. But in the night he heard
+Engelhardt crying out and crept under the bedclothes with his teeth
+chattering. It seemed to him as if he were buried in the ground, on a
+high mountain and he scarcely dared to breathe for fear. But just then
+he saw an enormous flock of birds flying swiftly over the sky in a
+gentle curve. He beckoned to them and called out: "Where are you
+going?"--"Come too, come too!" chirped the birds in answer. "To Vienna,
+to Vienna!" and they flew away in the distance. The lawyer gazed after
+them and fell asleep.
+
+The "Rajah's" strength failed visibly, although artificial nourishment
+was given him, by Dr. Maerz's orders. He was fading away as fast as
+twilight in the tropics. His brown face and hands had taken on a dull
+gray hue, like dry garden earth, and his broad and powerful chest rose
+and sank rapidly and silently under the bedclothes. His eyelids, which
+were paler than his face, drooped so as to half cover his eyes, but as
+soon as any one entered the room, they opened slowly, and his large,
+brilliant eyes rested questioningly on the newcomer.
+
+His pulse was growing weak and rapid, and Dr. Maerz sat almost
+constantly at the sick man's bedside. The rapid loss of strength was
+incomprehensible to the Doctor, and the inexplicable and rapid decline
+of the heart action caused especial anxiety. He sat there, closing his
+eyes from time to time, observed the patient, considered, tried all
+conceivable means--and by evening he knew that the "Rajah" was beyond
+all human aid.
+
+"How is he, Doctor?" asked Michael Petroff, who had been watching for
+the Doctor in the corridor, and nodded his head toward the "Rajah's"
+door.
+
+"Oh, not so badly off!" answered Dr. Maerz absentmindedly.
+
+Michael Petroff laughed softly behind his back. Then he went at once to
+the lawyer's room.
+
+"The 'Rajah' is dying!" he said with a triumphant glance.
+
+The lawyer looked up at him timidly; he did not answer.
+
+"Yes!" Michael Petroff sat down in a cane-seated chair, and drew up his
+trousers a little, so as not to get them out of shape at the knees. "I
+asked the Doctor just now. He answered: 'Not so badly off.' Now that
+means that the 'Rajah' is dying. When Heinrich was dying, Heinrich who
+used to sing the jolly songs that you laughed at so, my friend, what
+did the Doctor say? 'Not so badly off!' And Heinrich died. Oh yes! I
+understand the doctors."
+
+The little lawyer wrapped himself in his shawl. He was freezing.
+
+"He is sucking the soul out of his body," continued Michael Petroff
+with an important air. "He understands his business, Engelhardt does.
+How did he manage with Schwindt, the attendant? The very same way,
+don't you see!"
+
+And Michael Petroff left the room, rubbing his hands cheerfully. He was
+interested in everything that went on around him, in everything that he
+_saw through_. There was news--! In the best of spirits, he sat down at
+his writing table to give the final touches to his article: "Doctor
+Maerz arrested."
+
+
+That very night, toward three o'clock, the "Rajah" died. It was a warm,
+still night and the moonlight was so bright that one could read out of
+doors. The patients were restless, they cleared their throats, walked
+up and down and talked together. But once in a while they would all be
+silent: that was when Engelhardt began to scream out. "I can't bear it
+any longer!" And then he would declaim aloud the petitions that kings
+and princes addressed to him on their knees.
+
+The little lawyer had not dared to go to bed. He sat fully dressed on
+the sofa, with all his blankets wrapped around him. And yet he was so
+cold that his teeth chattered. Whenever Engelhardt began to cry out, he
+moved his lips in prayer and crossed himself.
+
+Michael Petroff, on the contrary, had gone to bed with complete
+unconcern. He lay, with his arms under his head, and pondered over a
+suitable title for his next paper. For this time he would take the
+Doctor by surprise, he would catch him--just wait and see! What was the
+sense of a title like the _Non-Partisan_, if you please? Could one
+overcome this case-hardened Doctor with that? What? Oh, no, no.
+Surely not. The title must smell of fire and brimstone. It must
+be like the stroke of a sword, like the muzzle of a gun aimed at
+the Doctor--for Dr. Maerz must be startled when he reads the title! And
+after much reflection, Michael Petroff decided that this time he would
+call his paper _The Sword of the Archangel_. He could plainly see this
+Archangel sweeping obliquely forward, with terrible fluttering garments
+and an appalling and angry mien, holding his sword with both hands
+somewhat backward above his head. And this sword, that was as sharp as
+a razor and very broad at the back, slit the firmament open and a
+steaming bloodred stream appeared. This steaming red stream gave
+Michael Petroff a feeling of luxurious delight. He sat up and said:
+"Just wait! Ha, ha!"
+
+But suddenly he covered his eyes with his hand. A dim, longing pain had
+come over him, and he could not tell why.
+
+"Michael Petroff--?" said he softly, "Michael Petroff--?" and the tears
+sprung to his eyes. And so, with his hand over his wet eyes and a
+confused sorrow in his heart, he fell asleep.
+
+He was sleeping soundly when he was awakened by a knock at his door:
+"It is I, the attendant, don't be startled."
+
+"What is it!"
+
+The attendant stepped in and said in an undertone: "Dr. Maerz told me to
+ask you to come. The teacher wants to speak to you."
+
+"The teacher?"
+
+"The 'Rajah,' you know."
+
+"You do not know what he wants of me?"
+
+"No, Dr. Maerz has sent for you."
+
+"Very well, I will come."
+
+Michael Petroff rose and made his toilet slowly and scrupulously. The
+attendant came back and begged him to hurry. Michael Petroff was tying
+his cravat carefully. "I am coming at once," said he impatiently, "but
+I can't make a call half dressed."
+
+Finally he was ready; he looked in the glass a moment, stroked his
+moustache and stepped out.
+
+"Oh Captain!" whispered the little lawyer through the crack of the
+door, for the knocking and talking in Petroff's room had made him still
+more anxious. "I beg you--!"
+
+"I am in a hurry," answered Michael Petroff, and hastened along the
+corridor. As he passed Engelhardt's door he heard him declaiming: "We
+pray thee, do not destroy the dome of the world. Praised be thy name!"
+And with an altered, gasping voice Engelhardt went on: "I am
+struggling, I am struggling--!" In the room overhead a step went
+restlessly up and down, back and forth, like the distant throbbing of a
+machine.
+
+Then the attendant opened the door of the "Rajah's" room and Michael
+Petroff stepped in.
+
+"Good morning!" said he, loudly and cheerfully, as if it were broad
+daylight and as if the "Rajah" were not a dying man. "Good morning,
+Doctor. Here I am.--Good morning--Prince!" he added more softly after a
+glance at the "Rajah." "Michael Petroff, Captain in the Russian army."
+
+The "Rajah's" appearance had greatly impressed Michael Petroff. The
+"Rajah" was sitting up in bed with his great dark eyes fixed upon him.
+A shaded electric light burned above his head, but in spite of the dim
+light the "Rajah's" face, framed by his dark hair and beard, shone like
+dull gold, yes, it positively shone. And it was this strange brightness
+which had so impressed Michael Petroff that he spoke more softly and
+addressed him as Prince. He had, in fact, never seriously considered
+who the "Rajah" really was. He was a Prince, who possessed a great
+kingdom somewhere and lived in exile. Now Michael Petroff believed all
+this without thinking very much about it. Yet at this moment he
+_understood_ that the "Rajah" was a Prince, and he entirely altered his
+bearing toward him.
+
+"You were pleased to send for me?" said he, with timid hesitation, and
+bowed.
+
+The "Rajah" turned his face toward Dr. Maerz.
+
+"I thank you, Sir," he said, in a deep, quiet voice, whose tone had
+changed. "I know that you could have refused me this favor, since I am
+your prisoner."
+
+"My dear friend"--answered the Doctor, but the "Rajah" paid no further
+attention to him.
+
+"I sent for you," he said, turning to Michael Petroff, "in order that
+you may write down my last will and testament."
+
+"I am at your disposal," answered Michael Petroff, bowing slightly.
+
+"Then write what I tell you."
+
+Michael Petroff felt in his pockets confusedly. "I will run," said he,
+"I will be back at once"--and he left the room rapidly, to bring pencil
+and paper from his office.
+
+"Michael Petroff--" whispered the little lawyer pleadingly. "You are
+leaving me--?"
+
+"The 'Rajah' commands me!" answered Michael Petroff impatiently, and
+hurried past the trembling lawyer's little outstretched hands back to
+the dying man's room.
+
+"Here I am, pardon me?" he stammered breathlessly.
+
+"Then write!" said the "Rajah."
+
+Michael seated himself properly and the "Rajah" began:
+
+"We, Rajah of Mangalore, banished by the English Government, too noble
+to harbor feelings of revenge toward our enemies, since we are dying,
+in order to rescue our subjects, make known to our people:
+
+"We greet you, our people! We greet the palm forests that shelter the
+temples of our ancestors! We greet the blue river that refreshes our
+land!"--
+
+Michael Petroff, who was writing busily and industriously what the
+"Rajah" dictated, looked up as the "Rajah" paused. He saw that two
+great tears were falling from the "Rajah's" brilliant dark eyes. They
+ran down his thin but strangely glowing cheeks into his beard.
+
+The "Rajah" raised his hand with a dignified gesture. Then he went on
+to the end calmly and majestically:
+
+"We grant a universal amnesty! All our dungeons and prisons are to be
+opened and then burned to ashes. From this time forth no more blood
+shall be shed!"
+
+"Oh, my Lord--my Prince--!" whispered Michael Petroff as he wrote.
+
+"There shall no longer be an army in our land and no man shall go
+begging with his bowl. The treasure in our vaults shall be equally
+shared among our people. Neither castes nor classes shall exist from
+this time forth. All men shall be equal and all shall be brothers and
+sisters.
+
+"The aged shall have their huts to die in, and to the children we
+bequeath the meadows to play in. To the sick we grant health, and to
+the unhappy sleep, quiet sleep. There shall be no more war and no more
+hatred between the peoples, whatever their color, for so we decree. The
+judges shall be wise and just, and to evil doers one must say: Go and
+be happy, for unhappiness causes evil doing.
+
+"To mankind we grant the earth, that they may occupy the same, to the
+fish we give the waters and the sea, to the birds the heavens, and to
+the beasts the forests, and the meadows that lie hidden amongst them!
+
+"But you, our own people, we bless and kiss you, for we are dying."
+
+The "Rajah" raised his hands in benediction and sank back upon the
+pillows.
+
+All who were present remained motionless and gazed at him. His chest
+rose and fell feebly and rapidly while his lids drooped over his eyes
+and showed like bright spots in his dark face.
+
+Dr. Maerz stepped gently to the bedside.
+
+Just then the "Rajah" smiled. He threw his head back and opened his
+lips, as if he were going to sing. But only a thin, musical cry passed
+his lips, so high, so thin and so far away that it seemed as if the
+"Rajah" were already calling from some distant realm. It was the cry of
+the street venders in the Orient.
+
+The "Rajah" was dead.
+
+Michael Petroff stood on tiptoes and gazed with parted lips at the
+pale, mysteriously beautiful face that shone beneath the rich dark
+hair. He felt a sense of shame. He had lived so long with him who was
+now dead, without realizing who he was. He longed to kneel beside the
+dead man's bed and whisper: "Prince, my Prince!" But he did not dare to
+approach, he was afraid and stole out of the room.
+
+
+After a while, when Dr. Maerz stepped out into the corridor, he was
+impressed by the quiet that reigned in the ward. There was not a sound
+to be heard. The muffled tread overhead, that had paced back and forth
+for hours, was still. And Engelhardt had ceased crying and groaning.
+
+Dr. Maerz went to the shoemaker's door. All was as still as death
+within. He opened the door and listened. Engelhardt--was sleeping! His
+breathing was deep and regular ... Dr. Maerz shook his head and went
+thoughtfully out of the ward. On the steps leading to the garden he lit
+a cigar and turned up his coat collar. He was shivering.
+
+So now he is asleep, thought he, as he walked through the moonlit
+garden, where the bushes cast long, pale shadows. Is there any
+discoverable connection between the teacher's death and Engelhardt's
+sleep? And he thought of one of his colleagues, who would invent a
+connection in any case, and then he thought how much he would enjoy a
+cup of strong coffee just now. Suddenly he paused, slightly startled.
+In the moonlight a little man, all wrapped up, was moving. It was the
+lawyer.
+
+The little man had passed the whole night shivering and trembling in
+his dark room. But when the first cock crowed he had slipped out of the
+ward to water his flowers.
+
+"Hush, hush!" he whispered to the thousands of little birds that began
+to chirp in the bushes as soon as he came near. "Sleep a bit longer,
+little ones!"
+
+And while he was watering the flowers, he quite forgot the night, the
+"Rajah," and Engelhardt who needed another soul, and began to smile.
+"Good morning, my pets," he said softly, "here I am, I have come back
+to you."
+
+But in Michael Petroff's room the light was burning.
+
+Michael Petroff was sitting at his writing table, smiling and
+goodhumored, writing diligently. For the impression that the "Rajah's"
+death had made upon him had vanished as quickly as the tears that he
+had shed for him. He was now working on an article which he regarded as
+a marvelously important contribution for his newspaper. And this work
+brought back his happy cheerful spirits.
+
+In the neatest characters he wrote:
+
+"A telegram! The Rajah of Mangalore--against whose exile we have
+registered our telegraphic protest with the English Government--fell
+gently asleep tonight toward three o'clock. We had the honor to be
+present at his deathbed and to draw up the last will and testament of
+this great ruler. We will favor our readers with a copy:
+
+"'We, Rajah of Mangalore, banished by the English Government, too noble
+to harbor feelings of revenge toward our enemies, since we are dying,
+in order to rescue our subjects, make known to our people ...'"
+
+Only as the sun rose did Michael Petroff lie down to rest.
+
+
+
+
+THE CONTEMPORARY GERMAN DRAMA
+
+By Amelia von Ende
+
+
+A period of transition in a nation's life is not the best foundation
+upon which to rear a new literature. The change of religious, moral,
+I social and political standards from their well-established and
+time-honored base to new and untried planes does not favor the
+development of minds, well-defined and well-balanced, and of
+characters, able to translate a clear purpose into consistent
+achievement.
+
+Germany passed through such a change toward the end of the nineteenth
+century. The unification of the Empire with its era of material
+prosperity and progress strengthened the roots of national
+consciousness; the gospel of the superman with its absolute ego-cult
+stimulated individual self-assertion; the wave of altruism which swept
+across the world at the same time roused the slumbering sense of social
+responsibility. These three forces--national consciousness, individual
+self assertion, social responsibility--profoundly affected the
+character of the young generation growing up in the newly reestablished
+Empire. Embracing each of these principles in turn, theorizing about
+them, the young men and women of the time became unsettled. With the
+gradual realization of the seriousness of the underlying ideas grew the
+desire to experiment with them in life, to prove them by practice. In
+the attempt to live these new ideals the individual became involved in
+a conflict with the old conscience that no philosophy had yet been able
+to argue away, and the road out of this dilemma lay along the line of
+least resistance, which consisted in drifting with the changing tides.
+The result was the gradual evolution of a type of hero which modified
+the drama of the country. While the hero of old encountered and
+conquered obstacles mainly of external circumstance and complication,
+the hero of the present is the victim of doubts and moods rooted within
+himself, defeating his purpose and paralyzing his will.
+
+The modern German drama deals with these conditions and characters. The
+writers whose creative instinct awoke in the seventies stood upon the
+firm ground of old traditions and were inspired by the optimism of the
+national renascence. The writers who responded to the same instinct in
+the eighties stood on the plane of a philosophy which had undermined
+the old traditions and conventions and had not yet crystallized
+into constructive principles that could safely guide the individual
+through life. Their souls wavered between self-realization and
+self-renunciation; their minds eagerly followed the example of Ibsen
+inquiring into individual motives and responsibilities, and their eyes
+were at the same time opened to the economic struggle of the masses
+which had roused the social conscience. A world unknown to the poets of
+the previous generation, or ignored by them, had come within the range
+of vision; it engaged not only the humanitarian's sympathy and the
+philosopher's speculation, but the artist's interest. It was studied
+for its scientific meaning and exploited for its esthetic
+possibilities.
+
+The floodgates of a literature rich in stimulating ideas were opened
+and the new subject-matter demanded a new manner, a new style. The
+influence of Darwin was not lost upon the young generation. The
+significance of circumstance and environment in the making of man led
+to a minute painting of the milieu, of the external setting of each
+individual life at every moment of its existence in drama or fiction.
+The language of the characters became the language of their class in
+ordinary life. The action was immediately and directly transferred to
+the written page and became a record of unadorned reality. The cry for
+truth became one of the party cries of the period. Naturalistic fiction
+and naturalistic drama came into being.
+
+Within the brief space of less than twenty-five years were born three
+men whose literary personalities represent this development of German
+drama. Ernst von Wildenbruch in the main held fast to the traditions of
+the past, which he treated in historical plays in the manner of a poet
+who had matured in the period of Germany's unification and was inspired
+with the consciousness of national renascence. Hermann Sudermann, who
+rose on the horizon just as the old traditions began to weaken, chose
+to ignore the past, took his cue from the social note of the present,
+but sought a compromise with the old forms and with the taste of the
+great mass of the people. Gerhart Hauptmann, the youngest of the three,
+discarded all precedent and built upon new foundations with new
+material in a new manner. By the success which he gained in spite of
+his uncompromising attitude, he became the leader of the young
+generation.
+
+The intellectual atmosphere in the decade that witnessed the advent of
+Sudermann and Hauptmann was extraordinarily alive and stimulating and
+the drama was chosen by an amazing number of young aspirants to
+literary fame as the vehicle of the message they had for the world. The
+plays of the period suggest the fermentation going on in the young
+brains, the unsettling of old and the dawn of new creeds, religious,
+social and esthetic. The clash of two generations became one of the
+most popular themes. Caesar Flaischlen, a Suabian, handled it most
+thoughtfully and effectively in _Martin Lehnhardt_. Though the author
+modestly called it "dramatic scenes," it was a play presenting with
+spirited rhythm a phase of the spiritual revolution and moral
+revaluation then taking place, and in the orthodox uncle and the
+radical nephew he created two figures full of real dramatic life. The
+well-to-do and well-satisfied middle-class with its somewhat shopworn
+ideals was a popular topic with these young men who lustily set about
+to demolish the Mosaic and other codes of life. Otto Erich Hartleben
+was hailed as the Juvenal of the society of his time, flaying it
+mercilessly in satirical comedies like _Education for Marriage_, _The
+Moral Requirement_, and _Rose-Monday_.
+
+Whatever were the shortcomings of these young hot-spurs, there is no
+doubt that there were among them earnest seekers for new values of life
+and letters. Many were contented with pathetic seriousness and doubtful
+results to imitate their successful and popular model, Gerhart
+Hauptmann. Some made no attempt at concealing that they walked closely
+in the footsteps of their master. Nor did the critics of the new school
+esteem them any less for being followers and imitators rather than
+creators of independent merit. Among these youths, Georg Hirschfeld, a
+born Berliner, was the most promising. He was of a type abundant in
+every metropolis having an intense intellectual life: sensitive,
+impressionable, with an amazing talent for absorption and adaptation
+and a facile gift of language. The reception accorded to his drama.
+_The Mothers_ (1896), which was frankly reminiscent of Sudermann's
+contrast between the front and the rear house and of Hauptmann's
+dialogue of real life, was so generous, that it gave the author, then
+barely twenty-three, a position quite out of proportion to his
+achievement. His efforts at following up the easily won success made
+him a pathetic figure in the drama of that decade. He experienced
+failure upon failure and has now, after the publication of some stories
+of varying merit and the stage success of a clever comedy directed
+against the esthetes--_Mieze and Maria_--once more dropped out of
+sight.
+
+A far more robust figure came to the fore in Max Halbe, a West Prussian
+and an individuality deeply rooted in the soil of his forefathers. That
+soil and his close kinship with nature gave Halbe a firmer foundation
+than the shifting quicksands of metropolitan life offered. These were
+the premises upon which he set out to build. But he would not have been
+a child of his time had he not seen life through the temperament of his
+generation. With all his sturdy mental and moral fibre he could not
+withstand the torrential current of skepticism and revaluation that
+swept through the intellectual world and uprooted its spiritual
+mainstays. Though the action of his plays was based upon eternal
+conflicts of the human tragi-comedy--the irreconcilable contrast
+between two generations, between two orders of life, between love and
+duty--his characters are of the new type, his unheroic heroes are like
+the men he saw about him, reeds swayed by the breath of the Zeitgeist,
+and true to the naturalistic creed of his generation they were
+represented by him without any attempt at idealization.
+
+Halbe made his debut in 1889 with the tragedy of a peasant parvenu. The
+play was fashioned according to old formulas, but of charming local
+color and with more than a touch of the new type in one of the
+characters. This was followed in 1890 by _Free Love_, the hero of which
+is one of those individuals unable to reconcile their convictions with
+their actions--a conflict which becomes a source of torture to
+themselves and those about them. The _Ice-Floe_ (1892) was a powerful
+drama, in which the sudden thaw, destroying what has been, but bringing
+with it a breath of the spring and the new life to come, admirably
+symbolized the passing of the old order. But it was not until the
+following year, which saw the publication of his _Youth_, that Halbe
+attracted serious attention outside of the circles of that Young
+Germany which has become identified with the literary revolution.
+_Youth_ was of a human significance and of an artistic calibre which
+could not well be ignored. This work presented the old theme of youth,
+love and sin in the provincial setting that he knew so well; the
+characters were taken from real life and portrayed with striking
+truthfulness. But over it all was the atmosphere of spring, of sunshine
+and blossoms and thundershowers that quicken the germs in the womb of
+the earth. This was suggested with a delicacy and a chastity rare in
+the literature of that period of storm and stress. _Youth_ was the work
+of a true poet and would have been hailed as such even had the author
+been born into a period less generous in its bestowal of praise upon
+the works of the "coming men."
+
+In _Mother Earth_, published in 1897, Max Halbe shows himself at his
+best both in spirit and in manner. The hero of that play is estranged
+from his paternal hearth, with its ancestral traditions and from the
+simple rural life and the innocent tender love of his youth. For he has
+gone to Berlin, has drifted into the circles of the intellectuals,
+married the brilliant and advanced daughter of a professor and become
+actively interested in feminist propaganda. Subconsciously, however,
+this life does not satisfy him, and when on the death of his father he
+returns to the old home and feels once more its charm, he realizes that
+he has forfeited real happiness for a vague and alien ideal. In this
+work with its firmly knit and logically evolved action Max Halbe
+reached a climax in his development. Since its production his star has
+been steadily declining and the thirteen or more works that have since
+come from his pen have not added to his reputation. Embittered by his
+failures, he chose some years ago to attack his rivals and critics in a
+satirical comedy. _The Isle of the Blessed_, but he had miscalculated
+the effect of the poorly disguised personal animosities upon an
+audience not sufficiently interested in the author's friendships and
+enmities. He has, however, not become sadly resigned to his fate, like
+Hirschfeld, but continues to court the favor of the stage with the
+tenacity of a man disappointed in his hopes but unwilling to admit his
+defeat.
+
+An important aspect of the social and esthetic programme of the new
+school was the unflinching frankness with which it faced a problem
+belonging to intimate life and barring public discussion, yet closely
+connected with the economic conditions of society: the problem of sex.
+The curious revival of pagan eroticism in lyric poetry and the growing
+tendency toward a scientific cynicism in fiction were supplemented by
+attempts to handle sex from the standpoint of modern psychology and
+social ethics in drama. With works of that class has the name of Frank
+Wedekind become inseparably associated. He is the most positive
+intellect among the writers of Young Germany and their most radical
+innovator in regard to form. He is a fanatic of truth and deals only
+with facts; discarding the mitigating accessories of the _milieu_, he
+places those facts before us in absolute nudity. This would make him
+the most consistent naturalist; but when facts are presented bald and
+bare, they do not make the impression of reality, but rather of
+grotesque caricature. Hence Wedekind has sometimes been compared with
+early English dramatists and classed with romanticists like Lenz,
+Grabbe and Heine. He himself has no esthetic theories whatever that
+could facilitate his being enrolled under some fetching label. Nor has
+he any ethical principles, some critics allege, if they do not curtly
+call him immoral. Yet his work, from the appearance of _Spring's
+Awakening_ (1891) to his _Stone of Wisdom_, (1909) and his most recent
+works, proves him to be concerned with nothing but the moral problem.
+He treats social morality with mordant irony from an a-moral
+standpoint. The distinction between a-moral and immoral must be borne
+in mind in any attempt to interpret the puzzling and paradoxical
+personality of the author and to arrive at an approximate understanding
+of the man behind his work.
+
+[Illustration: IN THE SHADE]
+
+That Wedekind is not only an author, but an actor as well, has in no
+small degree complicated his case. The pose seems so inseparably
+connected with the art of the actor, that his intransigent policy in
+sex matters and his striking impersonations of the characters in his
+plays have been interpreted as the unabashed bid for notoriety of a
+clever poseur. But his acting could hardly have made palatable to
+theatre audiences topics tabooed in polite conversation and with
+appalling candor presented by him on the stage. Neither his quality as
+actor nor his quality as author could account for the measure of
+popularity his plays have attained. It would rather indicate that the
+German public was ready for open discussion of the problems involved
+and that Wedekind's frankness and honesty, his lapses into diabolical
+grimace and grotesque hyperbole notwithstanding, met a demand of his
+time. Nor did he restrict himself to that one particular problem. His
+irony spared no institution, no person: lese-majeste was one of his
+offenses; nor did he spare himself. Born into a generation which took
+itself very seriously, he created the impression as if he at least were
+not taking himself too seriously. Yet a survey of his work, regardless
+of the comparisons and conclusions it may suggest, tends to
+substantiate the claim that Frank Wedekind is not only an
+uncompromising destroyer of antiquated sentiment and a fanatic of
+positive life, but a grim moralist. It is easy to recognize him in some
+of his characters, and these figures, like the banished king in _Thus
+is Life_, the secretary Hetman in _Hidalla_, the author Lindekuh in
+_Musik_, and others, are always the tragic moralists in an immoral
+world. There is something pathetic in the perseverance with which he is
+ever harping on the one string.
+
+For although he is now one of the more popular writers of his
+generation, his attitude has not changed much in the course of his
+career. The man who hurled into the world _Spring's Awakening_, is
+still behind the social satirist who has become a favorite with theatre
+audiences through his clever portrayal of a crook in _The Marquis of
+Keith_ and of the popular stage favorite in _The Court Singer_. He is
+little concerned with the probability of the plot; his situations will
+not bear the test of serious scrutiny. They are only the background
+from which the figure of the hero stands out in strong relief. The
+popular tenor, who is an amusing combination of the artist and the
+businessman, is one of the characters in the plays of Wedekind that
+have little or no trace in them of the author himself. He is seen with
+astonishing objectivity and presented with delectable sarcasm. The
+story of the famous singer, who between packing his valise to take the
+train for his next engagement, studying a new role, running over
+numerous letters from admirers, makes love to the one caller he cannot
+get rid of, a woman who chooses that inopportune moment to shoot
+herself before his eyes, is a typical product of his manner, and a
+grotesque satire upon the cult of histrionic stars practised by both
+sexes.
+
+While the initiative in the literary revolution of which Halbe and
+Wedekind are such striking examples was taken by Northern Germany and
+centred in Berlin, Austria was not slow in adding a note of its own by
+giving the German drama of the period two of its most interesting
+individualities. Both Arthur Schnitzler and Hugo von Hofmannsthal--to
+whom might be added the clever and versatile Hermann Bahr--reflect the
+complex soul of their native city, Vienna; for if Austria is
+acknowledged to be a most curious racial composite, Vienna contains its
+very essence. Situated at the parting of the ways for the South and the
+Orient, it has ever been a much-coveted spot. After the conquest of the
+original Celtic settlement by the Romans, Teutons, Huns, and Turks have
+successively fought for its possession and have left their imprint upon
+its physiognomy. Intermarriage with the neighboring Czechs and Magyars,
+the affiliations of the court with Spain, Italy, and France, and the
+final permeation of all social strata by the Hebrew element, have
+produced what may be called the Viennese soul. Political conditions,
+too, have influenced it: to maintain peace in a country which is a
+heterogeneous conglomerate of states rather than an organic growth,
+requires a diplomacy the chief aim of which is to prevent anything from
+happening. This attitude of the Viennese court and its vast machinery
+of functionaries slowly affected other classes, until the people of
+Vienna as a body seem to refrain from anything that means action. It is
+this passive fatalism which has hampered the intellectual development
+of Vienna. Oldest in culture among the German-speaking cities of Europe
+it has never been and is not likely ever to be a leader.
+
+Minds that entered upon this local heritage were only too ready to
+receive the seeds of skepticism abundant in the spiritual atmosphere of
+the century's end. But Nietzsche's gospel of the Superman, Ibsen's
+heretical analysis of human motives and Zola's cry for truth did not
+affect the young generation of Vienna intellectuals as they did those
+of Paris or Berlin, where the revision of old standards of life and
+letters was promptly followed by daring experiments with new ideals.
+Young Vienna heard the keynotes of the new time, but it was content
+to evolve a new variety of an old tune. Time-honored pessimism,
+world-sorrow, gave way to a sophisticated and cynical world-weariness
+which is symptomatic of decadence. Widely different as their
+individualities present themselves, between the pages of their books
+and on the stage, both Schnitzler and Hofmannsthal reflect that
+attitude of mind.
+
+In the work of Arthur Schnitzler the Hebrew element predominates; it
+has quickened the somewhat inert Vienna blood and finds expression in
+analytical keenness and sharpness of vision, a wit of Gallic refinement
+and a language of sparkling brilliancy. Schnitzler's profession, too,
+has not been without some influence upon his poetical work. A physician
+facing humanity daily not in strength and health, but in weakness and
+disease, cannot divest himself of a certain pessimistic bias. Brought
+up and practising in a city like Vienna, he cannot escape the cynicism
+which belongs alike to the man of the world as to the doctor before
+whom all veils and pretenses are discarded. It is difficult, indeed, to
+banish the idea that the consultation-room of Arthur Schnitzler, Dr.
+med., is the confessional which furnishes material to Arthur
+Schnitzler, author. For the modern physician is not concerned with his
+patient's body only, but also with his soul. He must be a psychologist
+as well, and the success of his diagnosis depends upon his skill to
+unravel the intricate interrelations between both. That Schnitzler is
+such a physician admits of no doubt. His perspicacity as diagnostician
+lends subtlety to his analysis and portrayal of characters. While his
+professional bias may in a manner limit the range of his vision, his
+professional knowledge and experience are strong assets of the
+dramatist Schnitzler.
+
+The world that he knows best is the modern society of Vienna. His
+heroes are mostly men engaged in a quest for the joys of life, but
+never attaining whole-hearted enjoyment, because of their innate streak
+of world-weariness. When the hero of his _Anatol_ (1893) calls himself
+"light-hearted pessimist," Schnitzler creates a term which fits as well
+his Fedor in _Maerchen_ (1894), his Fritz in _Liebelei_ (1895), and
+other specimens of a type related to the heroes of Musset and other
+Frenchmen. His women, too, have a streak of French blood, both his
+"sweet girls" and his married heroines; but unmistakably Austrian and
+Viennese is their willingness to resign rather than to resist. Frau
+Gabriele give Anatol flowers to take to his sweetheart and bids him
+tell her: "These flowers, my ... sweet girl ... a woman sends you, who
+can perhaps love as well as you, but had not the courage ..." The
+playlets collectively called _Anatol_ are only scenes and dialogues
+between two men or a man and a woman exchanging confidences. Limited as
+he seems in his choice of themes and types, both by temperament and
+association, it is amazing with what virtuosity Schnitzler varies
+almost identical situations and characters until they are
+differentiated from one another by some striking individual touch and
+when presented on the stage act with a new and potent charm.
+
+For that just balance of contents and form which makes for perfection,
+Schnitzler's renaissance drama _The Veil of Beatrice_ is the most
+noteworthy specimen. But in all his work his style is his greatest
+achievement. It is of a rare spontaneity, vivacity and grace--qualities
+that make his dialogue appear an impromptu performance rather than a
+carefully planned structure. It abounds in paradoxes that do not blind
+the vision, but reveal vistas, and that do not impress as high lights
+added for effect, but as organic parts of the whole. It scintillates
+with wit, though it lacks humor. It is the just medium of expression
+for his characters, those types of modern intellectuals, affected by
+the corrosive skepticism of the period and in turn buoyed by the
+light-hearted temperament and depressed by the passive melancholy that
+are indigenous to Vienna. It is this literary excellence that renders
+works like _Literature_ (1902) and _The Green Cockatoo_ (1899)
+enjoyable to readers to whom their spirit may be absolutely foreign. It
+is their polish that robs their cynicism of its sting and brings into
+relief only their formal beauty. _Literature_ deals effectively with
+the literary exploitation of intimate personal experience: it presents
+characters which with due local modification can be found in every
+intellectual centre and is a little masterpiece of irony. In _The Green
+Cockatoo_ the poet has seen his theme in a sort of phantasmagorical
+perspective; he plays with reality and appearance in a play within a
+play which is unique in literature. He makes his spectators feel the
+hot breath of the French Revolution without burdening them with the
+ideas that were back of it. It is the most solidly constructed of his
+works and the one most sure of success on any stage. Exquisite as is
+the art of Schnitzler, it is deeply rooted in life and does not
+approach that art for art's sake which was one of the striking
+phenomena of that period.
+
+Yet the atmosphere of Vienna and the leisurely pace of its life seem to
+favor the development of an art that has little or no connection with
+the pressing realities of the day and is bent upon seeking the beauty
+of the word rather than the truth of its message. Such a movement had
+been inaugurated in German letters in 1890 by Stefan George, who
+gathered about him a small group of collaborators in the privately
+circulated magazine _Blaetter fuer die Kunst_. It stood for a remoteness
+from reality which formed a strong contrast to the naturalistic creed
+and for a formal craftsmanship which set out to counteract the grooving
+tendency to break away from the fetters of conventional forms. The work
+of the group bordered often upon archaic preciosity, yet its influence
+was wholesome in holding up the ideal of a formalism which is after all
+one of the basic conditions of art. Though not a native of Vienna,
+Stefan George settled there after launching the movement and found
+among its young intellectuals not a few disciples that have since
+followed in his wake. There is something about an art for art's sake
+that appeals to an aristocracy of birth and breeding; it touched a
+responsive chord in the soul of Hugo von Hofmannsthal,[A] whose earlier
+work distinctly shows its influence and who to that influence still
+owes his admirable mastery of form.
+
+
+[Footnote A: For Hofmannsthal, compare Vol. XVII, pp. 482-527.]
+
+
+Hofmannsthal's descent from an old nobility that had passed the zenith
+of its power and was but little modified by a strain of the more
+democratic Hebrew blood, seemed to predestine him for the part he has
+played in the literature of the present. He made his debut as a mere
+youth of seventeen, when in 1891 he published the dramatic study
+_Yesterday_, giving evidence of an amazingly precocious mind and a
+prematurely developed formal talent. Gifted writers of that kind are
+usually doomed to remain prodigies whatever may be their medium of
+expression. Coming into their heritage, which is the accumulated
+knowledge and experience of their ancestors, before they have acquired
+a direct and profound grasp of life, they seem to enter the world
+full-fledged, while it is only that ancestral heritage that works
+through the impressions of the youthful brain and gives them the color
+of age. Knowing and satiated when the mind is most receptive, such
+individualities rarely develop beyond their first brilliant phase. Hugo
+von Hofmannsthal was for a long time considered a perfect specimen of
+that type. For the hero of that first work, as of every work published
+by him during the first decade of his career, was his double, was
+Hofmannsthal himself. All the virtuosity of style could not conceal the
+paucity of invention in subject matter and in the creation of real
+living characters. Even in that charming Oriental play _The Marriage of
+Sobeide_ (1899) and _The Mine of Falun_ (1906) the personality of the
+author obtrudes itself upon the vision of the reader.
+
+These works, however, marked a transition. For with his thirtieth year
+Hofmannsthal entered upon a new period and a new manner. The study of
+the antique Greek drama and of early English dramatists diverted him
+from the self-absorption and self-reflection of his previous work, and
+may have brought home to him the necessity of finding a more fertile
+source for his art than his own individual soul. The extraordinary
+success of Wilde's _Salome_ opened possibilities of applying the
+pathological knowledge of the present to the interpretation of the
+past. He chose for this momentous departure the _Electra_ of Sophocles
+(1903). Taking from the Greek poet the mere skeleton of the story, he
+modified the characters according to his own vision and the
+psychopathic viewpoint of the time--a liberty which some critics
+justified, others branded as an unpardonable license. But the work was
+a turning-point for Hofmannsthal, for he has since begun to face life
+more directly and squarely and though he has not reached a wholesome
+reading of it, he has at least struck new and powerful notes that
+contrast strongly with the spirit of his previous works. Enforced by
+the music of Richard Strauss, whose naturalism is the immediate
+expression of his robust virility, Hofmannsthal's _Electra_ has made
+the name of the author known throughout the world. To his association
+with the sturdy Bavarian composer is also due the comedy _Der
+Rosenkavalier_ (1911), which with its daring situations and touches of
+drastic burlesque harks back to the spirit of the comedy of Moliere's
+time, though in its way it is also a product of the reaction against
+the puerile and commonplace inoffensiveness of mid-century letters
+inaugurated by Young Germany. Since his association with Richard
+Strauss has weaned Hofmannsthal from the somewhat effete estheticism
+and pessimism of his youth, it is a matter of interesting conjecture
+what further effect it may have upon his development.
+
+It seems to follow with the inevitableness of a physical law, that the
+alternate swing of the pendulum between a naturalism which set above
+everything the material fact and the cry for truth, and a subtle
+estheticism which set the word above the spirit, would in the end usher
+in an art that had profited by and learned to avoid both extremes.
+There was little surprise when the Royal Schiller prize, which had not
+been awarded for some years, was in 1908 divided between Karl
+Schoenherr[A] for his play _Erde_ and Ernst Hardt for _Tristram the
+Jester_. For Schoenherr, the Tyrolese, had drawn his inspiration from
+the source which ever Antaesus-like renews the strength of humanity, and
+Hardt had drawn upon the rich source of racial lore. But when a jury
+consisting of men like Dr. Jacob Minor, Dr. Paul Schlenther, Hermann
+Sudermann, Carl Hauptmann and others within a few weeks after that
+contest awarded the popular Schiller prize also to Hardt and for the
+same play, with a competitor like Hofmannsthal in the race, it seemed
+safe to argue that this unanimity indicated a turn of the tide. Both
+Schoenherr and Hardt stand for that sane eclecticism which seems
+destined to pilot German drama out of the contrary currents to which it
+has long been a prey toward a type more in harmony with the classical
+ideal.
+
+
+[Footnote A: For Schoenherr, compare Vol. XVI, pp. 410-479.]
+
+
+Though comparatively unknown when he issued as victor from those
+contests and suddenly obtained a measure of celebrity, Hardt was by no
+means a novice in the world of letters. The first book bearing his
+name, _Priests of Death_ (1898), contained some stories of an epic
+dignity and a dramatic rhythm that challenged attention and secured
+interest for the works that followed. These were another volume of
+fiction, one of poetry, some plays and a number of translations from
+Taine, Flaubert, Balzac, and other French writers, which are remarkable
+specimens of his ability to grasp the spirit of a foreign world and to
+convey its essence through the medium of his native tongue. It seems
+natural that his familiarity with French literature had some influence
+upon the character of his prize drama, since he had chosen for its
+topic a story belonging alike to German and Gallic lore. To re-create
+the story of Tristan and Isolde upon the foundation of the German
+source would have challenged comparison not only with the cherished
+epic of Master Gottfried of Strassburg, but also with the music-drama
+of Richard Wagner, who had treated it with something like finality,--at
+least for the present generation. By going back to the old French
+legend and to J. Bedier's book _Le roman de Tristan et Yseult_ (1900),
+the author was able to present that most tragic of all love-stories
+from a different angle. By complicating the plot through the
+introduction of the second Isolde, jealousy became the secondary,
+though hardly less powerful theme. This deviation from the
+comparatively simple plot of the German story is of course more
+difficult of comprehension upon the stage. It is not easy to convince
+an audience that jealousy of Isolde White-hand, whom Tristan had
+married after being banished from Cornwall, blinds Isolde Blond-hair
+into refusing to recognize him when he returns and pleads his case
+before her in the disguise of Tristram the Jester. Cavilling critics
+were quick to discover and to expatiate upon this weakness of the play.
+But the fine lines upon which it is built and the plastic figures
+standing out against the medieval background, the glowing color,
+radiant lights and brooding shadows of its atmosphere, and lastly, the
+language, the verse-form admirably adapted to the subject,--all this
+together makes of the drama a work coming very near that perfect
+balance of contents and form which is the ideal of art.
+
+It is a rather circuitous path which German drama has traveled since
+the memorable performance of Gerhart Hauptmann's play _Before Sunrise_
+in 1889. It has outgrown the one-sided naturalism which had seemed the
+only medium of translating life directly into literature. It has turned
+aside from the orphic symbolism and verbal artistry rooted only in
+literature and having nothing in common with life. Men like Karl
+Schoenherr, Carl Hauptmann, and others have found in the native soil and
+its people and in the problems that confront that people at all times
+as rich a source of thematic material as previous generations of poets
+had found in the historic past. Men like Ernst Hardt and others have
+infused new life into the old legends of racial lore. As German drama
+is completing this cycle of its development it gives hopeful evidence
+of returning to the safe middle course of normal growth toward a new
+type, indigenous to the soil and the soul of the country.
+
+
+
+
+
+MAX HALBE
+
+* * * * * *
+
+MOTHER EARTH
+
+
+DRAMATIS PERSONAE
+
+PAUL WARKENTIN, publisher of a feminist journal
+
+HELLA WARKENTIN-BERNHARDY, his wife
+
+DR. VON GLYSZINSKI
+
+HELIODOR VON LASKOWSKI, owner of the estate Klonowken
+
+ANTOINETTE, his wife
+
+AUNT CLARA
+
+VON TIEDEMANN, estate owner
+
+MRS. VON TIEDEMANN
+
+RAABE, SENIOR, estate owner
+
+SCHNAASE, estate owner
+
+MRS. SCHNAASE
+
+RAABE, JUNIOR, student
+
+DR. BODENSTEIN, physician
+
+MERTENS, manager of a factory
+
+JOSUPEIT, rentier
+
+MRS. BOROWSKI, widow of a teacher
+
+KUNZE, organist
+
+SCHROCK, licentiate
+
+ZINDEL, inspector
+
+LENE, chambermaid
+
+FRITZ, coachman
+
+
+Time: The present.      Place: Estate Ellernhof.
+
+
+MOTHER EARTH (1897)
+
+A Drama in Five Acts
+
+TRANSLATED BY PAUL H. GRUMMANN, A.M.
+Professor of Modern German Literature, University of Nebraska
+
+
+
+
+ACT I
+
+
+Ancient hall of the manor. Broad and spacious. Low ceiling. In the rear
+wall, toward the garden, the bare trees of which are visible, three
+wide windows with white crossbars. Chair at both ends of each window. A
+folding card table between the chairs of the middle window. An Empire
+commode in each space between the windows. In the centre of the two
+lateral walls, folding doors, the one at the left leading into another
+room, the one at the right into the vestibule. On the left, in the
+foreground, a sofa which is well preserved and gives evidence of former
+elegance, and similar chairs with stiff backs and light variegated
+covers, grouped around a large oval table. Opposite this in the
+foreground at the right, an old-fashioned fireplace, before which three
+similar chairs are placed. In the background at the right, near the
+window, a spinet with a chair before it. In the corresponding place on
+the left near the window a tall, gilt framed mirror resting on a
+cabinet base. An old fashioned chandelier, ornate with gilt and glass,
+is suspended in the centre of the hall. A number of pictures, men and
+women in the fashions of the last one hundred years, cover the walls.
+Painted board floor. Rugs only before sofa and spinet. Furniture in
+light mahogany. Wall paper of gilt design. Solid, but faded finery of
+the twenties and thirties of the nineteenth century with a few more
+recent additions. The general character of the hall is bright and
+inviting, nevertheless serious and somewhat shut in by the low ceiling,
+giving the large room an air of emptiness, for the scant furniture
+along the walls seems to be lost. A mixture of a dancing hall and an
+ancestral portrait gallery. At present it looks gloomy, almost
+spectral. It is an early morning near the end of December. As yet not a
+ray of sunlight comes in through the heart-shaped apertures of the
+shutters, which are hung on the outside and are fastened on the inside
+by means of thumbscrews. A lamp stands at the extreme end of the room
+on one of the commodes. Beyond its radius deep shadows gather on every
+side. In the foreground logs are burning brightly in the fireplace. An
+indistinct light falls past the chairs over the foreground. From the
+other side, the light of a candle falls upon the sofa table which is
+covered with a white cloth. It also illumines only the immediate
+vicinity. Dusk predominates in the spacious hall. At every passing and
+repassing great shadows flit back and forth.
+
+AUNT CLARA stands on a chair under the chandelier and slowly revolves
+it, scrutinizing it, and causing the glass prisms to tinkle.
+
+INSPECTOR ZINDEL in a fur coat and cap stands at the door on the right
+and is about to go out.
+
+AUNT CLARA (with a heavy gray cloth wrapped about her head, speaks down
+from the chair). Yes, just go and see, Zindel, whether they are coming;
+see whether you can hear anything.
+
+INSPECTOR ZINDEL. Just so, Miss. I shall be back right off. (He opens
+the door and runs into LENE, who is about to enter with a tray full of
+dishes for the morning coffee.) Whoa! Look out! Don't knock anything
+over! (Partly to himself.) Or the old man will play us the trick and
+wake up again. (He goes out, and closes the door behind him.)
+
+AUNT CLARA (speaking down from the chair). Is it you, Lene?
+
+LENE (has come forward with the dishes, shrinks so that the tray and
+dishes clatter). Heavens and all the saints! Why, I didn't see you at
+all, Miss! Why, I was so frightened! (She draws several deep breaths,
+places the tray beside the candle on the white cloth of the sofa table,
+and begins to arrange the cups.)
+
+AUNT CLARA (as before). Why in the world are you frightened? You see,
+don't you, that I am attending to the chandelier, am doing your work
+again?
+
+LENE (busy at the table). Expect a person not to get scared, when all
+of a sudden a voice like that comes out of the dark, when, on top of it
+all, a dead man's in the house. As a rule I'm not afraid, but I won't
+dare to go to the back part of the house alone any more, it's just as
+if Mr. Warkentin would turn up right before you.
+
+AUNT CLARA. Stuff and nonsense, I suppose you kept the candle burning
+the whole night in your room again? I am likely to come and get your
+candle one of these days.
+
+LENE. Why Miss Clara is afeared herself. She won't go a step without a
+light. Ain't it true, Miss Clara, you're a little afeared too. You only
+won't let on.
+
+AUNT CLARA. I shall afear your back before long! I have closed the eyes
+of many in my day. That's nothing new to me.
+
+LENE (interested). But all of a sudden, like Mr. Warkentin?
+
+AUNT CLARA. When they get to be about seventy, one knows how it goes,
+old widower Fritz in Kobieken went that way too. Fell over and was
+gone, it's the best kind of a death. That comes just as it comes....
+Have you arranged the cups?
+
+LENE. Everything in order. (Counting.) The young master, the lady
+(correcting herself), no, the lady on the sofa and the young master
+here (points to a chair), Miss Clara here and the fourth cup ... I
+suppose some one else is coming with the young master?
+
+AUNT CLARA. Yes, and don't ask so many questions! Come here and hold
+the light, I want to light the chandelier.
+
+LENE (comes with the candle). Light the chandelier? Why, it's almost
+daytime.
+
+AUNT CLARA. Do as I say. When the young master arrives, it will still
+be dark.
+
+LENE (hands the candle up to her). Wonder whether the young master'll
+stay long?
+
+AUNT CLARA (has lighted the lights of the chandelier, one after
+another). Wait and see. (About to get down.)
+
+LENE (extends her hand to her). Now don't you fall, Miss!
+
+AUNT CLARA (gets down from the chair carefully). Now then!... One does
+realize, after all, that the years are coming on! When I was of your
+age, I jumped from the straw stack. You girls of today! you have no
+sap, no vim! A girl as strong as a bear, and afraid of going to pieces.
+
+LENE (admiring the chandelier). Oh my, but now it's beautiful, Miss
+Clara! The young master will be pleased when he comes.
+
+      [AUNT CLARA stands before the chandelier with folded hands,
+      engrossed in thought. The hall is now brightly illumined. Only
+      the remotest corners remain in a shadow.]
+
+INSPECTOR ZINDEL (comes in again from the right with a lighted lantern,
+stops in astonishment). The deuce, Miss Clara! You're up to the
+business. I do say, the world must come to an end, in grand style! (He
+puts down the lantern beside the fireplace.)
+
+LENE. Anything else to do, Miss?
+
+AUNT CLARA (absent-minded). You may go now. If I need you I'll call.
+
+LENE (departing). All right, Miss, the water's been put on for the
+coffee. (Goes off to the right.)
+
+INSPECTOR ZINDEL. I was out on the road. Miss. Not a sound yet.
+
+AUNT CLARA (starts from her dreams and points to the chandelier). For
+ten years it has not been lighted, Zindel! Ever since Paul has been
+gone!
+
+INSPECTOR ZINDEL (approaching from the fireplace, mysteriously). Do you
+know, Miss Clara?
+
+AUNT CLARA (with a start). Goodness!... What is it?
+
+INSPECTOR ZINDEL. I say, Miss Clara? You'll put in a good word for me
+with the young master? A fellow does want to know where he's at.
+
+AUNT CLARA. Yes, yes. (Listens toward the outside.)
+
+INSPECTOR ZINDEL. Especially now that the old master is dead, and the
+young master doesn't know about things, all of the work is on a
+fellow's shoulders, you see.
+
+AUNT CLARA (still listening). Don't you hear something, Zindel? It
+seems to me?
+
+INSPECTOR ZINDEL (is startled and listens also). Where, pray tell?...
+      [Brief silence.]
+
+AUNT CLARA (taking her hand from her ear). No, nothing. It only seemed
+to me....
+
+INSPECTOR ZINDEL. Heavens, Miss Clara!... Where was it--? (He walks up
+and down restlessly.)
+
+AUNT CLARA (has sat down in a chair at the table before the sofa). Now
+they may be here at any time. What time is it, Zindel?
+
+INSPECTOR ZINDEL. Almost seven. Miss. The Berlin train arrives at ten
+minutes after six.
+
+AUNT CLARA. You were outside, Zindel, weren't you; didn't you hear a
+carriage on the road?
+
+INSPECTOR ZINDEL (warms his hands at the fireplace). The wind's from
+the other way, Miss. One can hear nothing. And it's cold as the deuce!
+They'll be nice and cold on the way.
+
+AUNT CLARA. I do not know how it comes, but the day seems unwilling to
+break this morning. How does it look outside?
+
+INSPECTOR ZINDEL. Dark, pitch dark. Not a star, nothing. Only over
+toward the Sobbowitz woods, it's beginning to dawn a bit.
+
+AUNT CLARA (yawning). Of course, that's where the sun must rise.
+
+INSPECTOR ZINDEL (also yawning). We'll not get much of a peep at it
+today. It's going to be a gloomy day.
+
+AUNT CLARA. Possibly it will snow.
+
+INSPECTOR ZINDEL. May be, why it's time. Christmas without snow, I
+can't remember such a thing for the last few years.
+
+AUNT CLARA. No night has ever turned out as long as the present one for
+me. I haven't closed an eye. I heard the clock strike every time. And
+all the things that I saw and heard!
+
+INSPECTOR ZINDEL. (approaching again). Don't tell it, Miss!
+
+AUNT CLARA. I continually saw the dead man, but he was alive and opened
+the door and came toward me. And yet I knew he was dead. And when I was
+about to scream, the clock struck and all was gone.
+
+      [Outside a clock strikes. It has the silvery sound of old chimes.
+      Both are startled.]
+
+INSPECTOR ZINDEL. Thunderation! You can put it over a fellow. (He goes
+back to the fireplace.)
+
+AUNT CLARA (counts the strokes, first in an undertone, then louder, and
+meanwhile rises). Five ... six ... seven ... It has struck seven,
+Zindel. They will surely be here any moment. (She listens again.) I
+believe I hear something now.
+
+INSPECTOR ZINDEL (at the fireplace, seizes the lantern). Here they are.
+You can hear the carriage on the road.
+
+AUNT CLARA (busily). After all they came sooner than we expected!
+Hurry, Zindel, they are driving up now.
+
+INSPECTOR ZINDEL (already at the door on the right, swinging the
+lantern). This minute, Miss Clara ...!
+
+      [Goes off.]
+
+AUNT CLARA (also on the way to the door, stops a moment and folds her
+hands). If he really _is_ here, praise and thanks to God!
+
+LENE (appears in the door at the right). They are coming, Miss Clara,
+they are coming!
+
+AUNT CLARA (busy again). Why are you still there? Out with you and help
+the guests take off their wraps!
+
+LENE. Why, I'm doing that very thing, Miss!
+
+      [Goes off.]
+
+AUNT CLARA (calling after her). And keep the coffee in readiness, when
+I ring.
+
+[She also goes out at the right, leaves the door slightly open behind
+her. Voices are heard outside. Brief silence. Then the door is opened
+wide. PAUL, HELLA, VON GLYSZINSKI, AUNT CLARA appear in the door. PAUL
+has taken off his coat and hat outside. HELLA wears a fur coat and
+toque. GLYSZINSKI wears a hat and heavy winter overcoat, turned up over
+his ears.]
+
+GLYSZINSKI Well, if it's all right with you, I prefer to go to my room
+for the present.
+
+PAUL. As you please. Aunt Clara will show you the way upstairs. Won't
+you, Auntie?
+
+AUNT CLARA. Yes, I'll be glad to show the gentleman up.
+
+PAUL (smiling). Or aren't the guest-rooms upstairs any more?
+
+AUNT CLARA (reproachfully). Why, my boy, we should certainly not think
+of changing the rooms around. They are very satisfactory and then
+they've been there so long.
+
+PAUL (as before). Why, of course. They have been there so long!
+
+GLYSZINSKI. Shall we go?
+
+AUNT CLARA (places her hand on PAUL'S shoulder). You will find, Paul,
+everything here is pretty much as of old. Just make yourself
+comfortable! I shall be back directly. (To GLYSZINSKI.) Please, will
+you come this way? (She points toward the outside. The two go out. The
+door is closed behind them.)
+
+PAUL (who, until now, has not faced the hall, remains standing in
+astonishment). Well, the chandelier in full splendor. (Meditating.) The
+old chandelier. Heavens, how sacred it was to me when I was a boy. It
+was fine of Aunt Clara to light the chandelier.
+
+HELLA (meanwhile has slowly walked through the hall, scrutinizing
+various things, sits down on the arm of a chair near the sofa, still
+wearing her cloak and toque and keeping her muff in her hand as if she
+were on the point of departing again at once. She smiles a trifle
+sarcastically). Yes, for a bright morning, the chandelier suggests
+this, that and what not.
+
+PAUL (fixing his eyes upon her calmly). To me the morning seemed pretty
+dark, as we were riding along. Didn't it to you?
+
+HELLA. Oh yes, you are right. It was even disagreeably dark. I kept on
+fearing we should fall into the ditch. I don't like to ride in a
+strange region by night.
+
+      [Brief silence.]
+
+PAUL (facing HELLA, shaking his head). I do not see what objections
+you can have to the chandelier.
+
+HELLA (meeting his eye calmly). None whatever, Paul.
+
+PAUL. Aunt Clara's intentions were certainly good. One does realize
+that one was expected. (He turns away and takes several steps through
+the hall.)
+
+HELLA. But you know that I do not like such occasions. That is simply
+my disposition. I cannot make myself over.
+
+PAUL. I certainly do not demand that. (Turns on his heel and approaches
+again.) Or have I not always allowed you to have your own way!
+
+HELLA (also compromising). Certainly, certainly, up to the present we
+_have_ agreed on this point.
+
+PAUL. And shall continue in the future. (He extends his right hand to
+HELLA.)
+
+HELLA (grasps his hand and looks into his face squarely). I am true to
+my old self, Paul, remain so too.
+
+PAUL. Simply because each one of us has freely gone his own way,
+nothing has been able to separate us. That is the reason why we have
+kept together so firmly, all of these years. Don't you think so too?
+
+HELLA. It seems to me that I held that point of view long before we
+were acquainted.
+
+PAUL (seriously) Rather say, with that point of view, we found each
+other. For this point of view, I sacrificed my home, Hella!
+
+HELLA. Yes, therefore it surprises me all the more, that you suddenly
+seem to be forgetting all about that ...
+
+PAUL. In what respect?
+
+HELLA (continuing). That you behave like a school boy who is coining
+home for his vacation.
+
+PAUL (is silent for a moment, then continues). Hella!... My father is
+lying there on his bier. (He points toward the right.) I did not see
+him again!
+
+HELLA. Was it your fault? He forbade you his house! This house!
+
+PAUL (without listening to her). I have not been able to come to an
+understanding with him. I shall never come to an understanding with
+him! Do you realize what that means? (He turns away.)
+
+      [HELLA shrugs her shoulders and remains silent. Pause.]
+
+PAUL (has walked through the hall with heavy steps, then becomes
+composed and speaks in a more unconcerned manner). Will you take off
+your things, Hella?  (rises, wavering). I don't know, I am cold.
+
+PAUL (near her). But how can you be cold. The fire is roaring in the
+fireplace. Our good aunt has made such perfect preparations. Who knows
+when she got up in order that we might be comfortable. (He goes to the
+fireplace and throws wood into it.)  (leaning on the chair,
+taciturnly). It is probably due to the night ride.
+
+PAUL (approaches her). Well, come along! I'll help you!... You will
+surely not remain in your furs. (He helps her. She takes off her hat
+and cloak and goes to the fireplace not without hesitation.)
+
+PAUL (following her with his eyes, gloomily). You are acting as if you
+preferred to leave again at once?  (turning fully toward him). Frankly,
+Paul, that is what I should like to do.
+
+PAUL (flaring up). Hella! (Calm again, coldly.) I simply do not
+understand you!  (has sat down at the fireplace, holds her feet up to
+the fire). I do not understand you, and you do not understand me! That
+is as broad as it is long.
+
+PAUL (shrugging his shoulders). I don't know how you can think of going
+away under the present circumstances.
+
+HELLA. Quite simple. I do not demand that you shall go with me. You can
+remain here as long as you are needed, order your affairs, look about
+for a purchaser of the estate, and when good luck favors you in finding
+him, you can come on. For the present I may as well precede you to
+Berlin. You know that editing cannot be put off, the next number must
+be out in a week. Both of us can not be absent. At least I am
+indispensable.
+
+PAUL. And for this purpose you made a trip of eight hours from Berlin
+to this place? Hella! (He places his hand on her shoulder.)
+
+HELLA. Yes, this unfortunate trip!
+
+PAUL (with a deep breath). Unfortunate trip, yes indeed!
+
+HELLA. For I must tell you, Paul ...
+
+PAUL. Yes?
+
+HELLA. I have a feeling that I am not quite suited to this place.
+
+PAUL (bitterly). Aha! That is at the bottom of this insistence about
+the new number of _Women's Rights_, which is all but complete even now.
+
+HELLA (unswervingly). I have a feeling that I am not adapted to this
+environment, and my feelings have rarely deceived me.
+
+PAUL. Oh, your feelings, Hella! Your feelings! If you had only followed
+them solely, many matters would stand better today! Believe me.
+
+HELLA. I follow my feelings entirely too much, or I should have
+remained in Berlin and should not sit here in the presence of peasants
+where I have nothing at stake.
+
+PAUL. But I have, Hella! I have very much at stake here. After all a
+man does not abandon his inheritance point blank. Do not forget that.
+
+HELLA  (straightening up). Of what concern is that to me! Sell it, why
+don't you! It's nothing but a dead weight to you anyhow.
+
+PAUL. Why, I agree with you, Hella. And I am in favor of selling the
+estate. But not today nor tomorrow. Such things call for deliberation.
+
+HELLA. But I simply cannot wait that long. Just confess it, Paul, my
+place is in the world. You surely don't expect me to desert my post.
+Our whole cause is hazarded, if I throw up the game now. Particularly
+at this moment. You are demanding too much!... Do you expect me to give
+up my life work, simply because you cannot break away from your clod,
+on account of a stupid loyalty?
+
+PAUL (controlling himself). It seems to me, Hella, that we have a
+career in common. You are acting as if you alone had a career.
+
+HELLA. We have had, up to this day. You are the one who is retreating!
+Not I!
+
+PAUL (becoming excited). Hella! You have been my friend! My comrade in
+stress and tribulation, I may say. We have builded our life on our own
+resources, our new life, when the old life had renounced us. We have
+stood together in the combat, for ten years! Are you willing to forget
+that now? (Has stepped up to her and seized both of her hands.)
+
+HELLA (tries to disengage herself). Goodness, Paul ...
+
+PAUL (fixing his eyes upon her). For years you have come to me with
+your wishes. Now I am coming to you! Now your friendship is to assert
+itself. Answer me!
+
+HELLA (convinced against her will, is forced to smile). Do not fall
+into tragedy, Paul!
+
+PAUL (unswervingly). You are to tell me whether you can leave me alone
+at this time, whether you can bring yourself to that point. Only a
+word!
+
+HELLA. Am I not here? What else do you expect? And I shall remain here.
+At least for the immediate present.
+
+PAUL (shaking her hands vigorously). Oh, then all will turn out well!
+You will remain here! Thank you for that! (Breaking out in joy.) Now
+everything may turn out well after all. (He walks to and fro in
+suppressed excitement.) Mad as it may sound, Hella, under these
+circumstances. (He stops, facing her.) I am almost merry! (He continues
+to pace up and down.)
+
+HELLA (scrutinizes him and shakes her head). Paul! Paul! Childishness!
+From one extreme to the other! When will you come to reason. Take an
+example in me!
+
+PAUL (stopping in the centre of the hall, sweeping his hand around).
+Hella!... This is the soil which nurtured my youth. Do you expect me
+not be happy?
+
+AUNT CLARA (enters again from the right. She has taken off her
+head-cloth and wears a black dress). Now then, Paul, here I am again.
+Have you made yourself at home? Is it warm enough in the hall for both
+of you? You probably got good and cold on the way. You had the wind to
+face, didn't you?
+
+PAUL (reflecting). Yes, pretty much! I think it was from the east.
+
+AUNT CLARA. It did take me rather a long while, didn't it, Paul?
+
+PAUL. You probably had some other matters that required attention? (Now
+that she stands directly before him he looks at her more closely.) And
+how Aunt Clara has dressed up! (He shakes his finger at her.) Well,
+well, Auntie. Still so vain, in your years?
+
+AUNT CLARA. Why, Paul, this old dress! (She strokes her skirt with her
+hands.) I have worn it so many years. Don't you remember at all?
+
+PAUL. Yes, yes, now ... (Meditates a moment.)
+
+AUNT CLARA. I was wearing it when your mother died. That is the time I
+had it made.
+
+PAUL (abruptly). Oh yes. That has been a long time, to be sure!
+
+AUNT CLARA. In waiting for you, I had quite forgotten that I still had
+on my morning dress. So I quickly put on something else.
+
+HELLA. That is exactly what I intend to do, dear Miss Clara. (She
+approaches the two.)
+
+PAUL. Yes, Auntie, you see, I don't even know where you have quartered
+us? Possibly you would show Hella ...?
+
+AUNT CLARA. Right next door, dear Mrs. ... Mrs. ---- Doctor!
+
+HELLA (nodding to her to desist). Well then, please do not go to any
+trouble.
+
+PAUL (to HELLA, who has picked up her things). May I relieve you of
+something? Or can I help you in any other way? Unlock the trunk, for
+instance?
+
+HELLA (refusing). Do drop these courtesies, Paul! That kind of thing is
+certainly not in vogue with us.
+
+PAUL (curtly). As you please!
+
+      [HELLA goes out with her things through the open door on the
+      left, closing it behind her.]
+
+PAUL (to AUNT CLARA, who has been listening in amazement). So you have
+lodged us next door? (Hesitating as he points to the right.) Over
+there, I suppose ...?
+
+AUNT CLARA (nodding). Yes, over there, Paul, there ... the body lies.
+
+PAUL (gloomily). Shall we not go in. Aunt Clara?
+
+AUNT CLARA. Why, not at once, my boy! You certainly must have something
+to eat first! Refresh yourself a little. I'll just call Lene, and have
+her bring the coffee! (Starts for the bell-pull.)
+
+PAUL (restraining her). I think we had better wait until Hella and the
+gentleman are ready.
+
+AUNT CLARA (looking at him tenderly). Now you're not _cold_ at all,
+Paul?
+
+PAUL (significantly). No, Auntie, I am not cold here. (With less
+constraint.) Just look at the fine fire in the fireplace, how it
+flickers and crackles! I believe it too is glad that I am here again.
+But who is gladdest of all, well, Auntie, just guess who that may be?
+
+AUNT CLARA (shaking her head). Why, I can't know that. I can't guess
+any more with this old head of mine.
+
+PAUL (slyly). _That_ she doesn't know! Oh Auntie, Auntie! Why, you
+yourself, you good old soul!
+
+AUNT CLARA (unaffectedly). I did light the chandelier for you, Paul.
+
+PAUL. Of course, the chandelier! Do you suppose I did not notice that
+you were at the bottom of that, Auntie? Come give me your hand; thank
+you very much, Auntie!
+
+AUNT CLARA (putting her arms around him). I'm going to give you a kiss,
+my boy. Your wife will take no offense at that. (She kisses him.)
+
+PAUL. Oh my wife! That needn't ... (He gently disengages himself from
+his aunt's embrace and goes to and fro meditating.)
+
+AUNT CLARA (following him with her eyes). Do you still remember, Paul,
+how I would hold you on my knees and rock you when you were a little
+fellow?
+
+PAUL (paces to and fro again). Yes, yes, how all of that comes back
+again! How it is resurrected from its sleep!... (He sits down before
+the fireplace in deep thought and stares into the fire.)
+
+AUNT CLARA (also goes to the fireplace). Right there, where you are
+sitting now, my boy, you often read fairy tales to me, about Snow-White
+and Cinderella and about the wolf and the old grandmother ...
+
+PAUL (dreaming). Fairy tales, yes indeed!
+
+AUNT CLARA. You sat here, and I here, and you held up your fairy tale
+book and acted as if you were grown up ...
+
+PAUL (smiling). I suppose that's the way one felt too!
+
+AUNT CLARA. And papa and mamma were out in society or in the city ...
+
+PAUL. Yes, quite so, that's it. For, on the whole, as I remember, I was
+not in this hall frequently. There was always a little fear mixed up
+with it. Quite natural! The pictures, the spaciousness, the emptiness
+and all that! Later that did disappear. The last time that I was in
+this room, when may it have been ...? (He leans his head on his hand in
+meditation.)
+
+AUNT CLARA. It was Christmas Eve, ten years ago, Paul.
+
+PAUL. Christmas Eve ten years ago! You may be right. I remember it was
+a short time before I had ... the crash with father. I had come home at
+Christmas just because I imagined that that was the best time to come
+to an understanding with father about all of those matters, my future
+and other affairs, and I also recall that I wanted to allow the
+holidays to pass before I dared to come out with my projects, the
+founding of my journal and my marriage and all the beautiful surprises!
+Oh it was postponed as long as possible. One did have an inkling of
+what it would lead to. Of course no one had an idea how it would
+_really_ turn out!
+
+AUNT CLARA. No, Paul, no one had an idea that that would be the last
+Christmas Eve that we should celebrate together. Your father least of
+all. All of us were as merry as ever. There stood the tree and the
+chandelier was lighted ...
+
+PAUL. Correct, correct! And Antoinette ... wasn't Antoinette present
+too? Why of course? That's what complicated the matter so terribly for
+me. There she sits, my father has invited her, I know that he intends
+her for me, I am to marry her, I'm to become engaged to her right under
+the Christmas-tree, as nearly as I can tell. The word is expected from
+me. All of you are waiting, and I ... why I simply can't. I simply
+_cannot_, because I have forged quite different plans for my future,
+because I too have obligations, in short, simply because it is
+impossible. (He gets up in excitement.) Because it _was_ impossible,
+Aunt Clara! Because I imagined I could not stand it in the country, was
+destined for something better than a sturdy estate owner and family
+father, simply because Hella was putting such bees in my bonnet and
+because, in my stupidity, I believed it all! Just as if the world had
+been waiting for me to come and set it right! Ridiculous! But at that
+time I was convinced of it. At that time I had to make a clean breast
+of it or it would have cost me my life. But, oh, how I _did_ suffer in
+those days!
+
+AUNT CLARA. If you had only told me about it, Paul! But I didn't know a
+thing about it. Not until it was too late ...
+
+PAUL (breathing deeply). Yes, then it came quickly. I could not conceal
+it any longer. It simply burst forth. It can have been only a few days
+later ...
+
+AUNT CLARA. Three days, my boy ...
+
+PAUL. Three days, yes, very likely. To me, to be sure, they seemed like
+eternity. And strangely enough: terrible as the clash with father was,
+when he found out what intentions I had and that I did not want to
+remain with him and marry Antoinette and take over the estate some day.
+Believe me.
+
+AUNT CLARA, it was a relief in a sense, after all, when it had been
+said, and father had forbidden me the house and I sat in the carriage
+and drove away and was free for good. Yes for good! That is what I made
+myself believe at the time and I fairly breathed with relief and
+imbibed the crisp air! That must have been approximately this time of
+the year. Why, certainly! Just about. It was at Christmas.
+
+AUNT CLARA. Third holiday is when it was, Paul. I can still see you get
+into the carriage. It gave me such a shock. I thought I'd fall over.
+
+PAUL (caressing her). Good soul that you are! Yes you always took my
+part ... (Interrupting himself.) Third holiday, you say, it took place?
+(Striking his forehead.) Why that is today. Ten years ago today!
+
+AUNT CLARA. This very day!
+
+PAUL (goes back and forth excitedly). I say ... I say ... Ten years!
+Horrible!
+
+AUNT CLARA. And you see, my boy, all this time these candles have not
+been lighted! (She points to the chandelier.) Just as they were put out
+on Christmas Eve, they are in their places today.
+
+PAUL (gloomily). So that is why you lighted the chandelier, Auntie?
+
+AUNT CLARA. Yes, now that you are here again, it occurred to me that
+the candles ought to be lighted again.
+
+PAUL. I think we shall let that suffice. Broad daylight is already
+peering through the shutters. (He points to the background where broad
+daylight comes in through the heart-shaped apertures of the shutters,
+then slowly puts out the candles, one by one.) Now then, let us put
+them out!
+
+AUNT CLARA (goes to the background and unscrews the shutters, opens
+them, letting the daylight stream in, and puts out the lamp on the
+commode). Praise the Lord! After all it has become daylight once more.
+
+PAUL (has put out the candles and looks over at her). What do you mean
+by that. Aunt Clara?
+
+AUNT CLARA (having opened the shutters, comes forward again and
+whispers). I was forced to think so much, because it was the first
+night that your father has been dead and has been lying there in the
+corner room.
+
+PAUL (with suppressed feeling, after a short struggle). Will you not
+tell me how father died?
+
+AUNT CLARA. Oh, Paul what is there to tell about that? Didn't I
+telegraph to you? Heart failure, is what Doctor Bodenstein said. He
+went to bed at ten o'clock that night, as always; it was night before
+last, the first holiday.
+
+PAUL. Didn't he call at all? Did he not succeed in making himself heard
+at all?
+
+AUNT CLARA. Not a word! From that time on, no mortal heard another
+sound from him.
+
+PAUL (covers his face with his hands, then hesitatingly). Do you think
+he still thought of me?
+
+AUNT CLARA. The departed thought of you very often especially lately
+when thoughts of death were coming to him, I am certain of that.
+
+PAUL. And did he not want to see me once more?
+
+AUNT CLARA. He said nothing about that.
+
+PAUL. Nothing, Aunt Clara? Nothing? Think!
+
+AUNT CLARA. He _said_ nothing.
+
+PAUL (excited). But he _thought_ it. And did not have time to do it!
+Now he is taking it down into his grave with him. [Pause.]
+
+AUNT CLARA. I was going to ask you, Paul ...?
+
+PAUL. Well? (He stands before her at the fireplace.)
+
+AUNT CLARA. What kind of a man can that be who came with you?
+
+PAUL. Glyszinski?
+
+AUNT CLARA. Why yes, the one I took up stairs, the young man?
+
+PAUL. Heavens, he is a friend of ours. Particularly of Hella.
+
+AUNT CLARA. Of your wife? Why, Paul!
+
+PAUL (smiling). Oh, Auntie! There is no danger in him. You need not
+have any scruples about that. Hella indeed crams her head with thoughts
+quite distinct from love. She never did suffer from that.
+
+AUNT CLARA. But to think that he just came along? Did you invite him?
+
+PAUL (shrugging his shoulders). Well, what is a man to do? He lives
+with us.
+
+AUNT CLARA (more and more astonished). He lives with you?
+
+PAUL. We keep house together, yes. And so he wanted to come with us,
+and Hella was also of the opinion that we could not exactly desert him.
+He is likely to do some fool thing. You know he is always doing fool
+things ... It _wasn't_ very agreeable to me, I must confess. But it
+_would_ not do to leave him at home. When Hella takes a thing like that
+into her head ...
+
+AUNT CLARA. Don't be offended, Paul, I can't get that through my head
+... Aren't you the master of your house?
+
+PAUL (smiling). Master of my house?... No, Auntie, Hella would never
+put up with that and on that point I am forced to agree with her.
+
+AUNT CLARA. The things that one does get to hear in one's old age! I'm
+too dense for that.
+
+PAUL. Well you see. Aunt Clara, these are views that are not exactly
+understood in the country. One has to work up to that gradually.
+
+AUNT CLARA. Are you really happy with them, Paul?
+
+PAUL. Why I have fought almost fifteen years for these views! Surely a
+man will not do a thing like that without serious consideration.
+
+AUNT CLARA. So you held those very views at the time when you had your
+quarrel with your father, who is now dead and gone?
+
+PAUL. That's the very reason I went away, Auntie. Do you understand now
+why it was impossible for me to remain?
+
+AUNT CLARA. (after a short silence, significantly). And do you
+sometimes still think of Antonie, Paul?
+
+PAUL (meditating). Antoinette?... Oh yes, sometimes.
+
+AUNT CLARA. Now do be frank, Paul! Has the thought never come to you
+that you would really like to have Antonie?
+
+PAUL (absent-minded). Who? I have her?
+
+AUNT CLARA. Why Paul? _You_ have _her_ and _she_ have _you_! Didn't you
+really care for each other a bit?
+
+[Illustration: MAX HALBE]
+
+PAUL (as before, supporting his head on his hand). Do you think so?
+That is so long ago? Possibly. What do I know about it? (He sits up.)
+
+AUNT CLARA. We were always in the habit of saying they'll make a fine
+couple when they are big, you and Antonie.
+
+
+PAUL (almost painfully). You see, Auntie, what mistakes one can make.
+Nothing can be determined beforehand. But I almost think you are right.
+I liked her quite well, once upon a time. Something like that begins to
+dawn on me. A big, stupid, love-sick lubber. That's _me_. And _she_ ...
+What was _she_? (With the suggestion of a smile.) A remarkably
+beautiful, sweet young thing with ashy-blond braids. Yes, yes,
+something like that dawns upon me. She did have splendid ashy-blond
+hair and dark eyes. (He leans his head on his hand.)
+
+AUNT CLARA. How well you still remember that.
+
+PAUL (collects himself again). Yes, strange, as it comes to me now. But
+at that time, you know, when I came back as a student, the aforesaid
+Christmas, it was all gone, as if obliterated, not a trace of it left.
+Then my head was filled with things of quite another nature. My home
+had become strange to me, that is it, Auntie. Hella was in my mind. For
+that reason nothing could come of it, the match between Antoinette and
+me. (GLYSZINSKI enters from the right, followed by LENE.)
+
+LENE (remaining at the door). Shall I bring the coffee. Miss Clara?
+
+AUNT CLARA (has also stepped to the door). Yes, and don't forget the
+pound-cake!... But no, wait, I'll get it myself. Just a moment, Paul!
+(She motions to him and goes out at the right with LENE.)
+
+GLYSZINSKI (has stepped to the center of the room. He is faultlessly
+clad in a black suit, spick and span from top to toe). Here I am! (He
+looks about.)
+
+PAUL (approaches GLYSZINSKI). Yes, here you are!... You have spent much
+time on your toilet.
+
+GLYSZINSKI. Why, not more than usual.
+
+PAUL. To be sure! That's correct. (Looking at him with a bitter
+senile.) Well it _did_ pay for the trouble. You are fit for a ball.
+
+GLYSZINSKI (looks around again). Where is your wife?
+
+PAUL. Also busy with her toilet. But will surely be here directly. It
+doesn't take her half as long as it does you. Meanwhile, sit down! (He
+invites him to sit down on a chair by the sofa.)
+
+GLYSZINSKI (sits down on the chair at the right of the sofa, keeping
+his eye on the door at the left.) Ah, here comes madam! (He gets up to
+meet HELLA, who is just entering the door on the left, clad in a
+pleated blouse and a plain skirt.) May I conduct you to the table,
+madam? (He offers her his arm.)
+
+HELLA (places her arm on his and looks over at the table). Why, is it
+time?
+
+GLYSZINSKI (leads HELLA to the sofa). Please, here in the place of
+honor.
+
+HELLA. Is it absolutely required that I should occupy the sofa? Will
+you not sit here, Paul? (She stands at the sofa hesitating.)
+
+GLYSZINSKI (with the tips of his fingers placed together). Please,
+please, madam. You are to preside!
+
+PAUL (walks through the hall with his hands on his back and speaks over
+his shoulder). Don't be embarrassed!
+
+HELLA. I am not particularly in love with this old uncomfortable
+furniture. I distinctly prefer a pretty modern fauteuil. (She sits
+down).
+
+LENE (comes in at the right with the coffee service, places the tray
+containing the coffee-pot, cream-pitcher and cake on the table between
+the cups. Addresses HELLA). Miss Clara will bring the pound-cake
+directly. Shall I fill the cups?
+
+HELLA. You may go. We shall attend to that.
+
+      [LENE casts a curious glance at the two, then at PAUL, and goes
+      out at the right.]
+
+HELLA  (in an undertone to GLYSZINSKI). Seems to be a regular country
+hussy. Did you notice the stupid expression?
+
+GLYSZINSKI (quoting with dignity). Upon her brow the Lord did nail a
+brazen slab!
+
+HELLA (to PAUL, who is still walking about). Paul, can't you stop that
+everlasting marching?
+
+PAUL. I find it agreeable after the night's travel. Have you any
+objections?
+
+HELLA. Yes, it makes me nervous, especially here in this awful hall,
+where every step reverberates ten times over, because you do not even
+have the proper carpets. Isn't there another room, where one can sit
+with some comfort. (See pours out her coffee.)
+
+PAUL (with restrained asperity). No, not at present!
+
+HELLA. Then at least do me the favor to sit down, your coffee is
+getting cold, anyhow. (She pours out PAUL'S coffee.)
+
+PAUL (approaching). Very well! I shall sit down then.
+
+GLYSZINSKI (raising his cup). And I, madam? Am I to have none?
+
+HELLA (decisively). Have you forgotten our household regulations, dear
+sir?
+
+GLYSZINSKI (grumbling). But he got some, didn't he?
+
+HELLA. I have allowed an exception in Paul's case today. Just take the
+pot and help yourself.
+
+GLYSZINSKI (shaking his head). Too bad! Too bad! (He pours out his
+coffee.)
+
+AUNT CLARA (has entered from the right carrying a platter with a large
+pound-cake). Children, here comes the pound-cake! Fresh from the oven.
+It's fairly steaming still. (She cuts the cake.) You surely haven't
+taken your coffee already?
+
+HELLA (very courteously). You are really going to too much trouble,
+dear Miss Clara.
+
+AUNT CLARA. Trouble, well, well. But now do help yourself! (She puts a
+large piece of cake on each plate.)
+
+PAUL, (smiling). Do you know, Hella, I do almost feel as I did as a
+schoolboy, when I came home for the Christmas vacation. In those days
+we would also sit in the hall and over there the fire would burn and
+the pound-cake would stand on the table exactly as today. Only that my
+mother had done the baking.
+
+AUNT CLARA (in the chair opposite the fireplace). Now you must imagine:
+_I_ am your mother, Paul. (She has also poured out her coffee and
+begins to drink it.) How do you like it?
+
+PAUL. Just as much as in the old days. It seems to me as if it were
+today.
+
+AUNT CLARA. Then eat away, my boy!
+
+HELLA. You have really had very good luck with this pound-cake, my dear
+Miss Clara. Accept my compliments.
+
+GLYSZINSKI (consumes his piece with great satisfaction). Delicious! A
+work of art!
+
+PAUL. You may well feel set up about that, Auntie. Glyszinski knows all
+about cake.
+
+GLYSZINSKI. Yes in such matters we Poles are connoisseurs.
+
+HELLA. Their whole nourishment is made up of desserts.
+
+GLYSZINSKI. I consider sweets a thousand times more elegant than that
+brutal alcohol, which deadens all finer instincts.
+
+AUNT CLARA. I suppose the gentleman was also born in this region.
+
+GLYSZINSKI. Yes, mademoiselle, I am a Pole.
+
+PAUL. A Pole, and attended the gymnasium in Berlin!
+
+GLYSZINSKI. Unfortunately I got away too early. Nevertheless I shall
+remain what I always was.
+
+AUNT CLARA. Do you remember Laskowski, Paul?
+
+PAUL. From Klonowken?
+
+AUNT CLARA. Yes, quite nearby! He owns the neighboring estate.
+
+PAUL. Why, of course! He is even a relative in a sense. What makes you
+think of him. Aunt Clara?
+
+AUNT CLARA. It just occurred to me, simply because he is also a
+Polander and gets along with his German so well.
+
+PAUL. Why, I even attended school with him for a while. He _was_ a fox
+if there ever was one.
+
+AUNT CLARA (in a searching manner). Aren't you glad, Paul, that your
+father held on to Ellernhof for you?
+
+PAUL. How so? Why?
+
+AUNT CLARA. He might have sold the estate to Laskowski or some one
+else.
+
+HELLA (who has been leaning back and playing the part of the silent but
+attentive listener, takes a hand). I cannot see in what sense that
+would have been a misfortune.
+
+PAUL. If Ellernhof had gone over into the hands of strangers? You are
+simply judging from your point of view. Then I should never have seen
+my childhood home again.
+
+HELLA (forcibly). But what are we to do with it. We have it on our
+hands and can't help but be glad to get rid of it at any price.
+
+AUNT CLARA (with growing uneasiness, to PAUL). What is your wife
+saying? You intend to go away, intend to sell?
+
+HELLA. Why, certainly! As soon as possible! What else is there for us
+to do?
+
+AUNT CLARA. You intend to sell the estate that has been in the family
+over two hundred years?
+
+HELLA. That can be of no possible advantage to us. Do you expect us to
+settle down here? Do you suppose I have the least inclination to
+degenerate out here in the country?
+
+AUNT CLARA. And you, Paul, what have you to say to that?
+
+HELLA. Paul fully agrees with me.
+
+PAUL (gets up, distressed). Don't torment me with that now, good
+people, I beg of you. I am really not in the proper mood. There is
+certainly no hurry about that matter.
+
+AUNT CLARA. Don't you realize that you will commit a sin, if you sell
+the fine estate that your father maintained for you?
+
+HELLA. Oh sin! Sin! Do you not, from your point of view, consider the
+manner in which Paul's father behaved toward us a sin? I am unable to
+see any difference. There was no compunction about locking the door
+upon us. I was treated as a nondescript, bringing disgrace to the
+family! As if my family could not match up with the Warkentins any day!
+After all, I am the daughter of a university professor, my dear Miss
+Clara. You possibly fail to appreciate that a bit. Therefore I repeat
+to you, Paul hasn't the slightest reason to be ashamed of me! And he
+hasn't been. But Paul's father _was_. He forced us to earn our daily
+bread! And now that we have been successful, now that we have won a
+place for ourselves, now they begin to think of us, simply because they
+need us. Now they are becoming sentimental. No, dearest! You did not
+concern yourselves about us! Now we shall not concern ourselves about
+you! Now we shall simply pay it all back! That's the sin that you were
+talking about. Ellernhof has no claims upon us, (She breathes deeply
+and leans back on the sofa.)
+
+GLYSZINSKI (has hung upon her lips, enthusiastically). Madam, your
+hand! (He extends his hand.)
+
+HELLA (curtly). Oh do let us dispense with that for the present,
+doctor!
+
+PAUL (has been listening from the fireplace and now approaches). That
+is quite correct, Hella, but there is one thing that you must not
+forget. I really did provoke my father at the time. I was young and
+inexperienced. I felt compelled to tell him at the outset, even before
+I went to the university, that I did not believe that I should be able
+to endure life in the country later on.
+
+HELLA. And the fact that he expected you to marry any woman that suited
+_him_; you don't seem to think of that at all.
+
+PAUL. Yes, yes, you are right ...
+
+AUNT CLARA. Tell me, Paul?
+
+PAUL. Yes, Auntie.
+
+AUNT CLARA. What in the world have you to do in Berlin that prevents
+you from staying here?
+
+PAUL. Oh, Aunt Clara, that is a difficult matter! I publish a journal.
+
+AUNT CLARA. A journal? Hm!
+
+HELLA. We publish a feminist journal which we ourselves have founded
+and simply cannot desert.
+
+AUNT CLARA (naively). Well is that so very necessary, Paul?
+
+HELLA. _Is_ it necessary?
+
+PAUL (dubiously). Oh Hella! (Shrugs his shoulders.)
+
+HELLA. Yes it is necessary. If _you_ are able to forget it, _I_ am
+_not_!
+
+PAUL. I shall not quarrel now, the hour does not seem fitting to me. I
+want to go in. (He makes a significant gesture to the right.) Would you
+care to go with me?
+
+HELLA. You want to see him?
+
+PAUL. Yes, I want to see him.
+
+HELLA (gets up and steps up to PAUL). Excuse me, Paul! I am really not
+in the frame of mind.
+
+PAUL. As you think best.
+
+HELLA. You know very well that I spare myself the sight of the dead,
+whenever I can. I did not even see _my_ father.
+
+AUNT CLARA (has risen). I'll go with you, my boy, brace up!
+
+PAUL (nods to her, choking down his words). I'm all right. (The two
+slowly go out at the right.) [Short silence.]
+
+HELLA (stands at the chair, clenches her fist, stamps her foot, in a
+burst of passion). I cannot look at the man who has forbidden me his
+house! Never!
+
+GLYSZINSKI (has also risen, steps up to HELLA). How I admired you,
+madam!
+
+HELLA (still struggling). I cannot bring myself to _that_!
+
+GLYSZINSKI (sentimentally). How you sat there! How you spoke! Every
+word a blow! No evasion! No retreat! Mind triumphing over matter! The
+first time I ever had this impression of you, Hella, do you recall, the
+large meeting when you stood on the stage and your eye controlled
+thousands? Then and there my soul rushed out to you! Now you possess
+it.
+
+HELLA (stands erect, resolutely and deliberately). If I really possess
+your soul, dear doctor, listen to my request.
+
+GLYSZINSKI. I am your slave, command me!
+
+HELLA. It concerns Paul. You see how matters stand with him.
+
+GLYSZINSKI (gloomily). Paul is not a modern man. I knew that long ago.
+
+HELLA. Let us avoid all digressions now! (With unflinching emphasis.)
+Paul _must_ ... _not_ ... _remain here_! Do you understand?
+
+GLYSZINSKI. What can I do in the matter?
+
+HELLA (taps her finger on his chest). You must help me get him away
+from here as soon as possible!
+
+GLYSZINSKI. And you would ask _me_ to do _that_?
+
+HELLA. Why shouldn't I?
+
+GLYSZINSKI. Expect me to help reestablish the bond between you? Don't
+be inhuman, Hella!
+
+HELLA. But you surely realize the relations that obtain between you and
+me, doctor. You are my co-worker, my friend!
+
+GLYSZINSKI. Is that all, Hella?
+
+HELLA. Why, do you demand more? Beyond friendship I can give you
+nothing! No, it will be better for you to help me plan how we can get
+him away most readily. Rather today than tomorrow.
+
+GLYSZINSKI. Even if I were willing; why he pays no attention to me.
+Sometimes he strikes the pose of the man of thirty and treats me like a
+schoolboy. If it were not for you, Hella!
+
+HELLA (goes back and forth in intense excitement). I see it coming! I
+see it coming! Irresistible! I have been watching it for a year.
+Something is working on him. The old spirits have been revived in him.
+They are restless to assert themselves. That calls for prompt action.
+He must not remain here. He must absolutely not remain in this
+atmosphere, which unsettles the mind, this funereal atmosphere. Oh! I
+can't stand it! Come on, doctor, I must have some fresh air! Get my
+things!
+
+GLYSZINSKI. I am on the wing! (About to start in some direction or
+other.)
+
+HELLA (restrains him). But no, wait a moment! We can go right through
+our rooms. A door leads to the garden from there. (She listens.) Isn't
+that Paul, now? Do you hear?
+
+GLYSZINSKI. It seems to be.
+
+HELLA (hurriedly). Quickly! I do not care to see him now! I don't want
+to hear about the dead man. I can't endure it. Do hurry! (She draws him
+along out toward the left.)
+
+      [PAUL and AUNT CLARA come in again from the right. PAUL walks
+      slowly through the hall with his head bowed. For a moment he
+      remains standing before the chair near the sofa, then suddenly
+      sits down and presses his face into his hands. AUNT CLARA has
+      slowly followed him, stands before him, and looks at him lovingly
+      and sadly. Brief silence.]
+
+AUNT CLARA (puts her hand on his head). Compose yourself, Paul! What's
+the good of it! Your father is past all trouble.
+
+PAUL (without raising his head). Yes, he's beyond it all.
+
+AUNT CLARA. All of us may be glad when we are that far along.
+
+PAUL (between his teeth). When we are that far along, yes, yes, Aunt
+Clara! When we are all through with it, this incomprehensible,
+senseless force! (He leans back in the chair and folds his hands over
+his head.)
+
+AUNT CLARA. Your dead father enjoys the best lot after all. It's not at
+all an occasion for weeping, Paul.
+
+PAUL (nods his head mechanically). You caught the meaning, Auntie.
+
+AUNT CLARA. I am old, my boy. I know what is back of life. Nothing.
+
+PAUL. You have caught the meaning.
+
+AUNT CLARA. When you are as far along as I am, you will think so too.
+
+PAUL (throws his head back on his chair, yielding to his pain). I am
+tired, Aunt Clara! Tired enough to die!
+
+AUNT CLARA. That is due to the journey, Paul.
+
+PAUL (repeats mechanically). That is due to the journey. (Waking up.)
+You are right, Aunt Clara. To the long journey and the long, long way.
+
+AUNT CLARA. Now you will take a rest, my boy.
+
+PAUL. That's what I should like to do, Aunt Clara. Take a real rest
+after all of the wild years! And they do say the best rest is to be
+found at home.
+
+AUNT CLARA. Do you see how good it is for you to be at home again.
+
+PAUL (absorbed). How calmly he lay there. How great and serene! Not the
+vestige of a doubt left! Everything overcome. All the questions
+solved!... (Lamenting.) Father, father, if I were only in your place!
+(He presses his head in his hands.)
+
+AUNT CLARA (worried). Paul, what's the matter!
+
+PAUL. Nothing, Aunt Clara, it's over now.
+
+AUNT CLARA. No, no, my boy, there's something wrong with you. You
+needn't tell me. I know well enough.
+
+PAUL (controlling himself). You know nothing at all.
+
+AUNT CLARA. And you can't talk me out of it. It's your wife. What I
+know, I know. Your wife is to blame! And if you _do_ say no ten times
+over!
+
+PAUL (gets up, with a firm voice). I repeat, Aunt Clara, you know
+nothing about it! I do not want to hear one word about that, please
+remember. (With marked emphasis.) I do not want to hear of it! (Walks
+up and down in excitement.)
+
+AUNT CLARA. Paul, Paul, if you had only taken Antonie!
+
+PAUL (sits down in the chair at the fireplace, restraining his pain).
+Be quiet, Aunt Clara!... Do you want to make me even more miserable
+than I am?
+
+AUNT CLARA (gets up, steps up to him and lays her hand on his head). My
+poor, poor boy!
+
+
+
+
+ACT II
+
+
+The forenoon of the following day. The gloomy light of a winter day
+comes in through the wide windows at the background of the hall, as on
+the day before. Outside, white bushes and trees loom up vaguely. A dark
+velvet cover is spread over the sofa table now. A fire again biases in
+the fireplace. In front of it on the left sits GLYSZINSKI with his feet
+toward the fire and a book in his hand. He is again faultlessly clad in
+a black suit; looks pale. At his right, in the center chair HELLA
+reposes comfortably. She likewise holds a book and looks as if she had
+been reading. As on the previous day, her dress is dark, but not black.
+
+
+HELLA. These awful visits of condolence all day yesterday! If calls of
+that kind continue today, I'll simply lock myself in and fail to
+appear. Let Paul settle it as he may.
+
+GLYSZINSKI. And yet! How easily and graciously you can dispose of the
+good people. I can't get over my astonishment.
+
+HELLA. Yes and then to feign a sadness that one does not remotely feel,
+cannot feel! What an idea!
+
+GLYSZINSKI (after a moment of reflection, whispering). Do you know what
+makes me glad?
+
+HELLA (curtly). No, possibly you will tell me.
+
+GLYSZINSKI (halts a bit). That the dead man is out of the house!... I
+suppose they took him to the church?
+
+HELLA. Yes, quite early this morning. The coffin is to be there till
+tomorrow. I suppose you were afraid?
+
+GLYSZINSKI, Why you know that I sometimes see things.
+
+HELLA. You modern creature, you! Look at me! I _try_ to see _things_ by
+daylight. I can battle with _them_! Not with the other kind.
+
+GLYSZINSKI. Oh you don't realize how I have envied you for that.
+
+HELLA. Why don't you follow my example then? Do not lose yourself
+deeper and deeper in your riddles. Enter the conflict! Just as I do!
+
+GLYSZINSKI. You, Hella ...! I cannot vie with you.
+
+HELLA. Don't be a weakling! Try it! You are old enough.
+
+GLYSZINSKI (grumbling). _Too_ old.
+
+HELLA (more and more impassioned). Too old! Ridiculous. When Paul was
+of your age he was already in the fray, founding our _Women's Rights_.
+And I, I helped him.
+
+GLYSZINSKI. You must have been of firmer fiber than we of the younger
+generation.
+
+HELLA (gets up, stands up straight, folds her hands over her head).
+Possibly! I was scarcely twenty at the time, but I felt strong enough
+to throw down the gauntlet to the whole world, when it was a question
+of my rights. I had an uncontrollable thirst for freedom, and it is not
+too much to assert that I gave Paul the incentive for all that
+followed.
+
+GLYSZINSKI. That's just like you, Hella! I suppose he would simply have
+remained in his old trot if it had not been for you.
+
+HELLA (supporting herself on the chair). I should not go that far. He
+had already freed himself, but did not know in what direction to move.
+He was still groping. He might have followed an utterly wrong course,
+might have fooled away his time with literature and impractical things
+like that. His rescue from all that was my work. I guided him! You know
+he was a pupil of my father. When we became acquainted, I had no
+difficulty in showering things upon him. You see I had spent my whole
+childhood in this intellectual atmosphere. And he ... well, you can see
+from where he had come. (She sweeps her hand around.) That is just why
+I was ahead of him.
+
+GLYSZINSKI (lamenting). Why was I not born ten years earlier? Then I
+should have found what he now has and fails to value!
+
+HELLA (walks through the hall slowly, engrossed in memories). Yes it
+was a joyous time! All of us young, vigorous and certain of victory!
+(Her manner becomes gloomy.)
+
+GLYSZINSKI (has followed her with his eyes). Are you so no longer,
+Hella?
+
+HELLA (morosely). I?... (Collects herself.) More than ever ... But I
+have become tired, Doctor!
+
+GLYSZINSKI (subdued). I do suppose it requires more than mortal
+strength to hold out, in this fashion, a whole life long.
+
+HELLA (straightening up). Yes, if one did not know that he is going to
+prevail, that he will carry out his demands; one can rest assured only
+when he has the better arguments in his favor. Not until then. (She
+steps to the background in great excitement.)
+
+GLYSZINSKI (jumps up). Hella! Hella!...
+
+HELLA (comes back again). Not an hour before that, I tell you. Do you
+understand the terrible aspect of my present position now? My nails
+fairly tingle. Whenever I hear the clock strike out there, something
+seems to drive me away. Another hour gone, and life is so short. It
+cries within me, go to your post, and I am forced to remain! I must
+remain on account of Paul!
+
+GLYSZINSKI (strikes his fist on the chair). Oh he doesn't deserve to
+have you sacrifice yourself for him! If you called me in this manner
+... I should follow you to the scaffold!
+
+HELLA (approaches him, in a changed manner). What was your impression
+of Paul today, Doctor? Be frank!
+
+GLYSZINSKI (gloomily). Why do you ask _me_ about that? I scarcely
+caught sight of him before he rode away.
+
+HELLA. It seemed to me that he was more cheerful, freer. (To herself.)
+Possibly because the body was out of the house. (She turns away again.)
+
+      [GLYSZINSKI steps to the background, shaking his head, seems in a
+      quandary.]
+
+HELLA (has paid no attention to him, since her thoughts completely
+dominate her, speaks as if to herself). May be all will turn out for
+the best after all. (She gains control of herself and looks up.) Where
+in the world are you, Doctor? (She approaches him.)
+
+GLYSZINSKI (stands at the window and looks into the garden). I am
+watching the snow.
+
+HELLA. I suppose you are surprised that I am hopeful again?
+
+GLYSZINSKI. Since I have been in your company nothing surprises me!
+
+HELLA (continues). But Paul must listen to reason. My position is
+clearly correct. You do not know him as I do. Paul is tender-hearted;
+all that is necessary is to know how to deal with him. (She reflects a
+moment and concludes.) Possibly I did not always know how to do that.
+
+GLYSZINSKI (deprecatingly). Don't belittle yourself, Hella!
+
+HELLA. And there shall be a change. But first of all he must get away
+from here. Of course we shall have to wait till after the funeral. But
+then I shall not allow myself to be kept here any longer. I'll get in
+and ride away and Paul will be forced to come along. When I once have
+him in Berlin again ...
+
+GLYSZINSKI. And the estate?
+
+HELLA. I'll simply sell that.
+
+GLYSZINSKI (rushes up to her with flaming eyes). Hella!
+
+HELLA (coldly). Well?
+
+GLYSZINSKI. Are you going to leave Paul?
+
+HELLA. How so? What is the matter with you?
+
+GLYSZINSKI (seizes her hand). Can't you leave Paul! My life is at
+stake.
+
+HELLA. Dear friend, don't stake your life so foolishly! And release my
+hand. I do not want to leave Paul! I haven't the slightest reason to do
+so. We agree very well.
+
+GLYSZINSKI (drops his head). Then I was mistaken, after all.
+
+HELLA. Yes, it seems so to me also. You simply do not know what Paul
+has been to me. [Pause.] I want to go to work, I still have much to do.
+The editorial work is crowding. (Takes several steps.)
+
+PAUL (enters from the right, clad in a riding suit and riding boots,
+shakes of the snow and waves his hat vigorously as he speaks). Good
+morning, you stay-at-homes! Just see how I look.
+
+HELLA (has turned around at his approach and looks at him). You are
+bringing winter in with you, Paul.
+
+PAUL (with dash). That's what I'm doing. I'm bringing winter in with
+me. Regular country winter, with ice and snow, such as the city knows
+only by hearsay. Don't you envy me?
+
+HELLA (surprised). How so? For what?
+
+PAUL. For what, she asks! Why for all the snow in which I have been
+stamping about! For this honest winter mood, that I have not had for so
+many years!
+
+HELLA. Where in the world have you been!
+
+PAUL (sits down, facing the fire, and crosses his legs). Far, far away,
+I can tell you.
+
+      [GLYSZINSKI has risen from his chair and has slowly walked over
+      toward the left, where he sits down on the sofa and pretends to
+      become interested in a book.]
+
+HELLA. One can tell that. You are in a beautiful condition.
+
+PAUL (stares into the fire, spinning away at his thoughts). I rode a
+great, great distance!... To the border of our possessions!
+
+HELLA. Is that so very far?
+
+PAUL. Very far!... At least it seemed so to me when I was a child.
+
+HELLA. Yes, of course, to a child everything seems larger.
+
+PAUL. But this time it was no delusion! It was really quite a distance.
+And I did remain away long enough too.
+
+HELLA (sarcastically). Are you not boasting, Paul? I believe you were
+riding around in a circle.
+
+PAUL (waking up). And so I did. Criss cross over the fields, taking
+ditches, helter skelter as it were, right through the dense snow.
+
+HELLA (as before). Can you really ride, Paul?
+
+PAUL. I? Well, I should say! I supposed I had forgotten how, during all
+of these empty years, but when I had mounted, for a moment I was
+unsteady, but only for a moment, then I felt my old power. The bay
+realized that I still know how, and off we were like destruction
+itself.
+
+GLYSZINSKI (from the sofa). I should like to try it myself sometime.
+
+PAUL (without heeding him). And curiously enough Hella, strange as the
+way had naturally become to me, I nevertheless got along easily. After
+all, one does not forget the things with which one has once been
+familiar, and, you see, my father took me with him often enough in my
+boyhood. (Smiling.) Possibly in order that, some day in the future, I
+might get my bearings in the old fields! At last I got into the forest
+and when I was out of that, I saw the houses of Klonowken, all covered
+with snow ...
+
+HELLA (has listened very attentively, interrupts). Klonowken, you say!
+Isn't that the estate where--what is his name?--your relative lives?
+
+PAUL. LASKOWSKI, you mean?
+
+HELLA. Quite right, LASKOWSKI ... But you did not call on him, did you?
+
+PAUL. No, then I came back.
+
+HELLA. The ride has certainly agreed with you. Your color is much
+better than yesterday.
+
+PAUL (joyously). _Is_ it?... Well that is just the way I feel.
+
+HELLA. Then you can see more clearly today, what you wish to do and
+what is necessary?
+
+PAUL. Much more clearly, Hella! As I trotted along in the snowstorm,
+many things dawned upon me. My head has became clear, Hella.
+
+HELLA. I am glad for you and both of us!
+
+PAUL (seizes her hand). Yes, for both of us. We must come to an
+agreement, Hella!
+
+HELLA (cautiously). I hope we are agreed. And, moreover, you know how
+we can remain so!
+
+PAUL (thoughtful again). Well, as I rode along, strange! So many years
+of desk work, I thought to myself, and nothing but desk work. My bones
+have almost become stiff as a result and, after all, what has come of
+it? Little enough! You surely must admit that.
+
+HELLA  (seriously). I can _not_ admit that, Paul.
+
+PAUL. But we do live in a continual turmoil, Hella, in an everlasting
+struggle the outcome of which we can not foresee and from which we
+shall reap no rewards. We are working for strangers, are sacrificing
+our best years and have forgotten to consider ourselves. Do you suppose
+they will thank us some day when we are down and out? Not a soul!
+
+HELLA. Nor do I demand gratitude and recognition. I do what I have
+recognized to be correct; that constitutes my happiness.
+
+PAUL. But not mine. I want more, Hella! I am at an age when fine words
+no longer avail me. And see, here is a world in which I have what I
+need, what I am seeking, here at last I can follow myself up, can see
+what is really in me and not what has merely been imposed upon me. I am
+on the crest of my life, Hella. Possibly past it. Do not take it amiss!
+I need rest, composure ...
+
+HELLA (reserved). And for that you are going to the end of the world?
+
+PAUL. I had got to the end of the world! Now I shall begin all over
+again. Would the attempt not be worth while? Tell me, comrade! (He
+seizes both of HELLA'S hands and looks squarely into her eyes.)
+
+HELLA (reserved). I can't answer you now, Paul.
+
+PAUL (visibly relieved). Very well! If you can not at present ... There
+is plenty of time.
+
+HELLA. Isn't there? You will give me time. I should like to put it off
+only a few days longer.
+
+PAUL (joyously). Why as long as you please. Till then I shall be
+assured of you and meanwhile you will get acclimated?
+
+HELLA. Only a few days, Paul. Possibly I can make a definite
+proposition to you by that time.
+
+PAUL (shakes her hands again, happy). Hella, my clever, unusual Hella!
+(He puts his arms around her waist, about to kiss her.)
+
+HELLA (with quick resistance). What are you doing, Paul! Don't you see
+how wet you are?
+
+PAUL. Snow-water! Clear snow-water. What harm will that do! Give me a
+kiss, Hella!
+
+HELLA (reluctantly). You _do_ have notions at times!... So here is your
+kiss! (Extends her cheek to him.)
+
+PAUL (embraces her.) Oh, no! Today I must have something unusual! (He
+tries to kiss her mouth.)
+
+HELLA (warding him off). Do stop that, Paul! I beg you urgently!
+
+PAUL (looks into her eyes). But why not, Hella! Just for today ...!
+(His voice is soft and pleading.)
+
+HELLA (with her face toward the sofa). Why Glyszinski is sitting there.
+
+PAUL (impatiently). What is Glyszinski to me? It's surely all right for
+a husband and wife to kiss each other.
+
+HELLA. But not before strangers! I can't bear that, Paul!
+
+PAUL (bitterly). Calm down! It never happens anyhow! (He releases her
+and walks through the hall with great strides).
+
+HELLA (shrugging her shoulders). Because it is really not proper for
+two people who are as old as we have become. People should become
+sensible sometime.
+
+PAUL (with increasing excitement). You always were! Why, I don't know
+you any other way.
+
+HELLA. You must have liked it well enough.
+
+PAUL (bursting out). Yes I probably did ...! At that time! Because I
+was a fool!
+
+HELLA (picks up her book again, turns as if to go away). Now you are
+becoming abusive! Good-by, I have work to do!
+
+PAUL (intercepts her). Hella! I am coming to you with an overflowing
+heart! I have a yearning to be alone with you, once, only once; I am
+almost desperate for a heart to heart talk ...
+
+GLYSZINSKI (who has silently followed the scene from the sofa,
+presumably engrossed in his book, but at times has cast over a furtive
+glance, makes a motion as if to rise). If I'm disturbing you, you only
+need to say so ...
+
+HELLA. Do not be funny, doctor. You do know that I wanted to go to my
+room some time ago. Please let me pass, Paul!
+
+PAUL (has retreated, with an angry bow). You have plenty of room!
+(Across to GLYSZINSKI) Hella is quite right. There is no longer any
+occasion for you to go. (He goes to the fireplace and sits down facing
+the fire.)
+
+HELLA (remains in the centre of the hall a few moments longer, then
+takes a step in the direction of PAUL, and speaks in a changed, gentler
+voice). Paul! (PAUL does not stir).
+
+HELLA (urgently). Paul!
+
+PAUL. That's all right!
+
+HELLA. Oh, is it! Very well! (She turns away abruptly, goes over toward
+the right, opens the door and turns around, saying curtly). I wish to
+work, so please do not disturb me. (She goes out.)
+
+PAUL (has become restless, gets up and calls). Hella! (One can hear how
+the door is being locked on the other side.) As you please, then! (He
+sits down again).
+
+GLYSZINSKI (looking up from his book). Hella has locked the door.
+
+      [PAUL sets his teeth and is silent. Pause.]
+
+GLYSZINSKI. Am I disturbing you?
+
+PAUL (without turning around). I have already told you,
+_no_! Not any longer, now!
+
+GLYSZINSKI. So I _have_ been disturbing you?
+
+PAUL. I'll leave that to _you_.
+
+GLYSZINSKI. You would like to have me go away?
+
+PAUL. Dear Glyszinski, _don't_ ask such stupid questions!
+
+GLYSZINSKI. Well, I _should_ have gone long ago ...
+
+PAUL (cutting). Indeed?
+
+GLYSZINSKI. I can see very well how irksome I am to you.
+
+PAUL. You are not at all irksome, dear Glyszinski, neither now nor
+formerly. You are only funny.
+
+GLYSZINSKI. You two admitted me to your household.
+
+PAUL. Excuse me! _Hella_ admitted you.
+
+GLYSZINSKI. That is what I was going to say. Upon Hella's express
+invitation ...
+
+PAUL. Correct.
+
+GLYSZINSKI. Indeed I may say upon her wish ...
+
+PAUL. Also correct.
+
+GLYSZINSKI. I came into your house.
+
+PAUL. That was very kind of you.
+
+GLYSZINSKI. And so I can leave it only upon her invitation. Not before!
+I should be offending Hella, and that I cannot take upon myself. I
+revere her too much for that.
+
+PAUL (cutting). Sensitive soul that you are!
+
+GLYSZINSKI. Of course my views may not agree with all the conventional
+rules of society, but there are still other, higher duties.
+
+PAUL (amused). And _you_ honor them?
+
+GLYSZINSKI (casting a piercing look at PAUL). Yes, it is my duty to
+protect Hella.
+
+PAUL. Protect Hella?... (He gets up.) Do you know! One is impelled to
+feel sorry for you! (He turns away and walks through the hall.)
+
+GLYSZINSKI. Well!
+
+PAUL. Yes, you have no idea how far you are off the track. That's the
+reason.
+
+GLYSZINSKI. Thanks for your sympathy!
+
+PAUL. You are badly off the track, and will hardly get on again, unless
+you are warned in time. Whether or not that will do you any good, is
+your affair.
+
+GLYSZINSKI (agitated). But what does all of this mean? I don't
+understand you.
+
+PAUL (very seriously). In a word, that means: look out for women who
+are like Hella! Look out for that ilk! That tells the whole story! The
+whole story!
+
+GLYSZINSKI (jumps up). And you expect me to follow that advice?
+
+PAUL. Do not follow it, but don't be surprised later on if you find
+yourself in the position in which I am today. It has taken me ten to
+twelve years to arrive at it. Half of that time will suffice for you.
+
+GLYSZINSKI. Why that is sheer nonsense! Your position is estimable
+enough.
+
+PAUL. I am a bankrupt! That's all!
+
+GLYSZINSKI (greatly excited). Imagination, pure imagination! You have
+your position! You have a name in the movement!
+
+PAUL (bitterly). Oh yes! This movement!
+
+GLYSZINSKI. I wish I were that far along!
+
+PAUL. Possibly you are, without knowing it. But as for myself, when I
+was of your age and began to fly the track, the aforesaid _track_, I
+was quite another fellow! Today as I rode through the snow knee-deep,
+that became quite clear to me! I saw myself as I had been once upon a
+time and then realized what had later become of me! All the strength!
+All the life! All the color! All lost! All gone!... Colorless and
+commonplace! That is the outcome! (He sinks down in complete collapse.)
+
+GLYSZINSKI (very uncomfortably). And you blame Hella for all that?
+
+HELLA (a pen behind her ear, puts in her head and calls). Glyszinski!
+Doctor! Why don't you come in! I want you to help me write a number of
+letters. I shall dictate to you. (Withdraws again.)
+
+GLYSZINSKI (with precipitation). Immediately, madam. (He runs to the
+right.)
+
+PAUL (raising his finger). You have been warned!
+
+GLYSZINSKI (already at the door on the right). Some other time! I have
+no time now!
+
+      [Goes off, the door closes again and is bolted on the other
+      side.]
+
+PAUL (looks after him, then, after a pause). He is going the same
+course! (Takes a few steps through the hall, remains standing before
+the portraits on the wall, looks up at them for a long while, breathes
+deeply and says, only just audibly): The Warkentins bring no luck!...
+And they _have_ no luck!...
+
+      [He steps across to the spinet which is open, sits down, and
+      softly strikes a number of chords. AUNT CLARA comes in quickly
+      from the right, looks around.]
+
+PAUL (sitting at the spinet). Well, Aunt Clara? (He lowers his hands
+from the keys.)
+
+AUNT CLARA (cautiously). It is well that you are here, my boy! (She
+approaches.)
+
+PAUL (absent-minded). Is there anything?...
+
+AUNT CLARA (shaking her head). Why a person can't talk to your wife.
+And that young man ... There's something about him too. Where in the
+world are the two now?
+
+PAUL (feigning indifference). There, in the other room, Aunt Clara.
+
+AUNT CLARA. Do you suppose she will hear us?
+
+PAUL. Oh no, Auntie! They are in the green room. The sun-parlor lies
+between. And then ... when Hella is working, she doesn't hear anyhow.
+
+AUNT CLARA. Those two! I do say! They just have to stay together the
+whole day! But I was going to say ... Laskowskis ...
+
+PAUL. What about Laskowski?
+
+AUNT CLARA. Wonder whether we ought to send them an announcement?
+
+PAUL. I don't care! Although I do not exactly consider it necessary.
+
+AUNT CLARA. Just on account of the wife.
+
+PAUL. Whose wife?
+
+AUNT CLARA. Well, Mrs. Laskowski. Why, don't you know?
+
+PAUL (turns around). Not a thing! Is Laskowski married?
+
+AUNT CLARA. Why, Paul! Didn't he marry Antonie?
+
+PAUL (recoils). Antoinette ...? Our Antoinette? And I am just finding
+out about that!
+
+AUNT CLARA. Well, I didn't know whether you cared to hear anything
+about Antonie.
+
+PAUL (approaches her and speaks to her in an interested manner). Why,
+Auntie, one _is_ interested in the people who were once near and dear.
+
+AUNT CLARA. Then, you didn't ask about her yesterday!
+
+PAUL. Goodness, Aunt Clara! I didn't _want_ to ask!... After all, I'm
+finding out soon enough!... Poor Antoinette!... Wasn't she able to find
+any one else?...
+
+AUNT CLARA. You had been gone a year and a half, Paul, and then they
+got married.
+
+PAUL (depressed). Well, well ...! That long ago? Then it has really
+ceased to be news! How _does_ she look? (Bitterly.) I suppose quite...?
+(He makes a significant derogatory gesture.)
+
+AUNT CLARA. Don't say that, Paul! She can vie with the youngest and
+most beautiful of them! She is in her very prime now! Just set her over
+against your wife!
+
+PAUL (embarrassed). Well, well! Hella is not exactly obliged to conceal
+herself, it seems to me.
+
+AUNT CLARA (eagerly). But oh, you should see Mrs. Laskowski!
+
+PAUL (crabbed). Well, then old Laskowski may thank his stars. How in
+all the world did Antoinette run into that fellow? I could never
+_bear_ him!
+
+AUNT CLARA. Have you forgotten _every_ thing Paul? Why, he was forever
+after her, even when you were still here.
+
+PAUL. Why, he is the greatest crook on God's green earth!
+
+AUNT CLARA. At first Antonie didn't care a thing in the world for him,
+but later she took him just the same, when it was all over with you.
+
+PAUL (disdainfully). Of course he had his eye on her estate, the sly
+rogue! I'd vouch for that.
+
+AUNT CLARA (gleefully). Her estate, Grosz-Rukkoschin, went to him right
+at her marriage. You know that belongs to her from her father's side.
+_You_ might have that now, Paul.
+
+PAUL (interested). Well, and how do the two get along? He and
+Antoinette?
+
+AUNT CLARA (shrugging her shoulders). Oh, Paul, what do I know about
+it? They have no children.
+
+PAUL (relieved). They haven't any children either? Well!
+
+AUNT CLARA. They did have one, a girl! But they lost her.
+
+PAUL. Lost her ... Well, well!... Hm! Antoinette!... Antoinette
+Rousselle as Mrs. von Laskowski!... Could I have dreamed such a thing
+when I was a sophomore with old Heliodor! (He shakes his head, burdened
+with memories, then with a sudden change.) Well, of course, we shall
+send the Laskowskis an announcement. We'll attend to that at once!
+(Starts to go.)
+
+AUNT CLARA (holds him by the arm). Never mind, Paul! I _have_ sent it.
+Yesterday. I was certain it would be all right with you.
+
+PAUL (forced to smile). Well, what do you think of Aunt Clara!...
+
+AUNT CLARA. It's only on account of the neighbors. Now that you are
+here and they live right next to us, if we should not even invite them
+to the funeral....
+
+PAUL (absent-minded). Yes, yes, quite right!
+
+AUNT CLARA (searchingly). For you'll have to observe a bit of
+neighborliness with the estate-owners around here, my boy ...
+
+PAUL (warding off). Oh, Aunt Clara, here's the same old question again!
+
+AUNT CLARA. Now really, Paul, don't you know yet what you are going to
+do, whether you intend to remain?
+
+PAUL (very seriously). Aunt Clara! I shall _never_ be able to induce
+Hella. That is becoming clearer and clearer to me!
+
+AUNT CLARA (bolt upright). If Ellernhof is sold, I shall not survive
+it! I have been here thirty-three years! I have carried you all in my
+arms, you and your brothers and sisters. All of the rest are dead. You
+are still here, Paul. I closed your mother's eyes for her. I witnessed
+the death of your father. In all of my days I have known only
+Ellernhof. At the cemetery I've selected a place for myself where all
+of them are lying. Shall I go away now at the very end? At least, wait
+until I am dead!
+
+PAUL (passionately). Don't make it so desperately hard for me, Aunt
+Clara!
+
+AUNT CLARA (looking at the walls). Here they all hang on the walls,
+those who were once active here ...
+
+PAUL, (follows her eyes). Do you hear? The door-bell. (The door-hell
+rings.)
+
+AUNT CLARA. Callers.
+
+PAUL. Callers! Again!
+
+AUNT CLARA. Probably to express their condolences.
+
+PAUL (impatiently). Just at the most inopportune moment!
+
+AUNT CLARA (listening). I shouldn't be surprised if the Laskowskis were
+coming!
+
+PAUL (giving a start). Antoinette ...? Why, that ...! And I in my
+riding boots! Do see who it is!
+
+AUNT CLARA. Why, of course it is! I can hear him from here ... Shall I
+bring them in, Paul?
+
+PAUL, Can't we take them somewhere else?
+
+AUNT CLARA. Where, pray tell? (She goes to the door on the right.)
+
+PAUL (goes to the door on the left, knocks). Hella, open the door! I
+want to change my clothes. There are callers.
+
+AUNT CLARA. Why, never mind, you are all right!
+
+PAUL (turns away, resigned to his fate). It wouldn't do any good
+anyhow. Hella does not hear me. Go ahead then! Bring them right along.
+
+      [AUNT CLARA opens the door at the right and goes out.
+      Conversation outside becomes audible.]
+
+PAUL (also comes over to the right, seems to be in great agitation,
+controls himself nervously, steps upon the threshold at the right and
+addresses those about to enter). _This way, if you please._ (He steps
+aside for ANTOINETTE and LASKOWSKI, and makes a short bow). We are very
+glad to see you!
+
+LASKOWSKI (seizes both of his hands and shakes them a number of times).
+Glad to see you, old chap! Think of seeing you again. (He and
+ANTOINETTE have taken off their wraps outside. He wears a black morning
+coat and black gloves.)
+
+PAUL (reserved). Unfortunately on a sad occasion!
+
+ANTOINETTE (in a black gown, simple but elegant). Be assured of our
+heartfelt sympathy, doctor! (She extends the tips of her fingers to
+him.)
+
+PAUL (somewhat formally). Thank you very much, madam! (His eyes are
+fastened upon her.)
+
+AUNT CLARA (is the last to enter. She closes the door behind her). Will
+you not be seated? Antonie, please take the sofa!
+
+PAUL. Yes indeed, madam, please! Or would you prefer to sit at the
+fire? You have been riding.
+
+ANTOINETTE. Thank you! I am quite warm. I'll sit down here. (She sits
+down on the sofa and lets her eyes roam about.)
+
+LASKOWSKI. Think of my wife sitting at the fire! It would have to come
+to a pretty pass! One who knocks about in the open all day long, like
+her! (He sits down on the chair to the left of the sofa.)
+
+PAUL (under a spell). Do you do that, madam?
+
+ANTOINETTE. Just as it comes! A little horseback, skating ... Whatever
+winter pastimes there may be!
+
+PAUL (who is still standing at his chair). And in summer?
+
+LASKOWSKI.
+ Oh, in summer something else is doing again! Then there is rowing,
+fishing and swimming to beat the band!
+
+ANTOINETTE. Fortunately we have the lake right near our place.
+
+PAUL (has been speaking privately to AUNT CLARA). Very well, Auntie,
+bring us that!
+
+ANTOINETTE. Don't go to any trouble, Miss Clara. We can't stay long.
+
+LASKOWSKI (winks). Well, well, we'll remain a bit longer. I'll still
+have to go to the inn to take a look at that gelding.
+
+PAUL (beckons to his aunt). So bring it along!
+
+AUNT CLARA. Very well, boysie, I'm going. (Goes off at the right.)
+
+PAUL (sits down in the chair opposite the sofa and becomes
+absent-minded again). So you have a lake? Where is it? Surely not
+at Klonowken?
+
+ANTOINETTE. If we only did have that at Klonowken! We have nothing at
+all there.
+
+LASKOWSKI (joining in with laughter). Heaven knows! The fox and the
+wolf do the social stunt there!
+
+ANTOINETTE. The lake is at Rukkoschin.
+
+LASKOWSKI (informing him). That is the estate that my dearie brought to
+me.
+
+PAUL (abruptly). Yes, yes.
+
+LASKOWSKI (laughing). That's a different layout from the sandy blowouts
+of Klonowken! Prime soil! And a forest, I tell you, cousin! Over two
+thousand acres! One trunk as fine as another! Each one fit for a ship's
+mast! If I ever have them cut down! That will put grease into the pan!
+Yes, yes, Rukkoschin is a catch that's worth while. We did a good job
+of that, didn't we, dearie? (He laughs at ANTOINETTE slyly.)
+
+PAUL. I suppose, dear Laskowski, that no one has ever doubted your
+slyness.
+
+LASKOWSKI (strikes his shoulder). Do you see, Doc, now you say so
+yourself, and at school you gave me the laugh. That fool Laskowski, so
+you thought, he'll never get beyond pounding sand in a rat-hole. Have I
+come up a bit in your eyes? How's that, old boy? Shake hands. Pretty
+damned long since we have met! (He extends his hand to PAUL, who does
+not seem to notice it.)
+
+ANTOINETTE (who has been biting her lips and looking into space during
+the words of her husband, suddenly interrupts). We received the
+announcement this morning, Mr. Warkentin. We thank you very much.
+
+PAUL (reserved). It was no more than our duty, madam.
+LASKOWSKI. Yes, we were very glad, my wife and I ...
+
+ANTOINETTE (quickly). Not to be forgotten!...
+
+LASKOWSKI. You hit the nail on the head, that's what you did, dearie!
+_You_ go on and talk. A fellow like myself isn't so handy with his
+tongue! But he feels it just the same!
+
+PAUL (grimly). Rather sudden, was it not, madam?
+
+ANTOINETTE. The best thing that one can wish for!
+
+PAUL. Do you think so? I don't know.
+
+LASKOWSKI. Of course. Heart failure's the thing to have!
+
+ANTOINETTE. It grieved me very much.
+
+PAUL. Yes, madam.
+
+ANTOINETTE. You see, he was my guardian.
+
+PAUL. I know it.
+
+ANTOINETTE. Of course we had not seen each other for some time ...
+
+LASKOWSKI. Goodness, dearie, that's the way it goes sometimes! This
+fellow's busy and then that fellow's busy ... It's not like in the
+city. But everybody knows how you feel about it, just the same. And
+then if you do meet in the city, or at the stockyards, or somewhere
+else, the jollification is twice as big. Just lately I met your father
+in just that way. It's not been four weeks. Met him at the station just
+as I was going to town. And the old gent crossed my path and acted as
+if he didn't see me. It was right at the ticket window. Of course, I
+called him! Good morning, major, says I! Howdy? Chipper, and up and
+coming as ever? Oh, says he, not particularly! Those very words! I can
+still see him as he stood there!
+
+ANTOINETTE (incredulously). Why you didn't tell me a thing about that.
+
+LASKOWSKI. Guess I forgot to. Who'd think it would be the last time.
+When I heard that he was dead, day before yesterday, it came to me
+again. Then we rode in the same compartment and he kept telling me a
+lot about you, Doc.
+
+PAUL, (sarcastically). Really?
+
+LASKOWSKI. He was pretty much bothered, what would become of the place,
+when he'd be dead and gone ...
+
+PAUL. You don't say!
+
+LASKOWSKI. On my honor, Doc.! Expect me to fib to you. Of course I
+talked him out of it, and told him not to bother about it. First of all
+that it wasn't up to him yet, and if it was, _I_ was still in the ring.
+
+PAUL. Very kind of you.
+
+LASKOWSKI. With all my heart! You and me, Doc., h'm? We understand each
+other! We'll come to terms all right. Old chap! Old crony! How tickled
+I am to see you right here before me again! How often I have said if
+Paul was only here now. Didn't I, dearie!
+
+ANTOINETTE (gesture of impatience). Yes, yes.
+
+LASKOWSKI. Well, what have you been doing all this time, Doc.?
+
+PAUL. All kinds of things.
+
+LASKOWSKI. Regular old Socrates. It makes a fellow's wheels buzz to
+think of what he's got in his head all the time! Do you remember, old
+chap, how you used to help me out when we were juniors?
+
+PAUL. Sophomores, dear Laskowski! You failed to make junior standing.
+
+LASKOWSKI (strikes his fist on the table, in great glee). Damn it all!
+Did you remember that? I see, old chap, that a fellow has to be on his
+guard with you.
+
+PAUL (with a determined look). If you think ...
+
+[Illustration: MOTHER EARTH]
+
+LASKOWSKI. These fellows from Berlin. They are up to snuff! That's the
+place! If they ever come out into the country, look out, boys. They'll
+not leave a shirt on your back! Guess you made a good deal of
+spondulics in Berlin, didn't you, Doc.? (He goes through with the
+gesture of counting money.)
+
+PAUL (cutting). Why?
+
+LASKOWSKI. Goodness, a fellow will ask about that. You don't need it,
+of course. Ellernhof is worth sixty, seventy thousand dollars any day,
+and a fellow can live off of that. If you can only find a buyer ...
+
+PAUL. I haven't the least desire, dear Laskowski.
+
+LASKOWSKI. It's a hard thing too, now-a-days. Buyers are scarce and
+times are hard for the farmer.
+
+      [AUNT CLARA comes from the right, carrying a tray with a bottle
+      of wine and glasses.]
+
+ANTOINETTE. You have gone to all this trouble, after all, Miss Clara.
+
+AUNT CLARA. Not at all worth mentioning! (Sets the things on the
+table.)
+
+LASKOWSKI (examines the wine-bottle). Why, what have you brought here,
+Miss?
+
+PAUL. You drink port, don't you, madam?
+
+LASKOWSKI (affectionately). If you don't care for it, dearie, I drink
+for you.
+
+ANTOINETTE. You _may_ pour me one glass. (She holds out her glass,
+which PAUL fills.)
+
+LASKOWSKI You're sure it won't hurt you, dearie?
+
+ANTOINETTE. Why should it? I drink on other occasions.
+
+LASKOWSKI. Because you are always getting a headache.
+
+ANTOINETTE (looks at him). I?
+
+LASKOWSKI. Now don't get mad right off! Can't a fellow crack a joke?
+Don't you see that it's a joke? Drink ahead, dearie! I'm drinking too.
+And then I must be going too.
+
+PAUL (who has filled all the glasses). Must you; where?
+
+LASKOWSKI (raises his glass and empties it). Of a forenoon, there's
+nothing up to a glass of port.
+
+PAUL. Why don't you drink, Aunt Clara! (He also drinks.)
+
+AUNT CLARA. Oh, I don't care much for wine, my boy, as you may
+remember. (She sips a little.)
+
+LASKOWSKI (to ANTOINETTE). Well, did you like it, dearie?
+
+PAUL. May I give you some more, madam?
+
+ANTOINETTE. No, thank you. It would go to my head.
+
+LASKOWSKI (pushes his glass over). I'll take another glass. Then I must
+be going. (Looks at his watch.) It's a quarter of eleven.
+
+PAUL (fills it). What else have you in mind?
+
+LASKOWSKI. Well, since it just fits in, we being here today, I just
+want to go over to the inn. They've advertised a gelding there. Take a
+look at him. If he can be had cheap ... Haven't put one over on anybody
+for some time! (He laughs, empties the glass and holds it up before
+him.) Your old gent did invest in a cellar! There ain't a thing, Doc.,
+that I envy you as much as that cellar! (He gets up.)
+
+ANTOINETTE. I shall wait till you return. Come back soon!
+
+LASKOWSKI. On the spot, dearie. I'll only take a vertical whisky over
+at the inn! Good-by, dearie! Good-by, Doc.! (He goes out at the right.)
+
+AUNT CLARA (has also risen, with a sly look). Mercy, my dinner! You
+can't depend upon these girls! First thing, it'll be burned. (She
+hastens out at the right.)
+
+ANTOINETTE. Did you not bring Mrs. Warkentin with you, Doctor?
+
+PAUL (nervously). Yes, Auntie, please tell Lene to go around and tell
+my wife we have callers. This door is locked. She cannot get through
+here. (He has risen and walked over to the right.)
+
+AUNT CLARA (going out). Very well, Paul, I shall see to it.
+
+      [Goes off. Pause. PAUL stands at the fireplace and stares into
+      the fire. Antoinette has leaned back on the sofa and is gazing
+      into space.]
+
+PAUL (with an effort). You are not cold, are you, madam? Or I will put
+on some more wood.
+
+ANTOINETTE (without stirring). Not on my account! I am accustomed to
+the cold.
+
+PAUL (forced). Strange! As _hardened_ as all that.
+
+ANTOINETTE. Completely!
+
+PAUL, (takes a step toward her). Antoinette ...?
+
+ANTOINETTE  (motionless). Doctor?
+
+PAUL, (painfully). Once my name was Paul. Don't you remember?
+
+ANTOINETTE. I have forgotten it!
+
+PAUL (controls himself). Well then, madam, may I speak to you?
+
+ANTOINETTE. Will you not call your wife?
+
+PAUL. May I not speak to you?
+
+ANTOINETTE. I don't know what you could have to say.
+
+PAUL. Something that concerns only you and me and not another soul!
+
+ANTOINETTE (gets up). I do not _care_ to hear it. (Takes a few steps
+into the hall.)
+
+PAUL (seizes her hand). Antoinette!
+
+ANTOINETTE (frees herself). Don't!
+
+PAUL. Then why have you come?
+
+ANTOINETTE. Don't, I tell you!
+
+PAUL. Then why have you come, I ask of you?
+
+ANTOINETTE (stands with her back to him, blurts out). They fairly
+dragged me here!
+
+PAUL. So you did not come of your own accord?
+
+ANTOINETTE. No!... I should never have come!
+
+PAUL. Antoinette ... Is that the truth?
+
+      [Antoinette presses her hand to her face and is silent.]
+
+PAUL (with bowed head). Then to be sure ...!
+
+ANTOINETTE. Why in the world doesn't your wife come in? (She walks
+toward the window.)
+
+PAUL. Very well! Let her come! (He bites his lips and turns away.)
+
+LENE (appears in the door at the left). Mr. Warkentin ...?
+
+PAUL (startled). What is it?
+
+LENE. Mrs. Warkentin says that she has no time now, she'll come
+directly.
+
+PAUL. Very well!... You may go!
+
+LENE. Thank you, Mr. Warkentin! (She casts a glance at the two and goes
+out. Short pause.)
+
+PAUL (with grim humor). As you see, it is not to be, madam!
+
+ANTOINETTE (stands at the window with her back toward the hall). It
+would seem so. (Presses her face against the panes.)
+
+PAUL (walks to and fro, then approaches her). I have had to endure
+much, Antoinette, very much!
+
+ANTOINETTE (suppressed). Possibly I have too.
+
+PAUL. Why, Antoinette, you are weeping? (He stands behind her and tries
+to look into her face.)
+
+ANTOINETTE (wards him off). I? Not at all!
+
+PAUL (heavily). You are weeping, Antoinette!
+
+ANTOINETTE (sinks down). I can't help it. (She surrenders to her pain,
+but quietly and softly, making her appear all the more touching.)
+
+PAUL (kindly). Come, madam! Let me conduct you to the sofa. (About to
+take her arm.)
+
+ANTOINETTE (refusing). I can go alone. Why do you concern yourself
+about me at all?
+
+PAUL. Antoinette! Don't be stubborn at this moment! Our time is short.
+Who knows whether we shall ever speak to each other again as we now
+do. (He leads her forward a short distance.)
+
+ANTOINETTE. All the better!
+
+PAUL. Our time is awfully short. _I cannot_ let you go away so! We must
+make use of the moment! (Bitterly.) The moment that will possibly never
+return. (He has slowly led her to the front of the stage.)
+
+ANTOINETTE (frees herself violently). Do permit me to go by myself! I
+do not need you! I need no one!
+
+PAUL (bitterly). Very well! I shall not molest you! As you please!
+
+ANTOINETTE (sits down in the chair at the left of the sofa, seems
+composed again). You see I am quite calm. It was only a temporary
+indisposition.
+
+PAUL (coaxing). May I sit down near you, Antoinette?
+
+ANTOINETTE. What have you to say to me?
+
+PAUL, (sits down in the chair before her, looks at her squarely, then,
+after a moment of devoted contemplation). I am forced to look at you,
+Antoinette! Pardon me! I am forced to look at you again and again!
+
+ANTOINETTE. Do save up these compliments for your wife, doctor!
+
+PAUL (with growing excitement). No compliments, Antoinette! The moment
+is too precious!
+
+ANTOINETTE. Then why don't you spare yourself the trouble?
+
+PAUL. Didn't you feel it, the very moment you came in, Antoinette; I
+could not keep away from you.
+
+ANTOINETTE. Quite flattering!
+
+PAUL. Antoinette! Now you must listen to me to the very end.
+
+ANTOINETTE. Goodness! What do you expect of me?
+
+PAUL. Or you should not have come!
+
+ANTOINETTE. Why in the world _did_ I do it?
+
+PAUL (fervently, but in an undertone). Antoinette! You are so
+wonderful! More wonderful than I have ever seen you before!
+
+ANTOINETTE (sarcastically). Oh, indeed ...! Possibly you are even
+sorry.
+
+PAUL (straightens up, harshly). For shame, madam. Such expressions are
+not suited to you! Leave them to others!
+
+ANTOINETTE (passionately). Your own fault! You have brought mo to this!
+
+PAUL (painfully). You have become unfeeling, Antoinette!
+
+ANTOINETTE. I am simply no longer that stupid little creature that you
+can wind around your finger as once upon a time. Do you still remember
+that Christmas Eve, Doctor Warkentin?
+
+PAUL. I remember it all, Antoinette. Why on that evening my life was
+decided.
+
+ANTOINETTE. So was mine. In this very hall. I sat at this very place
+and you before me as now. There is such a thing as providence. I have
+always believed in that! But now I see it with my own eyes. God in
+heaven will not be mocked! On my knees I have prayed to him ...!
+
+PAUL (frightened). Antoinette!
+
+ANTOINETTE (furiously). On my knees I prayed for him to punish you.
+
+PAUL. Toinette, you are mad! What awful injury did I inflict upon you?
+
+ANTOINETTE (Scornfully). You upon me? Oh, none at all! Did you know
+about me at all? You scorned me! What, that stupid little thing wants
+me, the great man! Who am I and what is she! Off with her.
+
+PAUL. Toinette!
+
+ANTOINETTE (filled with hatred). Yes, off with her. And I did throw
+myself away! I knew all the time it would spell misfortune for me if I
+married this ... this man.
+
+PAUL (starts up). Is that the way matters stand?
+
+ANTOINETTE. Yes, indeed, that's the way they stand. I don't think of
+making a secret of it. The whole world knows it. It is shouted from the
+house-tops!
+
+PAUL (clenches his fists). The dog!
+
+ANTOINETTE. It's easy for you to use strong terms now. You hounded me
+into it! I owe it all to you. But one consolation has remained for me.
+I have become unhappy. But so are you! And that is why I have come.
+
+PAUL (straightens up). What does this mean, Antoinette?
+
+ANTOINETTE. Heavens! Simple enough! You do take an interest in the
+woman that has been preferred to you. You would like to make the
+acquaintance of such a marvel.
+
+PAUL (offended). You are malicious, madam!
+
+ANTOINETTE. Not at all. I only wanted to see, with my own eyes, how
+happy you are. But I am quite sufficiently informed. One only needs to
+take a look at you.
+
+PAUL (painfully). Are you satisfied now?
+
+ANTOINETTE (from the bottom of her heart). Yes.
+
+PAUL. Are you compelled to detest me?
+
+ANTOINETTE.
+ Do you expect me to thank you?
+
+PAUL (fervently). Does it really make you happy to talk to me in this
+manner, Antoinette?
+
+ANTOINETTE. Happy or not, what I have vowed before the altar, I shall
+not fail to keep.
+
+PAUL (earnestly and sadly). I am the last person to hinder you,
+Toinette! But I surely may look at you? Will you forbid that?
+
+ANTOINETTE (struggling with herself). Don't talk to me in this manner!
+
+PAUL (excited). Just look into your face, Antoinette, the few moments
+that remain! Stamp upon my mind how much I have lost! Look into your
+eyes, just once more! Into your wonderful eyes!
+
+ANTOINETTE (jumps up). Don't talk to me in this manner, I say. I
+haven't deserved it!
+
+PAUL (has also risen, seizes her hand). Antoinette, I have found none
+of the things that I was seeking. I have been miserably deceived! Are
+you satisfied now?
+
+      [ANTOINETTE sinks back into her chair, begins to sob
+      spasmodically.]
+
+PAUL (wildly). Why aren't you glad? (He strides through the hall.)
+
+      [ANTOINETTE chokes down her sobs.]
+
+PAUL (comes back again, bows down to her). Weep, Antoinette! Weep! I
+wish I could. (He softly presses a kiss upon her hair). [Silence.]
+
+ANTOINETTE (jumps up). I must go! Where is my husband? I must have
+fresh air! My head! (She looks crazed.)
+
+PAUL (takes her arm). Yes, fresh air, Toinette, there we shall feel
+less constraint. It is fine outside, the snow is falling. Everything is
+white. Everything is old. Just as both of us have become, Toinette.
+
+ANTOINETTE (leaning on him). I am so afraid! So terribly afraid!
+
+PAUL (leading her to the door). You will feel better. Snow is soothing.
+Come and I will tell you about my life. Possibly you will forgive me
+then, Antoinette? (He looks at her imploringly and extends his hand to
+her).
+
+ANTOINETTE (hesitates a moment, then opening her eyes widely she lays
+her hand in his). Possibly!...
+
+PAUL (happy). Thank you, Toinette! Thank you!... And now come.
+
+ANTOINETTE (on his arm, sadly). Where shall we go?
+
+PAUL. To the park, Toinette, to the brook, do you remember, to the
+alders?
+
+ANTOINETTE (nods). To the alders, I remember.
+
+PAUL. Out into the snow, to seek our childhood.
+
+      [He slowly leads her out at the right.]
+
+
+
+
+ACT III
+
+
+The same hall as on the preceding days. The two corners in the
+foreground, on the right the fireplace with its chairs, on the left the
+sofa and other furniture are both separated from the centre and
+background of the hall by means of a rectangular arrangement of
+oleanders in pots, thus affording two separate cozy corners, between
+whose high borders of oleander a somewhat narrow passage leads to the
+background. A banquet board in the form of a horseshoe, the sides of
+which run to the rear and are hidden by the oleanders. The centre,
+forming the head of the board, is plainly visible from the passage. It
+is almost noon. Dim light, reflected from the snow outside, comes in
+through the middle window of the back wall, a view of which is afforded
+through the opening in the centre. The snowflakes flutter down drearily
+as on the previous day. The fire now and then casts a red light upon
+the oleanders, which separate the space surrounding the fireplace from
+the background. AUNT CLARA, in mourning as before, and LENE, also
+dressed in black, are busy at the table, which has been set. They move
+to and fro arranging plates, glasses and bottles. After a moment.
+
+
+AUNT CLARA (comes forward in the direction of the passage, inspects the
+whole arrangement and speaks to LENE who is occupied in the background,
+where she cannot be seen). Are all of the knives and forks properly
+arranged back there?
+
+LENE (not visible). Everything's in order, Miss Clara.
+
+AUNT CLARA. Why, then we are through.
+
+LENE. They can come right along now.
+
+AUNT CLARA. I can't help but think that it's time for the bell. (The
+old clock in the corridor outside begins to strike.)
+
+LENE (has come forward). It's striking twelve.
+
+AUNT CLARA. You're certain, are you, that the roast is being basted
+properly?
+
+LENE. Oh, Lizzie's looking after things.
+
+AUNT CLARA. The sermon seems to be pretty long.
+
+LENE. Oh, he can never find his finish. Miss Clara.
+
+AUNT CLARA. Let him talk, for all I care! Only I might have put off the
+dinner.
+
+LENE (listens). Now the bell is ringing. (Distant, indistinct tones of
+a church bell are heard.)
+
+AUNT CLARA (also listens). Yes, they are ringing. Then it is over. (She
+folds her hands as if in prayer.)
+
+LENE (timidly). Now the coffin's in the ground, ain't it, Miss Clara?
+
+AUNT CLARA (murmurs). God grant him eternal peace!
+
+LENE (also with hands folded). Amen!
+
+AUNT CLARA (continues murmuring). And light everlasting shine for him!
+
+LENE (as before). Amen!
+
+AUNT CLARA (partly to herself). I _should_ have been glad to pay him
+the last honor, but it _was_ impossible. What would have become of the
+roast? We shall see each other in the next world anyhow. It will not be
+_very_ long!
+
+LENE (comforting her). Oh, Miss Clara.
+
+AUNT CLARA (seizes her arm). Don't stand there! Do your work! They will
+surely be here directly, (Counts the places.) Six ... eight ... twelve
+... sixteen ... eighteen ... twenty ... twenty-two ...
+
+LENE. That's the number. There are eight sleighs.
+
+AUNT CLARA. Go and open the door of the green room!
+
+LENE (goes off to the left). What _will_ Mrs. Warkentin say to that?
+
+AUNT CLARA. _I_ will attend to that. It can't be helped today. We shall
+have to use the rooms for our coffee later.
+
+LENE (returns). She'll make a nice fuss!
+
+AUNT CLARA. Off with you now. They are coming. Take the ladies and
+gentlemen into the front rooms until we have the dinner on the table.
+Then you can go and call them.
+
+LENE. Very well, Miss Clara. (Quickly off to the right.)
+
+      [Short pause, during which AUNT CLARA stands listening. Then
+      HELLA enters from the right, dressed in black.]
+
+HELLA (with a quick glance to the left, then to AUNT CLARA who has
+retreated to the background). What is the matter with my room? Why are
+the doors open?
+
+AUNT CLARA. The guests certainly must have some place where they can
+relax a bit, later on.
+
+HELLA (nonplussed). In my rooms?
+
+AUNT CLARA. They surely can't sit around in this one place the whole
+afternoon. They must take their coffee _some_where.
+
+HELLA (from the left). Why I _do_ say ...! Really! All of my books are
+gone!
+
+AUNT CLARA (indifferently). I put things to rights a bit, madam. Why I
+_couldn't_ leave them as they were. I took the books upstairs.
+
+HELLA. Upstairs! Very well, then that's where _I_ will go. (Starts out
+toward the right.)
+
+PAUL (enters and runs into HELLA). Where are you going?
+
+HELLA. I am going upstairs.
+
+PAUL. _Where_ are you going!
+
+HELLA. Upstairs. I _can't_ find a nook down _here_ today where I might
+rest.
+
+PAUL. So you really refuse to dine with us?
+
+HELLA (places her hand on his arm). Spare me the agony, Paul! You know
+I can't endure so many strangers. It will give me a headache.
+
+PAUL. Stay a short time at least! Show that much consideration!
+
+HELLA (retreats a step). Consideration ... No one shows _me_ any
+consideration!
+
+PAUL (pacing up and down). Nice mess, when not even the nearest
+relatives ...
+
+HELLA. Why, you are to be present.
+
+PAUL. But you must be present! I desire it, Hella!
+
+HELLA. And what if I simply _cannot_?
+
+PAUL (plants himself before her). Why not?
+
+HELLA. Because I cannot. Because I hate these feeds!
+
+PAUL (more calmly). That is correct. So do I! But what can we do about
+it? It _is_ the custom.
+
+HELLA. Custom, Paul, custom!... Have we founded our life upon old
+customs?
+
+PAUL (embittered). If we only had!
+
+HELLA (looks at him sharply). Do you think so?
+
+PAUL. Yes, possibly we should have fared better.
+
+HELLA (very emphatically). And then, my dear, I will tell you one thing
+more. You are compelling me to do so.
+
+PAUL. And that is?
+
+HELLA. I don't care to lie.
+
+PAUL. What do you mean by that?
+
+HELLA. I don't care to feign, to these people, feelings that are
+entirely absent. That is why I am going upstairs.
+
+PAUL (very calmly). Does that refer to ... the dead?
+
+HELLA. Yes, it does! I did not know _him_ and he did not know _me_!
+Did not care to know me. What obligations remain for me? None at all.
+
+PAUL. Are you serious?
+
+HELLA (bolt upright). In all seriousness. Now it is out.
+
+PAUL (quite calm). Very well, then go!
+
+HELLA. I'll see you later. (She goes toward the right.)
+
+PAUL (struggles for composure, then suddenly). Hella! For _my_ sake ...
+Do _not_ go. Stay here!
+
+HELLA (turns to him). No, Paul, one should not force himself to do such
+things. Put the responsibility upon your father! I am not to blame. I
+am only acting as I must. You would do the same. [Off at the right.]
+
+PAUL (beside himself). It's well that you are reminding me of that.
+
+AUNT CLARA (approaches). Shall I remove your wife's plate?
+
+PAUL. Yes, take the plate away.
+
+AUNT CLARA. Have you seen the Laskowskis?
+
+PAUL. Yes, at the cemetery, Auntie. I shall go now and call the guests.
+(Goes off.)
+
+      [AUNT CLARA walks toward the right, shaking her head, then pulls
+      the bell.]
+
+LENE (comes in from the right, behind the scene). What is it. Miss
+Clara?
+
+AUNT CLARA. Have the soup brought in! It will take me some time to fill
+all of the plates, anyhow.
+
+LENE. Very well!
+
+AUNT CLARA. Now where are you to serve? And where is the coachman to
+serve? You haven't forgotten?
+
+LENE. I am to serve on the right and the coachman on the left. Is that
+right?
+
+AUNT CLARA. Yes, you may go! And don't forget, all serving is to be
+done by way of the green room! Be sure not to come in from this side!
+[LENE goes off.]
+
+      [AUNT CLARA retires to the background, where she is occupied for
+      some time, without being very much in evidence. The door at the
+      right is opened.]
+
+PAUL (still hidden to view). Come in, ladies and gentlemen! In this
+way! (VON TIEDEMANN, MRS. VON TIEDEMANN, DR. BODENSTEIN, RAABE, father
+and son, MERTENS, KUNZE, MRS. BOROWSKI, SCHNAASE, MRS. SCHNAASE,
+JOSUPEIT, LICENTIATE SCHROCK and others enter and dispose themselves in
+groups before and behind the Oleanders.)
+
+RAABE, SR. (puts his hand up to his side). I don't know, but that
+cemetery put a stitch into my side.
+
+SCHNAASE. Yes, that was a nasty, cold snow. If we only get something to
+eat soon!... So we can warm up!
+
+VON TIEDEMANN. Ought to be a bit careful of yourself at your age, Mr.
+Raabe!
+
+RAABE. Why, how old _am_ I? Seventy!
+
+VON TIEDEMANN. Not worth mentioning, eh? Prime of life!... How old
+_was_ Warkentin?
+
+SCHNAASE. Why we just heard about that in the sermon, sixty-two!
+
+VON TIEDEMANN. Not very old!
+
+RAABE. Yes, that's the way they go ...
+
+SCHNAASE. To the grand army, eh Raabe, old boy? Who knows when we will
+get our orders.
+
+RAABE. It will be our turn next.
+
+VON TIEDEMANN. Don't say that! It is not a matter of age! Look at
+Warkentin, did he give evidence of his end?
+
+SCHNAASE. The affair with his son put him over, or he would be here
+today.
+
+VON TIEDEMANN (looks around). Why, where is the young man?
+
+SCHNAASE. Pretty nice fellow in other respects!
+
+VON TIEDEMANN. He will have a deuce of a time if he intends to farm
+here. You can't pick that up helter skelter. Has any one heard? Does he
+intend to take it on? Or is he going to sell?
+
+      [He turns toward the rear. Meanwhile ANTOINETTE, PAUL, AND
+      GLYSZINSKI have entered from the right and have joined a group of
+      guests in the background.]
+
+RAABE. In the old days the son always followed in the footsteps of his
+father. The son of a land-owner became a land-owner. That's all out of
+style now. Everybody goes to school.
+
+SCHNAASE. Well, your son is doing that very thing, Raabe.
+
+RAABE, JR. (has come forward). Good morning, Mr. Schnaase!
+
+SCHNAASE. Good morning, brother student!
+
+RAABE, JR. Well, pa?
+
+RAABE. Well, my son?
+
+SCHNAASE. Keeping right after beerology, young man?
+
+RAABE, JR. Purty well, thanks! A fellow guzzles his way through.
+
+SCHNAASE. How many semesters does this make, Mr. Raabe?
+
+RAABE, JR. Mebbie you'd better not ask about that.
+
+RAABE. How many semesters? Twelve! Isn't that it, my son?
+
+RAABE, JR. Astoundingly correct!
+
+SCHNAASE. Then I suppose you'll tackle the examinations one of these
+days, Mr. Raabe?
+
+RAABE, JR. There's plenty of time.
+
+RAABE. Just let him study his fill! I'm not at all in favor of too much
+hurry! He'll get office and emoluments soon enough.
+
+SCHNAASE. I know one thing, _my_ boy will not get into a gymnasium! The
+agricultural school for him, till he can qualify for the one year's
+service and off with him. No big notions for him!
+
+RAABE (holds his side). Outch, there's my stitch again!
+
+RAABE, JR. Take a whisky, pa! Shall I get us a couple?
+
+RAABE. A few fingers might not do any harm.
+
+SCHNAASE. _Have_ the girl before you kiss her, according to Lehmann.[A]
+
+
+      [Footnote A: Nickname of Emperor William I, who according to
+      popular report took an interest in girls.]
+
+
+RAABE, JR. What'll you bet? I can get some! (He hastens to the rear.)
+
+RAABE. Divvel of a fellow!
+
+SCHNAASE. Well now, I'd just like to see. (Both of them follow RAABE,
+JR. to the rear.)
+
+MRS. VON TIEDEMANN and MRS. SCHNAASE come from the left arm in arm.
+
+MRS. VON TIEDEMANN (with a glance at the arrangements). That is not
+exactly extraordinary.
+
+MRS. SCHNAASE. Oh, I don't know, Elizabeth, I find it quite pretty.
+
+MRS. VON TIEDEMANN. And the wife does not seem to be much in evidence.
+
+MRS. SCHNAASE. Yes, she seems a bit high toned.
+
+MRS. VON TIEDEMANN. _Quite a bit._ I wonder what kind of notions _she_
+has about the society that she has encountered here!
+
+MRS. SCHNAASE. Do you think they will stay here?
+
+MRS. VON TIEDEMANN. Such creatures blow in from Berlin, puff up like a
+turkey gobbler. I'd hate to know about her past!
+
+MRS. SCHNAASE. Mrs. Laskowski looks pretty interesting today.
+
+MRS. VON TIEDEMANN. Do you think so? Well, perhaps she has her reasons.
+
+MRS. SCHNAASE. You don't say! Do tell.
+
+MRS. VON TIEDEMANN. Don't you know about it at all?
+
+MRS. SCHNAASE. Why no, what? I don't get out very much, you know.
+
+MRS. VON TIEDEMANN. It was before your day. You were not here then. I
+have a dim recollection, when I was quite a young girl.
+
+MRS. SCHNAASE (all ear, seizes her arm). Is it possible? What was it?
+
+MRS. VON TIEDEMANN (subdued). She had an affair with him ...
+
+MRS. SCHNAASE. With whom, pray tell?
+
+MRS. VON TIEDEMANN. The man with whom she is standing there.
+
+MRS. SCHNAASE. Why that is young Mr. Warkentin.
+
+MRS. VON TIEDEMANN. Pst. They are coming. (Quite subdued.) Later she
+married her husband out of spite, because she did not get him!
+
+MRS. SCHNAASE (squints curiously at ANTOINETTE). To think that she
+would still talk to him!
+
+MRS. VON TIEDEMANN. Heavens, what does she care! (To DR. BODENSTEIN,
+who is quietly conversing with MERTENS at the fireplace.) Doctor, just
+a word!
+
+DR. BODENSTEIN. At your service, madam! (He straightens up promptly and
+hastens to her.)
+
+MRS. VON TIEDEMANN. I only wanted to ask about a trifling matter,
+Doctor.
+
+DR. BODENSTEIN. I shall be _delighted_, madam.
+
+MRS. VON TIEDEMANN. But no one must hear us. (Both disappear to the
+rear.)
+
+MERTENS (has also stepped out from the recess of the fireplace, to
+MRS. SCHNAASE). If you are willing to put up with me for the present,
+madam?
+
+MRS. SCHNAASE. Oh, thank you very much! But I might ...
+
+MERTENS. Please, please, madam! May I offer you my arm? (He takes her
+arm.)
+
+JOSUPEIT (has rushed up to the two from the background). Too late! Just
+my luck! _I_ was about to report!
+
+MERTENS. You will have to get up a bit earlier the next time, my dear
+fellow; _I_ shall take you to the table, madam.
+
+JOSUPEIT (from the other side). Take me to the table dear, good madam!
+I'll tell you something quite interesting too.
+
+PAUL (has come forward with ANTOINETTE). We shall eat immediately, Mr.
+Mertens.
+
+MERTENS. Please, please, as concerns
+me! (He escorts MRS. SCHNAASE.)
+
+JOSUPEIT (catches sight of PAUL, suddenly assumes a funereal air). My
+heartfelt sympathy, Mr. Warkentin! (He seizes his hand and shakes it.)
+
+PAUL, (reserved). I thank you!
+JOSUPEIT (is silent for a moment, then continues). Another man of honor
+gone. (PAUL nods silently. JOSUPEIT again after a brief silence.)
+Terribly sudden!
+
+PAUL (nods again and says). But I must not detain you, Mr. Josupeit!
+
+JOSUPEIT. Once more, my heartfelt sympathy!
+
+      [JOSUPEIT and the rest go off to the rear.]
+
+PAUL (to ANTOINETTE who has stepped forward to the right near the
+fireplace). You see, madam, that's the way of it! Just back from the
+cemetery. One buried forever, and the next moment all of their thoughts
+somewhere else. Joyous and of good cheer.
+
+ANTOINETTE (stares into the fire, bitterly). Yes, that's the way of it!
+
+PAUL. Life rolls on merrily. The dead are dead. We shall have the same
+fate some day, madam.
+
+ANTOINETTE. Of course we shall. It is immaterial to me.
+
+PAUL (looks at her). Really?
+
+ANTOINETTE. It does not matter to me, whether it comes today or
+tomorrow. Sometime I shall have to go! So the quicker the better. It is
+all over with me!
+
+PAUL. Antoinette!
+
+ANTOINETTE. You may believe me, I am quite serious!
+
+PAUL (completely absorbed, as he looks at her). How calmly you
+say that! In the very bloom of life! I cannot think of you thus.
+
+ANTOINETTE. How?
+
+PAUL. Cold and dead.
+
+ANTOINETTE. But I can. Very well indeed. I am so now!
+
+PAUL. That isn't true, Antoinette. Your eyes tell a different story!
+
+ANTOINETTE (shrugging her shoulders). Never mind my eyes!
+
+PAUL. But I can't help it. I must look into them! I feel as if I must
+find something there.
+
+ANTOINETTE (turning away). Don't go to any trouble!
+
+PAUL. Indeed, indeed, Antoinette!
+
+ANTOINETTE. What in the world could you find?
+
+PAUL. ... Possibly my lost life?
+
+ANTOINETTE (excited). Why do you speak so to me, Paul?
+
+PAUL. Do I hear it from your lips, Paul, Paul, as of old?
+
+ANTOINETTE (frightened). Paul! Paul! Desist!
+
+PAUL. It has been a long time since I have heard that sound!
+
+ANTOINETTE. Desist, at least for today, I beg of you! It seems like a
+sin to me!
+
+PAUL. Why like a sin?
+
+ANTOINETTE. You were just remarking about the rest, and now you are
+doing the same thing, forgetting the dead.
+
+PAUL. I--forget him? I am thinking of him incessantly! And of his last
+words, before we parted forever! Do you know what they were, Toinette?
+
+ANTOINETTE (subdued). Tell me!
+
+PAUL. "Go! Some day you will be sorry!" ... Possibly he was right, the
+dear old man! Today it kept resounding from his open grave, as the
+clods and lumps of snow rumbled down on his coffin. "Are you sorry now?
+Are you sorry now?" ... I have tried to get rid of it, but it refuses
+to go. It keeps pursuing me and cries into my ears!
+
+LASKOWSKI (has approached the two). Well, dearie, how are you? What are
+you doing?
+
+ANTOINETTE (turns around, as if recoiling from something poisonous).
+Oh, it's you!
+
+LASKOWSKI. Who would it be? Ain't it up to me to look after my dearie
+now and then. Shan't we eat? They are all sitting down.
+
+PAUL (has become composed). Your husband is quite right, madam. We are
+the last. Unfortunately Mrs. Warkentin is not very well. May I request
+you to play the part of the hostess a bit?
+
+ANTOINETTE (distressed). If it must be, Doctor ...
+
+PAUL (looks at her). Yes, there is no help for it, madam. (Escorts her
+through the passage to the table.)
+
+LASKOWSKI (following them). And I, old boy. Where am I to go?
+
+PAUL (grimly). Wherever you please! The world is wide and there is room
+for all. (He leads Antoinette around the table to her place.)
+
+LASKOWSKI. I guess the shortest way is the best! I'm going to sit right
+here. (He sits down beside MRS. VON TIEDEMANN, all the rest have also
+gradually taken their places. The order at the visible central portion
+of the table is as follows, from left to right: Outside, KUNZE,
+LASKOWSKI, MRS. VON TIEDEMANN, DIRECTOR MERTENS, MRS. SCHNAASE;
+opposite these inside, MRS. BOROWSKI, PAUL, ANTOINETTE, MR. VON
+TIEDEMANN, DR. BODENSTEIN. During the whole of the following scene they
+are eating and drinking. LENE and FRITZ, in livery, move to and fro,
+serving. AUNT CLARA comes in and goes out as the occasion demands. She
+has her seat with those who are hidden and whose voices are only heard
+at times. At first the conversation remains subdued.)
+
+KUNZE (rises). Ladies and gentlemen! Before sitting down at the board,
+to regale ourselves with food and drink, does it not involve upon us to
+devote a few words to the memory of the beloved deceased, whose mortal
+remains we have today conducted to the last resting place. And how can
+we do that more fittingly, ladies and gentlemen, than by recalling the
+words recorded in holy writ. Ladies and gentlemen, what are the words
+of the psalmist? The days of our years are three-score years and ten;
+and if, by reason of strength, they be four-score years, yet is their
+strength labor and sorrow; for it is soon cut off and we fly away!
+Ladies and gentlemen! He who no longer dwells in our midst in the body,
+but whose spirit is looking down upon all of us, the beloved deceased,
+may he rest in peace.
+
+      [Silence. Short pause as they continue to eat.]
+
+LASKOWSKI (the first to finish his soup, leans back). A soup like that
+does warm a fellow up.
+
+VON TIEDEMANN. Especially when you have been out in your sleigh for
+nearly two hours.
+
+LASKOWSKI. And then a full hour at the cemetery on top of it.
+
+MRS. VON TIEDEMANN (quickly). But the sermon was really touching. From
+the very heart. Any one who had known the dead man ...
+
+LASKOWSKI. Not a soul kept from crying!
+
+VON TIEDEMANN. Yes, remarkably beautiful!
+
+LASKOWSKI. A fellow forgot all about being hungry.
+
+MRS. BOROWSKI (leans over to PAUL). Are they talking about the sermon?
+
+PAUL (aloud). Yes, Mrs. Borowski.
+
+MRS. BOROWSKI. I didn't understand very much.
+
+PAUL (courteously). At your age, Mrs. Borowski!
+
+MERTENS (in an undertone to MRS. VON TIEDEMANN). Who is she?
+
+MRS. VON TIEDEMANN. It's the widow of the former teacher at the estate
+here.
+
+MERTENS. She seems to hail from the days of the French occupation!
+
+VON TIEDEMANN. _Does_ she? She has at least eighty years on her back.
+
+MERTENS. But is well preserved.
+
+MRS. BOROWSKI (to PAUL). I say, Mr. Warkentin, I knew your father when
+he was no bigger than ... (Holding her hand not far from the ground.)
+
+PAUL (subdued). Fifty years ago?
+
+MRS. BOROWSKI. Oh, it's longer than that. Almost sixty. I saw them all
+grow up. Now I'm almost the only one left from those times.
+
+LASKOWSKI (leans over toward her with his glass). Well, here's to you
+Auntie!... You don't drink very much any more I suppose? (He drinks.)
+
+MRS. BOROWSKI. Oh, indeed! I am still able to take a glass.
+
+PAUL. Come, Mrs. Borowski, let me help you. (He fills her glass.)
+
+MRS. BOROWSKI. When I was young I never caught sight of wine. Now that
+I'm old I have more than I can drink.
+
+LASKOWSKI. Drink ahead, Auntie! Drink ahead! Wine makes you young!
+
+MRS. BOROWSKI. You know, your good wife is always sending me some.
+
+LASKOWSKI (nonplussed). I do say, dearie, why, I don't know a thing
+about that.
+
+      [ANTOINETTE silently shrugs her shoulders and casts a quick
+      glance at him.]
+
+LASKOWSKI (friendly again). Makes no difference, dearie, no difference
+at all! Just send ahead! We do have a lot of it.
+
+ANTOINETTE. There is surely enough for us to spare a little for an old
+lady.
+
+LASKOWSKI. Sure, dearie!
+
+MRS. BOROWSKI (leans over to ANTOINETTE). Do you remember, pet, how you
+used to come and call with your parents, now dead and gone? A little
+bit of a thing you were, Paul would lift you on the horse and you
+didn't cry at all, you sat there just like a grown-up ... I remember it
+very well.
+
+ANTOINETTE. I don't. Such things _are_ forgotten.
+
+PAUL (looks at her). Have you really forgotten that, madam?
+
+ANTOINETTE. Heavens, I haven't thought of it again.
+
+MRS. BOROWSKI. Just wait and see, pet, when you are old you will think
+of it again.
+
+ANTOINETTE. Not all people grow to be as old as you, dear Mrs.
+Borowski.
+
+LASKOWSKI (has partaken freely of the wine). Dearie, you'll grow as old
+as the hills! I can prophesy that much. Haven't you the finest kind of
+a time!
+
+ANTOINETTE. I?... Of course!
+
+LASKOWSKI (garrulously). What do you lack!... Nuthin'!... Children's
+what you lack!
+
+ANTOINETTE (looks at him sharply). Never mind, please!
+
+LASKOWSKI (abashed). Well, well, don't put on so, dearie!
+
+MRS. VON TIEDEMANN (to PAUL). Have you any children, Doctor?
+
+PAUL. No, I'm sorry to say, madam.
+
+MR. VON  TIEDEMANN (to his wife). We're better off in that respect,
+Bess, aren't we? Three lusty bairns!
+
+MRS. SCHNAASE. And _we_, with our five!
+
+LASKOWSKI (touched). Do you see, dearie! What am I always tellin' you!
+An agriculturalist without children ...
+
+KUNZE. Abraham scored one hundred when the Lord bestowed his son Isaac
+upon him.
+
+LASKOWSKI. But a fellow like me can't wait that long--stuff and
+nonsense. What if I die and ...
+
+PAUL. You will take care not to do that.
+
+LASKOWSKI. Don't say that, brother! I'm going to die young! I'm sure of
+it. An old woman once told my fortune, and she said I wouldn't see more
+than fifty. But, do you know what, dearie?
+
+MRS. VON TIEDEMANN (to ANTOINETTE). I suppose you frequently came to
+Ellernhof in the old days, Madam von Laskowski?
+
+ANTOINETTE. Why, the departed was my guardian, you know, Mrs.
+Von Tiedemann.
+
+MRS. VON TIEDEMANN. Oh yes. I had forgotten that.
+
+VON TIEDEMANN. Do you ride horseback as much as ever, madam?
+
+ANTOINETTE. Now and then, for pastime!
+
+LASKOWSKI. Now don't you say a word, dearie! Why, you're pasted on a
+horse all day long, and then from horseback right into the cold, cold
+water. Did anybody ever hear the like of it?
+
+PAUL (to ANTOINETTE). Yesterday I had a horseback ride again too,
+madam. Have I told you about it? The first time in years. And, what is
+more, I got quite near your place. I was even able to see the houses of
+Klonowken.
+
+ANTOINETTE. Did you ride through the forest?
+
+PAUL. Of course, through the pine forest of Klonowken, yesterday
+morning. Right through the snow.
+
+ANTOINETTE. Why, I was out at the same time.
+
+PAUL (looks at her). You were, madam? Too bad! Why did we not chance to
+meet?
+
+ANTOINETTE. I suppose it was not ordained so.
+
+LASKOWSKI (after drinking again). I say, dearie, one of these days when
+I die, do you know what I'll do?
+
+MERTENS. If one of us dies, I'll go to Karlsbad, eh, Laskowski?
+
+LASKOWSKI. Listen, dearie! You'll inherit all I have an' marry another
+fellow!
+
+PAUL (sternly). Control yourself a bit, Laskowski.
+
+LASKOWSKI (undaunted). Ain't that true, dearie? Tell me that you'll
+come to my grave! Promise me that much, dearie! Then I'll die easy.
+You'll come along and sit down and cry a few tearies on my grave. (He
+chokes down his tears and drinks again.)
+
+VON TIEDEMANN (has also been drinking freely). Well, here's to our
+friend, departed in his prime. (He raises his glass to LASKOWSKI.)
+
+MRS. VON TIEDEMANN (disapprovingly). Why, Fritz!
+
+VON TIEDEMANN (collecting himself). H'm! Well ... Didn't think of
+_that_. One forgets. Pardon me!
+
+ANTOINETTE. Will you not help yourselves, ladies and gentlemen? (To
+LENE, who is just passing with dishes in her hands.) Serve around
+once more!
+
+VON TIEDEMANN (helps himself). My favorite dish, veal-roast!... (To
+BODENSTEIN.) What do you say, Doctor, you are so quiet?
+
+DR. BODENSTEIN. Do whatever you do, with a will! I am now devoting
+myself to culinary delights!
+
+MERTENS. I regard this sauce a phenomenal achievement.
+
+MRS. SCHNAASE. There are tomatoes in it, I think.
+
+MERTENS. I must ask for the recipe.
+
+RAABE, JUNIOR'S (voice in the background). Here's to you!
+
+VOICES (in confusion, in the background). Here's to you! Your health!
+
+LASKOWSKI (gets up, raises his glass toward the background). Here's to
+everybody!
+
+VOICES (from behind). Here's to you, Laskowski!
+
+SCHROCK'S (voice). Here's to you, old rough-neck!
+
+PAUL. Don't drink so much, Laskowski! (ANTOINETTE bites her lips and
+looks away.)
+
+LASKOWSKI (whispering). Let me drink, brother! Drink and forget your
+pain, says Schiller. Ain't that it, old chap, ain't it, now? You're a
+kind of a poet yourself, ain't you?
+
+VON TIEDEMANN (in an undertone, to MERTENS). He's tanking up again!
+
+ANTOINETTE (to PAUL, through her teeth). Awful!
+
+PAUL (in an undertone). Oh, don't mind him.
+
+LASKOWSKI. Let me drink, old fellow. I'm not going to live long anyhow.
+It's on my chest ... Do you hear it rattle, old boy? Listen! Just
+listen! Listen to _me_, not to my dearie. When we're dead, we're out of
+it! We'll not get another drop! An' then we'll sleep till judgment day
+in the pitch-dark grave. Then you'll be rid of me, dearie!
+
+ANTOINETTE (gets up). Excuse me, Doctor!
+
+PAUL (also jumps up). Are you ill, madam?
+
+MRS. VON TIEDEMANN (moves aside). Now it is getting a bit uncanny.
+
+MRS. BOROWSKI (her hand at her ear). Are they talking about the
+judgment day?
+
+KUNZE (who eats away lustily, partly to himself). On the judgment day
+when the Lord will return to judge the quick and the dead.
+
+PAUL (to ANTOINETTE, who partly leans upon him). How are you,
+Antoinette!
+
+ANTOINETTE (has become composed again). I am all right again.
+
+MRS. SCHNAASE. Would you like a glass of water?
+
+MRS. VON TIEDEMANN. Yes, water!
+
+ANTOINETTE. No, thank you! This awful heat!... Don't let me disturb
+you.
+
+      [The conversation which had become very loud is carried on in a
+      more subdued manner. All are whispering to each other.]
+
+PAUL, Shall I take you out, madam?
+
+ANTOINETTE (with a supreme effort). No, thank you, I shall remain!
+(Sits down again.)
+
+LASKOWSKI (with a stupid stare). Just stay here, dearie! Just stay
+here!
+
+PAUL. Now do be quiet, Laskowski. (Also sits down again.)
+
+LASKOWSKI Ain't I quiet, brother? Quiet!... Quiet!... Quiet!... Quiet
+as the grave! Damn it all. I wonder how your father feels now.
+
+KUNZE. We are happy, but he is happier.
+
+ANTOINETTE (frantically controlling herself). Help yourselves, ladies
+and gentlemen! Mr. von Tiedemann, don't be backward!
+
+VON TIEDEMANN. I'm getting my share.
+
+MERTENS. So am I. I don't let things affect my appetite.
+
+LASKOWSKI (singing half audibly). Jinks, do you have to die, young as
+you are ... young as ...
+
+MRS. BOROWSKI (to PAUL). Now it has come, just as the departed always
+wished.
+
+PAUL. How so, Mrs. Borowski?
+
+MRS. BOROWSKI. That you would be back, Paul, and that everything about
+the estate would go right on as before! If he could only look down upon
+that.
+
+PAUL (nervously). Yes!
+
+VON TIEDEMANN (leans over to PAUL). Settled fact is it, Mr. Warkentin?
+Really going to get into the harness?
+
+LASKOWSKI (pricking up his ears). Can't do it, old chap! Come on!...
+Can't begin to do it!
+
+PAUL. I do intend to, Mr. von Tiedemann.
+
+VON TIEDEMANN. Well, you'd better think that over! Not every one can
+match your father as an agriculturalist.
+
+PAUL. With a little honest effort ...
+
+VON TIEDEMANN. If _that_ were all! To begin with, you can't match your
+father physically. You have to be accustomed to such things. In all
+kinds of weather! And then ... No child's play to farm now-a-days!
+Starvation prices for grain! Simply a shame! If that continues I'll
+vouch that all this blooming farming will go to the devil within twenty
+years!
+
+MRS. VON TIEDEMANN (shaking her head). To think of having you speak
+that way, Fritz!
+
+VON TIEDEMANN. Of course, if a fellow has a few pennies to fall back
+on, it's not so bad. But how many are there who have. The rest will
+go broke!
+
+LASKOWSKI (hums again). The Count of Luxemburg has squandered all his
+cash ... cash ... cash ...
+
+VON TIEDEMANN (eagerly). And who will have the advantage? The few who
+have money. They will buy for a song and some day, when times are
+better again, they will sell for twice as much. Some day they are
+likely to roll in wealth!
+
+LASKOWSKI (as before). Has squandered all his cash ... In one old merry
+night ... ha, ha!
+
+ANTOINETTE (leans back in her chair). My husband is no longer conscious
+of what he is saying!
+
+LASKOWSKI. Me? Not conscious?... Don't I know. Word for word! Shall I
+tell you, dearie? What you said and what I said and what Paul said to
+you ... Antoinette, how are you?... How are you Antoinette? (Short
+laugh.) Well, do I know, dearie? Did I hold on to it?
+
+PAUL. One must excuse you in your condition.
+
+VON TIEDEMANN. Don't worry about _him_, madam. He's one of these
+fellows with a big purse. He may chuckle! I can foresee that he will
+buy up the whole county some day!
+
+LASKOWSKI. Just what I'll do. What's the price of the world! Five bits
+a fling!... We can still raise that much. The more foolish the farmer,
+the bigger his spuds!
+
+MERTENS. His sugar-beets!
+
+LASKOWSKI. I say, boys!... Do you know how many tons of sugar-beets I
+raised to the acre! Last round?
+
+VON TIEDEMANN. Now, don't Spread it on!
+
+LASKOWSKI (jumps up). Fellows! My word of honor! I'm not lying!
+Thirty-five tons an acre! Who can match that? Nobody can! I can! I'm a
+devil of a fellow, I've always said so, ain't I, dearie? You know! (He
+strikes his chest and sits down.)
+
+VON TIEDEMANN. Thirty-five ton per acre! Ridiculous!
+
+MERTENS. I can honestly swear to the contrary!
+
+LASKOWSKI. And your dad, I tell you he was mad! He just couldn't look
+at me! But I don't bear him any grudge! I'm a man of honor! Shake
+hands, old chap! You say so, ain't I a man of honor? Put 'er there! Man
+of honor face to face with man of honor. But you must look at me, man
+alive! Or I won't believe you! (He extends his hand over to PAUL.)
+
+PAUL (negative gesture). Never mind! Just believe me.
+
+LASKOWSKI (looks at ANTOINETTE). Dearie, don't make such a face! Eat!
+Eat!... So you can get strong, so you can survive your poor Heliodor!
+(All except PAUL and ANTOINETTE laugh.)
+
+DR. BODENSTEIN (to MERTENS). Incipient delirium!
+
+      [MRS. VON TIEDEMANN whispers something into MERTENS' ear.]
+
+PAUL (to ANTOINETTE). You really haven't taken a thing, madam!
+
+ANTOINETTE. I am not hungry. But will the ladies and gentlemen not take
+something more? A little more of the dessert, perhaps.
+
+VON TIEDEMANN. No, thanks, madam! I can't eat another thing! Not if I
+try! Or I'll burst!
+
+MRS. VON TIEDEMANN (reproachfully). Fritz!
+
+DR. BODENSTEIN. Albumen! Fat! Carbo-hydrates! _In hoc signo vinces._
+
+MERTENS. And now a little cup of coffee!
+
+VON TIEDEMANN. And a cock-tail!
+
+DR. BODENSTEIN. To retard metabolism!
+
+PAUL. The coffee will be here directly!
+
+      [AUNT CLARA appears upon the scene and talks to ANTOINETTE in an
+      undertone.]
+
+LASKOWSKI (who has been dozing, wakes up again, takes his glass and
+addresses PAUL). You know what I'de done, Paul, if I'd been your dad?
+
+ANTOINETTE (nodding to AUNT CLARA). Miss Clara tells me that the
+coffee is in the next room. Whenever the ladies and gentlemen are so
+disposed ...
+
+LASKOWSKI (interrupts). If I'de been your father, old chap, I'd drunk
+all of my claret before my wind-up! I wouldn't 'a left a drop!
+
+SCHROCK'S (voice). Greedy gut!
+
+      [All get up and are about to exchange formalities.]
+
+RAABE JUNIOR'S (voice in the background). Here's to you!
+
+DR. BODENSTEIN (knocks on his glass, with a loud voice). Ladies and
+gentlemen! Let us dedicate a glass to the memory of the departed,
+according to the beautiful tradition of our fathers; that we must not
+mourn the dead, that we should envy them! Our slumbering friend lives
+on in the memory of those who were near to him! To immortality, in this
+sense, all of us may, after all, agree in a manner! (He raises his
+glass and clinks with those beside him. All the rest do the same.
+Silence prevails. Only the clinking of glasses is heard.)
+
+PAUL (raising his glass, to ANTOINETTE). The doctor is right! Let us
+drink to his memory, madam! May the earth rest lightly on him!
+(ANTOINETTE lowers her head and stifles her tears.)
+
+PAUL (looking at her fervently). Aren't yon going to respond?
+
+ANTOINETTE (musters her strength, raises her head, and with tears in
+her eyes clinks glasses with him).
+
+PAUL (drinks). To the memory of my father.
+
+ANTOINETTE (nods). Your father!
+
+PAUL. To that of our parents, madam! A silent glass! (He empties his
+glass.)
+
+       [ANTOINETTE puts down her glass, after she has drunk.]
+
+LASKOWSKI (has noticed ANTOINETTE). Just cry ahead, dearie! Cry your
+fill! That's the way they'll drink to your Heliodor some day!
+
+DR. BODENSTEIN. And so they will drink to all of us some day!
+
+KUNZE. For man's life on earth is like unto the grass of the field, on
+which the wind bloweth. It flourisheth for a season and withereth and
+no one remembereth it. So also the children of men.
+
+DR. BODENSTEIN. This goblet to the departed, one and all! (He drinks
+again.)
+
+PAUL. The departed on these walls! I drink to you! (He raises his glass
+to the portraits on the walls. All have risen meanwhile, and broken up
+into new groups. Confusion of voices in the background.)
+
+SCHROCK and RAABE (have intonated the Gaudeamus. At first softly, then
+more distinctly the following stanza is sung):
+
+      Ubi sunt qui ante nos
+      In mundo fuere?
+      Vadite ad superos,
+      Transite ad inferos,
+      Ubi jam fuere.
+
+[Illustration: FORDING THE WATER]
+
+GLYSZINSKI (has joined in lustily at the end, and repeats alone). Ubi
+jam fuere!
+
+      [MERTENS, VON TIEDEMANN, MRS. SCHNAASE, MRS. VON TIEDEMANN stand
+      in the foreground where they have been conversing in an
+      undertone.]
+
+MERTENS (in an undertone). Now the pot is boiling!
+
+VON TIEDEMANN (a bit mellow). That's the way a funeral should be! No
+airs! The dead won't become alive again anyhow!
+
+MERTENS. Many a man might object to that anyhow!
+
+VON TIEDEMANN. The devil take it. A fellow doesn't want to give up what
+he once has!
+
+MERTENS. Wasn't Laskowski superb again!
+
+VON TIEDEMANN. Always is, of late! Never see him any other way!
+
+MRS. VON TIEDEMANN. And then Mrs. Laskowski? Did you watch, Gretchen?
+
+MRS. SCHNAASE. I don't exactly see, Elizabeth!
+
+MRS. VON TIEDEMANN. You _didn't_, how they kept on whispering together?
+She hasn't a bit of modesty!
+
+VON TIEDEMANN. I'll bet my head Laskowski will plant himself here some
+day. The young man surely can't make it go in the long run. Why he
+can't hold on to the estate.
+
+MRS. VON TIEDEMANN. Didn't she bat her eyes again!
+
+MERTENS. She _does_ have eyes!
+
+VON TIEDEMANN. _Does_ she!
+
+MRS. VON TIEDEMANN. Just go ahead and propose to her, the togged-out
+thing!... Come on Gretchen!
+
+       [Both go off to the left.]
+
+VON TIEDEMANN. Bang!
+
+MERTENS. What do you think of _that_?
+
+VON TIEDEMANN. Let's see if we can find a cocktail! Come on Mertens!
+(They go out at the left.)
+
+       [PAUL, ANTOINETTE, GLYSZINSKI come over from the right.]
+
+[Illustration: FORDING THE WATER]
+
+GLYSZINSKI (quite intoxicated, to ANTOINETTE). Without a doubt, madam,
+a beautiful, sensitive soul will, above all, find expression in the
+hand. So would you, perhaps, let me have your hand for a moment....
+
+ANTOINETTE (chilly). For what purpose?
+
+GLYSZINSKI (has seized her hand, impassioned). Only to imprint a kiss
+upon these beautiful, soft, delicate, distinguished, aristocratic
+finger-tips! (He kisses her finger-tips.)
+
+ANTOINETTE (withdraws her hand). I beg your pardon, sir!
+
+LASKOWSKI (is detained in a group consisting of SCHROCK, RAABE JR., and
+others. He has seen GLYSZINSKI kiss ANTOINETTE'S hand). Boys, let me
+go!
+
+SCHROCK, RAABE, and OTHERS. Stay right here, old boy.
+
+LASKOWSKI. Let me go, I say ... I want to get to my dearie! (He tries
+to disengage himself.)
+
+SCHROCK (very unsteady on his feet). Dear old chap! I'll ... not ...
+let you!... Let's have another drink first!
+
+LASKOWSKI. I want to get to my dearie! (They restrain him.)
+
+GLYSZINSKI (follows ANTOINETTE with his eyes. She has retreated behind
+the oleanders in the foreground on the left). Ravishing creature! I
+must follow her! (About to follow her.)
+
+PAUL. That you will not do! (Intercepts him.)
+
+GLYSZINSKI. Let me pass!
+
+PAUL. That way, please! (He points to the left.)
+
+GLYSZINSKI (with clenched fists). Brutal fellow! (He struts toward the
+left and runs into LASKOWSKI, who is still standing in the group with
+SCHROCK and the rest, and who immediately fraternizes with him.)
+
+PAUL (looking at him as he goes). A rare team!
+
+LASKOWSKI (approaches GLYSZINSKI, trying to embrace him). Old chap!...
+Are you a Pole?
+
+GLYSZINSKI. A Pole! Yes, indeed! von Glyszinski!
+
+LASKOWSKI. Your name is Glyszinski! Mine is Laskowski! Come to my
+heart, fellow countryman!
+
+RAABE. Boys, such a thing as that calls for a drink. (He goes over
+toward the left.)
+
+LASKOWSKI. Drink, fellow countryman! Drink and kiss my wife. Do you
+want to kiss my wife?
+
+GLYSZINSKI (pompously). Sir!
+
+LASKOWSKI. _You_ may. Nobody else. A Pole may. Ain't she beautiful,
+that dearie of mine?
+
+GLYSZINSKI. Beautiful as the starry sky!
+
+LASKOWSKI (embracing his neck). Brother! Come along!
+
+SCHROCK (stands near them, swaying). Your health, you ... jolly ...
+brothers!
+
+LASKOWSKI. Brotherhood? Yes, we'll drink to our brotherhood, my fellow
+countryman.
+
+RAABE (comes in from the left). There's lots of good stuff in there.
+Come, be quick about it. Too bad to waste your time here!
+
+LASKOWSKI (leading GLYSZINSKI, who resists a trifle, out at the left,
+singing as he goes). Poland is not lost forever!
+
+      [RAABE and SCHROCK follow arm in arm. The rest have gradually
+      withdrawn toward the left in the course of the preceding scene.
+      LENE and FRITZ clear the table and carry out the dishes. AUNT
+      CLARA directs the work and assists now and then. PAUL stands near
+      the table in the foreground, lost in thought.]
+
+AUNT CLARA. Won't you go and have some coffee, Paul?
+
+PAUL. No, not now, Auntie! Later! I need a little rest! Will you soon
+be through?
+
+AUNT CLARA. Directly, my boy!... (To LENE.) Hurry now! There is plenty
+of work ahead!
+
+PAUL (subdued). Leave me alone for a little while, Auntie!
+
+AUNT CLARA (understanding him). I'll be going, Paul!
+
+      [LENE and FRITZ have completed their work and go out at the
+      right.]
+
+AUNT CLARA (in an undertone, as she goes toward the right). Have a good
+chat, Paul!
+
+PAUL (seriously). No occasion!
+
+      [AUNT CLARA goes off at the left. One can hear her, as she closes
+      the door on the left. Silence.]
+
+PAUL (stands undecided for a moment, then he slowly walks over to the
+row of oleanders, where ANTOINETTE sits leaning back in a chair at the
+sofa table with her hands pressed to her face. He looks at her for a
+long while, then softly says). Antoinette!
+
+ANTOINETTE (moans to herself, without stirring). My God!... My God!
+
+PAUL (places his hand on the crown of her head). You poor ... poor
+child! (He sits down in the chair beside her, takes her hand which she
+surrenders to him passively, presses it and tenderly kisses it,
+saying). Sweet ... sweet Toinette!
+
+      [ANTOINETTE covers her face with her left hand while PAUL
+      continues to hold her right hand. She is breathing convulsively.]
+
+PAUL (looks at her with devotion, closes his hands nervously). I fairly
+worship you! (Continues to look at her, then says.) Won't you look at
+me, Antoinette? (He gently removes her hand from her face.) Please,
+please, Toinette! Let me see your eyes! Just let me see your eyes! (He
+stoops down over her.)
+
+ANTOINETTE (sinks upon his breast, putting her arms around his neck).
+Dearest!... Dearest Paul!
+
+PAUL (embraces her impetuously). Sweetheart!... Now you are mine!...
+Sweetheart! (Continuing in a silent, fervent embrace. Pause.)
+
+ANTOINETTE (startled, and tries to withdraw from him). God! Great
+God!... What have I done?
+
+PAUL (holds her and embraces her again). No retreat, Antoinette. No
+retreat is possible!
+
+ANTOINETTE (beside herself). Let me go, Paul!
+
+PAUL. I shall not let you go, Toinette. And if it is a matter of life
+and death.
+
+ANTOINETTE (with a slight outcry). Paul!
+
+PAUL, (presses her to him firmer than ever). Do you want the people to
+come in? Then call them! Let them find us!
+
+ANTOINETTE (on his breast). I had an intimation of this.
+
+PAUL. Did you? You too?
+
+ANTOINETTE. Both of us, Paul! (In rapture.) Kiss me, my friend!... My
+beloved!
+
+PAUL. A thousand times over! (He kisses her.)
+
+ANTOINETTE (returns his kisses). And _I_, _you_ a thousand times over!
+
+PAUL. My dear, tell me that you love me!
+
+ANTOINETTE (nestling up to him). You know I do, dear! ... Why have me
+tell you?
+
+PAUL (with folded hands). Please, please tell me!
+
+ANTOINETTE. I do love you, Paul!
+
+PAUL. Tell me again! I have never heard the word! Say it once more!
+
+ANTOINETTE. I have always loved you, Paul!
+
+PAUL. Always? Always? Always?
+
+ANTOINETTE. Always!
+
+PAUL. And I failed to realize it all!... Fool, fool, fool! (He moans
+convulsively.)
+
+ANTOINETTE (places her arms about him again). Don't think of it! Not
+now!
+
+PAUL. You are right, dear! Our time is short!
+
+ANTOINETTE. Forget all! Forget! Forget!
+
+PAUL. I _cannot_ forget! It was too long!
+
+ANTOINETTE. Indeed it was long! But I knew that you would return.
+
+PAUL. And you took the other man?
+
+ANTOINETTE (sadly, but with a touch of roguishness). And _you_ the
+other woman!
+
+PAUL (startled). Do not remind me of it!
+
+ANTOINETTE (endearingly). I took the other man while I was thinking of
+you! I waited for you!
+
+PAUL. Waited for me, and I was not conscious of it. Missed my
+happiness. Staked my life for nothing! For a delusion! Some one had to
+die before I could realize what I might have enjoyed! Too late, too
+late, too late!
+
+ANTOINETTE (endearingly). Forget, my love! Forget! Forget! Lay your
+head upon my breast!
+
+PAUL (places his head upon her bosom). A good resting place.
+
+ANTOINETTE (rocks him in her arms). Sleep, beloved! Sleep!
+
+PAUL, (straightens up, beside himself with longing). Antoinette!...
+
+ANTOINETTE. Mine again, lover of my youth!
+
+PAUL. Dearest!... Dearest!
+
+ANTOINETTE. Cruel, cruel man!... Mine after tireless seeking.
+
+PAUL. Idol of my heart!... Safe in my arms at last! (Pause. Rapturous
+embrace.)
+
+PAUL (straightens up and looks into her eyes). Is this still sinful,
+sweetheart?
+
+ANTOINETTE (nods gravely). Still! And will remain so.
+
+PAUL (roguishly). Not to be forgiven?
+
+ANTOINETTE (gravely). Not to be forgiven!
+
+PAUL. And yet you consent, with all your piety?
+
+ANTOINETTE. I do consent! I have no other choice! (She leans upon his
+breast.)
+
+PAUL (embraces her, then with a sad smile). _Never_ to be forgiven,
+Antoinette?
+
+ANTOINETTE (gently). Possibly! In heaven.
+
+PAUL. Your God is inexorable, Antoinette.
+
+ANTOINETTE (impassioned). You are my god! I have ceased to have
+another!
+
+PAUL. And would you follow me, even unto death?
+
+ANTOINETTE. Unto death and beyond!
+
+PAUL (is forced to smile). Even to damnation, I dare say?
+
+ANTOINETTE. These terrors have lost their force for both of us!
+
+PAUL. Do you think so? Have you already come to this?
+
+ANTOINETTE. We have had our damnation here on earth!
+
+PAUL (jumps up). Here on earth! But not one hour more! Now the end is
+at hand!
+
+ANTOINETTE. Come, dear, sit down with me.
+
+PAUL. Yes, let us ponder what we are to do now. (He sits down beside
+her again.)
+
+ANTOINETTE (nestles up to him). Not now! Not today! Promise me!
+
+PAUL. When, when, Toinette? It must come to an end.
+
+ANTOINETTE. It shall! But let _me_ determine the hour, dearest!
+
+PAUL. You?
+
+ANTOINETTE, Yes, the day and the hour, do you hear?
+
+PAUL. Antoinette, if you put the matter in this way ... I cannot
+refuse, whatever you may ask!
+
+ANTOINETTE. Only one more day! Then I will write or come and tell you.
+Will you be ready?
+
+PAUL. Then I shall be ready for anything! Then we shall have a
+reckoning. Then life shall begin all over again.
+
+ANTOINETTE. Yes, another life!
+
+PAUL (sadly). Even though the sun is already sinking.... Possibly there
+is still time.
+
+ANTOINETTE. I shall do anything for you and you will do anything for
+me.... We agree to that! (They look into each other's eyes.)
+
+PAUL (gently). Do you remember, Toinette, on this very spot ...?
+
+ANTOINETTE. Ten years ago? I do! I do!
+
+PAUL. How strangely all has come about and how necessary nevertheless!
+So predestined! So inexorable! Fate! Fate!
+
+ANTOINETTE (brooding). I hung upon your lips and you ignored me! I had
+ceased to exist for you!
+
+PAUL. And so we lost each other.
+
+ANTOINETTE. But today, today we have found each other once more, oh
+lover of my youth!
+
+PAUL. Late, Toinette, so late!
+
+ANTOINETTE. Heavens, how stupid I was in those days!
+
+PAUL. Stupid because you loved me, Toinette?
+
+ANTOINETTE. No, because I did not tell you.
+
+PAUL. And I did not suspect it! Now who was worse?
+
+ANTOINETTE. Both of us, dear! We were too young!
+
+PAUL. And today I am an old man!
+
+ANTOINETTE. And what of _me_ ... An old woman!
+
+PAUL. Beloved!... Young and beautiful as ever. How young you have
+remained all of these years!
+
+ANTOINETTE. For your sake, dear. I knew that I must remain young till
+you would return! That is why I insisted upon riding like a Cossack ...
+
+PAUL. That is why?
+
+ANTOINETTE. And swimming like a trout in the stream! And rowing like a
+sailor!
+
+PAUL. And all in order to remain young and beautiful?... You vain, vain
+creature!
+
+ANTOINETTE (mysteriously). And in order to forget, you foolish, foolish
+fellow!
+
+PAUL (to himself, bitterly). In order to forget!
+
+ANTOINETTE (taking his head in her hands). Don't think of it! Don't
+think of it! Now we have found each other again. That too is past!
+
+PAUL. Yes, all is past! I have you and shall never leave you!...
+(Looking up at the walls). Yes, look down upon me out of your frames!
+Father and mother, envy me! Venerable hall, rarely have you beheld such
+happiness!...
+
+ANTOINETTE. Happiness and death in one, lover!
+
+PAUL. Possibly they are one and the same! (The door at the left is
+opened, both get up.)
+
+AUNT CLARA'S (voice from the left). Paul, are you here?
+
+PAUL. We are here. Aunt Clara! (Noise from the left.)
+
+AUNT CLARA (comes forward). Our guests are about to go, Paul.
+
+ANTOINETTE. Very well! Then we'll go too. (The two walk erectly into
+the center passage.)
+
+HELLA (has opened the door at the right, enters and sees PAUL and
+ANTOINETTE with AUNT CLARA). Paul!
+
+PAUL (turning around very calmly). Is it you, Hella?
+
+HELLA. As you see! (She stands immediately before them, looks at them
+with a hostile expression; to ANTOINETTE.) I beg your pardon, madam!
+
+ANTOINETTE (nods her head). Please!
+
+PAUL (coldly). What do you wish?
+
+HELLA (looks at him nonplussed, is silent a moment and then says
+curtly). Where is Glyszinski? I need him!
+
+PAUL (as before). There, if you please. If you will take the trouble to
+step into the next room ... (LASKOWSKI and GLYSZINSKI, arm in arm,
+enter from the left, followed by the other guests.)
+
+LASKOWSKI (very tipsy, but not completely robbed of his senses).
+Brother! Polish brother! Don't leave me in the lurch ... Help me find
+my dearie!
+
+ANTOINETTE (with head erect). Here I am.
+
+LASKOWSKI (sobered at the sight of her). Why dearie, where have you
+been? Have you had a long talk with Paul?
+
+ANTOINETTE (extends her hand to PAUL). Good-by, Doctor!
+
+PAUL. Good-by, madam! We shall see each other again! (He looks squarely
+into her eye.)
+
+ANTOINETTE (significantly). We _shall_ see each other again.
+
+LASKOWSKI. Shan't we go, dearie? Why, it's almost evening.
+ANTOINETTE. Yes, almost evening. I am ready. (She walks over to the
+right calmly and goes out. The guests prepare to go.)
+
+HELLA (has been standing silently witnessing the scene, and now
+approaches PAUL). What does this mean, Paul?
+
+PAUL (about to go, frigidly). A woman whom I knew in the old days!...
+Good-by. (He leaves her and goes out at the right with the guests.)
+
+HELLA (partly to herself, partly calling after him). Paul! What _does_
+this mean?... Paul!
+
+
+
+
+ACT IV
+
+
+Afternoon, two days later. The banquet hoard and oleanders have been
+removed, every trace of the funeral has been carefully obliterated.
+Clear sunlight comes in from the garden windows in the background and
+lights up the spacious, sombre hall. The bushes and trees of the garden
+are coated with ice. The fire is burning as usual. Toward the end of
+the act the sunlight gradually vanishes and a light, gray dusk fills
+the hall. AUNT CLARA stands at the fireplace with her arms folded over
+her waist, and looks into the fire.
+
+
+PAUL (who has been pacing the floor, stops and passes his hand over his
+hair nervously). So no letter has come, Aunt Clara?
+
+AUNT CLARA (looking up). No, no, my boy.
+
+PAUL (impatiently). And no messenger either?
+
+AUNT CLARA. From where do you expect one?
+
+PAUL (in agony). Great God, from where? From where? From anywhere? Some
+tiding! Some word! A letter! (Paces the floor again excitedly.)
+
+AUNT CLARA. Why I can't tell. Are you expecting anything from some
+source or other?
+
+PAUL (impetuously). Would I be _asking_, Aunt Clara?
+
+      [Silence.]
+
+PAUL (violently agitated, partly to himself). Incomprehensible!
+Incomprehensible! Two days without news! Two full days!
+
+AUNT CLARA (sadly). I do not comprehend you either, my boy!
+
+PAUL (takes a few steps without heeding her). This stillness! This
+death-like stillness!
+
+AUNT CLARA (sits down). Isn't it good, when peace prevails?
+
+PAUL. As you look at it. Certainly it is good! But first of all one
+must be at peace himself! Must have become calm and clear about the
+matters that concern one. Know what one wants to do and is expected to
+do and what one is here for in this world.
+
+AUNT CLARA. But every one knows that, Paul.
+
+PAUL (without listening to her, rather to himself). Uncanny, this
+silence all around one. Doubly and three-fold one feels, how it seethes
+and boils within, without one's getting anywhere. One can hear himself
+_think_! (He stops, then in a changed voice, as he looks up.) No no,
+Aunt Clara, people who have closed their account, belong in the
+country. Others do not! (AUNT CLARA looks at him and is silent. After a
+moment.) The rest need noise, diversion, human beings about them. One
+_must_ have something in order _to be able to_ forget! Some narcotic to
+put one to sleep! There _are_ people, who do that all of their lives
+and are quite, happy, who never come to themselves, are continually
+living in a kind of intoxication and leave this world without attaining
+real consciousness. You see, Auntie, the city is the proper place for
+that. There you can dull your feelings and forget.
+
+AUNT CLARA. I could not stand the city.
+
+PAUL. Yes, you, Aunt Clara! You are a child of the country.
+
+AUNT CLARA. Well, aren't you, Paul?
+
+PAUL. True! But you have never been alienated from the soil! I tell you
+the man who has once partaken of that poison, can not give it up, he is
+forced to go back to it again and again.
+
+AUNT CLARA (impatiently). One simply can't understand you, Paul. When
+you arrived, you said one thing and now you are saying another. The
+very idea!
+
+PAUL (is forced to smile). You fail to understand that, you good old
+soul! Of course, you do not know what has come to pass since then. At
+that time I was not at odds with myself ...
+
+AUNT CLARA. At that time! When, pray tell? You came on the third
+holiday and this is New Year's eve. You have been here for five days.
+
+PAUL. Today it's quite a different matter. Quite different!
+
+AUNT CLARA. What on earth has _happened_, pray tell!
+
+PAUL. Much, much, Aunt Clara!
+
+AUNT CLARA (probing). I suppose because they were a bit boisterous at
+the funeral! That's the way of it, you know, when they get to drinking.
+
+PAUL (negative gesture). Good heavens, no!... No!
+
+AUNT CLARA. That's the way they _always_ act at funerals. I know of
+funerals where there was dancing.
+
+PAUL. Yes, yes, that may be!
+
+AUNT CLARA. And then they all were so friendly with you.
+
+PAUL. Oh, yes. With the friendliest kind of an air, they told me not to
+take it into my head that I know how to farm.
+
+AUNT CLARA. Why, Paul. You only imagine that!
+
+PAUL. The good neighbors. At bottom they are right! How should an old
+man be able to learn the things that call for the efforts of a whole
+life, just as any other career does! Ridiculous! Why that simply must
+have lurid consequences.
+
+AUNT CLARA (impatiently). I should never have thought that you would
+act this way, Paul!
+
+PAUL. Act what way? I am only checking over the possibilities. Every
+business man does that! And I tell you, the prospects are desperately
+bad! I can fairly see Laskowski establish himself here after I have
+lost the place! (He has slowly walked over to the garden window on the
+right and looks out into the garden.)
+
+      [Silence.]
+
+PAUL (after a time). What a beautiful day! The snow is glittering in
+the sunlight. The trees stand so motionless.
+
+AUNT CLARA. Awfully cold out-doors, my boy!
+
+PAUL. I know it. Aunt Clara, but the light is refreshing after all of
+the dark days. The old year is shining forth once more in its full
+glory.
+
+AUNT CLARA. The days are getting longer again.
+
+PAUL (meditating). Didn't you tell me, once upon a time, Auntie, that
+the time between Christmas and New Year is called the holy season?
+
+AUNT CLARA. The time between Christmas and Epiphany, Paul. If anyone
+dies then ... (She suddenly stops.)
+
+PAUL (calmly). Finish it, Aunt Clara! If some one dies then, another
+member of the family will follow him. Isn't that the purport?
+
+AUNT CLARA. Why Paul, I don't know! Purport of what? Who would believe
+in all of those things?
+
+PAUL. Of course not! [Brief silence.]
+
+AUNT CLARA (with her hand behind her ear). Do you hear the whips crack,
+Paul?
+
+PAUL (also listens). Faintly, yes. It seems to be out in front.
+
+AUNT CLARA. The young folks are lashing the old year out. They always
+do that on New Year's Eve when the sun goes down.
+
+PAUL (reflecting). I know. I know. I have heard it many a New Year's
+Eve. When the sun was setting.
+
+AUNT CLARA. Another one gone!
+
+PAUL (stares out). Just so it stood between the trees, and kept on
+sinking and sinking, and I was a little fellow and watched it from the
+window. And at last it was down and twilight came on.
+
+AUNT CLARA. Thank God, Paul, this year is over.
+
+PAUL. Who knows what the day may still have in store for us! Things are
+taking their course.
+
+AUNT CLARA. Tonight we shall surely all take punch together, Paul?
+
+PAUL. If we have time and the desire to do so, yes.
+
+AUNT CLARA (nervously). How you _are_ talking, Paul! Don't make a
+person afraid!
+
+PAUL (glancing at the sinking sun). Now it is directly over the
+pavilion. Now we shall not enjoy it much longer. (With a wave of his
+hand.) I greet thee, sun! Sinking sun!
+
+AUNT CLARA. I was going to ask you, in regard to the pavilion ...
+
+PAUL (turns around). Yes I'm glad that I've thought of it! (He comes
+forward and pulls the bell.)
+
+LENE (opens the door at the right and enters). Did you ring, sir?
+
+PAUL. Yes. My trunks, books, all of my things are to be taken over to
+the garden-house. Understand?
+
+LENE (astonished). To the garden-house?
+
+PAUL. Yes, to the pavilion. Put the rooms in proper order. Don't forget
+to make a fire. I suppose there's a bed there for the night?
+
+AUNT CLARA. Everything, my boy. Only it will have to be put to rights,
+because no one has put up there this many a day.
+
+LENE. Are the madam's things also to be ...?
+
+PAUL. No they are _not_! They are to stay here!
+
+      [AUNT CLARA shakes her head and turns away.]
+
+LENE. Shall I do so immediately ...?
+
+PAUL. Is madam still asleep?
+
+LENE. I think so.
+
+PAUL. Then wait till madam is up, and go there afterward.
+
+LENE. What if madam should ask ...?
+
+PAUL. Then tell her that I requested you to do so.
+
+LENE (confused). I'm to say that Mr. Warkentin has requested ...
+
+PAUL (resolutely). And you are to do what I have requested. Do you
+understand me?
+
+LENE. Very well, sir!... And I was going to say, the inspector has been
+here.
+
+PAUL. Has he? Back from town already? (Struck by a sudden thought.) Did
+he possibly have a letter for me?
+
+LENE. I don't know. I think he only wanted to know about the work ...
+
+PAUL. And there hasn't been a messenger? Say, from Klonowken?
+
+LENE. No, nothing.
+
+PAUL. Then you may go. Oh yes, when the inspector returns, you might
+call me. (LENE goes off to the right.)
+
+PAUL (walks through the hall, clenching his fists nervously). Nothing
+yet? Nothing yet? And the day is almost gone!
+
+AUNT CLARA (with growing anxiety). What's the matter with you, Paul?
+Something is brewing here!
+
+PAUL. That may be very true!
+
+AUNT CLARA. And then, that you insist upon changing your quarters
+today! It does seem to me ...!
+
+PAUL. You can only take pleasure in that. You see by that, that I have
+resolved to stay at Ellernhof. Or I should certainly not go to the
+trouble.
+
+AUNT CLARA. Yes, yes, but your wife?
+
+PAUL. Who? Hella? All the better if the matter comes to a head. The
+issue is dead ripe!
+
+AUNT CLARA (approaches him anxiously). Paul, Paul! This will not come
+to a good end.
+
+PAUL. Quite possible. That is not at all necessary!
+
+AUNT CLARA. And I am to blame for all.
+
+PAUL. You? Why?
+
+AUNT CLARA. I got you into it! No one else!
+
+PAUL (is forced to smile). Innocent creature! Individuals quite apart
+from you got me into it. It has taken a whole lifetime to bring it
+about! You are as little to blame for that as you are for the fall of
+Adam and the existence of the world and the fact that some day we shall
+all have to die!
+
+AUNT CLARA (with her apron before her face). I told you about
+Antoinette! For she is at the bottom of it! I'll stake my head on that!
+
+PAUL. Don't torture me, Aunt Clara!
+
+AUNT CLARA. She is at the bottom of it! And I, in my stupidity, cap the
+climax by leaving the two of you alone at the funeral day before
+yesterday.
+
+PAUL. I shall be grateful to you for that all of my life, Aunt Clara!
+
+AUNT CLARA. My notion was for you to have a little talk together, and
+then to think what it has led to! May God forgive what I have done.
+
+PAUL (partly to himself). She promised me to come. And she is not
+coming! She promised me to write. And she does not write. Not a word.
+Not the remotest token! How do I know, but everything was a delusion?
+Childish fancy and nothing more? The intoxication of a moment which
+seized her and vanished again when she sat in her sleigh and rode away
+in the winter night? Do I know? (He puts his hand to his head.)
+
+AUNT CLARA (very uneasy). Paul, what are you talking about? _Tell_ me!
+
+PAUL (jumps up without listening to her). No!... Then farewell
+Ellernhof! Farewell my home and everything!
+
+AUNT CLARA. Do be quiet! What in the world is the matter?
+
+PAUL (walks up and down impatiently, stops again, speaks to himself in
+an undertone). At that time I deceived her, deceived her without
+knowing and wishing to. What if she deceives me now? What if she pays
+me back? (He sinks down in the chair near the fireplace in violent
+conflict with himself.)
+
+AUNT CLARA (in despair). What a calamity! What a calamity!
+
+PAUL (as if shaking something off). No! No! No!... it cannot but come
+out right. (Heaves a sigh of relief.)
+
+AUNT CLARA (joyful again). Do you see, my boy?
+
+PAUL (gloomily). Don't rejoice prematurely, Auntie! It seems to me that
+this house fosters misfortune! All that you need to do is to look at
+those faces! They all have a suggestion of melancholy and gloom. (He
+looks up at the portraits pensively.) Just as if the sun had never
+shone into their hearts, you know. No air of hopefulness, no suggestion
+of light and freedom! So chained to the earth! So savagely taciturn?
+Can that be due to the air and soil? It will probably assert itself in
+me too, after I have been here for some time. Possibly it would have
+been better, Auntie, if I had never returned to this house! I should
+have continued that life of mine, not cold, not warm, not happy, not
+unhappy! I should never have found out what I have really missed and
+yet can never find. Possibly it would have been better. [Short pause.]
+
+LENE (opens the door at the right and stands in the door). The
+inspector is here, sir. Shall he come in? He is lunching just now.
+
+PAUL (gets up). No, never mind. One moment, Auntie! (He nods to her and
+goes out with LENE.)
+
+      [AUNT CLARA shakes her head apprehensively as she follows him
+      with her eyes, heaves a deep sigh, occupies herself with this and
+      that in the room, then seems to be listening to a noise on the
+      left. She straightens up energetically. Presently the door on the
+      left is opened.]
+
+HELLA (enters, dressed in black. She looks solemn and rather pale. She
+slowly approaches AUNT CLARA. The two face each other and eye each
+other for a moment). I thought Paul was here.
+
+AUNT CLARA. Paul will surely be back any minute.
+
+HELLA. Will he? Then I shall wait. (She turns around and starts for the
+window.)
+
+AUNT CLARA (hesitates a moment, then with a sudden effort). Madam ...
+Doctor ...? (Takes a step in the direction of HELLA.)
+
+HELLA (looks around surprised). Were you saying something?
+
+AUNT CLARA (erect). Keep an eye on Paul, madam!... That's all I have to
+say!
+
+HELLA (approaches). How so?
+
+AUNT CLARA. I am simply saying, keep an eye on Paul!
+
+HELLA (steps up to her, with a searching look). _What_ is going
+on?...
+
+AUNT CLARA, Talk to him yourself. I can't fathom it.
+
+HELLA. Then I will tell you. Do you think I am blind? Do you suppose
+that I am unable to see through the situation here? I know Paul and I
+know you, all of you who are turning Paul's head!
+
+AUNT CLARA (angered). Mercy me! _I_, turn Paul's head!
+
+HELLA. Yes, you, and all of you around here! I will tell you to your
+face! You are trying to set Paul against me!
+
+AUNT CLARA (with increasing excitement). I never set nobody against no
+one! Nobody ever said such a thing about me! God knows! You are the
+first person to do that! And on top of it all, I have the best
+intentions! I even want to help you! Well, I do say ...! (Takes several
+steps through the hall.)
+
+HELLA (with contemptuous laughter). You help me?... H'm! You wanted to
+get rid of me, and that is why you started all this about the estate,
+and staying here, and who knows _what_ else. But I declare to you, once
+and for all! Don't go to any trouble! You will not succeed in parting
+Paul and me!
+
+AUNT CLARA (in spite of herself). May be not I!
+
+HELLA. _Not you_?... Oh indeed!... Not you!
+
+AUNT CLARA (continuing in her anger). No! Not I! Of course not! Even if
+you have deserved it, ten times over!
+
+HELLA (also continues her lead). Not you?... Well, well! So it's some
+other woman! (She steps up before AUNT CLARA.) Some other woman is
+trying to separate us, Paul and me? Is that it? Yes or no?
+
+AUNT CLARA (frightened). I haven't said a thing. I know nothing about
+it.
+
+HELLA (triumphantly). I thought so! And now I grasp the whole
+situation!... That accounts for Paul's behavior, this strange behavior!
+Well, well! (She walks to and fro excitedly, speaks partly to herself.)
+But you shall not succeed! No, no! (Addressing AUNT CLARA again.) You
+shall not succeed! We'll just see who knows Paul better, you or I!
+
+AUNT CLARA (very seriously). Madam, I am an old woman, you may believe
+me or not, I tell you, don't carry matters too far with Paul!
+
+HELLA (reflecting again). So it was she?... The Polish woman, of
+course! Didn't I know it?
+
+AUNT CLARA (almost threatening). Don't carry matters too far! Remember
+what I say.
+
+HELLA (with a sudden change). Where is Paul?
+
+AUNT CLARA (anxiously). What is the matter?
+
+HELLA (very calmly and firmly). I must speak to Paul.
+
+AUNT CLARA. Merciful God! Now I see it coming!
+
+HELLA. Yes, I am going away and Paul is going with me. That is the end
+of the whole matter. I suppose that is not just exactly what you had
+expected.
+
+AUNT CLARA (petrified). And you are going to desert Ellernhof!
+
+HELLA. It will be a long time before the estate sees us again. Prepare
+for that. As for the rest, we shall see later.
+
+AUNT CLARA (turns away). Then I might as well order my grave at once,
+the sooner the better.
+
+HELLA (with an air of superiority). Don't worry! You will be cared for.
+
+AUNT CLARA (straightening up). Not a soul needs to care for me
+henceforth, madam! My way is quite clear to me. It will not be very
+long. Look at the men and women on these walls, they all followed this
+course. Now I shall emulate their example. What is coming now is no
+longer suitable for me. (She slowly steps to the door with head bowed).
+
+HELLA (partly to herself). No, what is coming now is the new world and
+new men and women! (She stands and reflects for a moment, then
+resolutely.) New men and women! Yes! Yes, we are ready to fight for
+that! (She clasps her hands vigorously, suggesting inflexible
+resolution.)
+
+PAUL (enters from the right, comes upon AUNT CLARA, who is going out).
+What ails you, Auntie? How you do look!
+
+AUNT CLARA (shakes her head). Don't ask me, my boy. I have lived my
+life! (She goes out slowly and closes the door.)
+
+PAUL (steps to the fireplace pondering deeply and drops down in a
+chair). What did she say?... Lived my life?... A soothing phrase! A
+cradle-song! No more pain, no more care! All over!... Lived my life!
+(Supports his head on his hand.)
+
+      [Short pause.]
+
+HELLA (steps up to PAUL, lays her hand on his shoulder and says
+kindly). Paul!
+
+PAUL. And?
+
+HELLA. Be a man, Paul! I beg of you.
+
+PAUL (looks up, with a deep breath). That is just what I intend to do.
+
+HELLA. For two days you have been walking around without saying a word.
+That surely cannot continue.
+
+PAUL. That _will_ not continue, I am sure.
+
+HELLA. Why don't you speak? What have I done to you?
+
+PAUL (bitterly). You to me?... Nothing.
+
+HELLA. See here, Paul, I stayed here on your account, longer than I had
+intended and than seems justifiable to me.
+
+PAUL. Why did you? I did not ask you again.
+
+HELLA. Quite right. I did it of my own accord. Now don't you think that
+counts for more, Paul? (She closely draws up a chair and sits down
+facing PAUL.)
+
+PAUL. Up to the day before yesterday _anything_ would have counted with
+me. Today no longer, Hella!
+
+HELLA (eagerly). I remained because I kept in mind that it might be
+agreeable to you to have me near you. I have given you time to come to
+yourself again. I know very well what is going on in you.
+
+PAUL. Hardly!
+
+HELLA. Indeed, Paul, indeed! You have seen the soil of your boyhood
+home again. You have buried your father. I understand your crisis
+completely.
+
+PAUL. Really! All at once!
+
+HELLA. From the very beginning!
+
+PAUL. I did not realize very much of it!
+
+HELLA (interrupting him). Simply because I thought it would be best to
+let you settle that for yourself. That is why I have not interfered;
+allowed you to go your own way, these days. (PAUL shrugs his shoulders
+and is silent.) Does all this fail to convince you?
+
+PAUL (distressed). Drop that, Hella.
+
+HELLA (excited). What does this mean, Paul! We must have an
+understanding!
+
+PAUL. That is no longer possible for us, Hella!
+
+HELLA. It certainly has been, up to the present. How often we have
+quarreled in these years, and sailed into each other, and we have
+always found our way back to each other again for the simple reason
+that we belong together! Why in the world should that be impossible
+now?
+
+PAUL (struggles with himself; jumps up). Because ... Because ...
+(Groping for words.)
+
+HELLA (has become calm). Well, because?... Possibly because I did not
+care to stay down here, day before yesterday, did not dine with your
+guests when you asked me to do so? Is that it?
+
+PAUL. That and many other things.
+
+HELLA (gets up). Paul, don't be petty! I really can't bear to hear you
+talk in this manner. Are you so completely unable to enter into my
+feelings? I could not share your sorrow. Your father did not give me
+any occasion for that. I do not wish to speak ill of him, but I cannot
+forget it. After all, that is only human!
+
+PAUL. So the dead man stands between us. Why don't you say so frankly!
+
+HELLA. If you insist, yes. At least, for the moment! I was not able to
+stay with you. I _had_ to be alone.
+
+PAUL. Then blame yourself for the consequences! You deserted me at a
+moment when simply everything was unsettling me ...
+
+HELLA (interrupts him). Oh, you suppose I don't know what you mean?
+
+PAUL (excited). Well?
+
+HELLA. Shall I tell you?
+
+PAUL (controlling himself with difficulty). Please!
+
+HELLA (triumphantly). Dear Paul! Just recall the lady with the
+ashy-blonde hair, for a moment!
+
+PAUL (embarrassed). What lady?
+
+HELLA. Why, Paul? The one with whom I saw you after the banquet, day
+before yesterday. Your aunt was there too, wasn't she?
+
+PAUL (affecting surprise). You seem to refer to Madam von Laskowski.
+
+HELLA (smiling). Quite right. The Polish beauty! Was it not that?
+
+PAUL (beside himself). Hella?
+
+HELLA (as before). Don't become furious, Paul! There's no occasion at
+all for that! I am not reproaching you in the least! On the contrary, I
+am of the opinion that you were quite right!
+
+PAUL (comes nearer, plants himself
+before her). What are you trying to say? What does all this mean?
+
+HELLA (with a very superior air). We had quarreled, you were furious,
+wanted to revenge yourself, looked about for a fitting object and
+naturally hit upon ... whom?
+
+PAUL (turns away). Why it's simply idiotic to continue answering such
+questions! (He walks through the hall excitedly.)
+
+HELLA. Hit upon whom?... With the kind of taste that you do seem to
+have ...
+
+PAUL. Hella, I object to that!
+
+HELLA. Why, I am absolutely serious, Paul! You can't expect me to
+question your taste! I should compromise my own position. No, no, I
+really agree with you, of all those present she was decidedly the most
+piquant. The typical beauty that appeals to men! Of course you hit upon
+her, probably courted her, lavished compliments upon her, all the
+things that you men do when you suppose that you are in the presence of
+an inferior woman ...
+
+PAUL. Hella, now restrain yourself! Or I may tell you something ...
+
+HELLA. Very well, let us even suppose that you fell in love with her
+for the time and she with you, that you went into ecstasy over each
+other and turned each other's heads, then you parted and the next day
+the intoxication passed off, and, if not on the next day, then on the
+following one ... Am I not right? Do you expect me to be jealous of
+such a thing as that? No, Paul!
+
+PAUL (in supreme excitement, struggling with himself). You are a demon!
+A demon!
+
+HELLA (has become serious). I am your friend, Paul! Believe me! I
+desire nothing but your own good, simply because I care for you and
+because, I'll be frank with you, I should not want to lose you. You may
+be convinced of it, Paul, conceited as it may sound, but you will never
+find another woman like me! One with whom you can share everything! I
+don't know what you may have said to the Polish woman or what she may
+have said to you, but do you really suppose that she still knows about
+that today, even though the most fervent vows were exchanged?
+
+PAUL (jumps up). Hella, Hella, you do not know what you are saying.
+
+HELLA. Would you teach me to know my own sex? They aren't all like me,
+dear Paul. You have been spoiled by me. Very few, indeed, have attained
+maturity as yet, or even know what they are doing. You can depend upon
+very few of them. It seems to me that we are in the best possible
+position to know that, Paul, after our years of work. And I am to fear
+_such_ competition? Expect me to be jealous of a Polish country beauty?
+Me,--Hella Bernhardy!... No, Paul, I have been beyond that type of
+jealousy for some time! (She walks up and down slowly.)
+
+PAUL (stands at the window, struggling with himself). Would it not be
+better to say that you have _never_ had it?
+
+HELLA. Possibly! There are some who consider that an advantage.
+
+PAUL. Theorists, yes! The kind that _I_ was, once upon a time. But now
+I know better! Now I know that the absence of jealousy was nothing but
+an absence of love.
+
+HELLA (energetically). That is not true, Paul. I always cared for you!
+
+PAUL. Cared! Cared! A fine word!
+
+HELLA, Why should you demand more than that? I respected you, Paul,
+valued you as my best friend!
+
+PAUL. All but a little word, a little word ...
+
+HELLA. What is that?
+
+PAUL. Imagine!
+
+HELLA. I know what you are thinking of! I am not a friend of strong
+words, but if you insist upon hearing it, I have _loved_ you too!
+
+PAUL. You ... _me_!
+
+HELLA. Yes, I have loved you, Paul, for what you were, the unselfish
+idealist ...
+
+PAUL (bitterly). Oh, indeed!
+
+HELLA. Yes, Paul! Do not forget about one thing! I am not one of these
+petty little women, to whom men are the alpha and omega! If you assumed
+that, of course you have been mistaken.
+
+PAUL. To be sure! And the mistake has cost me my life!
+
+HELLA. You knew it beforehand, Paul!
+
+PAUL. Because I was blinded!
+
+HELLA, And yet I tell you, say what you please, leave me for instance,
+but you will not find another woman who can satisfy you after you have
+had me! I know it and will stake my life on it!
+
+PAUL. Do you rate yourself so highly?
+
+HELLA. I am rating _you_ highly, Paul!
+
+PAUL (wavering). Do you mean to say I am ruined for happiness?...
+Possibly you are right.
+
+HELLA. Whoever has once become accustomed to the heights of life, will
+never again descend.
+
+PAUL (repeats to himself). Will never again descend.
+
+HELLA. You are too good for a woman of the dead level! See here, Paul,
+I _have_ at times made life a burden to you, I now and then refused to
+enter upon many things just because my head was full of ideas, possibly
+I have been too prone to disregard your emotional nature.
+
+PAUL. Hella, do not remind me of that!
+
+HELLA. We must come to an understanding, Paul! All of that may be true.
+And there _shall_ be a change. There _will_ be a change, that much I
+promise you today, but show me the kindness, pack your things and come
+with me! Today rather than tomorrow! (She has stepped up to him and
+places her hands on his shoulders.)
+
+PAUL (in the most violent conflict). Hella! Hella!
+
+HELLA. Look into my face, Paul! Are you happy here?
+
+PAUL (lowers his head). Do not ask me, Hella!
+
+HELLA (triumphantly). Then you are not! Didn't I know it? I am proud of
+you for that, Paul!
+
+PAUL (blurting out). Hella, do not exult! I _cannot_ go back again!
+
+HELLA (undaunted). Yes you can! Are these people here meant for you? Do
+you mean to say that you are suited to these peasants? You, with your
+refined instincts? You would think of degrading yourself consciously!
+Nobody can do that, you least of all! I tell you once more, you are too
+good for these rubes!
+
+PAUL, (frees himself from her). Give me time till this evening, Hella!
+Then I will give you a full explanation!
+
+HELLA (seizes his hand). Not thirty minutes, Paul! You are to decide at
+once! As I have you at this moment, I shall possibly never have you
+again. Pack your trunk and come with me! Have some one manage the
+estate. We will go back tomorrow morning and begin the new life with
+the new year. Thank your stars when you are once more out of this
+stuffy air. It induces thoughts in you that can never make you happy.
+Say _yes_, Paul, say that we are going!
+
+PAUL (has not listened to the last words, listens to what is going on
+outside). Do you hear, Hella? (He frees himself and goes to the
+foreground. One can hear people singing outside, accompanied by a
+deep-toned instrument.)
+
+HELLA (impatiently). What in the world is that!
+
+PAUL. I have an idea, the people of the estate, coming to proclaim
+Saint Sylvester, (The door at the right is opened.)
+
+GLYSZINSKI (enters, makes a sign suggesting silence, points toward the
+outside). Do you hear that instrument, madam? That's what they call a
+pot harp, very interesting!
+
+HELLA (as before). Interesting or not. Why must you disturb us just
+now?
+
+GLYSZINSKI (offended). If I had known this, I should not have come!
+(About to go out.)
+
+PAUL (quite cold again). Stay right here, dear Glyszinski! You haven't
+disturbed us up to the present! I do not see that you are disturbing us
+now!
+
+INSPECTOR (comes in through the open door). Sir, the people are outside
+with the pot harp and want to sing their song.
+
+HELLA (annoyed). Oh, tell them to go and be done with it!
+
+PAUL (quickly). No, please, Hella, that won't do. That is an old custom
+here on New Year's eve. Let them sing their song. Besides, I like to
+hear it. I heard it many a time in my boyhood days.
+
+INSPECTOR. Shall I leave the door open, sir?
+
+PAUL. Please! (He sits down at the fireplace.)
+
+HELLA (steps up to him, with a voice that betrays excitement). Paul, do
+not listen to that nonsense out there! Don't let them muddle your head!
+
+PAUL. My head is clearer than ever, Hella! Don't go to any further
+trouble! I can see my way quite plainly now.
+
+HELLA (retreats to the sofa, embittered). And now that old trumpery
+must interfere too!
+
+      [INSPECTOR stands at the door with GLYSZINSKI, motions to those
+      outside. A brief silence, then singing to the accompaniment of
+      the pot harp. The lines run as follows:]
+
+      We wish our dear lord
+      At his board, a full dish,
+      And at all four corners
+      A brown roasted fish:
+      A crown for our dame;
+      When the year's course is run
+      The joy of all joys,
+      A lusty young son.
+
+HELLA. Will that continue much longer, Paul?
+
+      [PAUL gets up, motions to the inspector and goes out with him.
+      The door is closed behind them. The muffled tones of the pot harp
+      and the singing can still be heard, but the text becomes
+      unintelligible. GLYSZINSKI, who also has been listening till now,
+      starts to go out.]
+
+HELLA (from the sofa). One moment, Doctor!
+
+GLYSZINSKI (absent-minded). Were you calling me?
+
+HELLA. Why, yes, now that you are here, I might as well make use of the
+occasion.
+
+GLYSZINSKI (approaches, somewhat reserved). What can I do for you,
+madam?
+
+HELLA. Dear friend, do not be startled. We shall have to part.
+
+GLYSZINSKI (staggering). Part? We?...
+
+HELLA (calmly). Yes, Doctor, it must be!
+
+GLYSZINSKI. Why, who compels us to? No one!
+
+HELLA (frigidly). My _decision_ compels us, dear friend! Is that
+sufficient for you?
+
+GLYSZINSKI (whimpering). Your decision, Hella? You are cruel.
+
+HELLA. Yes, I myself am sorry, of course. I shall probably miss you
+quite frequently!
+
+GLYSZINSKI (as before). Hella!
+
+HELLA. Especially in connection with my correspondence. You have
+certainly been a real help to me there. I shall have to carry that
+burden alone again, now. But what is to be done about it? No other
+course is possible. We must part.
+
+GLYSZINSKI. But why? At least, give me a reason! Don't turn me out in
+this fashion.
+
+HELLA. It is necessary on account of my husband, dear friend! I must
+make this sacrifice for him.
+
+GLYSZINSKI (raging). The monster! (He paces through the hall wildly.)
+
+HELLA (with clarity). You know, it cannot be denied that Paul can't
+bear you, that he is always annoyed when he sees you ...
+
+GLYSZINSKI. Do you suppose the reverse is not true?
+
+HELLA. Yes, you men are exasperating. No one can eradicate your
+jealousy! _That_ makes an unconstrained intercourse impossible! But
+what is to be done? Paul is my husband, _not you_. And so I am
+compelled to request you to yield.
+
+GLYSZINSKI (with his hands raised). Kill me, Hella, but don't turn me
+out.
+
+HELLA (wards him off). A pleasant journey. _You_ will be able to find
+comfort.
+
+GLYSZINSKI. I shall be alone, Hella!
+
+HELLA (straightening up). All of us are!
+
+GLYSZINSKI. May I ever see you again, Hella?
+
+HELLA. Possibly later! And now go! I do not care to have my husband
+find you here when he comes. Why here he is now. (She pushes him over
+toward the right, the door has been opened and the singing has ceased
+in the meantime.)
+
+PAUL (has entered, sees Glyszinski, frigidly). Are you still here? If
+you wish to talk together, I'll go out.
+
+HELLA (comes over to PAUL). Please stay, Paul!
+
+GLYSZINSKI has just been telling me that he is going to take the night
+train back to Berlin and he is asking you for a sleigh. Isn't that it,
+Doctor? (GLYSZINSKI nods silently, passes by PAUL and goes out at the
+right.)
+
+PAUL (frigidly). What's the use of this farce?
+
+HELLA (places her hand on his shoulder). Not a farce, Paul! It is
+really true! When we get to Berlin tomorrow evening, you will no longer
+find Glyszinski at our rooms! Are you satisfied now? Have I finally
+succeeded in pleasing you, you grumbler!
+
+PAUL (turns away, clenching his fists nervously). Oh, well!
+
+HELLA. Look into my face, Paul, old comrade! Tell me if you are pleased
+with your comrade. (PAUL is silent.)
+
+HELLA (frowning). Now isn't that a proof to you of my fidelity and
+sincerity?
+
+PAUL. Do not torment me, Hella. My decision is final!
+
+HELLA (worried). I don't know what you mean! Surely the matter is
+settled. We are going, aren't we? (She looks at him anxiously.)
+
+PAUL (frees himself from her). That is not settled! I shall _remain_!
+      [A moment of silence.]
+
+HELLA (furiously). You are going to remain?
+
+PAUL (curtly). I shall remain ... And no power on earth will swerve me
+from my purpose! Not even you, Hella!
+
+HELLA (plants herself before him). Are you trying to play the part of
+the stronger sex? Eye to eye, Paul! No evasions now! Are you playing
+the farce of the stronger sex?
+
+PAUL. I do what I must do!
+
+HELLA. What you must?... Well so must _I_.
+
+PAUL (bows his head). I know that, and I am not hindering you!
+
+HELLA (reflects a moment, then). And do you realize that that
+practically means separation for us?
+
+PAUL. I have already told you, Hella, I am prepared for anything.
+
+HELLA (looks at him sharply; with quick decision). And what if I stay
+also, Paul, what then?
+
+PAUL. (is startled). If you also ...? You are not serious about that!
+
+HELLA. Assume that I am!... If I should remain also, for your sake?
+(She stands before him erectly.)
+
+PAUL (furiously). Don't jest, Hella! It is not the proper moment!
+
+HELLA. I am certainly not jesting! I am your wife! I shall keep you
+company. _Aren't_ you pleased with that?
+
+PAUL (straightens up). The dead man stands between us, as you have
+said. Very well, let that be final! You have wished it so! The bond
+between us is broken. We have come to the parting of our ways. (He goes
+to the left, opens the door and walks out slowly. Deep twilight has set
+in.)
+
+HELLA (stands rigidly and whispers to herself). To the parting of our
+ways? (Waking up, with a wild defiance.) If I _consent_, I say!... If I
+consent!
+
+[ILLUSTRATION: SHEEP]
+
+
+
+
+ACT V
+
+
+A room in the garden house. The door in the background leads out-doors.
+There are windows at both sides of the door and also in the right wall.
+They all look out upon the garden, but are draped with long, heavy
+curtains. On the left a door leads into the bedroom. On the same side
+farther back a tile stove. A divan, table and chair, very near the
+stove. Bookshelves along the walls. The general impression is that of
+simple comfort.
+
+It is evening, a short time after the preceding act. A lamp is burning
+on the table and lights up the no more than fair-sized cozy room.
+
+INSPECTOR ZINDEL appears in the open door at the background.
+Before him stands PAUL.
+
+PAUL. As I was saying, have the bay saddled in case I should still want
+to take a ride.
+
+INSPECTOR ZINDEL. Very well, sir! Immediately?
+
+PAUL. In about thirty minutes.
+
+INSPECTOR ZINDEL. Shall the coachman bring out the bay or will you come
+to the stable?
+
+PAUL. Have it brought out! Good-by. (He comes back into the room.)
+
+INSPECTOR ZINDEL. Good night, sir! (He withdraws and closes the door
+behind him.)
+
+      [PAUL walks up and down excitedly several times. He seems to be
+      in a violent struggle with himself, sometimes listens for
+      something outside, shakes his head, groans deeply, finally throws
+      himself on the divan and crosses his arms under his head. Short
+      pause.]
+
+HELLA (opens the door in the background, enters and looks around). Are
+you here, Paul? (She has thrown a shawl around her.)
+
+PAUL (jumps up, disappointed). Hella, you? (Sits down.)
+
+HELLA (approaches). Yes, it is I, Hella! Who else? Were you expecting
+some one else?
+
+PAUL (painfully). Why do you still insist upon coming? Don't make it
+unnecessarily hard for both of us.
+
+HELLA (calmly). I am waiting for an explanation from you. Since you
+will not give it to me of your own accord, I am compelled to get it. It
+seems to me I have a right to claim it.
+
+PAUL. You certainly have.
+
+HELLA (with folded arms). Please, then!
+
+PAUL. Hella, what is the purpose of this? You do know everything now!
+
+HELLA. I know nothing. I should like to find out from you.
+
+PAUL (gets up). Very well, then I will tell you.
+
+HELLA. I assume that the Polish woman is mixed up in this affair.
+
+PAUL. So you do know! Why in the world are you going to the trouble of
+asking me?
+
+HELLA. So it's really true? I am to stand aside for a little goose from
+the country!
+
+PAUL
+(starts up). A little goose from the country?... Hella, control your
+tongue!
+
+HELLA (walks up and down). If it were not so ridiculous, it would be
+exasperating!
+
+PAUL. The woman under discussion is not a little goose from the
+country, my dear, just as little as you are one from the city.
+
+HELLA. Thank you for your flattering comparison.
+
+PAUL. That woman has had her struggles and trials as much as you have,
+and in spite of it has remained a woman, which _you_ have _not_!
+
+HELLA (scornfully). Well, well. Are you now asserting your real nature?
+Are you throwing off the mask? Go on! Go on!
+
+PAUL (controls himself with an effort). That is all! I am only standing
+up for one who is dear to me!
+
+HELLA. Ha, ha! Dear! Today and tomorrow!
+
+PAUL. You are mistaken, Hella! I believe in Antoinette, and I shall not
+swerve from that.
+
+HELLA (with a sudden inspiration). Antoinette ... Antoinette ... Why
+that name ...
+
+PAUL. Let me assist you, Hella. Antoinette is the friend of my youth
+...
+
+HELLA (nonplussed). The friend of your youth?
+
+PAUL, Indeed, Hella, I have known her longer than I have known you.
+
+HELLA. The one whom you were to marry once upon a time? Is it she?
+
+PAUL (sadly). Whom I was to marry, whom I refused on your account,
+Hella.
+
+HELLA. You met _her_ again here?
+
+PAUL. As Mrs. von Laskowski, yes, Hella!
+
+HELLA (starts for him, with a savage expression). And you kept that
+from me?
+
+PAUL. Why you did not give me a chance to speak, when I tried to tell
+you.
+
+HELLA. So that was the confidence you had! Well, of course, then, of
+course!
+
+PAUL. Oh, my confidence, Hella! Don't mention that. That had died long
+before!
+
+HELLA. To be deceived so shamefully.
+
+PAUL. Blame yourself! You have killed it systematically!
+
+HELLA. I? What else, pray tell!
+
+PAUL. Yes, by forever considering only yourself and never me! That
+could not help but stifle all my feelings in time. I fought against it
+as long as I could, Hella, but it had to come to an end some time.
+
+HELLA. And I went about without misgivings, while behind my back a
+conspiracy was forming ...
+
+PAUL (shrugging his shoulders). Who conspired?
+
+HELLA. All of you! This whole owl's nest of a house was in league
+against me! You had conspired against me, you and your ilk, simply
+because I was superior to you, that's the reason why you wanted to
+shoulder me off! Do you suppose I don't realize that? Very well, let
+baseness prevail! I am willing to retreat!
+
+PAUL. It always has been your trick, Hella, to play the part of
+offended innocence! It is well that you are reminding me of that in
+this hour! You are making the step easier for me than I had hoped.
+
+HELLA. This is the thanks!
+
+PAUL. Thanks!... How in the world could you expect thanks?
+
+HELLA (with infuriated hatred). Because I made a _human being_
+of you!
+
+PAUL (starting up). Hella, you are making use of _words_!
+
+HELLA (beside herself). Yes, made a _human_ being of you. I will repeat
+it ten times over!
+
+PAUL. Won't you kindly call in the whole estate with your shrieking.
+
+HELLA. The whole world, for all I care! What were you when you came
+into my hands? A crude student, utterly helpless, whom I directed into
+the proper channels, _I_, single handed! Without me you would have gone
+to the dogs or you might have become one of those novelists whom no one
+reads! I was the first one to put sound ideas in your head, roused your
+talent and pointed out to you all that is really _demanded_. Through me
+you attained a name and reputation, and now that you are fortunate
+enough to be that far along, you go and throw yourself away upon a
+Polish goose, you ... you?
+
+PAUL (as if under a lash). There are limits to all things, Hella, even
+to consideration for your sex! Do not assume that you still have me in
+your power. It has lasted fifteen years. It is over today. Do you
+suppose I ought to thank you for sapping everything from me, my
+will-power, my strength, my real talents, all the faith in love and
+beauty that was once in me, which you have systematically driven out
+with your infernal leveling process? Where shall I ever find a trace of
+all that again? I might seek for a hundred years and not strike that
+path again! I might have become an artist, at life or art itself, who
+cares! And you have made me a beggar, a machine, that reels off its
+uniform sing-song day after day! You have cheated me out of my life,
+you imp!... Give it back to me! (He stands before her, breathing
+heavily, struggling for air.)
+
+HELLA (has become quite calm). Why did you _allow_ yourself to be
+cheated. It's your own fault!
+
+PAUL (suddenly calm, but sad and resigned). That is a profound word,
+Hella! Why have you ... _allowed_ ... yourself to be cheated!
+
+HELLA. You had your will-power just as I had mine. Why did you not make
+use of it?
+
+PAUL. _You_, with your ideas, would say _that_, Hella?
+
+HELLA. Yes, _one_ or the other is stronger, of course! Why should we
+women not be stronger?
+
+PAUL (turns away). That is sufficient, Hella. We are through with each
+other. There is nothing more to say.
+
+HELLA. As you may decide. So it is really all over between us?
+
+PAUL (stands in deep thought and murmurs to himself). Why did you
+_allow_ yourself to be cheated? Terrible! Terrible! Why must this
+conviction come too late?
+
+HELLA (in a lurking manner). I suppose you are going to the other woman
+now?
+
+PAUL (breathes a deep sigh of relief). We are going together!
+
+HELLA (with a sudden inspiration). If I _release_ you, you mean!
+
+PAUL (quite calmly). I suppose you will be _compelled_ to!
+
+HELLA (triumphantly). Who can compel me?
+
+PAUL (starts up). Hella, then ... Then ...
+
+HELLA. Well? Then?
+
+PAUL (controls himself, with a strange expression). Then we shall see
+who is the stronger. (The door in the background has been opened.)
+
+ANTOINETTE (has entered quickly, starts at seeing HELLA, stops
+in the background and sags, in a subdued voice). Paul!
+
+PAUL (turns around frightened, exclaims passionately). Antoinette! (He
+rushes up to her, about to embrace her. She turns him aside gently and
+looks at HELLA. The two press each other's hands firmly and look into
+each other's eyes.)
+
+ANTOINETTE (softly). I am here, Paul.
+
+PAUL. Thank you, thank you, dear!
+
+HELLA (has recovered from her astonishment and starts for Antoinette,
+savagely). Who _are_ you, and what do you want here?
+
+PAUL (steps between them, very seriously). Hella ... If you please ...
+
+ANTOINETTE (restrains PAUL, with a quiet, distinguished bearing). I am
+not afraid, Paul. Just continue, madam.
+
+HELLA (furiously). Who has given you the right to intrude here?
+
+      [PAUL has retreated a little in response to ANTOINETTE'S
+      entreating glance.]
+
+ANTOINETTE. Ask yourself, madam. Who was here earlier, you or I?
+
+HELLA (turns away abruptly). I shall not quarrel with you, I shall
+simply show you the door!
+
+PAUL. Well, well. We are standing on _my_ soil now, Hella! Remember
+that!
+
+HELLA (infuriated). Oh, I suppose you are insisting upon your rights!
+
+PAUL, Why I simply must. You are forcing me to do so!
+
+HELLA. Very well. I am doing that very thing!
+
+PAUL (clenches his fists). Really now! You will not change your mind?
+
+HELLA. I will not change my mind. I shall not release you. Now do as
+you please!
+
+PAUL. You will not release me?
+
+HELLA. No!
+
+PAUL, (beside himself). You!... You!...
+
+ANTOINETTE. Be quiet, dear! No mortal can interfere with us.
+
+HELLA. How affectionate! You probably suppose that you have him
+_already_? That I shall simply go and your happiness is complete! Don't
+deceive yourself! You shall not enjoy happiness when I am compelled to
+battle.
+
+ANTOINETTE. Did I not battle?
+
+HELLA. Your little battle. Simply because you did not happen to get the
+man that you wanted! We have had battles of quite other dimensions!
+
+ANTOINETTE. Do not believe for a moment that you have a right to look
+down upon me! I shall pick up your gauntlet in the things that really
+count.
+
+HELLA. You? My gauntlet? Ha, ha!
+
+ANTOINETTE. You _too_ are only a woman, just as I am, and although you
+may rate yourself ever so much higher, you will remain a woman
+nevertheless!
+
+HELLA. Woman or not! I shall show you with whom you have to deal! I
+shall not retreat and that settles it! Under the law, you shall never
+get each other. Now show your courage.
+
+ANTOINETTE. I shall show you my courage!
+
+HELLA. Dare to do so without the law! Bear the consequences! Suffer
+yourself to be cast out by all the world! Have them point their fingers
+at you! That is the absconded wife who is living with a run-away
+husband! Take that ban upon you! Do you see now? _I_ should. I should
+scorn the whole world! Can you do the same?
+
+       [ANTOINETTE bows her head and is silent.]
+
+HELLA (triumphantly). You can't do that! I knew it very well.
+
+ANTOINETTE (composed). What I can and what I cannot do is in the hand
+of God. That is all that I have to say to you.
+
+HELLA. That is all I need to know! I wish you a happy life!
+
+PAUL (has been restraining himself, steps up to HELLA). Hella, one last
+word!
+
+HELLA. It has been spoken!
+
+PAUL. Do you remember what we agreed to do once upon a time?
+
+HELLA. I don't remember anything now!
+
+PAUL. Hella, remember! On our wedding day we agreed, if either one of
+us, from an honest conviction, should demand his freedom, he should
+have it, our compact should be ended. That occasion is here. Remember!
+
+HELLA. I don't remember a thing now. _You_ certainly do not.
+
+ANTOINETTE. Don't say another word, dear!
+
+HELLA. It would certainly do no good! Good-by! As for the rest, we
+shall see!
+
+PAUL. We shall.
+
+      [HELLA goes out with head erect and closes the door behind her.
+      Pause. PAUL and Antoinette stand face to face for a moment and
+      look into each other's eyes.]
+
+PAUL (morosely). Now the bridges are burned behind us!
+
+ANTOINETTE. They are, dear. Do you realize it?
+
+PAUL. What now? What now?
+
+ANTOINETTE (sinks upon his breast). Paul! My Paul!
+
+PAUL (embraces her, presses her to him fervently. They embrace in
+silence, then he draws her down beside him on the divan, and looks at
+her affectionately). It was a long time before you came, Toinette.
+
+ANTOINETTE. But now I am here, and shall leave you no more.
+
+PAUL. You will not leave me, beloved?
+
+ANTOINETTE. I shall never leave you.
+
+PAUL. And I shall not leave you.
+
+ANTOINETTE. And you will not leave me. (They embrace each other.)
+
+PAUL (straightens up). Why did you stay so long, Toinette?
+
+ANTOINETTE. Much was to be set in order, dear.
+
+PAUL. I was almost beginning to doubt you.
+
+ANTOINETTE. You wicked man. Then I should have been forced to go alone.
+
+PAUL. Alone? Where would you have gone, you poor, helpless, little soul
+
+ANTOINETTE. Do not think that! I have the thing that will help me. That
+is why I am so late!
+
+PAUL (shrinking). Antoinette!
+
+ANTOINETTE (smiling). Don't be frightened, dear! Two drops and all is
+over.
+
+PAUL (has risen). You would?
+
+ANTOINETTE (gently). Yes, I will. Are you going with me?
+
+PAUL. Toinette! Toinette! (Walks through the room excitedly.)
+
+ANTOINETTE.  Think of her words, she will not release you!
+
+PAUL. Is Hella right? You _haven't_ the courage?
+
+ANTOINETTE (passionately). Courage I have, Paul. To the very end!
+
+PAUL. Very well, then we shall undertake it in spite of them all.
+
+ANTOINETTE (excited). The absconded wife! The runaway husband! Did you
+forget those words? Those terrible words! They keep on ringing in my
+ears. Are we to live in the scorn of people. I cannot, Paul.
+
+PAUL. You do not _want_ to.
+
+ANTOINETTE. No, I _do_ not want to! I do not care to descend into the
+mire! I have hated it all of my life. They shall not be able to
+reproach us for anything.
+
+PAUL (in passionate excitement). Is it to be? Is it to be? (ANTOINETTE
+nods silently).
+
+PAUL (suddenly overcome with emotion, falls upon his knees before
+ANTOINETTE and presses his head to her bosom). Kiss me, kiss me,
+beloved!
+
+ANTOINETTE (puts her arms around him). Here on your brow, my lover! Are
+you content? (She kisses his brow.)
+
+PAUL. Content in life or death. (He gets up, sits down beside
+ANTOINETTE and looks at her). Are you weeping, sweetheart?
+
+ANTOINETTE (lowers her head, gently). Why, you are, too, Paul!
+
+PAUL (passes his hand over his eyes). All over! Tell me what you think
+now, dear!
+
+ANTOINETTE (also controlling her tears). It is this, dear, our time is
+short. I rode away from my husband! He was riding ahead of me in the
+sleigh. I had told him that I would follow and I mounted my horse and
+came to you.
+
+PAUL (puts his arms around her). Courageous soul! Rode through the
+forest?
+
+ANTOINETTE. Right on through the forest. The sun was already going
+down, when I set out.
+
+PAUL. The sun of New Year's Eve ... Did _you_ see it too?
+
+ANTOINETTE. When it was down, the gloaming afforded me light, and later
+the snow.
+
+PAUL (sadly with a touch of roguishness). Dearest, when the sun is
+down, there is nothing left to give light.
+
+ANTOINETTE. Indeed, my beloved, indeed! Then come the stars. They are
+finer.
+
+PAUL. Do you believe in the stars?
+
+ANTOINETTE. You heretic, I believe!...
+
+PAUL. Still believe in heaven and hell?
+
+ANTOINETTE. No longer for us. For us, the stars.
+
+PAUL. Do you think so? For us?
+
+ANTOINETTE. For us and lovers such as we are!
+
+PAUL. How do you know that?
+
+ANTOINETTE. Since I have you!
+
+PAUL. Then I believe it too!
+
+ANTOINETTE. My friend! My beloved! My life! (She presses him to her.)
+
+PAUL. My beloved! My wife! [Blissful silence.]
+
+ANTOINETTE (straightens up). Don't you hear steps? (She listens.)
+
+PAUL (also listens). Where, pray tell.
+
+ANTOINETTE (has risen). Out in the garden. It seemed so to me.
+
+PAUL. I hear nothing. All is still.
+
+ANTOINETTE (leans upon him). I am afraid, Paul.
+
+PAUL. Afraid? Of what?
+
+ANTOINETTE. That he will come and get me. Our time is short.
+
+PAUL. Then I will protect you.
+
+ANTOINETTE. Paul, I don't want to see him again! I don't want to see
+another soul!
+
+PAUL (looks at her with glowing eyes). How beautiful you are now,
+Toinette!
+
+ANTOINETTE. Am I beautiful? Am I beautiful. For you, my Paul, for you!
+
+PAUL. For me. (He puts his arms around her.)
+
+ANTOINETTE (proudly). I am still beautiful and young and yet I shall
+cast it away. I am not afraid.
+
+PAUL (his arms about her). We are not afraid!
+
+ANTOINETTE. Out into night and death together with you!
+
+PAUL. It is not worth living! We have realized that!
+
+ANTOINETTE (looks up at him, smiling). Haven't we, Paul, we two lost
+creatures? (In each other's embrace, they are silent for a moment.)
+
+ANTOINETTE (roguishly). Do you remember, dear, what you used to do when
+you were a little boy?
+
+PAUL. No, sweetheart, tell me!
+
+ANTOINETTE. Try to recall, dear. What did you do when your mother gave
+us bread and cake.
+
+PAUL. I took the bread first, is that what you mean, and then finished
+up with the cake.
+
+ANTOINETTE (shakes her finger at him). Kept the cake for the end, you
+crafty fellow!
+
+PAUL (is forced to laugh). Kept the best part for the end! Yes that's
+what I did.
+
+ANTOINETTE (on his breast). Just wait, you rogue. Now I'll make you
+answer. Tell me, what am _I_ now, bread or cake!
+
+PAUL. My last, my best, my all, that's what you are to me!
+
+ANTOINETTE. There can be no joy beyond this. Shall we become old and
+gray and withered? Come, my dear, come!
+
+PAUL (looks at her for a long time). Do you know of what you remind me
+now?
+
+ANTOINETTE. Of what, Paul?
+
+PAUL. That is just the way you stood in our park when you were a girl,
+out there under the alders, and beckoned to me when you wanted me to
+come and play with you.
+
+ANTOINETTE (beckoning roguishly). Come on, Paul. Come on. Isn't that
+it?
+
+PAUL. Just so! Just so!
+
+ANTOINETTE. Catch me, Paulie!... Catch me! (She runs to the left, opens
+the door and remains standing.)
+
+PAUL (runs after her and seizes her). Now I have you, you rogue?
+
+ANTOINETTE (in his arms). Have me and hold me fast!
+
+PAUL. New Year's Eve! New Year's Eve!... Is it here?
+
+ANTOINETTE. It's no longer necessary for us to cast lead to find out
+how long we are to live. We know!
+
+PAUL. Soon we shall know nothing!
+
+ANTOINETTE. Soon we shall know all!
+
+PAUL. On your stars, do you mean?
+
+ANTOINETTE (nods). On our star, my lover, you and I shall meet again.
+
+PAUL. There we shall meet again!
+
+ANTOINETTE (starts, and listens). Do you hear?
+
+      [INSPECTOR ZINDEL opens the door in the background and stands in
+      the door. PAUL and ANTOINETTE let go of each other, keeping their
+      places.]
+
+INSPECTOR ZINDEL. The bay is bridled, sir, and stands out here.
+
+ANTOINETTE (has an inspiration). The bay bridled? Is my gray there,
+too?
+
+INSPECTOR ZINDEL. It is, madam!
+
+ANTOINETTE. Very well. Stay with the horses. We shall be there
+immediately!
+
+      [INSPECTOR ZINDEL withdraws.]
+
+PAUL (astonished). What is it, dear? What do you intend to do?
+
+ANTOINETTE (with frantic passion). To our horses, dearest! To our
+horses!
+
+PAUL (incredulously). Out into the world, after all?
+
+ANTOINETTE (with a wild fervor). Out with you into the night ... the
+night of Saint Sylvester!
+
+PAUL (sadly). Stay here, Toinette! Why begin the farce anew! Let it end
+upon this soil, that nurtured our childhood!
+
+ANTOINETTE (imploring). Come, dearest, to our horses! Let us ride to my
+home.
+
+PAUL. To your home?
+
+ANTOINETTE. To Rukkoschin, the house of my fathers.
+
+PAUL. Do you wish to go there?
+
+ANTOINETTE. I wish to see it once more!
+
+PAUL. And then we shall be ready?
+
+ANTOINETTE. The house lies secluded and empty and dead.
+
+PAUL. Only the spirits of your fathers are stirring.
+
+ANTOINETTE. But I know of one room where I played as a child, that has
+suffered no change.
+
+PAUL (overcome). To our horses! To our horses!
+
+ANTOINETTE. The night is clear. Many thousands of stars will light the
+way. We shall ride through the forest. Right across the lake. The ice
+is firm.
+
+       [She draws him out.]
+
+PAUL (with a gesture toward the outside). Farewell, Hella! Your reign
+is over!... We are returning to Mother Earth! (They depart through the
+door in the background.)
+
+
+
+
+
+HUGO VON HOFMANNSTHAL
+
+* * * * * *
+
+THE MARRIAGE OF SOBEIDE
+
+A DRAMATIC POEM
+
+
+DRAMATIS PERSONAE
+
+
+A WEALTHY MERCHANT
+
+SOBEIDE, his young wife
+
+BACHTJAR, the Jeweler, SOBEIDE'S father
+
+SOBEIDE'S MOTHER
+
+SHALNASSAR, the Carpet-dealer
+
+GANEM, his son
+
+GUeLISTANE, a ship-captain's widow
+
+An Armenian Slave
+
+An old Camel-driver
+
+A Gardener
+
+His wife
+
+BAHRAM, Servant of the MERCHANT
+
+A Debtor of SHALNASSAR
+
+
+An old city in the Kingdom of Persia
+
+The time is the evening and the night after the wedding-feast of the
+wealthy merchant.
+
+
+
+
+THE MARRIAGE OF SOBEIDE (1899)
+
+TRANSLATED BY BAYARD QUINCY MORGAN, PH.D.
+
+Assistant Professor of German, University of Wisconsin
+
+
+
+Scene I
+
+Sleeping chamber in the house of the wealthy MERCHANT. To the rear an
+alcove with dark curtains. To the left a door, to the right a small
+door leading into the garden, and a window. Candles.
+
+Enter the MERCHANT and his old Servant, BAHRAM.
+
+
+MERCHANT.
+           Speak, Bahram, gav'st thou heed unto my bride?
+
+SERVANT.
+           Heed, in what sense!
+
+MERCHANT.
+                         She is not cheerful, Bahram.
+
+SERVANT.
+           She is a serious girl. And 'tis a moment
+           That sobers e'en the flightiest, remember.
+
+MERCHANT.
+           Not she alone: the more I bade them kindle
+           Lights upon lights, the heavier hung a cloud
+           About this wedding-feast. They smiled like masks,
+           And I could catch the dark or pitying glances
+           They flung to one another; and her father
+           Would oft subside into a dark reflection,
+           From which he roused himself with laughter forced,
+           Unnatural.
+
+SERVANT.
+                       My Lord, our common clay
+           Endureth none too well the quiet splendor
+           Of hours like these. We are but little used
+           To aught but dragging through our daily round
+           Of littleness. And on such high occasions
+           We feel the quiet opening of a portal
+           From which an unfamiliar, icy breath
+           Our spirit chills, and warns us of the grave.
+           As in a glass we then behold our own
+           Forgotten likeness come into our vision,
+           And easier 'twere to weep than to be merry.
+
+MERCHANT.
+           She tasted not a morsel that thou placed
+           Before her.
+
+SERVANT.
+                          Lord, her modest maidenhood
+           Was like a noose about her throat; but yet
+           She ate some of the fruit.
+
+MERCHANT.
+                                 Yes, one small seed,
+           I noticed that, 'twas a pomegranate seed.
+
+SERVANT.
+           Then too she suddenly bethought herself
+           That wine, a blood-red flame in sparkling crystal,
+           Before her stood, and raised the splendid goblet
+           And drank as with a sudden firm resolve
+           The half of it, so that the color flooded
+           Her cheeks, and deep she sighed as with relief.
+
+MERCHANT.
+           Methinks that was no happy resolution.
+           So acts the man who would deceive himself,
+           And veils his glance, because the road affrights him.
+
+SERVAMT.
+           Vain torments these: this is but women's way.
+
+MERCHANT.(looks about the room, smiles).
+           A mirror, too, I see thou hast provided.
+
+SERVAMT.
+           Thine own command, the mirror is thy mother's,
+           Brought hither from her chamber with the rest.
+           And thou thyself didst bid me, just this one ...
+
+MERCHANT.
+           What, did I so? It was a moment, then,
+           When I was shrewder than I am just now.
+           Yes, yes, a youthful bride must have a mirror.
+
+SERVANT.
+           Now I will go to fetch your mother's goblet
+           And bring the cooling evening drink.
+
+MERCHANT.
+                                              Ah yes.
+           Go, my good Bahram, fetch the evening drink.
+                                       [Exit BAHRAM.]
+           Thou mirror of my mother, dwells no glimmer
+           In thee of her sweet pallid smile, to rise
+           As from the dewy mirror of a well-spring?
+           Her smile, the faintest, loveliest I have known,
+           Was like the flutter of a tiny birdling,
+           That sleeps its last upon the hollowed hand.
+                           [Stands before the mirror.]
+           No, naught but glass. Too long it empty stood.
+           Only a face that does not smile--my own.
+           My Self, beheld with my own eyes, so vacant
+           As if one glass but mirrored forth another,
+           Unconscious.--Oh for higher vision yet,
+           For but one moment infinitely brief,
+           To see how stands upon _her_ spirit's mirror
+           My image! Is't an old man she beholds?
+           Am I as young as oft I deem myself,
+           When in the silent night I lie and listen
+           To hear my blood surge through its winding course?
+           Is it not being young, to have so little
+           Of rigidness or hardness in my nature?
+           I feel as if my spirit, nursed and reared
+           On nourishment so dreamlike, bloodless, thin,
+           Were youthful still. How else should visit me
+           This faltering feeling, just as in my boyhood,
+           This strange uneasiness of happiness,
+           As if 'twould slip each moment from my hands
+           And fade like shadows? Can the old feel this?
+           No, old men take the world for something hard
+           And dreamless; what their fingers grasp and hold,
+           They hold. While _I_ am even now a-quiver
+           With all this moment brings; no youthful monarch
+           Were more intoxicated, when the breezes
+           Should waft to him that cryptic word "possession."
+                                     [He nears the window.]
+           Ah, lovely stars, are ye out there as ever?
+           From out of this unstable mortal body
+           To look upon your courses in your whirling
+           Eternal orbits--that has been the food
+           That bore with ease my years, until I thought
+           I scarcely felt my feet upon the earth.
+           And have I really withered, while my eyes
+           Clung to yon golden suns, that do not wither?
+           And have I learned of all the quiet plants,
+           And marked their parts and understood their lives,
+           And how they differ when upon the mountains,
+           Or when by running streams we find them growing,--
+           Almost a new creation, yet at bottom
+           A single species; and with confidence
+           Could say, this one does well, its food is pure,
+           And lightly bears the burden of its leaves,
+           But this through worthless soil and sultry vapors
+           Has thickened stems, and bloated, swollen leaves ...
+           And more ... and of myself I can know nothing,
+           And heavy scales are crusted on my eyes,
+           Impeding judgment ...
+              [He hastily steps before the mirror again.]
+                                   Soulless tool!
+           Not like some books and men caught unawares:
+           Thou never canst reveal the hidden truth
+           As in a lightning flash.
+
+SERVANT (returning).
+                                   My master.
+
+MERCHANT.
+                                                Well?
+
+SERVANT.
+           The guests depart. The father of thy bride
+           And others have been asking after thee.
+
+MERCHANT.
+           And what of her?
+
+SERVANT.
+                She takes leave of her parents.
+
+           [MERCHANT stands a moment with staring
+           eyes, then goes out at the door to the left
+           with long strides. SERVANT follows him.
+           The stage remains empty for a short time.
+           Then the MERCHANT reenters, hearing a
+           candelabrum which he places on the table
+           beside the evening drink. SOBEIDE enters
+           behind him, led by her father and mother.
+           All stop in the centre of the room, somewhat
+           to the left, the MERCHANT slightly removed
+           from the rest. SOBEIDE gently releases
+           herself. Her veil hangs down behind her.
+           She wears a string of pearls in her hair,
+           a larger one about her neck.]
+
+FATHER.
+           From much in life I have been forced to part.
+           This is the hardest. My beloved daughter,
+           This is the day which I began to dread
+           When still I saw thee smiling in thy cradle,
+           And which has been my nightmare o'er and o'er.
+                      (To the MERCHANT.)
+           Forgive me. She is more to me than child.
+           I give thee that for which I have no name,
+           For every name comprises but a part--
+           But she was everything to me!
+
+SOBEIDE.
+                                         Dear father,
+           My mother will be with thee.
+
+MOTHER (gently).
+                                       Cross him not:
+           He is quite right to overlook his wife.
+           I have become a part of his own being,
+           What strikes me, strikes him too; but what I do
+           Affects him only as when right and left
+           Of his own body meet. Meanwhile, however,
+           The soul remains through all its days a nursling,
+           And reaches out for breasts more full of life,
+           Farewell. Be no worse helpmeet than I was,
+           And mayst thou be as happy too. This word
+           Embraces all.
+
+SOBEIDE.
+                           Embrace--that is the word;
+           Till now my fate was in your own embraced,
+           But now the life of this man standing here
+           Swings wide its gates, and in this single moment
+           I breathe for once the blessed air of freedom:
+           No longer yours, and still not his as yet.
+           I beg you, go; for this unwonted thing,
+           As new to me as wine, has greater power,
+           And makes me view my life and his and yours
+           With other eyes than were perhaps befitting.
+                       (With a forced smile.)
+           I beg you, look not in such wonderment:
+           Such notions oft go flitting through my head,
+           Nor dream nor yet reality. Ye know,
+           As child I was much worse. And then the dance
+           Which I invented, is't not such a thing:
+           Wherein from torchlight and the black of night
+           I made myself a shifting, drifting palace,
+           From which I then emerged, as do the queens
+           Of fire and ocean in the fairy-tales.
+             [The MOTHER has meanwhile thrown the
+               FATHER a glance and has noiselessly gone
+               to the door. Noiselessly the FATHER has
+               followed her. Now they stand with clasped
+               hands in the doorway, to vanish the next
+               moment.]
+           Ye go so softly? What? And are ye gone?
+             [She turns and stands silent, her eyes cast
+               down.]
+
+MERCHANT (caresses her with a long look, then goes to the
+           rear, but stops again irresolute).
+           Wilt thou not lay aside thy veil?
+             [SOBEIDE starts, looks about her absent-mindedly.]
+
+MERCHANT (points to the glass).
+                                         'Tis yonder.
+             [SOBEIDE takes no step, loosens mechanically
+               the veil from her hair.]
+
+[Illustration: LAKE IN THE GRUNEWALD]
+
+MERCHANT.
+           Here--in thy house--and just at first perhaps
+           Thou mayst lack much. This house, since mother's death,
+           Has grown disused to serve a woman's needs.
+           And our utensils here do not display
+           The splendor and magnificence in which
+           I fain had seen thee framed, but yet for me
+           Scant beauty dwells in what all men may have:
+           So from the stuffy air of chests and caskets
+           That, like the sandal-wood in sanctuary,
+           Half took my breath, I had all these removed
+           And placed there in thy chamber for thy service,
+           Where something of my mother's presence still--
+           Forgive me--seems to cling. I thought in this
+           To show and teach thee something ... On some things
+           There are mute symbols deeply stamped, with which
+           The air grows laden in our quiet hours,
+           And fuses something with our consciousness
+           That could not well be said, nor was to be.
+                                                   [Pause.]
+           It hurts me when I see thee thus, benumbed
+           By all these overladen moments, that
+           Scarce walk upright beneath their heavy burden.
+           But let me say, all good things enter in
+           Our souls in quiet unpretentious ways,
+           And not with show and noise. One keeps expecting
+           To see Life suddenly appear somewhere
+           On the horizon, like a new domain,
+           A country yet untrodden. Yet the distance
+           Remains unpeopled; slowly then our eyes
+           Perceive its traces ling'ring here and yonder,
+           And that it compasses, embraces us,
+           And bears us, is in us, and nowhere fails us.
+           The words I say can give thee little pleasure,
+           Too much renunciation rings in them.
+           But not to me, by Heaven! My sweet child,
+           Not like a beggar do I feel before thee,
+                     (With a long look at her.)
+           However fair thy youth's consummate glory
+           Envelop thee from top to toe ... thou knowest
+           Not much about my life, thou hast but seen
+           A fragment of its shell, as dimly gleaming
+           In shadows through the op'nings of a hedge.
+           I wish thine eye might pierce the heart of it:
+           As fully as the earth beneath my feet
+           Have I put from me all things low and common.
+           Callst thou that easy, since I now am old?
+           'Tis true, I've lost some friends by death ere this--
+           And thou at most thy grandam--many friends,
+           And those that live, where are they scattered now?
+           To them was linked the long forgotten quiver
+           Of nights of youth, those evening hours in which
+           Vague fear with monstrous, sultry happiness
+           Was mingled, and the perfume of young locks
+           With darkling breezes wafted from the stars.
+
+           * * * * * *
+
+           The glamor of the motley towns and cities,
+           The distant purple haze--that now is gone,
+           Nor could be found, though I should go to seek it;
+           But here within me, when I call, there rises
+           A something, rules my spirit, and I feel
+           As if it might in thee as well--
+                               [He changes his tone.]
+           Knowst thou the day, on which thou needst must dance
+           Before thy father's guests? A smile unfading
+           Dwelt on thy lips, than any string of pearls
+           More fair, and sadder than my mother's smile,
+           Which thou hast ne'er beheld. This is to blame:
+           That smile and dance were interlaced, like wondrous
+           Fingers of dreamlike possibilities.
+           Wouldst thou they ne'er had been, since they're to blame,
+           My wife, that thou art standing here with me?
+
+SOBEIDE (in such a tone that her voice is heard
+           to strike her teeth).
+           Commandest thou that I should dance? If not,
+           Commandest thou some other thing?
+
+MERCHANT.
+                                             My wife,
+           How wild thou speakest with me, and how strangely!
+
+SOBEIDE.
+           Wild? Hard, perhaps: my fate is none too soft.
+           Thou speakest as a good man speaks, then be
+           So good as not to speak with me today.
+           I am thy chattel, take me as thy chattel,
+           And let me, like a chattel, keep my thoughts
+           Unspoken, only uttered to myself!
+            [She weeps silently with compressed lips, her
+               face turned toward the darkness.]
+
+MERCHANT.
+           So many tears and in such silence. This
+           Is not the shudder that relieves the anguish
+           Of youth. Here there is deeper pain to quiet
+           Than inborn rigidness of timid spirits.
+
+SOBEIDE.
+           Lord, shouldst thou waken in the night and find
+           Me weeping thus whenas I seem to sleep,
+           Then wake me, lest I do what thy good right
+           Forbids me. For in dreams upon thy bed
+           I shall be seeing then another man
+           And longing for him; this were not becoming,
+           And makes me shudder at myself to think it.
+           Oh promise me that thou wilt then awake me!
+             [Pause. The MERCHANT is silent; deep feeling
+               darkens his face.]
+           No question who it is? Does that not matter?
+           No? But thy face is gloomy and thou breathest
+           With effort? Then I will myself confess it:
+           Thou hast beheld him at our house ere now,
+           His name is Ganem--son of old Shalnassar,
+           The carpet-dealer--and 'tis three years now
+           Since first I knew him. But since yesteryear
+           I have not seen him more.
+           This I have said, this last thing I reveal,
+           Because I will permit no sediment
+           Of secrecy and lies to lurk within me.
+           I care not thou shouldst know: I am no vessel
+           Sold off as pure, but lined with verdigris
+           To eat its bottom out--and then because
+           I wanted to be spared his frequent visits
+           In this abode--for that were hard to bear.
+
+MERCHANT (threateningly, but soon choked by wrath and pain).
+           Thou! Thou hast ... thou hast ...
+                     [He claps his hands to his face.]
+
+SOBEIDE.
+           Thou weepest too, then, on thy wedding-day?
+           And have I spoiled some dream for thee? Look hither:
+           Thou sayst, I am so young, and this, and this--
+                    [Points to hair and cheeks.]
+           Are young indeed, but weary is my spirit,
+           So weary, that there is no word to tell
+           How weary and how aged before my time.
+           We are one age, perhaps thou art the younger.
+           In conversation once thou saidst to me,
+           That almost all the years since I was born
+           Had passed for thee in sitting in thy gardens
+           And in the quiet tower thou hast builded,
+           To watch the stars from it. 'Twas on that day
+           It first seemed possible to me, that thy
+           And, more than that, my father's fond desire
+           Might be ... fulfilled. For I supposed the air
+           In this thy house must have some lightness in it,
+           So light, so burdenless!--And in our house
+           It was so overladen with remembrance,
+           The airy corpse of sleepless nights went floating
+           All through it, and on all the walls there hung
+           The burden of those fondly cherished hopes,
+           Once vivid, then rejected, long since faded.
+           The glances of my parents rested ever
+           Upon me, and their whole existence.--Well,
+           Too well I knew each quiver of an eyelash,
+           And over all there was the constant pressure
+           Of thy commanding will, that on my soul
+           Lay like a coverlet of heavy sleep.
+           'Twas common, that I yielded at the last:
+           I seek no other word. And yet the common
+           Is strong, and all our life is full of it.
+           How could I thrust it down and trample on it,
+           While I was floundering in it up to the neck?
+
+MERCHANT.
+           So my desire lay like a cruel nightmare
+           Upon thy breast! Then thou must surely hate me ...
+
+SOBEIDE.
+           I hate thee not, I have not learned to hate,
+           And only just began to learn to love.
+           The lessons stopped, but I am fairly able
+           To do such things as, with that smile thou knowest,
+           To dance, with heart as heavy as the stones,
+           To face each heavy day, each coming evil
+           With smiles: the utmost power of my youth
+           That smile consumed, but to the bitter end
+           I wore it, and so here I stand with thee.
+
+MERCHANT.
+           In this I see but shadowy connection.
+
+SOBEIDE.
+           How I connect my being forced to smile
+           And finally becoming wife to thee?
+           Wilt thou know this? And must I tell thee all?
+           Then knowst thou, since thou art rich, so little
+           Of life, and hast no eyes for aught but stars,
+           And flowers in thy heated greenhouse? Listen:
+           This is the cause: a poor man is my father,
+           Not always poor, much worse: once rich, now poor,
+           And many people's debtor, most of all
+           Thy debtor. And his starving spirit lived
+           Upon my smile, as other people's hearts
+           On other lies. These last years, since thou camest,
+           I knew my task; till then had been my schooling.
+
+MERCHANT.
+           And so became my wife!
+           As quick she would have grasped her pointed shears
+           And opened up a vein and with her blood
+           Have let her life run out into a bath,
+           If that had been the price with which to purchase
+           Her father's freedom from his creditor!
+           ... Thus is a wish fulfilled!
+
+SOBEIDE.
+           Be not distressed. This is the way of life.
+           I am myself as in a waking dream.
+           As one who, taken sick, no more aright
+           Compares his thoughts, nor any more remembers
+           How on the day before he viewed a matter,
+           Nor what he then had feared or had expected:
+           He cannot look with eyes of yesterday ...
+           So also when we reach the worser stages
+           Of that great illness: Life. I scarcely know
+           Myself how great my fear of many things,
+           How much I longed for others, and I feel,
+           When some things cross my mind, as if it were
+           Another woman's fate, and not my own,
+           Just some one that I know about, not I.
+           I tell thee, I am bitter, but not evil:
+           And if at first I was too wild for thee,
+           There will be no deception in me later,
+           When I shall sit at ease and watch thy gardeners.
+           My head is tired out. I grow so dizzy,
+           When I must keep two things within myself
+           That fight against each other. Much too long
+           Have I been forced to do this. Give me peace!
+           Thou giv'st me this, and for that I am grateful.
+           Call not this little: terrible in weakness
+           Is everything that grows on shifting sands
+           Of doubt. But here is perfect certainty.
+
+MERCHANT.
+           And how of him?
+
+SOBEIDE.
+                     That too must not distress thee.
+           'Twere hard to judge, had I concealed it from thee;
+           I have revealed it now, so let it rest.
+
+MERCHANT.
+           Thou art not free of him!
+
+SOBEIDE.
+                                    So thinkest thou?
+           When is one "free?" Things have no hold on us,
+           Except we have in us the will to hold them.
+           All that is past.               [Gesture.]
+
+MERCHANT (after a pause).
+           His love was like to thine?
+                                [SOBEIDE  nods.]
+           But then, why then, how has it come to pass
+           That he was not the one--
+
+SOBEIDE
+                                     Why, we were poor!
+           No, more than poor, thou knowst. His father, too.
+           Poor too. Besides, a gloomy man, as hard
+           As mine was all too soft, and on him weighing
+           As mine on me. The whole much easier
+           To live through than to put in words. For years
+           It lasted. We were children when it started,
+           Ere long as tired as foals, too early harnessed
+           For drawing heavy wagons in the harvest.
+
+MERCHANT.
+           But let me tell thee, this cannot be true
+           About his father. I know old Shalnassar,
+           The carpet-dealer. Well, he is a graybeard,
+           And he who will may speak good of his name,
+           But I will not. A wicked, bad old man!
+
+SOBEIDE.
+           May be, all one. To him it is his father.
+           I ne'er have seen him. Ganem sees him so.
+           He calls him sick, is saddened when he speaks
+           Of him. And therefore I have never seen him,
+           That is, not since my childhood, when I saw
+           Him now and then upon the window leaning.
+
+MERCHANT.
+           But he's not poor, no, anything but poor!
+
+SOBEIDE (sure of her facts, sadly smiling).
+           Thinkst thou I should be here?
+
+MERCHANT.
+                                         And he?
+
+SOBEIDE.
+           What, he?
+
+MERCHANT.
+           He clearly made thee feel
+           He thought impossible, what he and thou
+           Had wished for years and long held possible?
+
+SOBEIDE.   Why, for it was impossible? ... and then
+           "Had wished for years"--thou seest, all these matters
+           Are different, and the words we use
+           Are different. At one time this has ripened,
+           But to decay again. For there are moments
+           With cheeks that burn like the eternal suns--
+           When somewhere hovers mute an unconfessed
+           Confession, somewhere vanishes in air
+           The echo of a call that never reached
+           Its utterance; here in me something whispers,
+           "I yielded to him;" mark: in thought! "I yielded"--
+           The following moment swallows everything,
+           As night the lightning flash ... How all began
+           And ended? Well, in this wise: first I sealed
+           My lips, soon then set seal upon my eye-lids,
+           And he--
+
+MERCHANT.
+              Well, how was he?
+
+SOBEIDE.
+                                        Why, very noble.
+           As one who seeks to sully his own image
+           In other eyes, to spare that other pain--
+           Quite different, no longer kind as once
+           --It was the greatest kindness, so to act--
+           His spirit rent and full of mockery, that
+           Perhaps was bitterer to himself than me,
+           Just like an actor oftentimes, so strangely
+           With set intent. At other times again
+           Discoursing of the future, of the time
+           When I should give my hand--
+
+MERCHANT (vehemently).
+                                          To me?
+
+SOBEIDE (coldly).
+           When I should give my hand to any other;--
+           Describing what he knew that I should never
+           Endure, if life should ever take that form.
+           As little as himself would e'er have borne it
+           A single hour, for he but made a show,
+           Acquaint with me, and knowing it would cost
+           The less of pain to wrench my heart from him,
+           So soon as I had come to doubt his faith.
+
+           * * * * * * * * * * * *
+
+           'Twas too well acted, but what wealth of goodness
+           Was there.
+
+MERCHANT.  The greatest goodness, _if_ 'twas really
+           Naught but a pose assumed.
+
+SOBEIDE (passionately).
+                       I beg thee, husband,
+           This one thing: ruin not our life together.
+           As yet 'tis young and blind as tiny fledglings,
+           A single speech like this might swiftly slay it!
+           I shall not be an evil wife to thee:
+           I mean that slowly I shall find, perhaps,
+           In other things a little of that bliss
+           For which I held out eager fingers, thinking
+           There was a land quite full of it, both air
+           And earth, and one might enter into it.
+           I know by now that _I_ was not to enter ...
+           I shall be almost happy in that day,
+           All longing, painless, shared 'twixt past and present,
+           Like shining sunlight on the fresh green trees,
+           And like an unburdened sky behind the garden
+           The future: empty, yet quite full of light ...
+           But we must give it time to grow:
+           As yet confusion everywhere prevails.
+           Thou must assist me, it must never happen
+           That with ill-chosen words thou link this present
+           Too strongly to the life which now is over.
+           They must be parted by a wall of glass,
+           As airtight and as rigid as in dreams.
+                         (At the window.)
+           That evening must not come, that should discover
+           Me sitting at this window without thee:
+           --Just not to be at home, not from the window
+           Of my long girlhood's chamber to look out
+           Into the darkness, has a dangerous,
+           Peculiar and confusing power, as if
+           I lay upon the open road, no man's possession,
+           As fully mine as never in my dreams!
+           A maiden's life is much more strictly ruled
+           By pressure of the air, than thou conceivest,
+           To whom it seems most natural to be free.
+           The evening ne'er must come, when I should thus
+           Stand here, with all the weight of heavy shadows,
+           My parents' eyes, all, all behind me thrust,
+           Involved in yon dark hangings at my back,
+           And this brave landscape with the golden stars,
+           The gentle breeze, the bushes, thus before me.
+                     (With growing agitation.)
+           The evening ne'er must come, when I should see
+           All this with eyes like these, to say to me:
+           Here lies a road that shimmers in the moonlight:
+           Before the gentle breeze the next light cloudlet
+           Impels to meet the moon, a man could run
+           That road unto its end, between the hedges,
+           Then comes a cross-road, now a planted field,
+           And then the shadow of the standing corn,
+           At last a garden! There his hand would touch
+           At once a curtain, back of which is all:
+           All kissing, laughing, all the happiness
+           This world can give promiscuously flung
+           About like balls of golden wool, such bliss
+           That but a drop of it on parched lips
+           Suffices to be lighter than a flame,
+           To see no more of difficulty, nor
+           To understand what men call ugliness!
+                       (Almost shrieking.)
+           The evening ne'er must come, that with a thousand
+           Unfettered tongues should cry to me: why not?
+           Why hast thou never run in dark of night
+           That road? Thy feet were young, thy breath sufficient:
+           Why hast thou saved it, that thou mightst have plenty
+           To weep a thousand nights upon thy pillow?
+            [She turns her back to the window, clutches
+              the table, collapses and falls to her knees,
+              and remains thus, her face pressed to the
+              table, her body shaken with weeping. A
+              long pause.]
+
+MERCHANT.  And if the first door I should open wide,
+           The only locked one on this road of love?
+             [He opens the small doorway leading into
+               the garden on the right; the moonlight
+               enters.]
+
+SOBEIDE (still kneeling by the table).
+           Art thou so cruel as, in this first hour,
+           To make a silly pastime of my weeping!
+           Art thou so fain to put thy scorn upon me?
+           Art thou so proud of holding me securely?
+
+MERCHANT (with the utmost self-control).
+           How much I could have wished that thou hadst learned
+           To know me otherwise, but now there is
+           No time for that.
+           Thy father, if 'tis this which so constrains thee,
+           Thy father owes me nothing now, indeed
+           Within some days agreements have been made
+           Between us twain, from which some little profit
+           And so, I hope, a much belated gleam
+           Of joyousness may come.
+
+            [She has crept closer to him on her knees, listening.]
+
+                        So then thou mightest--
+           Thou mayst, I mean to say, if it was this
+           That lamed thee most, if in this--_alien_ dwelling
+           Again thou feel the will to live, which thou
+           Hadst lost, if, as from heavy sleep aroused,
+           Yet not awake, thou feel it is this portal
+           That leads thee out to pulsing, waking life--
+           Then in the name of God and of the stars
+           I give thee leave to go where'er thou wilt.
+
+SOBEIDE (still on her knees).
+                                                 What?
+
+MERCHANT.
+           I do no more regard thee as my wife
+           Than any other maid who, for protection
+           From tempest or from robbers by the wayside,
+           Had entered for a space into my house,
+           And I renounce herewith my claim upon thee,
+           Just as I have no valid right to any,
+           Whom such a chance might cast beneath my roof.
+
+SOBEIDE.
+           What sayest thou?
+
+MERCHANT.
+                                I say that thou art free
+           To pass out through this door, and where thou wilt.
+           Free as the wind, the butterfly, the water.
+
+SOBEIDE (half standing).
+           To go?
+
+MERCHANT.
+                    To go.
+
+SOBEIDE.
+                            Where'er I will?
+
+MERCHANT.
+                                              Where 'er
+
+           Thou wilt, and at what time thou wilt.
+
+SOBEIDE (still half dazed, now at the door).
+            Now? Here?
+
+MERCHANT.
+           Or now, or later. Here, or otherwhere.
+
+SOBEIDE (doubtfully).
+           But to my parents only?
+
+MERCHANT (in a more decided tone).
+                  Where thou wilt.
+
+SOBEIDE (laughing and Weeping at once).
+           This dost thou then? O never in a dream
+           I ventured such a thought, in maddest dreams
+           I ne'er had crept to thee upon my knees
+
+                     [She falls on her knees before him.]
+
+           With this request, lest I should see thy laughter
+           Upon such madness ... yet thou doest it,
+           Thou doest it! O thou! Thou good, good man!
+
+           [He raises her gently, she stands bewildered.]
+
+MERCHANT (turns away).
+           When wilt thou go?
+
+SOBEIDE.
+                             This very instant, now!
+           O be not angry, think not ill of me!
+           Consider: can I tarry in thy house,
+           A stranger's house this night? Must I not go
+           At once to him, since I belong to him?
+           How may his property this night inhabit
+           An alien house, as it were masterless?
+
+MERCHANT (bitterly).
+           Already his?
+
+SOBEIDE.
+                 Why sir, a proper woman
+           Is never masterless: for from her father
+           Her husband takes her, she belongs to him,
+           Be he alive or resting in the earth.
+           Her next and latest master--that is Death.
+
+MERCHANT.
+           Then wilt thou not, at least till break of day,
+           Return to rest at home?
+
+SOBEIDE.
+                       No, no, my friend.
+           All that is past. My road, once and for all,
+           Is not the common one, this hour divides
+           Me altogether from all maiden ways.
+           So let me walk it to its very end
+           In this one night, that in a later day
+           All this be like a dream, nor I have need
+           To feel ashamed.
+
+MERCHANT.
+                            Then go!
+
+SOBEIDE.
+                                         I give thee pain?
+
+                                    [MERCHANT turns away.]
+
+           Permit a single draught from yonder goblet.
+
+MERCHANT.
+           It was my mother's, take it to thyself.
+
+SOBEIDE.
+           I cannot. Lord. But let me drink from it.
+
+                                                 [Drinks.]
+
+MERCHANT.
+           Drain this, and never mayst thou need in life
+           To quench thy thirst with wine from any goblet
+           Less pure than that.
+
+SOBEIDE.
+                                 Farewell.
+
+MERCHANT.
+                                            Farewell.
+
+                          [She is already on the threshold.]
+
+           Hast thou no fear?  Thou never yet hast walked
+           Alone. We dwell without the city wall.
+
+SOBEIDE.
+           Dear friend, I feel above all weakling fear,
+           And light my foot, as never in the daytime.
+
+                                                     [Exit.]
+
+MERCHANT (after following her long with his eyes, with a
+           gesture of pain).
+           As if some plant were drawing quiet rootlets
+           From out my heart, to take wing after her,
+           And air were entering all the empty sockets!
+
+                            [He steps away from the window.]
+
+           Does she not really seem to me less fair,
+           So hasty, so desirous to run thither,
+           Where scarce she knows if any wait her coming!
+           No: 'tis her youth that I must see aright;
+           This is a part of all things beautiful,
+           And all this haste becomes this creature just
+           As mute aspects become the fairest flowers.
+
+                                                    [Pause.]
+
+           I think what I have done is of a part
+           With my conception of the world's great movement.
+           I will not have one set of lofty thoughts
+           When I behold high up the circling stars,
+           And others when a young girl stands before me.
+           What _there_ is truth, must be so here as well,
+           And I must say, if yonder wedded child
+           Cannot endure to harbor in her spirit
+           Two things, of which the one belies the other,
+           Am I prepared to make my acts deny
+           What I have learned through groping premonition
+           And reason from that monstrous principle
+           That towers upon the earth and strikes the stars?
+           I call it Life, that monstrous thing, this too
+           Is life--and who might venture to divide them?
+           And what is ripeness, if not recognizing
+           That men and stars have but one law to guide them?
+           And so herein I see the hand of fate,
+           That bids me live as lonely as before,
+           And heirless--when I speak the last good-by--
+           And with no loving hand in mine, to die.
+
+
+
+SCENE II
+
+A wainscoted room in SHALNASSAR'S house. An ascending stairway, narrow
+and steep, in the right background; a descending one at the left. A
+gallery of open woodwork with openings, inner balconies, runs about the
+entire stage. Unshaded hanging lamps. Curtained doorways to the left
+and right. Against the left wall a low bench, farther to the rear a
+table and seats. Old SHALNASSAR sits on the bench near the left
+doorway, wrapped in a cloak. Before him stands a young man, the
+impoverished merchant.
+
+SHALNASS.
+           Were I as rich as you regard me--truly
+           I am not so, quite far from that, my friend--
+           I could not even then grant this postponement,
+           Nay, really, friend, and solely for your sake:
+           For too indulgent creditors, by Heaven,
+           Are debtors' ruin.
+
+DEBTOR.
+           Hear me now, Shalnassar!
+
+SHALNASS.
+           No more. I can hear nothing. Yea, my deafness
+           But grows apace with all your talking. Go!
+           Go home, I say: think how you may retrench.
+           I know your house, 'tis overrun with vermin,
+           I mean the servants. Curtail the expenses
+           Your wife has caused: they are most unbecoming
+           For your position. What? I am not here
+           To give you counsel. Home with you, I tell you.
+
+DEBTOR.
+           I wanted to, my heart detains me here,
+           This heart that swells with pain. Go home? To me
+           The very door of my own house is hateful.
+           I cannot enter, but some creditor
+           Would block my way.
+
+SHALNASS.
+                             Well, what a fool you were.
+           Go home and join your lovely wife, be off!
+           Go home! Bring offspring into life. Then starve!
+
+            [He claps his hands. The Armenian slave
+              comes up the stairs.  SHALNASSAR whispers
+              with him, without heeding the other.]
+
+DEBTOR.
+           Not fifty florins have I in the world.
+           You spoke of servants? Aye, one withered crone
+           To carry water, that is all. And she
+           How long? No wretch abandoned, fed with alms,
+           Feels misery like mine: for I have known
+           The sweets of wealth. Through every night I slept,
+           Contentment round my head, and sweet was morning.
+           But hush! she loves me still, and so my failure
+           Is bright and golden. O, she is my wife!
+
+SHALNASS.
+           I beg you, go, the lamps will have to burn
+           So long as you are standing round. Go with him.
+           Here are the keys.
+
+Debtor (overcoming his fear).
+                                   A word, good Shalnassar!
+           I had not wished to beg you for reprieve.
+
+SHALNASS.
+           What? Does my deafness cause me some illusion?
+
+DEBTOR.
+           No, really.
+
+SHALNASS.
+                       But?
+
+DEBTOR.
+                              But for another loan.
+
+SHALNASS (furious).
+           What do You want?
+
+DEBTOR.
+                             Not what I want, but must.
+           Thou never hast beheld her, thou must see her!
+           My heavy heart gives o'er its sullen beating
+           And leaps with joy, whene'er I look upon her.
+
+                    (With growing agitation.)
+
+           All this must yet be altered. Her fair limbs
+           Are for the cult of tenderness created,
+           Not for the savage claws of desperation.
+           She cannot go a-begging, with such hair.
+           Her mouth is proud as it is sweet. O, fate
+           Is trying to outwit me--but I scorn it--
+           If thou couldst see her, old man--
+
+SHALNASS.
+                                       I _will_ see her!
+           Tell her the man of years, upon whose gold
+           Her husband young so much depends--now mark:
+           The good old man, say, the decrepit gray-beard--
+           Desired to see her. Tell her men of years
+           Are childish, why should this one not be so?
+           But still a call is little. Tell her this:
+           It is almost a grave that she would visit,
+           A grave just barely breathing. Will you do't?
+
+DEBTOR.
+           I've heard it said that you adore your gold
+           Like something sacred, and that next to that
+           You love the countenance of anguished men,
+           And looks that mirror forth the spirit's pain.
+           But you are old, have sons, and so I think
+           These evil sayings false. And therefore I
+           Will tell her this, and if perchance she asks me,
+           "What thinkest thou?" then I will say, "My dearest,
+           Peculiar, but not bad."--Farewell, but pray you,
+           When your desire is granted, let not mine,
+           Shalnassar, wait long for its due fulfilment.
+
+            [The DEBTOR and the Armenian slave exeunt down
+              the stairs.]
+
+SHALNASS. (alone, rises, stretches, seems much taller now).
+           A honeyed fool is that, a sweet-voiced babbler,
+           "Hear, aged man!"--"I beg you, aged man!"
+           I've heard men say his wife is beautiful,
+           And has such fiery color in her hair
+           That fingers tumbling it feel heat and billows
+           At once. If she comes not, then she shall learn
+           To sleep on naked straw....
+                                   ... 'Twere time to sleep.
+           They say that convalescents need much sleep.
+           But if I must be deaf, then I'll be deaf
+           To wisdom such as this. Sleep is naught other
+           Than early death. I would enjoy my nights
+           Together with the days still left to me.
+           I will be generous, whenas I please:
+           To Guelistane I Will give more this evening
+           Than she could dream. And this shall be my pretext
+           To have her change her room and take a chamber
+           Both larger and near mine. If she will do't,
+           Her bath shall be the juice of violets, roses,
+           Or pinks, and gold and amber she shall quaff,
+           Until the roof-beams reel in dizzy madness.
+
+            [He claps his hands, a slave comes. Exit
+             left, followed by slave. GUeLISTANE comes
+             up the stairs, an old slave-woman behind
+             her. GANEM bends forward from a niche
+             above, spies GUeLISTANE and comes down
+             the stairs.]
+
+GANEM (takes her by the hand).
+           My dream, whence comest thou? So long I lay
+           To wait for thee.
+
+             [The old slave-woman mounts the stairs.]
+
+GUeLISTANE.
+                            I? From my bath I come
+           And go now to my chamber.
+
+GANEM.
+                                     How thou shinest
+           From bathing.
+
+GUeLISTANE.
+           It was flowing, glowing silver
+           Of moonlight.
+
+GANEM.
+                            Were I one of yonder trees,
+           I would cast off my foliage with a quiver,
+           And leap to thee! O were I master here!
+
+GUeLISTANE.
+           Aye, if thou wert! Thy father is quite well.
+           He bade me dine alone with him this evening.
+
+GANEM.
+           Accursed skill, that roused this blood again,
+           Which was already half coagulated.
+           I saw him speaking with thee just this morning.
+           What was it?
+
+GUeLISTANE.
+
+           I have told thee.
+
+GANEM.
+           Speak, was that all? Thou liest, there was more!
+
+GUeLISTANE.
+           He asked me--
+
+GANEM.
+                    What? But hush, the walls have ears.
+
+                                         [She whispers.]
+
+           Beloved!
+           While thou art speaking, ripes in me a plan,
+           Most wonderful, note well, and based on this:
+           He now is but the shadow of himself,
+           And though he still stands threatening there, his feet
+           Are clay. His wrath is thunder without lightning.
+           And--mark me well--all this his lustfulness
+           Is naught but senile braggadocio.
+
+GUeLISTANE.
+                                             Well,
+           What dost thou base on this?
+
+GANEM.
+                                     The greatest hope.
+
+                                        [He whispers.]
+
+GUeLISTANE.
+           But such a poison--
+           Suppose there should be one of such a nature,
+           To end the life, but leave the corpse unmarred--
+           This poison none will sell thee.
+
+GANEM.
+                                               Aye, no man,
+           A woman will--
+
+GUeLISTANE.
+                          For what reward?
+
+GANEM.
+                                                  For this,
+           That, thinking I am wed, she also thinks
+           To call me husband--after.
+
+GUeLISTANE.
+                                      Who'll believe it?...
+
+GANEM.
+           There long has been a woman who believes it.
+
+GUeLISTANE.
+           Thou liest: saidst thou not the plan was new?
+           And now thou sayst there long has been a woman.
+
+GANEM.
+           There has: I meshed her in this web of lies
+           Before I saw the goal. Today 'tis clear.
+
+GUeLISTANE.
+           Who is't?
+
+GANEM.
+                      The limping daughter of a poor
+           Old pastrycook, who lives in the last alley
+           Down in the sailors' quarter.
+
+GUeLISTANE.
+                                            And her name?
+
+GANEM.
+           What's in a name? Her eyes, with doglike fear,
+           Clung to me when I passed, one of those faces
+           That lure me, since so greedily they drink
+           In lies, and weave out of themselves such fancies.
+           And so I oft would stand and talk to her.
+
+[Illustration: LAKE IN THE GRUNEWALD]
+
+_From the Painting by Walter Leistikow_
+
+GUeLISTANE. And who gives her the poison?
+
+GANEM.
+                                         Why, her father,
+           By keeping it where she can steal it from him.
+
+GUeLISTANE.
+           What? He a pastry-maker?
+
+GANEM.
+                                   But quite skilful,
+           And very poor--and yet not to be purchased
+           By us at any price: he is of those
+           Who secretly reject our holy books,
+           And eat no food on which our shadow falls.
+           I'll visit her, while thou art eating dinner
+           With him.
+
+GUeLISTANE.
+                      So each will have his part to play.
+
+GANEM.
+           But mine shall end all further repetition
+           Of thine. Soon I return. Make some excuse
+           To leave him. If I found thee with him--
+
+GUeLISTANE (puts her hand over his mouth).
+                                                    Hush!
+
+GANEM (overcome).
+           How cool thy fingers are, and yet, how burns
+           Thy blood within them, sorceress! Thou holdest
+           Me captive in the deepest cell, and feedest
+           Me e'er at midnight with thy kennels' leavings;
+           Thou scourgest me, and in the dust I grovel.
+
+GUeLISTANE.
+           E'en so, and thou?
+
+GANEM (crushed by her look).
+           And I?
+                                [Looks down at his feet.]
+                                        My name is Ganem,
+           Ganem, the slave of love.
+                [He sinks before her, clasping her feet.]
+
+GUeLISTANE.
+                                          Go quickly, go!
+           I hear thy father, go! I bid thee go!
+           I will not have them find us here together.
+
+GANEM.
+           I have a silly smile, quite meaningless,
+           'Twould serve me well to look him in the face.
+
+             [GUeLISTANE goes up the stairs. The Armenian
+               slave comes from below. GANEM turns to go
+               out on the right.]
+
+SLAVE.
+           Was Guelistane with thee?
+
+GANEM. [Shrugs his shoulders.]
+
+SLAVE.
+                                  But thou wast speaking.
+
+GANEM.
+           Aye, with my hound.
+
+SLAVE.
+                             Then she is doubtless here.
+
+           [He goes up the stairs. The stage remains
+             empty awhile, then SHALNASSAR enters
+             from the left with three slaves hearing vessels
+             and ornaments. He has everything set down by
+             the left wall, where there is a table with low seats.]
+
+SHALNASS.
+           Put this down here, this here. Now ye may serve.
+
+             [He goes to the lowest step of the stairway.]
+
+           Ah, convalescents, so they say, should seek
+           The sun. Well, here I stand,
+
+           [GUeLISTANE comes down and he leads her to the gifts.]
+
+                                           And know no more
+           Of sickness, than that amber is its work,
+           And pearls, when it resides in trees or oysters.
+           My word, they both are here. And here are birds,
+           Quite lifelike, woven into gleaming silk,
+           If it be worth thy while to look at them.
+
+GUeLISTANE.
+           This is too much.
+
+SHALNASS.
+                              Aye, for a pigeon-house,
+           But scarcely for a chamber large enough
+           To hold such rose-perfume as yonder vases
+           Exhale, and yet not fill the air to stifling.
+
+GUeLISTANE.
+           O see, what wondrous vases!
+
+SHALNASS.
+                                         This is onyx,
+           And that one Chrysophrase, beneath thy notice.
+           Impenetrable they are called, but odors
+           Can pass their walls as they were rotten wood.
+
+GUeLISTANE.
+           How thank thee?
+
+                        [SHALNASSAR does not understand.]
+
+GUeLISTANE.
+           How, I say, am I to thank thee?
+
+SHALNASS.
+           By squandering all this:
+           This desk of sandal-wood and inlaid pearl
+           Use stead of withered twigs on chilly nights
+           To warm thy bath: watch how the flames will sparkle,
+           With sweet perfume!
+
+           [A dog is heard to give tongue, then several.]
+
+GUeLISTANE.
+           What sheer and fragile lace! [Lifts it up.]
+
+SHALNASS.
+           Dead, lifeless stuff. I'll bring to thee a dwarf,
+           Hath twenty tongues of beasts and men within him.
+           Instead of apes and parrots I will give thee
+           Most curious men, abortions of the trees
+           That marry with the air. They sing by night.
+
+GUeLISTANE.
+           Thou shalt have kisses.
+
+             [The baying of the dogs grows stronger, seems nearer.]
+
+SHALNASS.
+                                       Say, do young lovers
+           Give better gifts?
+
+GUeLISTANE.
+                                   What wretched blunderers
+           In this great art, but what a master thou!
+
+             [The Armenian slave comes, plucks SHALNASSAR
+               by the sleeve, and whispers.]
+
+SHALNASS.
+           A maiden sayst thou? Doubtless 'tis a woman,
+           But young? I do not understand.
+
+GUeLISTANE.
+           What maiden meanest thou. Beloved?
+
+SHALNASS.
+           None, none. I merely bade this slave "remain,"
+           And thou misheardest. (To the slave.) Hither
+             come, speak softly.
+
+SLAVE.
+           She is half dead with fear, for some highwayman
+           Pursued her here, and then the dogs attacked her
+           And pulled her down. All out of breath she asked me,
+           "Is this Shalnassar's house, the carpet-dealer?"
+
+SHALNASS.
+           It is the wife of that sweet fool. He sent her.
+           Be still. (He goes to GUeLISTANE, who is just
+             putting a string of pearls about her throat.)
+           O lovely! they're not worth their place.
+                             [He goes back to the slave.]
+
+SLAVE.
+           She also speaks of Ganem.
+
+SHALNASS.
+                                        Of my son?
+           All one. Say, is she fair?
+
+SLAVE.
+                                     I thought so.
+
+SHALNASS.
+                                                   What!
+
+SLAVE.
+           But all deformed with fear.
+
+GUeLISTANE.
+                                       Some business?
+
+SHALNASS (to her).
+                                                    None,
+           But serving thee.
+
+             [He puts out his hand to close the clasp at
+               her neck, but fails.]
+
+GUeLISTANE.
+           Forbear!
+
+SHALNASS (puts his hand to his eye).
+                                    A little vein
+           Burst in my eye. I must behold thee dance,
+           To make the blood recede.
+
+GUeLISTANE.
+                                            A strange idea.
+
+SHALNASS.
+           Come, for my sake.
+
+GUeLISTANE.
+                                    Why, then I must put up
+           My hair.
+
+SHALNASS.
+                     Then put it up. I cannot live
+           While thou delayest.
+
+                            [GUeLISTANE goes up the stairs.]
+                            (To the slave.)
+
+                                  Lead her here to me.
+           Say only this: the one she seeks awaits her.
+           Mark that: the one she seeks; no more.
+
+                        [He walks up and down; exit slave.]
+
+           No being is so simple; no, I cannot
+           Believe there are such fools. Highwaymen, bosh!
+           He sent her here, and all that contradicts it
+           Is simply lies.
+           I little thought that she would come tonight,
+           But gold draws all this out of nothingness.
+           I'll keep her if she pleases me: her husband
+           Shall never see her face again. With fetters
+           Of linked gold I'll deck her pretty ankles.
+           I'll keep them both and make them both so tame
+           That they will swing like parrots in one ring.
+
+           [The slave leads SOBEIDE up the stairs. She is
+             agitated, her eyes staring, her hair disheveled,
+             the strings of pearls torn off. She no longer
+             wears her veil.]
+
+SHALNASS.
+           O that my son might die for very wrath!
+           Well, well, and how she trembles and dissembles.
+
+                                [He motions the slave out.]
+
+SOBEIDE (looks at him fearfully).
+           Art thou Shalnassar?
+
+SHALNASS.
+                          Yes. And has thy husband--
+
+SOBEIDE.
+           My husband? Knowst thou that? Why, did I not
+           Just now ... was it not just this very night?...
+           What?... or dost thou surmise?
+
+SHALNASS.
+                                     Coquettish chatter
+           May do for youthful apes. But I am old,
+           And know the power that I have over you.
+
+SOBEIDE.
+           That power thou hast, but thou wilt not employ it
+           To do me hurt.
+
+SHALNASS.
+           No, by the eternal light!
+           But I am not a maker of sweet sayings,
+           Nor fond of talk.
+           Deliberate flattery I put behind me:
+           The mouth that sucks the sweetness of the fruit
+           Is mute. And this is chiefly autumn's trade.
+           Yea, though the spring may breathe a sweeter odor,
+           Old autumn laughs at him.--Nay, look not so
+           Upon my hand. Because 'tis full of veins,
+           Rank weeds, in which the juice of life dries up.--
+           O, it will seize thee yet and it can hold thee!
+           What, pain so soon? I'll soothe it with a string
+           Of pearls, come, come!
+
+                               [Tries to draw her away.]
+
+SOBEIDE (frees herself).
+           Have mercy, thou, my poor enfeebled brain
+           Is all deranged. Is it to me thou speakest?
+           Speak, thou art surely drunken or wouldst mock me.
+           Knowst thou then who I am? Oh yes, thou saidst
+           My husband. Yes, this was my wedding-day!
+           Knowst thou it? When I stood with him alone,
+           My husband, then it all came over me;
+           I wept aloud, and when he asked me, then
+           I lifted up my voice against him, spoke
+           To him of Ganem, of thy son, and told him
+           The whole. I'll tell thee later how it was.
+           Just now I know not. Only this: the door
+           He opened for me, kindly, not in anger,
+           And said to me I was no more his wife,
+           And I might go where'er I would.--Then go
+           And fetch me Ganem! Fetch him here for me!
+
+SHALNASS. (angrily grasps his beard).
+           Accursed deception! Speak, what devil let thee in?
+
+SOBEIDE.
+           Dear sir, I am the only child of Bachtjar,
+           The jeweler.
+
+SHALNASS. (claps his hands, the slave comes).
+           Call Ganem.
+
+SOBEIDE (involuntarily).
+           Call him hither.
+
+SHALNASS. (to the slave).
+           Bring up the dinner. Is the dwarf prepared?
+
+SLAVE.
+           They're feeding him; for till his hunger's gone,
+           He is too vicious.
+
+SHALNASS.
+                               Good, I'll go and see it.
+                         [Exit with the slave to the left.]
+
+SOBEIDE (alone).
+           Now I am here. Does fortune thus begin?
+           Yes, this has had to come, and all these colors
+           I know because I dreamed them, mingled thus.
+           We drink from goblets which a little child,
+           With eyes that sparkle as through garlands gay,
+           Holds out--but from the branches of a tree-top
+           Black drops drip down into the goblet's bowl
+           And mingle death and night with what we drink.
+
+                             [She sits down on the bench.]
+
+           With whatsoe'er we do some night is mingled,
+           And e'en our eye has something of its blackness.
+           The glitter in the fabrics of our looms
+           Is but the woof, the pattern, its true warp
+           Is night.
+           Aye, death is everywhere; and with our glances
+           And with our words we cover him from sight,
+           And like the children, when in merry playing
+           They hide some toy, so we forget forthwith
+           That we are hiding death from our own glances.
+           Oh, if _we_ e'er have children, they must keep
+           From knowing this for many, many years.
+           Too soon I learned it. And the cruel pictures
+           Are evermore in me: they perch within me
+           Like turtle-doves in copses and come swarming
+           Upon the least alarm.
+
+                                            [She looks up.]
+
+           But now Ganem will come. Oh, if my heart
+           Would cease from holding all my blood compressed.
+           I'm wearied unto death. Oh, I could sleep.
+
+                                  [With forced liveliness.]
+
+           Ganem will come, and then all will be well!
+
+             [She breathes the scent of oil of roses and
+               becomes aware of the precious objects.]
+
+           How all this is perfumed, and how it sparkles!
+
+                               [With alarmed astonishment.]
+
+           And there! Woe's me, this is the house of wealth,
+           Deluded, foolish eyes, look here and here!
+
+                        [She rouses her memory feverishly.]
+
+           And that old man was fain with strings of pearls
+           To bind my arms and hands--why, they are rich!
+           And "poor" was every second word he uttered.
+           He lied then, lied not once but many times!
+           I saw him smiling when he lied, I feel it,
+           It chokes me here!
+
+                               [She tries to calm herself.]
+
+           Oh, if he lied--but there are certain things
+           That can constrain a spirit. And his father
+           I have done much for my old father's sake--
+           His father this? That chokes me more than ever.
+           Inglorious heart, he comes, and something, something
+           Will be revealed, all this I then shall grasp,
+           I then shall grasp--
+
+             [She hears steps, looks about her wildly, then
+               cries in fear.]
+
+                                  Come, leave me not alone!
+
+             [GUeLISTANE and an old serving-woman come down
+               the stairs and go to the presents by the
+               table.]
+
+SOBEIDE (starting).
+           Ganem, is it not thou?
+
+GUeLISTANE (in an undertone).
+                                    Why, she is mad.
+
+                 [She lays one present after another on the
+                   servant's arms.]
+
+SOBEIDE (standing at some distance from her).
+           No, no, I am not mad. Oh, be not angry.
+           The dogs are after me! But first a man.
+           I'm almost dead with fear. He is my friend,
+           Will tell you who I am. Ye do not know
+           How terror can transform a human being.
+           I ask you, are not all of us in terror
+           Of even drunken men? This was a murd'rer.
+           I am not brave, but with a lie that sped
+           Into my wretched head I held him off
+           Awhile--then he came on, and I could feel
+           His hands. Take pity on me, be not angry!
+           Ye sit there at the table fair with candles,
+           And I disturb. But if ye are his friends,
+           Ask him to tell you all. And later on,
+           When we shall meet and ye shall know me better,
+           We both will laugh about it. But as yet
+
+                          (Shuddering.)
+
+           I could not laugh at it.
+
+GUeLISTANE (turning to her).
+           Who is thy friend, and who will tell us all?
+
+SOBEIDE (with innocent friendliness).
+           Why, Ganem.
+
+GUeLISTANE.
+           Oh, what business hast thou here?
+
+SOBEIDE (steps closer, looks fixedly at her).
+           What, art thou not the widow
+           Of Kamkar, the ship-captain?
+
+GUeLISTANE.
+           And thou the daughter
+           Of Bachtjar, the gem-dealer?
+
+                      [They regard each other attentively.]
+
+SOBEIDE.
+           It is long since
+           We saw each other.
+
+GUeLISTANE.
+           What com'st thou here
+           To do?
+
+SOBEIDE.
+           Then thou liv'st here?--I come to question Ganem
+
+                           (Faltering.)
+
+           About a matter--on which much depends--
+           Both for my father--
+
+GUeLISTANE.
+                                  Hast not seen him lately?
+           Ganem, I mean.
+
+SOBEIDE.
+                           Nay, 'tis almost a year.
+           Since Kamkar died, thy husband, 'tis four years.
+           I know the day he died. How long hast thou
+           Lived here?
+
+GUeLISTANE.
+           They are my kin. What is't to thee,
+           How long? But then, what odds? Why then, three years.
+                                       [SOBEIDE is silent.]
+
+GUeLISTANE (to the slave).
+           Look to't that nothing fall. Hast thou the mats?
+
+                          (To SOBEIDE.)
+
+           For it may be, if one were left to lie
+           And Ganem found it, he would take the notion
+           To bed his cheek on it, because my foot
+           Had trodden it, and then whate'er thou spokest,
+           He would be deaf to thine affair. Or if
+           He found the pin that's fallen from my hair
+           And breathing still its perfume: then his senses
+           Would fasten on that trinket, and he never
+           Would know thy presence.
+
+                        (To the slave.)
+
+                                         Pick it up for me.
+           Come, bend thy back.
+
+             [She pushes the slave. SOBEIDE bends quickly
+               and holds out the pin to the slave. GUeLISTANE
+               takes it out of her hand and thrusts
+               with it at SOBEIDE.]
+
+SOBEIDE
+           Alas, why prickst thou me?
+
+GUeLISTANE.
+           That I may circumvent thee, little serpent.
+           Go, for thy face is such a silly void
+           That one can see what thou wouldst hide in it.
+           Go home again, I counsel thee.--Come thou
+           And carry all thou canst.
+
+                        (To SOBEIDE.)
+
+                                        Mark thou my words:
+           What's mine I will preserve and keep from thieves!
+
+                   [She goes up the stairs with the slave.]
+
+SOBEIDE (alone).
+           What's left for me? How can this turn to good,
+           That so begins? No, no, my destiny
+           Would try me. What should mean to him this woman?
+           This is not love, it is but lust, a thing
+           That men find needful to their lives. He comes,
+
+                        (In feverish haste.)
+
+           And he will cast this from him with a word
+           And laugh at me. Arise, my recollections,
+           For now I need you or shall never need you!
+           Woe, woe, that I must call you in this hour!
+           Will not one loving glance return to me?
+           One unambiguous word? Ah, words and glances,
+           Deceitful woof of air. A heavy heart
+           Would cling to you, and ye are rent like cobwebs.
+           Away, fond recollection! My old life
+           Today is cast behind me, and I stand
+           Upon a sphere that rolls I know not whither.
+
+                   (With increasing agitation.)
+
+           Ganem will come to me, and his first word
+           Will rend the noose that tightens on my throat.
+           He comes, will take me in his arms--all dripping
+           With fear and horror, stead of oils and perfumes,--
+           I'll say no word, I'll hang upon his neck
+           And drink the words he speaks. For his first word,
+           The very first will lull all fears to sleep ...
+           He'll smile all doubt away ... and put to flight ...
+           But if he fail?... I will not think it, will not!
+
+                               [GANEM comes up the stairs.]
+
+SOBEIDE (cries out).
+
+           Ganem!
+
+             [She runs to him, feels his hair, his face,
+               falls before him, presses her head against
+               him, at once laughing and weeping convulsively.]
+
+           I'm here, Oh take me, take me, hold me fast!
+           Be good to me, thou knowst not all as yet.
+           I cannot yet ... How lookest thou upon me?
+
+             [She stands up again, steps back, and looks
+               at him in fearful suspense.]
+
+GANEM (stands motionless before her.)
+           Thou!
+
+SOBEIDE (in breathless haste).
+           I belong to thee, am thine, my Ganem!
+           Ask me not now how this has come to pass:
+           This is the centre of a labyrinth,
+           But now we stand here. Wilt thou not behold me!
+           He gave me freedom, he himself, my husband ...
+           Why does thy countenance show such a change?
+
+GANEM.
+           No cause. Come hither, they may overhear us ...
+
+SOBEIDE.
+           I feel that there is something in me now
+           Displeases thee. Why dost thou keep it from me?
+
+GANEM.
+           What wouldst thou?
+
+SOBEIDE.
+           Nothing, if I may but please thee.
+           Ah, be indulgent. Tell me my shortcomings.
+           I will be so obedient. Was I bold?
+           Look thou, 'tis not my nature so; I feel
+           As if this night had gripped me with its fists
+           And flung me hither, aye, my spirit shudders
+           At all that I had power there to say,
+           And that I then had strength to walk this road.
+           Art sorry that I had it?
+
+GANEM.
+                                          Why this weeping?
+
+SOBEIDE.
+           Thou hast the power to change me so. I cannot
+           But laugh or weep, or blush or pale again
+           As thou wouldst have it.
+
+                                        [GANEM kisses her.]
+
+SOBEIDE.
+                                     When thou kissest me,
+           O look not thus! But no, I am thy slave.
+           Do as thou wilt. Here let me rest. I will
+           Be clay unto thy hands, and think no more.
+           And now thy brow is wrinkled?
+
+GANEM.
+                                              Aye, for soon
+           Thou must return. Thou smilest?
+
+SOBEIDE.
+                                              Should I not?
+           I know thou wouldst but try me.
+
+GANEM.
+                                            No, in earnest,
+           Thou art in error. Thinkest thou perhaps
+           That I can keep thee here? Say, has thy husband
+           Gone over land, that thou art not afraid?
+
+SOBEIDE.
+           I beg thee cease, I cannot laugh just now.
+
+GANEM.
+           No, seriously, when shall I come to thee?
+
+SOBEIDE.
+           To me, what for? Thou seest, I am here:
+           Look, here before thy feet I sit me down;
+           I have no other home except the straw
+           Beside thy hound, if thou wilt not provide
+           A bed for me; and none will come to fetch me.
+
+             [He raises her, then claps his hands delightedly.]
+
+GANEM.
+           O splendid! How thou playst a seeming part
+           When opportunity demands. And it becomes thee,
+           Oh, most superbly! We'll draw profit from it.
+           There'll be no lack of further free occasion,
+           To yield ourselves to pleasure undismayed--
+           When shall I come to thee?
+
+SOBEIDE (stepping back).
+                                           Oh, I am raving!
+           My head's to blame, for that I hear thee speaking
+           Quite other words than those thou really utter'st.
+           O Ganem, help me! Have thou patience with me,
+           What day is this today?
+
+GANEM.
+                                    Why ask that now?
+
+SOBEIDE.
+           'Twill not be always so, 'tis but from fear,
+           And then because I've had to feel too much
+           In this one fleeting night; that has confused me.
+           _This_ was my wedding-day: then when alone
+           With him, my husband, I did weep and said
+           It was because of thee. He oped the door
+           And let me out.--
+
+GANEM.
+                              He has the epilepsy,
+           I'll wager, sought fresh air. Thou art too foolish!
+           Let me undo thy hair and kiss thy neck.
+           But then go quickly home: what happens later
+           Shall be much better than this first beginning.
+
+                             [He tries to draw her to him.]
+
+SOBEIDE (frees herself, steps back).
+           Ganem, he oped the door for me, and said
+           I was no more his wife, and I might go
+           Where'er I would ... My father free of debt
+           ... And he would let me go where'er I would ...
+           To thee, to thee!        [She bursts into sobs.]
+           I ran, there was the man who took away
+           My pearls and would have slain me--
+           And then the dogs--
+
+           (With the pitiable expression of one forsaken.)
+
+                                And now I'm here with thee!
+
+GANEM (inattentively, listening intently up stage).
+
+           I think I hear some music, hear'st it thou?--
+           'Tis from below.
+
+SOBEIDE.
+                               Thy face and something else,
+           Ganem, fill me with a mighty fear--
+           Hark not to that, hear me! hear me, I beg thee!
+           Hear me, that here beneath thy glance am lying
+           With open soul, whose ebb and flow of blood
+           Proceeds but from the changes of thy mien.
+           Thou once didst love me--that, I think, is past--
+           For what came then, I only am to blame:
+           Thy brightness waxed within my gloomy soul
+           Like moons in fog--
+
+             [GANEM listens as before. SOBEIDE with
+               growing wildness.]
+
+                                 Suppose thou loved me not:
+           Why didst thou lie? If I was aught to thee,
+           Why hast thou lied to me? O speak to me--
+           Am I not worth an answer?
+
+             [Weird music and voices are heard outside.]
+
+GANEM.
+                                            Yes, by heaven.
+           It is the old man's voice and Guelistane's!
+
+           [Down the stairs come a fluting dwarf and an
+             effeminate-looking slave playing a lute,
+             preceded by others with lights; then SHALNASSAR,
+             leaning on GUeLISTANE; finally a eunuch with
+             a whip stuck in his belt. GUeLISTANE frees herself
+             and comes forward, seeming to search the floor for
+             something; the others come forward also. The music
+             ceases.]
+
+GUeLISTANE (over her shoulder, to SHALNASSAR).
+           I miss a tiny jar, of swarthy onyx
+           And filled with ointment. Art thou ling'ring still,
+           Thou Bachtjar's daughter? Bend thy lazy back
+           And try to find it.
+
+                     [SOBEIDE is silent, looking at GANEM.]
+
+SHALNASS.
+                                Let it be and come!
+           I'll give thee hundreds more.
+
+GUeLISTANE.
+                                           It was a secret,
+           The ointment in it.
+
+GANEM (close to GUeLISTANE).
+                                What means this procession?
+
+SHALNASS.
+           Come on, why not? The aged cannot wait.
+           And ye, advance! Bear lights and make an uproar!
+           Be drunken: what has night to do with sleep!
+           Advance up to the door, then stay behind!
+
+                          [The slaves form in order again.]
+
+GANEM (furious).
+           Door, door? What door?
+
+SHALNASS. (to GUeLISTANE, who leans against him).
+                               Say, shall I give an answer?
+           If so, I'll do 't to flatter thee. If not,
+           'Twill be to show thee that my happiness
+           Requireth not old envy's flattery.
+
+GANEM (to GUeLISTANE).
+           Say no, say he is lying!
+
+GUeLISTANE.
+                                    Go, good Ganem,
+           And let us pass. Thy father is recovered,
+           And we are glad of it. Why stand so gloomy?
+           One must be merry with the living, eh,
+           While yet they live? [She looks into his eyes.]
+
+GANEM (snatches the whip from the eunuch).
+           Old woman, for what purpose is this whip?
+           Now flee and scatter, crippled, halting folly!
+
+             [He strikes at the musicians and the lights,
+               then casts down the whip.]
+
+           Out, shameful lights, and thou, to bed with thee,
+           Puffed, swollen body; and ye bursting veins,
+           Ye reddened eyes, and thou putrescent mouth,
+           Off to a solitary bed, and night,
+           Dark, noiseless night instead of brazen torches
+           And blaring horns!
+
+                              [He motions the old man out.]
+
+SHALNASS. (bends with an effort to take the whip).
+                               Mine is the whip, not thine!
+
+SOBEIDE (cries out).
+           His father! Son and father for one woman!
+
+GUeLISTANE (wrests the whip out of SHALNASSAR'S hand).
+           Go thou to bed thyself, hot-headed Ganem,
+           And leave together them that would be joined.
+           Rebuke thy father not. An older man
+           Can pass a sounder judgment, is more faithful
+           Than wanton youth. Hast thou not company?
+           Old Bachtjar's daughter stands there in the darkness,
+           And often I've been told that she is fair.
+           I know right well, thou wast in love with her.
+           So then good night. [They all turn to go.]
+
+GANEM (wildly).
+                            Go not with him!
+
+GUeLISTANE (speaking backward over her shoulder).
+                                                       I go
+           Where'er my heart commands.
+
+GANEM (beseechingly).
+                                           Go not with him!
+
+GUeLISTANE.
+           Oh, let us through: there will be other days.
+
+GANEM (lying before her on the stairs).
+           Go not with him!
+
+GUeLISTANE (turning around).
+                             Thou daughter of old Bachtjar,
+           Keep him, I say, I want him not, I trample
+           Upon his fingers with my feet! Seest thou?
+
+SOBEIDE (as if demented).
+           Aye, aye, now let us dance a merry round!
+           Take thou my hand and Ganem's; I Shalnassar's.
+           Our hair we'll loosen, and that one of us
+           That has the longer hair shall have the young one
+           Tonight--tomorrow just the other way!
+           King Baseness sits enthroned! And from our faces
+           Lies drip like poison from the salamander!
+           I claim my share in your high revelry.
+
+            (To GANEM, who angrily watches them mount
+              the stairs.)
+
+           Go up and steal her from thy father's bed
+           And choke him sleeping: drunken men are helpless!
+           I see how fain thou art to lie with her.
+           When thou are sated or wouldst have a change,
+           Then come to me, but softly we will tread,
+           For heavy sleep comes not to my old husband,
+           Such as they have, who can give ear to this,
+           And then sleep through it!
+
+                          [She casts herself on the floor.]
+
+                                  But with grievous howling
+           I will arouse this house to shame and wrath
+           And lamentation ...
+
+                       (She lies groaning.)
+
+                                  ... I have loved thee so,
+           And so thou tramplest on me!
+
+             [An old slave appears in the background,
+               putting out the lights; he picks up a fallen
+               fruit and eats it.]
+
+GANEM (claps his hands in sudden anger).
+           Come, take her out! Here is a shrieking woman,
+           I scarcely know her, says she weeps for me.
+           Her father fain would wed her to the merchant,
+           The wealthy one, but she perverts the whole,
+           And says her husband is a similar pander,
+           But he's no more than fool, for aught I see.
+
+           (He steps close to her, mockingly sympathetic.)
+
+           O ye, too credulous by far. But then,
+           Your nature's more to blame than skill of ours.
+           No, get thee up. I will no more torment thee.
+
+SOBEIDE (raises herself up. Her voice is hard).
+           Then naught was true, and back of all is naught.
+           From this I cannot cleanse myself again:
+           What came into my soul today, remaineth.
+           Another might dispel it: I'm too weary.
+
+                           (Stands up.)
+
+           Away! I know my course, but now away
+           From here!
+
+             [The old slave has gone slowly down the stairs.]
+
+GANEM.
+           I will not hold thee. Yet the road--
+           How wilt thou find it? Still, thou foundst it once.
+
+SOBEIDE.
+           The road, the self-same road!
+                        (She shudders.) Yon aged man
+           Shall go with me. I have no fear, but still
+           I would not be alone: until the dawn--
+
+                [GANEM goes up stage to fetch the slave.]
+
+SOBEIDE.
+           Meseems I wear a robe to which the pest
+           And horrid traces of wild drunkenness
+           And wilder nights are clinging, and I cannot
+           Put off the robe, but all my flesh goes too.
+           Now I must die, and all will then be well.
+           But speedily, before this shadow-thinking
+           About my father gathers blood again:
+           Else 'twill grow stronger, drag me back to life,
+           And I must travel onward in this body.
+
+GANEM (slowly leads the old slave forward).
+           Give heed. This is rich Chorab's wife, the merchant.
+           Hast understood?
+
+OLD SLAVE (nods).
+                            The rich one.
+
+GANEM.
+                                            Aye, thou shalt
+           Escort her.
+
+OLD SLAVE.
+           What?
+
+GANEM.
+                 I say, thou art to lead her
+           Back to her house.
+
+                        (OLD SLAVE nods.)
+
+SOBEIDE.
+                               Just to the garden wall.
+           From there I only know how I must go.
+           Will he do that? I thank thee. That is good,
+           Most good. Come, aged man, I go with thee.
+
+GANEM.
+           Go out this door, the old man knows the path.
+
+SOBEIDE.
+           He knows it, that is good, most good. We go.
+
+             [They go out through the door at the right.
+               GANEM turns to mount the stairs.]
+
+
+
+SCENE III
+
+The garden of the rich merchant. The high wall runs from the right
+foreground backward toward the left. Steps lead to a small latticed
+gate in the wall. To the left a winding path is lost among the trees.
+It is early morning. The shrubs are laden with blossoms, and the
+meadows are full of flowers. In the foreground the gardener and his
+wife are engaged in taking delicate blooming shrubs from an open barrow
+and setting them in prepared holes.
+
+GARDENER.
+           The rest are coming now. But no, that is
+           A single man ... The master!
+
+WIFE.
+                                              What? He's up
+           Ere dawn, and yesterday his wedding-day?
+           Alone he walks the garden--that's no man
+           Like other men.
+
+GARDENER.
+                              Be still, he's coming hither.
+
+MERCHANT (walks up slowly from the left).
+           The hour of morn, before the sun is up,
+           When all the branches in the lifeless light
+           Hang dead and dull, is terrible. I feel
+           As if I saw the whole world in a frightful
+           And vacant glass, as dreary as my mind's eye.
+           O would all flowers might wither! Would my garden
+           Were poisonous morass, filled to the full
+           With rotted corpses of these blooming trees,
+           And my corpse in their midst.
+
+             [He is pulling to pieces a blossoming twig,
+               stops short and drops it.]
+
+                                           Ah, what a fool!
+           A gray-haired fool, as old as melancholy,
+           Ridiculous as old! I'll sit me down
+           And bind up wreaths and weep into the water.
+
+             [He walks on a few paces, lifts his hand as
+               if involuntarily to his heart.]
+
+[Illustration: A BRANDENBURG LAKE]
+From the Painting by Walter Leistikow
+
+           O how like glass this is, and how the finger
+           With which fate raps upon it, like to iron!
+           Years form no rings on men as on the trees,
+           Nor fashion breast-plates to protect the heart.
+
+             [Again he walks a few paces, and so comes
+               upon the gardener, who takes off his straw
+               hat; he starts up out of his revery, and
+               looks inquiringly at the gardener.]
+
+GARDENER.
+           Thy servant Sheriar, lord; third gardener I.
+
+MERCHANT.
+           What? Sheriar, Oh yes. And this thy wife?
+
+GARDENER.
+           Aye, lord.
+
+MERCHANT.
+                     But she is younger far than thou,
+           And once thou cam'st to me to make complaint
+           That she and some young lad,--I can't recall ...
+
+GARDENER.
+           It was the donkey-driver.
+
+MERCHANT.
+                                     So I chased
+           Him from my service, and she ran away.
+
+GARDENER (bowing low).
+           Thou know'st the sacred courses of the stars,
+           Yet thou rememberest the worm as well,
+           That in the dust once crawled beside thy feet.
+           'Tis so, my lord. But she returned to me,
+           And lives with me thenceforth.
+
+MERCHANT.
+                                       And lives with thee?
+           The fellow beat her, doubtless! Thou dost not.
+
+                  [He turns away, his tone becomes bitter.]
+
+           Why, let us seat ourselves here in the grass,
+           And each will tell his story to the other.
+           He lives with her thenceforth. Why yes, he has her!
+           Possession is the end of all! And folly
+           It were to scorn the common, when our life
+           Is made up of the common through and through.
+
+                 [Exit to the right with vigorous strides.]
+
+WIFE (to the gardener).
+           What did he say to thee?
+
+GARDENER. Oh, nothing, nothing.
+
+           [SOBEIDE and the camel-driver appear at the
+             latticed gate.]
+
+WIFE.
+           I'll tell thee something.
+                                          [Draws near him.]
+                                          Look, look there!
+           The bride! That is our master's bride!
+           And see how pale and overwrought.
+
+GARDENER.
+                                                   Pay heed
+           To thine affairs.
+
+WIFE.
+                               Look there, she has no veil,
+           And see who's with her. Look. Why, that is none
+           Of master's servants, is it?
+
+GARDENER.
+                                      I don't know.
+
+           [SOBEIDE puts her arm, through the lattice,
+             seeking the lock.]
+
+WIFE.
+           She wants to enter. Hast thou not the key!
+
+GARDENER (looking up).
+           Aye, that I have, and since she is the mistress,
+           She must be served before she opes her lips.
+
+           [He goes to the gate and unlocks it. SOBEIDE
+             enters, the old slave behind her. The
+             gardener locks the gate. SOBEIDE walks
+             forward with absent look, the old slave
+             following. The gardener walks past her,
+             takes off his straw hat, and is about to return
+             to his work. The wife stands a few paces
+             to the rear, parts the bushes curiously.]
+
+SOBEIDE.
+           Pray tell me, is the pond not here at hand,
+           The big one, with the willows on its banks?
+
+GARDENER (pointing to the right).
+           Down there it lies, my mistress, thou canst see it.
+           But shall I guide thee?
+
+SOBEIDE (with a vehement gesture).
+                                      No, no, leave me, go!
+
+             [She is about to go off toward the right; the
+               old slave catches her dress and holds her
+               back. She turns. OLD SLAVE holds out his
+               hand like a beggar, but withdraws it at
+               once in embarrassment.]
+
+SOBEIDE.
+           What?
+
+OLD SLAVE.
+           Thou art at home, I'm going back again.
+
+SOBEIDE.
+           Oh yes, and I have robbed thee of thy sleep,
+           And give thee naught for it. And thou art old
+           And poor. But I have nothing, less than nothing!
+           As poor as I no beggar ever was.
+
+             [OLD SLAVE screws up his face to laugh, holds
+               out his hand again.]
+
+SOBEIDE (looks helplessly about her, puts her hand to her
+             hair, feels her pearl pendants, takes them off,
+             and gives them to him).
+
+           Take this, and this, and go!
+
+OLD SLAVE (shakes his head).
+                                           Oh no, not that!
+
+SOBEIDE (in a torment of haste).
+           I give them gladly, only go, I beg of thee!
+
+                                             [Starts away.]
+
+OLD SLAVE (holds them in his hand).
+           No, take them back. Give me some little coin.
+           I'm but a poor old fool. And they would come,
+           Shalnassar and the others, down upon me,
+           And take the pearls away. For I am old
+           And such a beggar. This would be my ruin.
+
+SOBEIDE.
+      I have naught else. But come again tonight
+      And bring them to the master here, my husband.
+      He'll give thee money for them.
+
+OLD SLAVE.
+                                           Thou'lt be here?
+           Ask but for him; go now and let me go.
+
+                                             [Starts away.]
+
+OLD SLAVE (holds her back).
+           If he is kind, oh do thou pray for me,
+           That he may take me as a servant. He
+           Is rich and has so many. I am eager,
+           Need little sleep. But in Shalnassar's house
+           I always have such hunger in the evening.
+           I will--
+
+SOBEIDE (frees herself).
+                        Just come tonight and speak to him,
+           And say I wanted him to hear thy prayer.
+           Now go, I beg thee, for I have no time.
+
+             [The old slave goes toward the gate, but
+               stands still in the shrubbery. The gardener's
+               wife has approached SOBEIDE from the
+               left. SOBEIDE takes a few steps, then lets
+               her vacant glance wander about, strikes
+               her brow as if she had forgotten something.
+               She suddenly stands still before the gardener's
+               wife, looks at her absently, then inquires
+               hastily:]
+
+           The pond is there, I hear? The pond?
+
+                                      [Points to the left.]
+
+WIFE.
+                                                  No, here.
+
+                                     [Points to the right.]
+
+           Here down this winding path. It turns right there.
+           Wouldst overtake my lord? He's walking slowly:
+           When thou art at the crossways, thou wilt see him.
+           Thou canst not miss him.
+
+SOBEIDE (more agitated).
+                                  I, the master?
+
+WIFE.
+           Why yes, dost thou not seek him?
+
+SOBEIDE.
+                                            Him?--Yes, yes,
+           Then--I'll--go--there.
+
+             [Her glance roves anxiously, suddenly is
+               fixed upon an invisible object at the left
+               rear.]
+
+           The tower, is it locked?
+
+WIFE.
+           The tower?
+
+SOBEIDE.
+                        Yes, the steps to mount it.
+
+WIFE.
+                                                   No,
+           The tower's never locked, by day or night.
+           Dost thou not know?
+
+SOBEIDE.
+                        Oh yes.
+
+WIFE.
+                                        Wilt thou go up it?
+
+SOBEIDE (smiling painfully).
+           No, no, not now. Perhaps another time.
+
+                 (Smiling with a friendly gesture.)
+
+           Go, then. Go, go.
+
+                             (Alone.)
+
+                            The tower, the tower!
+           And quick. He comes from there. Soon 'tis too late.
+
+             [She looks searchingly about her, walks
+               slowly at first to the left, then runs through
+               the shrubbery. The old slave, who has
+               watched her attentively, slowly follows her.]
+
+GARDENER (through with his work).
+           Come here and help me, wife.
+
+WIFE.
+                                           Yes, right away.
+
+             [They take up the barrow and carry it along
+               toward the right.]
+
+MERCHANT (enters from the right.)
+           I loved her so! Ah, how this life of ours
+           Resembles dreams illusory. Today
+           I might have had her, here and always, I!
+           Possession is the whole: slow-growing power
+           That sifts down through the soul's unseen and hidden
+           Interstices, feeds thus the wondrous lamp
+           Within the spirit, and soon from such eyes
+           There bursts a mightier, sweeter gleam than moonlight.
+           Oh, I have loved her so! I fain would see her,
+           See her once more. My eye sees naught but death:
+           The flowers wilt before my eyes like candles,
+           When they begin to run: all, all is dying,
+           And all dies to no purpose, for she is
+           Not here--
+
+             [The old camel-driver comes running from
+               the left across the stage to the gardener
+               and shows him something that seems to be
+               happening rather high in the air to the left;
+               the gardener calls his wife's attention to it,
+               and all look.]
+
+MERCHANT (becomes aware of this, follows the direction of their
+             glances, grows deathly pale).
+           God, God! Give answer! There, there, there!
+           The woman on the tower, bending forward,
+           Why does she so bend forward? Look, look there!
+           [WIFE shrieks and covers her face.]
+
+GARDENER (runs to the left, looks, calls back).
+           She lives and moves! Come, master, come this way.
+
+             [The merchant runs out, the gardener's wife
+               following. Immediately thereafter the
+               merchant, the gardener, and his wife come
+               carrying SOBEIDE, and lay her down in the
+               grass. The gardener takes off his outer
+               garment and lays it under her head.
+               The old camel-driver stands at some distance.]
+
+MERCHANT (kneeling).
+           Thou breathest, thou wilt live for me, thou must!
+           Thou art too fair to die!
+
+SOBEIDE (opens her eyes).
+           Forbear, I'm dying; hush, I know it well.
+           Dear husband, hush, I beg thee. Thee I had
+           Not thought to see again--
+           I need to crave thy pardon.
+
+MERCHANT. (tenderly).
+                                         Thou!
+
+SOBEIDE.
+                                                  Not this.
+           This had to be.--No, what took place last night:
+           I did to thee what should become no woman,
+           And all my destiny I grasped and treated
+           As I in dancing used to treat my veils.
+           With fingers vain I tampered with my Self.
+           Speak not, but understand.
+
+MERCHANT.
+                                       What happened--then?
+
+SOBEIDE.
+           Ask not what happened; ask me not, I beg thee.
+           I had before been weary: 'twas the same
+           Up to the end. But now 'tis easy. Thou
+           Art good, I'll tell thee something else: my parents--
+           Thou knowest how they are--I bid thee take them
+           To live with thee.
+
+MERCHANT.
+                              Yes, yes, but thou wilt live.
+
+SOBEIDE.
+           No, say not so; but mark, I fain would tell thee
+           A many things. Oh yes, that graybeard man.
+           He's very poor, take him into thy house
+           At my request.
+
+MERCHANT.
+           Now thou shalt bide with me.
+           I will thy every wish divine: breathe softly
+           As e'er thou wilt, yet I will be the lyre
+           To answer every breath with harmony,
+           Until thou weary and bid it be still.
+
+SOBEIDE.
+           Say not such words, for I am dizzy and
+           They flicker in my eyes. Lament not much,
+           I beg of thee. If I remained alive,
+           All mangled as I am, I never could
+           Bring children into life for thee; my body
+           Would be so ugly, whereas formerly
+           I know I had some beauty. This would be
+           So hard for thee to bear and hide from me.
+           But I shall die at once, I know, my dear.
+           This is so strange: our spirits dwell in us
+           Like captive birds. And when the cage is shattered,
+           It flies away. No, no, thou must not smile:
+           I feel it is so. Look, the flowers know it,
+           And shine the brighter since I know it too.
+           Canst thou not understand? Mark well my words.
+
+                                                   [Pause.]
+
+           Art thou still there, and I too, all this while?
+           Oh, now I see thy face, and it is other
+           Than e'er I saw till now. Art thou my husband?
+
+MERCHANT.
+           My child!
+
+SOBEIDE.
+                          Thy spirit seems to bend and lean
+           Out of thine eyes, and oh, the words thou speakest!
+           They quiver in the air, because the heart
+           So quivers, whence they come. Weep not, I can
+           Not bear it, for I love thee so. O let
+           Me see as last of all thine eyes. We should
+           Have lived together long and had our children.
+           But now 'tis fearful--for my parents.
+
+                                                    [Dies.]
+
+MERCHANT (half bowed).
+           Thus noiseless falls a star. Meseems, her heart
+           Was never close united with the world.
+           And what have I of her, except this glance,
+           Whose closing was involved in rigid Lethe,
+           And in such words as by false breath of life
+           Were made to sound so strong, e'en while they faded,
+           Just as the wind, ere he lies down to sleep,
+           Deceitful swells the sails as ne'er before.
+
+                                                [He rises.]
+
+           Aye, lift her up. So bitter is this life:
+           A wish was granted her, and that one door
+           At which she lay with longing and desire
+           Was oped--and back she came in such distress,
+           Death-stricken, that but issued forth the evening prior--
+           As fishers, cheeks with sun and moon afire,
+           Prepare their nets--in hopes of great success.
+
+                    [They lift up the body to carry it in.]
+
+
+
+
+
+ARTHUR SCHNITZLER
+
+* * * * * *
+
+THE GREEN COCKATOO
+
+A Grotesque in One Act
+
+
+DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
+
+EMILE, Duc de Cadignan
+
+FRANCOIS, Vicomte de Nogeant
+
+ALBIN, Chevalier de la Tremouille
+
+MARQUIS DE LANSAC
+
+SEVERINE, his wife
+
+ROLLIN, Poet
+
+PROSPER (formerly Theatre Manager), HOST
+
+HENRI                    |
+                         |
+BALTHASAR                |
+                         |
+GUILLAUME                |
+                         |
+SCAEVOLA                 |
+                         |
+JULES                    |
+                          \
+ETIENNE                    > His troupe
+                          /
+MAURICE                  |
+                         |
+GEORGETTE                |
+                         |
+MICHETTE                 |
+                         |
+FLIPOTTE                 |
+
+LEOCADIE, Actress, wife of Henri
+
+GRASSET, Philosopher
+
+LEBRET, Tailor
+
+GRAIN, a vagabond
+
+THE COMMISSAIRE OF POLICE
+
+       Nobles, Actors, Actresses, Citizens, and Citizens? Wives
+
+The Action takes place in Paris in the evening of the 14th July,
+1789, in the underground tavern of PROSPER.
+
+
+
+
+                        THE GREEN COCKATOO (1899)
+
+                       TRANSLATED BY HORACE SAMUEL
+
+
+                SCENE.--THE TAVERN OF THE GREEN COCKATOO
+
+A medium-sized underground room. Seven steps lead down to it on the
+Right (rather far back). The stairs are shut off by a door on top.
+A second door which is barely visible is in the background on the Left.
+A number of simple wooden tables with chairs around them fill nearly
+the whole room. On the Left in the Centre is a bar; behind the bar a
+number of barrels with pipes. The room is lighted by small oil lamps
+which hang from the ceiling.
+
+     The HOST, PROSPER. Enter the citizens LEBRET and GRASSET.
+
+GRASSET (coming down the steps). Come in, Lebret. I know the tap. My
+old friend and chief has always got a cask of wine smuggled away
+somewhere or other, even when all the rest of Paris is perishing of
+thirst.
+
+HOST. Good evening, Grasset. So you show your face again, do you? Away
+with Philosophy! Have you a wish to take an engagement with me again?
+
+GRASSET. The idea! Bring some wine rather. I am the guest--you the
+host.
+
+HOST. Wine? Where shall I get wine from, Grasset? They've sacked all
+the wine-shops in Paris this very night. And I would lieve wager that
+you had a hand therein.
+
+GRASSET. Out with the wine. The mob who are coming an hour after us are
+bound-- (Listening.) Do you hear anything, Labret?
+
+LEBRET. It is like slight thunder.
+
+GRASSET. Good!--Citizens of Paris--  (To HOST.) You're sure to have
+another barrel in reserve for the mob--so out with our wine; my friend
+and admirer, the Citizen Labret, tailor of the Rue St. Honore, will pay
+for everything.
+
+[Illustration: ARTHUR SCHNITZLER]
+
+LEBRET Certainly, certainly, I will pay.
+
+                                                [HOST hesitates.]
+
+GRASSET. Show him that you have money, Labret.
+
+                                    [LEBRET draws out his purse.]
+
+HOST. Now I will see if I-- (He opens the cock of a barrel and fills
+two glasses.) Where do yon come from, Grasset? The Palais-Royal?
+
+GRASSET. For sure--I made a speech there. Ay, my good friend, it is my
+turn now. Do you know whom I spoke after?
+
+HOST. Well?
+
+GRASSET. After Camille Desmoulins. Yes, indeed, I dared to do it. And
+tell me, Labret, who had the greater applause--Desmoulins or I?
+
+LEBRET. You--without a doubt.
+
+GRASSET. And how did I bear myself?
+
+LEBRET. Splendidly.
+
+GRASSET. Do you hear, Prosper? I placed myself on the table--I looked
+like a monument--indeed I did--and all the thousands--five thousands,
+ten thousands, assembled round me--just as they had done before round
+Camille Desmoulins--and cheered me.
+
+LEBRET. It was a louder cheer,
+
+GRASSET. Indeed it was ... not much louder, but it was louder. And now
+they're all moving toward the Bastille ... and I make bold to say they
+have followed my call. I swear to you before the evening is out we
+shall have it.
+
+HOST. Yes, to be sure, if the walls fall down before your speeches!
+
+GRASSET. What--speeches--are you deaf? 'Tis a case of shooting now. Our
+valiant soldiers are there. They have the same hellish fury against the
+accursed prison as we have. They know that their brothers and fathers
+sit imprisoned behind those walls.... But there would have been no
+shooting if we had not spoken. My dear Prosper, great is the power of
+intellect. There--(to LEBRET) where are the papers?
+
+LEBRET. Here! (Pulls pamphlets out of his pocket.)
+
+GRASSET. Here are the latest pamphlets which have just been distributed
+in the Palais-Royal. Here is one by my friend Cerutti--"Memorial for
+the French People;" here is one by Desmoulins, who certainly speaks
+better than he writes--"Free France."
+
+HOST. When's your own pamphlet going to appear--the one you're always
+talking about, you know?
+
+GRASSET. We need no more. The time has come for deeds. Anyone who sits
+within his four walls today is a knave. Every real man must go out into
+the streets.
+
+LEBRET. Bravo!--Bravo!
+
+GRASSET. In Toulon they have killed the mayor; in Brignolles they have
+sacked a dozen houses; but we in Paris are always sluggards and will
+put up with anything.
+
+HOST. You can scarcely say that now.
+
+LEBRET. (who has been drinking steadily). Up, you citizens, up!
+
+GRASSET. Up! Lock up your shop and come with us now.
+
+HOST. I'll come right enough, when the time comes.
+
+GRASSET. Ay, to be sure, when there is no more danger.
+
+HOST. My good friend, I love Liberty as well as you do, but my calling
+comes before everything.
+
+GRASSET. There is only one calling now for citizens of Paris--freeing
+their brothers.
+
+HOST. Yes, for those who have nothing else to do!
+
+LEBRET. What says he? He makes game of us.
+
+HOST. Never dreamt of it. But now, my friends, look to it that you go
+away--my performance will begin in a minute, and I can't find you a job
+in it.
+
+LEBRET. What performance? Is this a theatre?
+
+HOST. Certainly, 'tis a theatre. Why, only a fortnight ago your friend
+was playing here.
+
+LEBRET. Were you playing here, Grasset?... Why do you let the fellow
+jeer at you like that without punishing him?
+
+GRASSET. Calm yourself--it is true; I did play here. This is no
+ordinary tavern: 'tis a den of thieves. Come.
+
+HOST. You'll pay first.
+
+LEBRET. If this is a den of thieves I won't pay a single sou.
+
+HOST. Explain to your friend where he is.
+
+GRASSET. This is a strange place. People who play criminals come
+here--and others who are criminals without suspecting it.
+
+LEBRET. Indeed?
+
+GRASSET. I would have you mark that what I just said was very witty; it
+is positively capable of making the substance of a whole speech.
+
+LEBRET. I don't understand a word of all you say.
+
+GRASSET. I was simply telling you that Prosper was my manager. And
+he is still playing comedy with his actors, but a different kind from
+before. My former gentlemen and lady colleagues sit around and behave
+as though they were criminals. Do you understand! They tell
+blood-curdling stories of things that have never happened to
+them--speak of crimes they have never committed ... and the audience
+that comes here enjoys the pleasant titillation of hobnobbing with the
+most dangerous rabble in Paris--swindlers, burglars, murderers--and--
+
+LEBRET. What kind of an audience?
+
+HOST. The most elegant people in Paris.
+
+GRASSET. Noble--
+
+HOST. Gentlemen of the Court.
+
+LEBRET. Down with them!
+
+GRASSET. It does 'em good. It gives a fillip to their jaded senses.
+'Twas here that I made my start, Labret--here that I delivered my first
+speech as though for a joke; here it was that I first began to hate the
+dogs who sat amongst us with all their fine clothes and perfumes and
+rottenness ... and I am very glad indeed, my good Labret, that you,
+too, should see just for once the place from which your great friend
+raised himself. (In another tone.) I say, Prosper, supposing the
+business doesn't come off--
+
+HOST. What business?
+
+GRASSET. Why, my political career--will you engage me again?
+
+HOST. Not for anything!
+
+GRASSET (lightly). Why--I thought there might be still room for
+somebody besides your Henri.
+
+HOST. Apart from that ... I should be afraid that you might forget
+yourself one fine day and fall foul in earnest of one of my paying
+customers.
+
+GRASSET (flattered). That would certainly be possible--
+
+HOST. I--I have control over myself--
+
+GRASSET. Frankly, Prosper, I must say that I would admire you for your
+self-control, if I happened not to know that you are a poltroon.
+
+HOST. Ah! my friend, I am satisfied with what I can do in my own line.
+I get enough pleasure out of being able to tell the fellows my opinion
+of them to their faces and to insult them to my heart's content--while
+they take it for a joke. That, too, is a way of venting one's wrath.
+(Draws a dagger and makes it flash.)
+
+LEBRET. Citizen Prosper, what is the meaning of this?
+
+GRASSET. Have no fear. I wager that the dagger is not even sharpened.
+
+HOST. In that, my friend, you may be making a mistake. One fine day the
+jest may turn to earnest--and so I am ready for all emergencies.
+
+GRASSET. The day is nigh. We live in great times. Come, Citizen Labret,
+we will go to our comrades. Farewell, Prosper; you will see me either a
+great man or never again.
+
+Labret (giddily). As a great man--or--not at all.
+
+      [Exeunt. HOST remains behind, sits on a table, opens a
+        pamphlet, and reads aloud.]
+
+HOST. "Now that the beast is in the noose, throttle it." He doesn't
+write badly, that little Desmoulins. "Never was richer booty offered to
+the victors. Forty thousand palaces and castles, two-fifths of all the
+property in France, will be the reward of valor. Those who plume
+themselves on being conquerors will be put beneath the yoke, the
+nation will be purged."
+
+                        Enter the COMMISSAIRE.
+
+HOST (sizing him up). Hallo--the rabble's beginning to come in pretty
+early tonight.
+
+COMMISSAIRE. My dear Prosper, don't start any of your jokes on me; I am
+the Commissaire of your district.
+
+HOST. And how can I be of any service?
+
+COMMISSAIRE. I have orders to attend the performance in your tavern
+this evening.
+
+HOST. It will be an especial honor for me.
+
+COMMISSAIRE. 'Tis nothing of that, my excellent Prosper. The
+authorities wish to have definite information as to what really goes on
+in your place. For some weeks--
+
+HOST. This is a place of amusement, M. le Commissaire--nothing more.
+
+COMMISSAIRE. Let me finish what I was saying. For some weeks past this
+place is said to have been the theatre of wild orgies.
+
+HOST. You are falsely informed, M. le Commissaire. We make jokes here,
+nothing more.
+
+COMMISSAIRE. It begins with that, I know. But it finishes up in another
+way, so I am informed. You have been an actor.
+
+HOST. A manager, sir--manager of a first-class troupe who last played
+in Denis.
+
+COMMISSAIRE. That is immaterial. Then you came into a small legacy.
+
+HOST. Not worth speaking about, M. le Commissaire.
+
+COMMISSAIRE. Your troupe split up.
+
+HOST. And my legacy as well.
+
+COMMISSAIRE (smiling). Very well! (Both smile. Suddenly serious.)
+You started a tavern.
+
+HOST. That fared wretchedly.
+
+COMMISSAIRE. After which you had an idea that, which, as one must
+admit, possesses a certain quantum of originality.
+
+HOST. You make me quite proud, sir.
+
+COMMISSAIRE. You gathered your troupe together again, and have a comedy
+played here which is of a peculiar and by no means harmless character.
+
+HOST. If it were harmful, M. le Commissaire, I should not have my
+audience--the most aristocratic audience in Paris, I'm in a position to
+say. The Vicomte de Nogeant is my daily customer. The Marquis de Lansac
+often comes, and the Duc de Cadignan, M. le Commissaire, is the most
+enthusiastic admirer of my leading actor, the celebrated Henri Baston.
+
+COMMISSAIRE. As well as of the art or arts of your actresses.
+
+HOST. When you get to know my little actresses, M. le Commissaire, you
+won't blame anybody in the whole world for that.
+
+COMMISSAIRE. Enough. The authorities have been informed that the
+entertainments which your--what shall I say--?
+
+HOST. The word "artists" ought to suffice.
+
+COMMISSAIRE. I will decide on the word "subjects"--that the
+entertainments which your subjects provide transgress in every sense
+the limits the laws allow. Speeches are said to be delivered by
+your--what shall I say?--by your artist-criminals which--what does my
+information say?--(he reads from a notebook, as he had been doing
+previously) which are calculated to produce not only an immoral
+effect, which would bother us but little, but a highly seditious
+effect--a matter to which the authorities absolutely cannot be
+indifferent, at a time so agitated as the one in which we live.
+
+HOST. M. le Commissaire, I can only answer that accusation by politely
+inviting you to see the thing just once for yourself. You will observe
+that nothing of a seditious nature takes place here, if only because my
+audience will not permit itself to be made seditious. There is simply a
+theatrical performance here, that is all.
+
+COMMISSAIRE. I naturally cannot accept your invitation, but I will stay
+here by virtue of my office.
+
+HOST. I think I can promise you a first-class entertainment, M. le
+Commissaire; but I will take the liberty of advising you to doff your
+official garb and to appear here in civilian clothes. If people
+actually saw a Commissaire in uniform here, both the spontaneity of my
+artists and the mood of my audience would suffer thereby.
+
+COMMISSAIRE. You are right, M. Prosper; I will go away and come back as
+an elegant young man.
+
+HOST. You will have no difficulty about that, M. le Commissaire. You
+would be welcomed here even as a vagabond--that would not excite
+attention--but not as a Commissaire.
+
+COMMISSAIRE. Good-by. (Starts to go.)
+
+HOST (bowing). When will the blessed day come when I can treat you
+and your damned likes--?
+
+      [The COMMISSAIRE meets GRAIN in the doorway. GRAIN is in
+absolute rags and gives a start when he sees the COMMISSAIRE. The
+latter looks at him first, smiles, and then turns courteously to
+HOST.]
+
+COMMISSAIRE. One of your artists already?                 [Exit.]
+
+GRAIN (whining pathetically). Good evening.
+
+HOST (after looking at him for a long time). If you're one of my
+troupe, I won't grudge you my recognition ... of your art, because I
+don't recognize you.
+
+GRAIN. What do you mean?
+
+HOST. No jests now; take off your wig; I'd rather like to know who you
+are. (He pulls at his hair.)
+
+GRAIN. Oh, dear!
+
+HOST. But 'tis genuine! Heavens--who are you? You appear to be a real
+ragamuffin.
+
+GRAIN. I am!
+
+HOST. What do you want of me?
+
+GRAIN. Have I the honor of speaking to Citizen Prosper?--the host of
+The Green Cockatoo?
+
+HOST. I am he.
+
+GRAIN. My name is Grain, sometimes Carniche--very often Shrieking
+Pumice-stone; but I was sent to prison, Citizen Prosper, under the name
+of Grain, and that is the real point.
+
+HOST. Ah, I understand. You want to play in my establishment and start
+off with playing me. Good. Go on.
+
+GRAIN. Citizen Prosper, don't look upon me as a swindler. I am a man of
+honor. If I tell you that I was imprisoned, 'tis the complete truth.
+
+                                [HOST looks at him suspiciously.]
+
+GRAIN (pulling a paper out of his pocket). Here, Citizen Prosper, you
+can see from this that I was let out yesterday afternoon at four
+o'clock.
+
+HOST. After two years' imprisonment! Zounds, 'tis genuine!
+
+GRAIN. Were you all the time doubting it, then. Citizen Prosper?
+
+HOST. What did you do to get two years?
+
+GRAIN. I would have been hanged; but I was lucky enough to be still
+half a child when I killed my poor aunt.
+
+HOST. Nay, fellow, how can a man kill his own aunt?
+
+GRAIN. Citizen Prosper, I would never have done it if my aunt had not
+deceived me with my best friend.
+
+HOST. Your aunt?
+
+GRAIN. That's it--she was dearer to me than aunts usually are to their
+nephews. The family relations were peculiar--it made me embittered,
+most embittered. May I tell you about it?
+
+HOST. Go on telling--perhaps you and I will be able to do business
+together.
+
+GRAIN. My sister was but half a child when she ran away from
+home--and whom do you think she went with?
+
+HOST. 'Tis difficult to guess.
+
+GRAIN. With her uncle. And he left her in the lurch--with a child--
+
+HOST. A whole one, I hope.
+
+GRAIN. 'Tis indelicate of you, Citizen Prosper, to jest about such
+things.
+
+HOST. I'll tell you what, Shrieking Pumice-stone, you--your family
+history bores me. Do you think I'm here to listen to every Tom, Dick,
+or Harry o' a ragamuffin telling me whom he has killed? What's all that
+go to do with me? I take it you wish something of me.
+
+GRAIN. Ay, truly. Citizen Prosper; I've come to ask you for
+work.
+
+HOST (sarcastically). I would have you mark that there are no aunts
+to murder in my place--this is a house of entertainment.
+
+GRAIN. Oh, I found the once quite enough. I want to become a
+respectable member of society--I was recommended to come to you.
+
+HOST. By whom, if I may ask?
+
+GRAIN. A charming young man whom they put in my cell three days ago.
+Now he's alone. His name's Gaston!... and you know him.
+
+HOST. Gaston! Now I know why I've missed him for three evenings. One of
+my best interpreters of pickpockets. He told yarns--ah! it made 'em
+split their sides.
+
+GRAIN. Quite so. And now they've nabbed him.
+
+HOST. Nabbed--what do you mean? He didn't really steal I suppose.
+
+GRAIN. Yes, he did. But it must have been the first time, for he
+seems to have gone about it with incredible clumsiness. Just think of
+it--(confidentially)--just made a grab at the pocket of a lady in the
+Boulevard des Capucines, and pulled out her purse--an absolute amateur.
+You inspire me with confidence, Citizen Prosper, and so I'll make a
+confession to you. There was a time when I, too, transacted little bits
+of business of that sort, but never without my dear father. When I was
+still a child, when we all lived together, when my poor aunt was still
+alive--
+
+HOST. What are you moaning for! I think 'tis in bad taste. You ought
+not to have killed her.
+
+GRAIN. Too late. But the point I was coming to is--take me on here. I
+will do just the opposite of Gaston. He played the thief and became
+one--
+
+HOST. I will give you a trial. You will produce a fine effect with
+your make-up. And at a given moment you'll just describe the aunt
+matter--how it all happened--someone or other will be sure to ask you.
+
+GRAIN. I thank you, Citizen Prosper. And with regard to my wages--
+
+HOST. Tonight you will play on trial, and I am, therefore, not yet in a
+position to pay you wages. But you will get good stuff to eat and
+drink; and I shall not mind a franc or so for a night's lodging.
+
+GRAIN. I thank you. And just introduce me to your other colleagues as a
+visitor from the provinces.
+
+HOST. Oh, no. We will tell them right away that you are a real
+murderer. They will much prefer that.
+
+GRAIN. Pardon me. I don't wish to do anything against my interests, but
+I don't see why--
+
+HOST. When you have been on the boards a bit longer, you will
+understand.
+
+                     Enter SCAEVOLA and JULES.
+
+SCAEVOLA. Good evening, Chief.
+
+HOST. How many times have I got to tell you that the whole joke falls
+flat if you call me Chief?
+
+SCAEVOLA. Well, whatever you are, I don't think we shall play tonight.
+
+HOST. And why?
+
+SCAEVOLA. The people won't be in the mood. There's a hellish uproar in
+the streets, and in front of the Bastille especially they are yelling
+like men possessed.
+
+HOST. What matters that to us? The shouting has been going on for
+months, and our audience hasn't stayed away from us. It goes on
+diverting itself just as it did before.
+
+SCAEVOLA. Ay, it has the gaiety of people who are shortly going to be
+hanged.
+
+HOST. If only I live to see it!
+
+SCAEVOLA. In the meanwhile, give us something to drink to get me into
+the vein. I don't feel at all in the vein tonight.
+
+HOST. That's often the case with you, my friend. I must tell you that I
+was most dissatisfied with you last night.
+
+SCAEVOLA. Why so, if I may ask?
+
+HOST. The story about the burglary was simply babyish.
+
+SCAEVOLA. Babyish?
+
+HOST. To be sure. Absolutely incredible. Mere roaring is of no avail.
+
+SCAEVOLA. I didn't roar.
+
+HOST. You are always roaring. It will really be necessary for me to
+rehearse things with you. One can never rely on your inspirations.
+Henri is the only one.
+
+SCAEVOLA. Henri--never anything but Henri! Henri simply plays to the
+gallery. My burglary of last night was a masterpiece. Henri will never
+do anything as good as that as long as he lives. If I don't satisfy
+you, my friend, then I'll just go to a proper theatre. Anyhow, yours is
+nothing but a cheap-jack establishment. Hallo! (Notices GRAIN.) Who
+is this! He isn't one of our lot, is he? Perhaps you've just engaged
+someone? But what a make-up the fellow has!
+
+HOST. Calm yourself. 'Tis not a professional actor. 'Tis a real
+murderer.
+
+SCAEVOLA. Oh, indeed. (Goes up to him.) Very glad to know you. My
+name is Scaevola.
+
+GRAIN. My name is Grain.
+
+      [JULES has been walking around in the room the whole time,
+         frequently standing still, like a man tortured inwardly.]
+
+HOST. What ails you, Jules?
+
+JULES. I am learning my part.
+
+HOST. What?
+
+JULES. Remorse. Tonight I am playing a man who is a prey to remorse.
+Look at me. What do you think of the furrow in the forehead here? Do I
+not look as though all the furies of hell--(Walks up and down.)
+
+SCAEVOLA (roars). Wine--wine, here!
+
+HOST. Calm yourself.... There is no audience yet.
+
+                     Enter HENRI and LEOCADIE.
+
+HENRI. Good evening. (He greets those sitting at the back with a light
+wave of his hand.) Good evening, gentlemen.
+
+HOST. Good evening, Henri. What do I see?--you and Leocadie together?
+
+GRAIN (who has noticed LEOCADIE, to SCAEVOLA). Why, I know her.
+(Speaks softly with the others.)
+
+LEOCADIE. Yes, my dear Prosper, it is I.
+
+HOST. I have not seen you for a year on end. Let me greet you. (He
+tries to kiss her.)
+
+HENRI. Stop that. (His eyes often rest on LEOCADIE with pride and
+passion, but also a certain anxiety.)
+
+HOST. But, Henri--as between old comrades--your old chief Leocadie!
+
+LEOCADIE. Oh, the good old times. Prosper!
+
+HOST. What are you sighing about? When a wench has made her way in the
+way you have! No doubt about it, a pretty young woman has always a much
+easier time of it than we have.
+
+HENRI (wild with rage). Stop it.
+
+HOST. Why the deuce do you keep on shouting at me like that? Because
+you've picked up with her once more?
+
+HENRI. Hold your tongue--she became my wife yesterday.
+
+HOST. Your ...? (To LEOCADIE.) Is he joking?
+
+LEOCADIE. He has really married me. Yes.
+
+HOST. Then I congratulate you.... I say, Scaevola, Jules, Henri is
+married.
+
+SCAEVOLA (comes to the front). I wish you joy (winks at LEOCADIE).
+
+                             [JULES shakes hands with them both.]
+
+GRAIN (to HOST). Ah! How strange! I saw that woman--a few minutes
+after I was let out.
+
+HOST. What do you mean?
+
+GRAIN. She was the first pretty woman I'd seen for two years. I was
+very moved. But it was another gentleman with whom-- (Goes on
+speaking to HOST.)
+
+HENRI (in an exalted tone as though inspired, but not theatrically).
+Leocadie, my love, my wife ... all the past is over now. A great deal
+is blotted out on an occasion like this.
+
+      [SCAEVOLA and JULES have gone to the back. HOST comes forward
+       again.]
+
+HOST. What sort of occasion?
+
+HENRI. We are united now by a holy sacrament. That means more than any
+human oath. God is now watching over us, and one ought to forget
+everything which has happened before. Leocadie, a new age is dawning.
+Everything becomes holy now, Leocadie. Our kisses, however wild they
+may be, are holy from henceforth. Leocadie, my love, my wife! (He
+contemplates her with an ardent glance.) Isn't her expression quite
+different. Prosper, from what you ever knew her to have before? Is not
+her forehead pure! What has been is blotted out--not so, Leocadie?
+
+LEOCADIE. Surely, Henri.
+
+HENRI. And all is well. We leave Paris tomorrow. Leocadie makes her
+last appearance tonight at the Porte St. Martin, and I am placing here
+tonight for the last time.
+
+HOST. Are you mad, Henri? Do you want to desert me? Besides, the
+manager of the Porte St. Martin will never think of letting Leocadie go
+away. Why, she makes the fortune of his house. The young gentlemen
+stream thither, so they say.
+
+HENRI. Hold your peace. Leocadie will go with me. She will never
+desert me. Tell me that you will never desert me, Leocadie. (Brutally.)
+Tell me.
+
+LEOCADIE. I will never desert you.
+
+HENRI. If you did, I would ... (pause). I am sick of this life. I want
+quiet--I wish to have quiet.
+
+HOST. But what do you want to do then, Henri? It is quite ridiculous. I
+will make you a proposition. So far as I am concerned, take Leocadie
+from the Porte St. Martin, but let her stay here with me. I will engage
+her. Anyway, I have rather a dearth of talented women characters.
+
+HENRI. My mind is made up. Prosper. We are leaving town. We are going
+into the country.
+
+HOST. Into the country? But where?
+
+HENRI. To my old father, who lives alone in our poor village--I haven't
+seen him for seven years. He has almost given up hope of ever seeing
+his lost son again. He will welcome me with joy.
+
+PROSPER. What will you do in the country? In the country they all
+starve. People are a thousand times worse off there than in town. What
+on earth will you do there? You are not the man to till the fields.
+Don't imagine you are.
+
+HENRI. Time will prove that I am the man to do even that.
+
+HOST. Soon there won't be any corn growing in any part of France. You
+are going to certain misery.
+
+HENRI. To happiness. Prosper. Not so, Leocadie? We have often dreamt of
+it. I yearn for the peace of the wide plains. Yes, Prosper, I have seen
+myself in my dreams going over the fields with her, in an infinite
+stillness with the wonderful placid heavens over us. Ay, we will flee
+from this awful and dangerous town; the great peace will come over us.
+Is it not true, Leocadie, that we have often had such dreams?
+
+LEOCADIE. Yes, we have often had such dreams.
+
+HOST. Look here, Henri, you should consider it. I will gladly raise
+your wages and I will give Leocadie quite as much as you.
+
+LEOCADIE. Hear you that, Henri?
+
+HOST. I really don't know who's to take your place here. Not a single
+one of my people has such precious inspirations as you have, not one of
+them is so popular with my audience as you ... don't go away.
+
+HENRI. I can quite believe that no one will take my place.
+
+HOST. Stay by me, Henri. (Throws LEOCADIE a look; she intimates that
+she will arrange matters.)
+
+HENRI. And I can promise you that they will take my departure to
+heart--they, not I. For tonight--for my final appearance I have
+reserved something that will make them all shudder ... a foreboding of
+the end of this world will come over them ... for the end of their
+world is nigh. But I shall only experience it from a safe distance ...
+they will tell us about it out there, Leocadie, many days after it has
+happened.... But I tell you, they will shudder. And you yourself will
+say, "Henri has never played so well."
+
+HOST. What are you going to play? What? Do you know what, Leocadie?
+
+LEOCADIE. I never know anything.
+
+HENRI. But has anyone any idea of what an artist lies hidden within me?
+
+HOST. They certainly have an idea, and that's why I tell you that a man
+with a talent such as yours doesn't go and bury himself in the country.
+What an injustice to yourself! and to Art!
+
+HENRI. I don't care a straw about Art. I wish for quiet. You don't
+understand that, Prosper; you have never loved--
+
+HOST. Oh!
+
+HENRI. As I love. I want to be alone with her--that's the only way ...
+that's the only way, Leocadie, of forgetting everything. But then we
+shall be happier than human beings have ever been before. We shall
+have children; you will be a good mother, Leocadie, and a true
+wife. All the past, all the past will be blotted out. (Great pause.)
+
+LEOCADIE. 'Tis getting late, Henri. I must go to the theatre. Farewell,
+Prosper; I am glad at last to have seen your famous den, the place
+where Henri scores such triumphs.
+
+HOST. But why did you never come?
+
+LEOCADIE. Henri would not let me--because I should have to sit next to
+the young men, you know.
+
+HENRI (has gone to the back). Give me a drink, Scaevola. (He
+drinks.)
+
+HOST (to LEOCADIE, when HENRI is out of hearing). Henri is an
+arrant fool--if you had only sat next to them!
+
+LEOCADIE. Now then! no remarks of that sort.
+
+HOST. Take my tip and be careful, you silly gutter-brat. He will kill
+you one of these days.
+
+LEOCADIE. What's up, then?
+
+HOST. You were seen only yesterday with one of your fellows.
+
+LEOCADIE. That was not a fellow, you blockhead; that was--
+
+HENRI (turns round quickly). What's the matter with you? No jokes, if
+you don't mind. No more whispering. No more secrets now. She is my
+wife.
+
+HOST. What did you give her for a wedding present?
+
+LEOCADIE. Heavens! he never thinks about such things.
+
+HENRI. Well, you shall have one this very night.
+
+LEOCADIE. What?
+
+SCAEVOLA and JULES. What are you going to give her?
+
+HENRI (quite seriously). When you have finished your scene, you must
+come here and see me act. (They laugh.)
+
+HENRI. No woman ever had a more glorious wedding present. Come,
+Leocadie. Good-by for the present, Prosper. I shall soon be back again.
+
+                                       [Exeunt HENRI and LEOCADIE.]
+
+Enter together FRANCOIS, Vicomte de Nogeant, and ALBIN, Chevalier
+de la Tremouille.
+
+SCAEVOLA. What a contemptible braggart!
+
+HOST. Good evening, you swine. [ALBIN starts back.]
+
+FRANCOIS (without taking any notice). Was not that the little
+Leocadie of the Porte St. Martin, who went away with Henri?
+
+HOST. Of course it was.--If she really took great trouble she could
+eventually make you remember that even you are something of a man, eh?
+
+FRANCOIS (laughing). That is not impossible. It seems we are rather
+early tonight.
+
+HOST. In the meanwhile you can amuse yourself with your minion.
+
+                    [ALBIN is on the point of flying into a passion.]
+
+FRANCOIS. Let it pass. I told you what went on here. Bring us wine.
+
+HOST. Ay, that I will. The time will soon come when you will be very
+satisfied with Seine water.
+
+FRANCOIS. Quite so, quite so ... but tonight I would fain ask for wine,
+and the best wine into the bargain.
+
+                                              [HOST goes to the bar.]
+
+ALBIN. That is really a dreadful fellow.
+
+FRANCOIS. But just think, it's all a joke. And, withal, there are
+places where you can hear similar things in real earnest.
+
+ALBIN. Is it not forbidden?
+
+FRANCOIS (laughs). One sees that you come from the provinces.
+
+ALBIN. Ah! we, too, are having a bad time of it nowadays. The peasants
+are getting so insolent ... one doesn't know what to do any more....
+
+FRANCOIS. What would you have? The poor devils are hungry--that is the
+secret.
+
+ALBIN. How can I help it? How can my great-uncle help it?
+
+FRANCOIS. Why do you mention your great-uncle?
+
+ALBIN. Well, I do so because they actually held a meeting in our
+village--quite openly--and at the meeting they actually called my
+great-uncle, the Comte de Tremouille, a corn-usurer.
+
+FRANCOIS. Is that all?
+
+ALBIN. Nay, is that not enough!
+
+FRANCOIS. We will go to the Palais-Royal tomorrow, and there you will
+have a chance of hearing the monstrous speeches the fellows make. But
+we let them speak--it is the best thing to do. They are good people at
+bottom; one must let them bawl themselves out in that way.
+
+ALBIN (pointing to SCAEVOLA, etc.). What suspicious characters
+those are! Just see how they look at one. (He feels for his sword.)
+
+FRANCOIS (draws his hand away). Don't be ridiculous. (To the three
+others.) You need not begin yet; wait till there is more audience.
+(To ALBIN.) They're the most respectable people in the world, actors
+are. I will warrant you have already sat at table with worse knaves.
+
+ALBIN. But they were better attired. [HOST brings wine.]
+
+                    Enter MICHETTE and FLIPOTTE.
+
+FRANCOIS. God be with you, children! Come and sit down by us.
+
+MICHETTE. Here we are. Come along, Flipotte. She is still somewhat shy.
+
+FLIPOTTE. Good evening, young gentleman.
+
+ALBIN. Good evening, ladies.
+
+MICHETTE. The little one is a dear. (She sits on ALBIN'S lap.)
+
+ALBIN. But, Francois, please explain, are these respectable ladies?
+
+MICHETTE. What does he say?
+
+FRANCOIS. No, that's not quite the word for the ladies who come here.
+Odds life, you are silly, Albin!
+
+HOST. What shall I bring for their Graces?
+
+MICHETTE. Bring me a very sweet wine.
+
+FRANCOIS (pointing to FLIPOTTE). A friend of yours?
+
+MICHETTE. We live together. Yes, we have only one bed between us.
+
+FLIPOTTE (blushing). Would you find it a very great nuisance should
+you come and see her! (Sits on FRANCOIS'S lap.)
+
+ALBIN. She is not at all shy.
+
+SCAEVOLA (stands up; gloomily turning to the table where the young
+people are). At last I've found you. (To ALBIN.) And you, you
+miserable seducer, aren't you ashamed that you ... She is mine.
+
+                                                     [HOST looks on.]
+
+FRANCOIS (to ALBIN). a joke--a joke....
+
+ALBIN. She isn't his--
+
+MICHETTE. Go away. You let me sit where I want to.
+
+                         [SCAEVOLA stands there with clenched fists.]
+
+HOST (behind). Now, now?
+
+SCAEVOLA. Ha, ha!
+
+HOST (takes him by the collar). Ha, ha! (By his side.) You have not
+a farthing's worth of talent. Roaring, that's the only thing you can
+do.
+
+MICHETTE (to FRANCOIS). Recently he did it much better.
+
+SCAEVOLA (to HOST). I'm not in the vein. I'll make a better show
+later on, when more people are here; you see. Prosper, I need an
+audience.
+
+                      Enter the DUC DE CADIGNAN.
+
+DUKE. Already in full swing!
+
+                              [MICHETTE and FLIPOTTE go up to him.]
+
+MICHETTE. My sweet Duke.
+
+FRANCOIS. Good evening, EMILE ... (introducing) My young friend,
+Albin, Chevalier de Tremouille--the Duc de Cadignan.
+
+DUKE. I am delighted to make your acquaintance. (To the girls, who are
+hanging on to him.) Leave me alone, children! (To ALBIN.) So you,
+too, are having a look at this droll tavern?
+
+ALBIN. It bewilders me in the extreme.
+
+FRANCOIS. The Chevalier has only been in Paris a few days.
+
+DUKE (laughing). Then you have certainly chosen a nice time.
+
+ALBIN. How so?
+
+MICHETTE. He still has that delicious perfume! There isn't another man
+in Paris who has such a pleasant smell. (To ALBIN.) ... You can't
+perceive it like that.
+
+DUKE. She speaks of the seven or eight hundred whom she knows as well
+as me.
+
+FLIPOTTE. Will you let me play with your sword, dear?
+
+      [She draws his sword out of its sheath and flashes it about.]
+
+GRAIN (to Host). He's the man--'twas him I saw her with--
+
+                             [HOST lets him go on, seems astonished.]
+
+DUKE. Henri is not here yet, then? (To ALBIN.) If you see him, you
+will not regret having come here.
+
+HOST (to DUKE). Oh, so you're here again, are you? I am glad. We
+shall not have the pleasure much longer.
+
+DUKE. Why? I find it very nice at your place.
+
+HOST. I believe that. But since in any case you will be one of the
+first ...
+
+ALBIN. What does that mean!
+
+HOST. You understand me well enough. The favorites of fortune will be
+the first! (Goes to the back.)
+
+DUKE (after reflection). If I were king, I would make him my Court
+Fool; I mean to say, I should have many Court Fools, but he would be
+one of them.
+
+ALBIN. What did he mean by saying that you were too fortunate?
+
+DUKE. He means, Chevalier ...
+
+ALBIN. Please, don't call me Chevalier. Everybody calls me Albin,
+simply Albin, just because I look so young.
+
+DUKE (smiling). Good.... But you must call me Emile--eh?
+
+ALBIN. With pleasure, if you allow it, Emile.
+
+[Illustration: HENRIK IBSEN.]
+
+_Permission Albert Langen, Munich_
+FROM OLAF GULBRANSSON'S "FAMOUS CONTEMPORARIES"
+
+DUKE. They have a sinister wit, have these people.
+
+FRANCOIS. Why sinister? I find it quite reassuring. So long as the mob
+is in the mood for jests, it will never come to anything serious.
+
+DUKE. Only the jests are much too strange. I learnt a thing today that
+gives food for thought.
+
+FRANCOIS. Tell us.
+
+FLIPOTTE and MICHETTE. Ay, tell us, sweet Duke!
+
+DUKE. Do you know Lelange?
+
+FRANCOIS. Of course--the village ... the Marquis de Montferrat has one
+of his finest hunts there.
+
+DUKE. Quite right; my brother is now at the castle with him, and he has
+written home about the things I am going to tell you. They have a mayor
+at Lelange who is very unpopular.
+
+FRANCOIS. If you can tell me the name of one who is popular--
+
+DUKE. Just listen. The women of the village paraded in front of the
+mayor's house with a coffin.
+
+FLIPOTTE. What? Did they carry it? Carry a coffin? I wouldn't like to
+carry a coffin for anything in the world.
+
+FRANCOIS. Hold your tongue. Nobody is asking you to carry a coffin.
+(To the DUKE.) Well?
+
+DUKE. And one or two of the women went into the mayor's house and
+explained to him that he must die, but they would do him the honor of
+burying him.
+
+FRANCOIS. Well, have they killed him?
+
+DUKE. No; at least, my brother doesn't write anything about it.
+
+FRANCOIS. Well then ... blusterers, talkers, clowns--that's what they
+are. Today they're roaring in Paris at the Bastille for a change, just
+as they've already done half a dozen times before ...
+
+DUKE. Well, if I were king I should have made an end of it long ago.
+
+ALBIN. Is it true that the king is so good-natured?
+
+DUKE. You have not yet been presented to His Majesty?
+
+FRANCOIS. This is the first time the Chevalier has been in Paris.
+
+DUKE. Yes, you are incredibly young. How old, if I may ask?
+
+ALBIN. I only look so young; I am already seventeen.
+
+DUKE. Seventeen!--how much is still in front of you! I am already
+four-and-twenty!... I am beginning to regret how much of my youth I
+have missed!
+
+FRANCOIS (laughs). That is good. You, Duke--you count every day lost
+in which you have not conquered a woman or killed a man.
+
+DUKE. Only the unfortunate thing is that one never makes a conquest of
+the right woman, and always kills the wrong man. And that as a matter
+of fact is how one misses one's youth. You know what Rollin says?
+
+FRANCOIS. What does Rollin say?
+
+DUKE. I was thinking of his new piece that they are playing at the
+Comedie--there is such a pretty simile in it. Don't you remember?
+
+FRANCOIS. I have no memory for verses.
+
+DUKE. Nor have I, unfortunately ... I only remember the sense. He says,
+youth which a man does not enjoy is like a feather-ball, which you
+leave lying in the sand instead of throwing it up into the air.
+
+ALBIN (like a wiseacre). I think that is quite right.
+
+DUKE. Is it not true? The feathers gradually lose their color and fall
+out. 'Tis better for it to fall into a bush where it cannot be found.
+
+ALBIN. How should one understand that, Emile?
+
+DUKE. 'Tis more a matter of feeling than of understanding. If I could
+repeat the verses, you would understand it at once.
+
+ALBIN. I have an idea, Emile, that you, too, could make verses if you
+wished.
+
+DUKE. Why?
+
+ALBIN. Since you have been here, it seems to me as though life were
+flaming up.
+
+DUKE (smiling). Yes? Is life flaming up?
+
+FRANCOIS. Won't you come and sit with us after all?
+
+      [Meanwhile, two nobles come in and sit down at a distant
+       table. HOST appears to be addressing insults to them.]
+
+DUKE. I cannot stay here. But in any case I will come back again.
+
+MICHETTE. Stay with me.
+
+FLIPOTTE. Take me with you. (They try to hold him.)
+
+HOST (coming to the front). Just you leave him alone. You're not bad
+enough for him by a long way. He's got to run after a whore off the
+streets--that's where he feels most in his element.
+
+DUKE. I shall certainly come back, if only not to miss Henri.
+
+FRANCOIS. What do you think, when we came, Henri was just going out
+with Leocadie.
+
+DUKE. Really--he has married her. Did you know that?
+
+FRANCOIS. Is that so? What will the others have to say to it?
+
+ALBIN. What others?
+
+FRANCOIS. She is loved all around, you know.
+
+DUKE. And he wants to go away with her ... what do I know about it?...
+Somebody told me.
+
+HOST. Indeed? Did they tell you? (Glances at the DUKE.)
+
+DUKE (having first looked at HOST). It is too silly. Leocadie was
+made to be the greatest, the most splendid whore in the world.
+
+FRANCOIS. Who doesn't know that?
+
+DUKE. Could anything be more unreasonable than to take people away from
+their true calling? (As FRANCOIS laughs.) I am not joking. Whores
+are born, not made--just as conquerors and poets are.
+
+FRANCOIS. You are paradoxical.
+
+DUKE. I am sorry for her, and for Henri. He should stay here--no, not
+here--I should like to bring him to the Comedie--though even there--I
+always feel as though nobody understood him as well as I do.
+Of course, that may be an illusion, since I have the same feeling in
+regard to most artists. But I must say if I were not the Duc de
+Cadignan, I should really like to be a comedian like him--like him, I
+say ...
+
+ALBIN. Like Alexander the Great.
+
+DUKE (smiling). Yes, Alexander the Great.... (To FLIPOTTE.) Give me
+my sword. (He puts it in the sheath. Slowly.) It is the finest way of
+making fun of the world; a man who can play any part and at the same
+time play us is greater than all of us. (ALBIN looks at him in
+astonishment.) Don't you reflect on what I say. 'Tis all only true at
+the actual moment. Good-by.
+
+MICHETTE. Give me a kiss before you go.
+
+FLIPOTTE. Me too!
+
+      [They hang on to him, the Duke kisses them both at once and
+goes. In the meanwhile:]
+
+ALBIN. a wonderful man!
+
+FRANCOIS. That is quite true; ... but the existence of men like that is
+almost a reason for not marrying.
+
+ALBIN. But do explain; what are those girls?
+
+FRANCOIS. Actresses. They, too, belong to the troupe of Prosper, who is
+at present the host of the tavern. No doubt they've done in the past
+much the same as they're doing now.
+
+                         [GUILLAUME rushes in apparently breathless.]
+
+GUILLAUME (making toward the table where the actors are sitting, with
+his hand on his heart--speaking with difficulty--supporting himself).
+Saved--ay, saved!
+
+SCAEVOLA. What is it? What ails you?
+
+ALBIN. What has happened to the man?
+
+FRANCOIS. That is part of the acting now. Mark you.
+
+ALBIN. Ah!
+
+MICHETTE and FLIPOTTE (going quickly to GUILLAUME). What is it?
+What ails you?
+
+SCAEVOLA. Sit down. Take a draught!
+
+GUILLAUME. More!--more! Prosper, more wine! I have been running. My
+tongue cleaves to my mouth. They were right at my heels.
+
+JULES (gives a start). Ah! be careful; they really are at our heels.
+
+HOST. Come, tell us, what happened then? (To the actors.)
+Movement!--more movement!
+
+GUILLAUME. Women here ... women--ah! (Embraces FLIPOTTE.) That brings
+one back to life again! (To ALBIN, who is highly impressed.) The
+Devil take me, my boy, if I thought I would ever see you alive again.
+(As though he were listening.) They come!--they come! (Goes to the
+door.) No, it is nothing ... They ...
+
+ALBIN. How strange! There really is a noise, as though people outside
+were pressing forward very quickly. Is that part of the stage effects
+as well?
+
+SCAEVOLA. He goes in for such damned subtleties every blessed time.
+(To JULES.) 'Tis too silly--
+
+HOST. Come now, tell us why they are at your heels again?
+
+GUILLAUME. Oh, nothing special. But if they got me, it would cost me my
+head. I've set fire to a house.
+
+      [During this  in and sit down at the
+       tables.]
+
+HOST (softly). Go on!--go on!
+
+GUILLAUME (in the same tone). What more do you want? Isn't it enough
+for you if I've set fire to a house?
+
+FRANCOIS. But tell me, my friend, why you set fire to the house.
+
+GUILLAUME. Because the President of the Supreme Court lived in it. We
+wanted to make a beginning with him. We wanted to keep the good
+Parisian householders from taking folk into their houses so lightly who
+send us poor devils to the prison.
+
+GRAIN. That's good! That's good!
+
+GUILLAUME (looks at GRAIN and is surprised; then goes on speaking).
+All the houses must be fired. Three more fellows like me and there
+won't be any more judges in Paris.
+
+GRAIN. Death to the judges!
+
+JULES. Yes ... but there may be one whom we can't annihilate.
+
+GUILLAUME. I should like to know who he is.
+
+JULES. The judge within us.
+
+HOST (softly). That's tasteless. Leave off. Scaevola, roar! Now's the
+time.
+
+SCAEVOLA. Wine here, Prosper; we want to drink to the death of all the
+judges in France.
+
+      [During the last words enter the MARQUIS DE LANSAC, with his
+       wife, SEVERINE, and ROLLIN, the poet.]
+
+SCAEVOLA. Death to all who have the power in their hands today!
+
+MARQUIS. See you, Severine, that is how they greet us.
+
+ROLLIN. Marquise, I warned you.
+
+SEVERINE. Why?
+
+FRANCOIS. Whom do I see? The Marquise! Allow me to kiss your hand. Good
+evening. Marquis. Well met to you, Rollin. And you, Marquise, you dare
+to venture into this place!
+
+SEVERINE. I heard such a lot about it. And besides, we are having a day
+of adventures already--eh, Rollin?
+
+MARQUIS. Yes. Just think of it, Vicomte; you would never believe where
+we come from--from the Bastille.
+
+FRANCOIS. Are they still keeping up the tumult there?
+
+SEVERINE. Ay, indeed! It looks as though they meant to storm it.
+
+ROLLIN (declaiming).
+      Like to a flood that seethes against its banks,
+      And rages deep that its own child, the Earth,
+      Resists it.--
+
+SEVERINE. Don't, Rollin! We left our carriages there in the
+neighborhood. It is a magnificent spectacle--there is always something
+so grand about crowds.
+
+FRANCOIS. Yes, yes, if they only did not smell so vilely.
+
+MARQUIS. And my wife would not leave me in peace--I had to bring her
+here.
+
+SEVERINE. Well, what is there so very special here?
+
+HOST (to LANSAC). Well, so you're here, are you, you dried-up old
+scoundrel? Did you bring your wife along because she wasn't safe enough
+for you at home?
+
+MARQUIS (with a forced laugh). He's quite a character.
+
+HOST. But take heed that she is not snatched away from under your nose
+in this very place. Aristocratic ladies like her very often get a deuce
+of a fancy to try what a real rogue is like.
+
+ROLLIN. I suffer unspeakably, Severine.
+
+MARQUIS. My child, I prepared you for this--it is high time that we
+went.
+
+SEVERINE. What ails you? I think it's charming. Nay, let us seat
+ourselves.
+
+FRANCOIS. Would you allow me. Marquise, to present to you the Chevalier
+de la Tremouille. He is here for the first time, too. The Marquis de
+Lansac; Rollin, our celebrated poet.
+
+ALBIN. Delighted. (Compliments; they sit down.) (To FRANCOIS.) Is
+that one of those that are playing, or--I can't make it out--
+
+FRANCOIS. Don't be so stupid. That is the lawful wife of the Marquis de
+Lansac ... a lady of extreme propriety.
+
+ROLLIN (to SEVERINE). Say that thou lovest me.
+
+SEVERINE. Yes, yes; but ask me not every minute.
+
+MARQUIS. Have we missed a scene already?
+
+FRANCOIS. Nothing much. An incendiary's playing over there, 'twould
+appear.
+
+SEVERINE. Chevalier, you must be the cousin of the little Lydia de la
+Tremouille who was married today.
+
+ALBIN. Quite so, Marquise; that was one of the reasons why I came to
+Paris.
+
+SEVERINE. I remember having seen you in the church.
+
+ALBIN (embarrassed). I am highly flattered, Marquise.
+
+SEVERINE (to ROLLIN). What a dear little boy!
+
+ROLLIN. My dear Severine, you have never yet managed to know a man
+without his pleasing you.
+
+SEVERINE. Indeed I did; and what is more, I married him straight away.
+
+ROLLIN. I am always so afraid, Severine--I am sure there are moments
+when it's not safe for you to be with your own husband.
+
+HOST (brings wine). There you are. I wish it were poison; but for the
+time being, the law won't let us serve it to you, you scum.
+
+FRANCOIS. The time'll soon come, Prosper.
+
+SEVERINE (to ROLLIN). What is the matter with both those pretty
+girls? Why don't they come nearer? Now that we once are here, I want to
+join in everything. I really think that everything is extremely moral
+here.
+
+MARQUIS. Have patience, Severine.
+
+SEVERINE. I think nowadays one diverts oneself best in the streets. Do
+you know what happened to us yesterday when we went for a drive in the
+Promenade de Longchamps?
+
+MARQUIS. Please, please, my dear Severine, why--
+
+SEVERINE. A fellow jumped onto the footboard of our carriage and
+shouted, "Next year you will stand behind your coachman and we shall be
+sitting in the carriages."
+
+FRANCOIS. Hm! That is rather strong.
+
+MARQUIS. Odds life! I don't think one ought to talk of such things.
+Paris is now somewhat feverish, but that will soon pass off again.
+
+GUILLAUME (suddenly). I see flames--flames everywhere I look--red,
+high flames.
+
+HOST (to him). You're playing a madman, not a criminal.
+
+SEVERINE. Does he see flames?
+
+FRANCOIS. But all this is still not the real thing. Marquise.
+
+ALBIN (to ROLLIN). I cannot tell you how bewildered I feel already
+with everything.
+
+MICHETTE (comes to the MARQUIS). I have not yet greeted you, darling,
+you dear old pig.
+
+MARQUIS (embarrassed). She jests, dear Severine.
+
+SEVERINE. It does not look that way. Tell me, little one, how many
+love-affairs have you had so far?
+
+MARQUIS (to FRANCOIS). It is really wonderful how well my wife the
+Marquise knows how to adapt herself to every situation.
+
+ROLLIN. Yes, it is wonderful.
+
+MICHETTE. Have you counted yours?
+
+SEVERINE. When I was still as young as you ... of course ...
+
+ALBIN (to ROLLIN). Tell me, M. Rollin, is the Marquise joking, or is
+she really like--? I positively can't make it out.
+
+ROLLIN. Reality ... playing ... do you know the difference so exactly.
+Chevalier?
+
+ALBIN. At any rate ...
+
+ROLLIN. I don't. And what I find so peculiar here is that all apparent
+distinctions, so to speak, are taken away. Reality passes into play--
+play into reality. Just look now at the Marquise. How she gossips with
+those creatures as though she were one of them. At the same time she
+is--
+
+ALBIN. Something quite different.
+
+ROLLIN. I thank you, Chevalier.
+
+HOST (to GRAIN). Well, how did it all happen?
+
+GRAIN. What?
+
+HOST. Why, the affair with your aunt, for which you went to prison for
+two years.
+
+GRAIN. I told you, I strangled her.
+
+FRANCOIS. That is feeble. He is an amateur. I have never seen him
+before.
+
+GEORGETTE (comes quickly in, dressed like a prostitute of the lowest
+class). Good evening, children. Is my Balthasar not here yet?
+
+SCAEVOLA. Georgette, sit by me. Your Balthasar will yet be here in
+time.
+
+GEORGETTE. If he is not here in ten minutes, he won't bring off
+anything again--he won't come back at all then.
+
+FRANCOIS. Watch her, Marquise. She is the wife of that Balthasar of
+whom she has just been speaking, and who will soon come in. She
+represents just a common street-jade, while Balthasar is her bully. All
+the same, she is the truest wife to be found in the whole of Paris.
+
+                          BALTHASAR comes in.
+
+GEORGETTE. My Balthasar! (She runs toward him and embraces him). So
+there you are.
+
+BALTHASAR. It is all in order. (Silence around him.) It was not worth
+the trouble. I was almost sorry for him. You should size up your
+customers better, Georgette. I am sick of killing promising youths for
+the sake of a few francs.
+
+FRANCOIS. Splendid!
+
+ALBIN. What--?
+
+FRANCOIS. He brings out the points so well.
+
+       Enter the COMMISSAIRE, disguised; sits down at table.
+
+HOST (to him). You come at a good time, M. le Commissaire. This is
+one of my best exponents.
+
+BALTHASAR. One should really try and find another profession. On my
+soul, I am not a craven, but this kind of bread is hard earned.
+
+SCAEVOLA. I can well believe so.
+
+GEORGETTE. What's the matter with you today?
+
+BALTHASAR. I will tell you what. Georgette--I think you're a trifle too
+tender with the young gentlemen.
+
+GEORGETTE. See what a child he is! But be reasonable, Balthasar. I must
+needs be very tender so as to inspire them with confidence.
+
+ROLLIN. What she says is really deep.
+
+BALTHASAR. If I thought for a moment that you felt anything when
+another--
+
+GEORGETTE. What do you say to that? Dumb jealousy will yet bring him to
+his grave.
+
+BALTHASAR. I have already heard one sigh, Georgette, and that was at a
+moment when one of them was already giving sufficient proofs of his
+confidence.
+
+GEORGETTE. One can't leave off playing a woman in love so suddenly.
+
+BALTHASAR. Be careful, Georgette--the Seine is deep. (Wildly.) Should
+you ever deceive me--
+
+GEORGETTE. Never, never.
+
+ALBIN. I positively can't make it out.
+
+SEVERINE. Rollin, that is the right interpretation!
+
+ROLLIN. You think so?
+
+MARQUIS (to SEVERINE). It is time we were going, Severine.
+
+SEVERINE. Why? I am beginning to enjoy it.
+
+GEORGETTE. My Balthasar, I adore you. (Embrace.)
+
+FRANCOIS. Bravo! bravo!
+
+BALTHASAR. What loony is that?
+
+COMMISSAIRE. This is unquestionably too strong; this is--
+
+Enter MAURICE and ETIENNE. They are dressed like young nobles, but
+one can see that they are only disguised in dilapidated theatrical
+costumes.
+
+FROM THE ACTORS' TABLE. Who are they?
+
+SCAEVOLA. May the devil take me if it ain't Maurice and Etienne.
+
+GEORGETTE. Of course it is they!
+
+BALTHASAR. Georgette!
+
+SEVERINE. Heavens! what monstrously pretty young persons.
+
+ROLLIN. It is painful, Severine, to see you so violently excited by
+every pretty face.
+
+SEVERINE. What did I come here for, then?
+
+ROLLIN. Tell me, at any rate, that you love me.
+
+SEVERINE (with a peculiar look). You have a short memory.
+
+ETIENNE. Well, where do you think we have come from?
+
+FRANCOIS. Listen, Marquis; they're a couple of quite witty youths.
+
+MAURICE. A wedding.
+
+ETIENNE. One has got to dress up a bit in places like this. Otherwise
+one of those damned secret police gets on one's track at once.
+
+SCAEVOLA. At any rate, have you made a good haul?
+
+HOST. Let's have a look.
+
+MAURICE (drawing watches out of his waistcoat). What'll you give me
+for this?
+
+HOST. For that there? A louis.
+
+MAURICE. Indeed?
+
+SCAEVOLA. It is not worth more.
+
+MICHETTE. That is a lady's watch. Give it to me, Maurice.
+
+MAURICE. What will you give me for't?
+
+MICHETTE. Look at me--isn't that enough?
+
+FLIPOTTE. No, give it to me; look at me--
+
+MAURICE. My dear children, I can have that without risking my head.
+
+MICHETTE. You are a conceited ape.
+
+SEVERINE. I swear that's no acting.
+
+ROLLIN. Of course not; there is a flash of reality running through the
+whole thing. That is the chief charm.
+
+SCAEVOLA. What wedding was it, then?
+
+MAURICE. The wedding of Mademoiselle de la Tremouille; she was married
+to the Comte de Banville.
+
+ALBIN. Do you hear that, Francois? I assure you they are real knaves.
+
+FRANCOIS. Calm yourself, Albin. I know the two. I have seen them play a
+dozen times already. Their specialty is the portrayal of pickpockets.
+
+                    [MAURICE draws some purses out of his waistcoat.]
+
+SCAEVOLA. Well, you can do the handsome tonight.
+
+ETIENNE. It was a very magnificent wedding. All the nobility of France
+was there. Even the King was represented.
+
+ALBIN (excited). All that is true.
+
+MAURICE (rolls some money over the table). That is for you, my
+friends, so that you can see that we all stick to one another.
+
+FRANCOIS. Properties, dear Albin. (He stands up and takes a few
+coins.) We, too, you see, come in for a share.
+
+HOST. You take it--you have never earned anything so honestly in your
+life.
+
+MAURICE (holds in the air a garter set with diamonds). And to whom
+shall I give this? (GEORGETTE, MICHETTE, and FLIPOTTE make a rush
+after it.) Patience, you sweet pusses. We will speak about that later
+on. I will give it to the one who devises a new caress.
+
+SEVERINE (to ROLLIN). Would you not like to let me join in the
+competition!
+
+ROLLIN. I protest you will drive me mad, Severine.
+
+MARQUIS. Severine, had we not better be going now? I think--
+
+SEVERINE. Oh, no. I am enjoying myself excellently. (To ROLLIN.) Ah
+well, my mood is getting so--
+
+MICHETTE. How did you get hold of the garter?
+
+MAURICE. There was such a crush in the church--and when a lady thinks
+one is courting her-- (All laugh.)
+
+                               [GRAIN has stolen FRANCOIS'S purse.]
+
+FRANCOIS (showing the money to ALBIN). Mere counters. Are you
+satisfied now?
+
+                                           [GRAIN wants to get away.]
+
+HOST (going after him softly). Give me the purse at once which you
+took from this gentleman.
+
+GRAIN. I--
+
+HOST. Straightaway ... or it will be the worse for you.
+
+GRAIN. You need not be churlish. (Gives it to him.)
+
+HOST. And stay here. I have no time to search you now. Who knows what
+else you have pouched. Go back to your place.
+
+FLIPOTTE. I shall win the garter.
+
+HOST (throwing the purse to FRANCOIS). Here's your purse. You lost it
+out of your pocket.
+
+FRANCOIS. I thank you, Prosper. (To ALBIN.) You see, we are in
+reality in the company of most respectable people.
+
+      [HENRI, who has already been present for some time and has sat
+       behind, suddenly stands up.]
+
+ROLLIN. Henri--there is Henri.
+
+SEVERINE. Is he the one you told me so much about?
+
+MARQUIS. Assuredly. The man one really comes here to see.
+
+      [HENRI comes to the front of the stage, very theatrically; is
+       silent.]
+
+THE ACTORS. Henri, what ails you?
+
+ROLLIN. Observe the look. A world of passion. You see, he is playing
+the man who commits a crime of passion.
+
+SEVERINE. I prize that highly.
+
+ALBIN. But why does he not speak?
+
+ROLLIN. He is beside himself. Just watch. Pay attention.... He has
+wrought a fearful deed somewhere.
+
+FRANCOIS. He is somewhat theatrical. It looks as though he were going
+to get ready for a monologue.
+
+HOST. Henri, Henri, where do you come from?
+
+HENRI. I have murdered.
+
+ROLLIN. What did I say?
+
+SCAEVOLA. Whom?
+
+HENRI. The lover of my wife.
+
+      [PROSPER looks at him; at this moment he obviously has the
+       feeling that it might be true.]
+
+HENRI (looks up). Well, yes, I've done it. What are you looking at me
+like that for? That's how the matter stands. Is it, then, so wonderful
+after all? You all know what kind of a creature my wife is; it was
+bound to end like that.
+
+HOST. And she--where is she?
+
+FRANCOIS. See, the host takes it seriously. You notice how realistic
+that makes the thing.
+
+                                       [Noise outside--not too loud.]
+
+JULES. What noise is that outside?
+
+MARQUIS. Do you hear, Severine?
+
+ROLLIN. It sounds as though troops were marching by.
+
+FRANCOIS. Oh, no; it is our dear people of Paris. Just listen how they
+bawl. (Uneasiness in the cellar; it grows quiet outside.) Go on,
+Henri--go on.
+
+HOST. Yes, do tell us, Henri--where is your wife? Where have you left
+her?
+
+HENRI. Oh, I have no qualms about her. She will not die of it. Whether
+it is this man or that man, what do the women care? There are still a
+thousand other handsome men running about Paris--whether it is this man
+or that man--
+
+BALTHASAR. May it fare thus with all who take our wives from us.
+
+SCAEVOLA. All who take from us what belongs to us.
+
+COMMISSAIRE (to HOST). These are seditious speeches.
+
+ALBIN. It is dreadful ... the people mean it seriously.
+
+SCAEVOLA. Down with the usurers of France! We would fain wager that the
+fellow whom he caught with his wife was another again of those accursed
+hounds who rob us of our bread as well.
+
+ALBIN. I propose we go.
+
+SEVERINE. Henri!--Henri!
+
+MARQUIS. But, Marquise--
+
+SEVERINE. Please, dear Marquis, ask the man how he caught his wife--or
+I will ask him myself.
+
+MARQUIS (after resisting). Tell us, Henri, how did you manage to
+catch the pair?
+
+HENRI (who has been for a long while sunk in reverie). Know you my
+wife, then? She is the fairest and vilest creature under the sun. And I
+loved her! We have known one another for seven years--but it is only
+yesterday that she became my wife. In those seven years there was not
+one day, nay, not one day, in which she did not lie to me, for
+everything about her is a lie--her eyes and her lips, her kisses and
+her smiles.
+
+FRANCOIS. He rants a little.
+
+HENRI. Every boy and every old man, every one who excited her and every
+one who paid her--every one, I think, who wanted her--has possessed
+her, and I have known it!
+
+SEVERINE. Not every one can boast as much.
+
+HENRI. And all the same she loved me, my friends. Can any one of you
+understand that? She always came back to me again--from all quarters
+back again to me--from the handsome and from the ugly, from the shrewd
+and from the foolish, from ragamuffins and from courtiers--always came
+back to me.
+
+SEVERINE (to ROLLIN). Now, if only you had an inkling that it is just
+this coming back which is really love.
+
+HENRI. What I suffered ... tortures, tortures!
+
+ROLLIN. It is harrowing.
+
+HENRI. And yesterday I married her. We had a dream--nay, I had a dream.
+I wanted to get away with her from here. Into solitude, into the
+country, into the great peace. We wished to live like other happy
+married couples--we dreamt also of having a child---
+
+ROLLIN (softly). Severine.
+
+SEVERINE. Very good!
+
+ALBIN. Francois, that man is speaking the truth.
+
+FRANCOIS. Quite so; the love-story is true, but the real pith is the
+murder-story.
+
+HENRI. I was just one day too late.... There was just one man whom she
+had forgotten, otherwise--I believe--she wouldn't have wanted any one
+else.... But I caught them together ... it is all over with him.
+
+ACTORS. Who?--who? How did it happen? Where does he lie? Are you
+pursued? How did it happen? Where is she?
+
+HENRI (with growing excitement). I escorted her ... to the theatre
+... today was to be the last time.... I kissed her ... at the door ...
+and she went to her dressing-room ... and I went off like a man who has
+nothing to fear. But when I had gone a hundred yards, I began
+... to have ... within me--do you understand? ... a terrible unrest ...
+and it was as though something forced me to turn round ... and I turned
+round and went back. But once there I felt ashamed and went away again
+... and again I walked a hundred yards away from the theatre ... and
+then something gripped me ... again I went back. Her scene was at an
+end--she hasn't got much to do, she just stands awhile on the stage
+half naked--and then she has finished. I stood in front of her
+dressing-room, put my ear to the door, and heard whispers. I could not
+make out a word ... the whispering ceased ... I pushed open the door
+... (he roars like a lion) it was the Duc de Cadignan, and I murdered
+him.
+
+HOST (who now at last takes it for the truth). Madman!
+
+                             [HENRI looks up, gazes fixedly at HOST.]
+
+SEVERINE. Bravo!--bravo!
+
+ROLLIN. What are you doing. Marquise? The moment you call out "bravo!"
+you make it all acting again--and the pleasant shudder is past.
+
+MARQUIS. I do not find the shudder so pleasant. Let us applaud, my
+friends; that is the only way we can throw off the spell.
+
+           [A gentle bravo, growing continually louder; all applaud.]
+
+HOST (to HENRI, during the noise). Save yourself--flee, Henri.
+
+HENRI. What!--what!
+
+HOST. Let this be enough, and see that you get away.
+
+FRANCOIS. Hush!... Let us hear what the host says.
+
+HOST (after a short reflection). I am telling him that he ought to
+get away before the watch at the city gates are informed. The handsome
+Duke was a favorite of the King--they will break you on the wheel. Far
+better had it been had you stabbed that scum, your wife.
+
+FRANCOIS. What playing up to each other!... Splendid!
+
+HENRI. Prosper, which of us is mad, you or I! (He stands there and
+tries to read in PROSPER'S eyes.)
+
+ROLLIN. It is wonderful; we all know that he is acting, and yet if the
+Duc de Cadignan were to enter now, it would be like a ghost appearing.
+
+      [Noise outside--growing stronger and stronger. People come in;
+       shrieks are heard. Right at their head GRASSET. Others, among
+       them LEBRET, force their way over the steps. Cries of "Liberty!
+       Liberty!" are heard.]
+
+GRASSET. Here we are, my boys--in here!
+
+ALBIN. What is that? Is that part of the performance?
+
+FRANCOIS. No.
+
+MARQUIS. What means it?
+
+SEVERINE. What people are those?
+
+GRASSET. In here! I tell you, my friend Prosper has still got a barrel
+of wine left, and we have earned it. (Noise from the streets.) Friend!
+Brother! We have them!--we have them!
+
+SHOUTS (from outside). Liberty! Liberty!
+
+SEVERINE. What has happened?
+
+MARQUIS. Let us get away--let us get away; the mob approaches.
+
+ROLLIN. How do you propose to get away?
+
+GRASSET. It has fallen; the Bastille has fallen!
+
+HOST. What say you? Speaks he the truth?
+
+GRASSET. Hear you not?
+
+                                     [ALBIN wants to draw his sword.]
+
+FRANCOIS. Stop that at once, or we are all lost.
+
+GRASSET (reeling in down the stairs). And if you hasten, you will still
+be in time to see quite a merry sight ... the head of our dear Delaunay
+stuck on a very high pole.
+
+MARQUIS. Is the fellow mad?
+
+SHOUTS. Liberty! Liberty!
+
+GRASSET. We have cut off a dozen heads; the Bastille belongs to us; the
+prisoners are free! Paris belongs to the people!
+
+HOST. Hear you?--hear you? Paris belongs to us!
+
+GRASSET. See you how he gains courage now. Yes, shout away, Prosper;
+naught more can happen to you now.
+
+HOST (to the nobles). What say you to it, you rabble? The joke is at an
+end.
+
+ALBIN. Said I not so?
+
+HOST. The people of Paris have conquered.
+
+COMMISSAIRE. Silence! (They laugh.) Silence! I forbid the continuance
+of the performance!
+
+GRASSET. Who is that nincompoop?
+
+COMMISSAIRE. Prosper, I regard you as responsible for all these
+seditious speeches.
+
+GRASSET. Is the fellow mad?
+
+HOST. The joke is at an end. Don't you understand? Henri, do tell
+them--now you can tell them. We will protect you--the people of Paris
+will protect you.
+
+GRASSET. Yea, the people of Paris.
+
+                             [HENRI stands there with a fixed stare.]
+
+HOST. Henri has really murdered the Duc de Cadignan.
+
+ALBIN, FRANCOIS, and MARQUIS. What says he?
+
+ALBIN and others. What means all this, Henri?
+
+FRANCOIS. Henri, pray speak.
+
+HOST. He found him with his wife and he has killed him.
+
+HENRI. 'Tis not true!
+
+HOST. You need fear naught more now; now you can shout it to all the
+world. I could have told you an hour past that sue was the Duke's
+mistress. By God, I was nigh telling you--is't not true, you, Shrieking
+Pumice-stone?--did we not know it?
+
+HENRI. Who has seen her? Where has she been seen?
+
+HOST. What matters that to you now? The man's mad ... you have killed
+him; of a truth you cannot do more.
+
+FRANCOIS. In heaven's name, is't really true or not?
+
+HOST. Ay, it is true.
+
+GRASSET. Henri, from henceforth you must be my friend. Vive la
+Liberte!--Vive la Liberte!
+
+FRANCOIS. Henri, speak, man!
+
+HENRI. She was his mistress? She was the mistress of the Duke? I knew
+it not ... he lives ... he lives ... (Tremendous sensation.)
+
+SEVERINE (to the others). Well, where's the truth now?
+
+ALBIN. My God!
+
+     [The DUKE forces his way through the crowd on the steps.]
+
+SEVERINE (who sees him first). The Duke!
+
+SOME VOICES. The Duke.
+
+DUKE. Well, well, what is it?
+
+HOST. Is it a ghost?
+
+DUKE. Not that I know of. Let me through!
+
+ROLLIN. What won't we wager that it is all arranged! The fellows yonder
+belong to Prosper's troupe. Bravo, Prosper! This is a real success.
+
+DUKE. What is it? Is the playing still going on here, while outside ...
+but don't you know what manner of things are taking place outside? I
+have seen Delaunay's head carried past on a pole. Nay, why do you look
+at me like that? (Steps down.) Henri--
+
+FRANCOIS. Guard yourself from Henri.
+
+     [Henri rushes like a madman on the Duke and plunges a dagger into
+      his neck.]
+
+COMMISSAIRE (stands up). This goes too far!
+
+ALL. He bleeds.
+
+ROLLIN. A murder has been done here.
+
+SEVERINE. The Duke is dying.
+
+MARQUIS. I am distracted, dear Severine, to think that today of all
+days I should have brought you to this place.
+
+SEVERINE. Why not? (In a strained tone.) It is a wonderful success. One
+does not see a real duke really murdered every day.
+
+ROLLIN. I cannot grasp it yet.
+
+COMMISSAIRE. Silence! Let no one leave the place!
+
+GRASSET. What does he want?
+
+[Illustration: GEORG BRANDES]
+
+_Permission Albert Langen, Munich_
+From Olaf Gulbransson's "Famous Contemporaries"
+
+COMMISSAIRE. I arrest this man in the name of the law.
+
+GRASSET (laughs). It is we who make the laws, you blockheads! Out with
+the rabble! He who kills a duke is a friend of the people. Vive la
+Liberte!
+
+ALBIN (draws his sword). Make way! Follow me, my friends! [Leocadie
+rushes in over the steps.]
+
+VOICES. His wife!
+
+LEOCADIE. Let me in here. I want my husband! (She comes to the front,
+sees, and shrieks out.) Who has done this? Henri! [HENRI looks at her.]
+
+LEOCADIE. Why have you done this?
+
+HENRI. Why?
+
+LEOCADIE. I know why. Because of me. Nay, nay, say not 'twas because of
+me. Never in all my life have I been worth that.
+
+GRASSET (begins a speech). Citizens of Paris, we will celebrate our
+victory. Chance has led us on our way through the streets of Paris to
+this amiable host. It could not have fitted in more prettily. Nowhere
+can the cry "Vive la Liberte!" ring sweeter than over the corpse of a
+duke.
+
+VOICES. Vive la Liberte! Vive la Liberte!
+
+FRANCOIS. I think we might go. The people have gone mad. Let us go.
+
+ALBIN. Shall we leave the corpse here?
+
+SEVERINE. Vive la Liberte! Vive la Liberte!
+
+MARQUIS.  Are you mad?
+
+CITIZENS _and_ ACTORS. Vive la Liberte! Vive la Liberte!
+
+SEVERINE (leading the nobles to the exit). Rollin, wait you tonight
+outside my window. I will throw the key down like t'other night. We
+will pass a pretty hour--I feel quite pleasurably excited.
+
+SHOUTS. Vive la Liberte! Vive Henri! Vive Henri!
+
+LEBRET. Look at the fellows--they are running away from us.
+
+GRASSET. Let them for tonight--let them; they will not escape us.
+
+
+
+
+
+LITERATURE
+
+A COMEDY IN ONE ACT
+
+* * * * *
+
+CHARACTERS
+
+MARGARET
+
+CLEMENT
+
+GILBERT
+
+
+
+
+LITERATURE (1902)
+
+BY ARTHUR SCHNITZLER
+
+TRANSLATED BY A. I. DU P. COLEMAN, A.M.
+Professor of English Literature, College of the City of New York
+
+
+Scene, a decently but not richly furnished room, belonging to
+MARGARET. Table, small writing-desk, chairs, a cupboard, two windows up
+stage, doors right and left. At rise of curtain, CLEMENT is discovered
+leaning against mantelpiece, in a very elegant dark gray morning suit,
+smoking a cigarette and reading a newspaper. MARGARET stands by window,
+then walks up and down, finally comes behind CLEMENT and runs her hands
+through his hair. She seems rather restless. CLEMENT goes on reading,
+then seizes her hand and kisses it.
+
+
+CLEMENT. Horner is sure of his game--or rather my game. Waterloo five
+to one, Barometer twenty to one, Busserl seven to one, Attila sixteen
+to one.
+
+MARGARET. Sixteen to one!
+
+CLEMENT. Lord Byron six to four--that's us, darling!
+
+MARGARET. I know.
+
+CLEMENT. Besides, it's still six weeks to the race.
+
+MARGARET. Apparently he thinks it's a dead certainty.
+
+CLEMENT. The way she knows all the terms ...!
+
+MARGARET. I've known these terms longer than I have you. And is it
+quite settled that you'll ride Lord Byron yourself?
+
+CLEMENT. How can you ask? The Ladies' Plate! Whom else should I put up?
+If Horner didn't know I was going to ride him myself, he wouldn't be
+standing at six to four, you may be sure of that.
+
+MARGARET. I believe you. You're so handsome on horseback--simply fit to
+take one's breath away! I shall never forget how you looked at Munich,
+the day I got to know you ...
+
+CLEMENT. Don't remind me of it! I had awful luck that day. Windisch
+would never have won the race if he hadn't got ten lengths start. But
+this time--ah ...! And the next day we go away.
+
+MARGARET. In the evening.
+
+CLEMENT. Yes ... But why?
+
+MARGARET. Because in the morning we shall be getting married, I
+suppose.
+
+CLEMENT. Yes, yes, darling.
+
+MARGARET. I'm so happy! (Embraces him.) And where shall we go?
+
+CLEMENT. I thought we'd agreed about that--to my place in the country.
+
+MARGARET. Yes, later. But can't we have a little while on the Riviera
+first?
+
+CLEMENT. That'll depend on the Ladies' Plate; if I win it ...
+
+MARGARET. Dead certainty!
+
+CLEMENT. And anyhow, in April the Riviera really isn't the thing any
+more.
+
+MARGARET. Oh, that's it, is it?
+
+CLEMENT. Of course that's it, child. You've retained from your old life
+certain conceptions of what's the thing which are--you'll forgive me
+for saying it--just a little like those of the comic papers.
+
+MARGARET. Really, Clement ...
+
+CLEMENT. Oh well, we'll see. (Goes on reading.) Badegast fifteen to one
+...
+
+MARGARET. Badegast? He won't be in it.
+
+CLEMENT. How do you know that?
+
+MARGARET. Szigrati himself told me.
+
+CLEMENT. How was that? Where?
+
+MARGARET. Why, yesterday up at the Freudenau, while you were talking to
+Milner.
+
+CLEMENT. To my way of thinking, Szigrati isn't the right sort of
+company for you.
+
+MARGARET. Jealous?
+
+CLEMENT. Nonsense! Anyhow, after this I shall introduce you everywhere
+as my fiancee. (She kisses him.) Well, what did Szigrati tell you?
+
+MARGARET. That he wasn't going to enter Badegast for the Ladies' Plate.
+
+CLEMENT. Oh, you mustn't believe everything Szigrati tells you. He's
+spreading the report that Badegast won't run just in order that the
+odds may be longer.
+
+MARGARET. Why, that's just like speculation.
+
+CLEMENT. Well, don't you suppose we've got any speculators among us?
+For many men the whole thing is a business. Do you suppose a man like
+Szigrati has the slightest feeling for sport? He might just as well be
+on the stock exchange. But for the matter of that, as far as Badegast
+is concerned, people might well lay a hundred to one against him.
+
+MARGARET. Oh? I thought he looked splendid this morning.
+
+CLEMENT. Oh, she's seen Badegast too!
+
+MARGARET. To be sure--didn't Butters give him a gallop this morning
+after Busserl?
+
+CLEMENT. But Butters doesn't ride for Szigrati. That must have been a
+stable-boy. Well, anyhow, Badegast may look as splendid as you like, it
+makes no difference--he's no good. Ah, Margaret, with your brains
+you'll soon learn to distinguish real greatness from false. It's really
+incredible, the quickness with which you've already--what shall I
+say?--initiated yourself into all these things--it surpasses my boldest
+expectations.
+
+MARGARET (annoyed). Why does it surpass your expectations? You know
+very well that all these things are not so new to me. Some very good
+people used to visit my parents' house--Count Libowski and various
+others; and also at my husband's ...
+
+CLEMENT. Oh, of course--I know ... At bottom I've really got nothing
+against the cotton business.
+
+MARGARET. What has it to do with my personal views that my husband had
+a cotton factory? I always continued my education in my own fashion.
+But let's not talk any further about those days--they're far
+enough away, thank God!
+
+CLEMENT. But there are others that are nearer.
+
+MARGARET. To be sure. But what does that mean?
+
+CLEMENT. Oh, I only mean that in your Munich surroundings you can't
+have heard much of sporting matters, as far as I am able to judge.
+
+MARGARET. I wish you'd stop reproaching me with the surroundings in
+which you learned to know me.
+
+CLEMENT. Reproaching you? There can't be any question of that. But it
+has always been and still is incomprehensible to me how you got in with
+those people.
+
+MARGARET. You talk exactly as if they had been a gang of criminals!
+
+CLEMENT. Child, I give you my word, there were some of them that looked
+exactly like highway-robbers. What I can't understand is how you, with
+your well-developed sense of ... Well, I won't say anything more than
+your taste for ... cleanliness and nice perfumes ... could bear living
+among those people, sitting down at the table with them.
+
+MARGARET (smiling). Didn't you do it too?
+
+CLEMENT. I sat down near them--not with them. And you know it was for
+your sake, exclusively for your sake, that I did it. I won't deny that
+some of them improved on closer acquaintance; there were some really
+interesting people among them. And you mustn't get the idea, darling,
+that when I'm among ill-dressed people I have a feeling of conscious
+superiority. It's not that--but there's something in their whole
+bearing, in their very nature, that makes one nervous.
+
+MARGARET. Oh, I think that's rather a sweeping statement.
+
+CLEMENT. Now don't get offended with me, darling. I've just said there
+were some very interesting people among them. But how a _lady_ can feel
+at home with them for any length of time, I shall never be able to
+understand.
+
+MARGARET. You forget one thing, my dear Clement--that in a certain
+sense I belong to their circle, or did belong to it.
+
+CLEMENT. You--I beg your pardon!
+
+MARGARET. They were artists.
+
+CLEMENT. Ah good--we're back on that subject again!
+
+MARGARET. Yes--and that's the thing that always hurts me, that you
+can't feel with me there.
+
+CLEMENT. "Can't feel with you" ... I like that! I can feel with you all
+right--but you know what it was I always disliked about your
+scribbling, and you know that it's a very personal thing.
+
+MARGARET. Well, there are women who in my situation at that time would
+have done worse things than write poetry.
+
+CLEMENT. But such poetry! (He picks up a little book on the
+mantelpiece.) That's the whole question. I can assure you, every time I
+see it lying there, everytime I even think of it, I'm ashamed to think
+it's yours.
+
+MARGARET. You simply don't understand it. No, you mustn't be vexed with
+me; if you had just that one thing more, you'd be perfect--and that
+probably is not to be. But what is it that disturbs you in the verses?
+You surely know that I haven't experienced anything like that.
+
+CLEMENT. I hope not!
+
+MARGARET. You know it's all imagination.
+
+CLEMENT. But then I can't help asking myself ... how comes a lady to
+have such an imagination? (Reads.)
+
+      "So, drunk with bliss, I hang upon thy neck
+       And suck thy lips' drained sweetness ..."
+
+(Shakes his head.) How can a lady write such stuff, or allow it to be
+printed? Everybody who reads it must call up a picture of the authoress
+and the neck and ... the intoxication.
+
+MARGARET. When I give you my word that such a neck has never existed
+...
+
+CLEMENT. No, I can't believe that it has. Lucky for me that I
+can't--and ... for you too, Margaret. But how did you ever come by such
+fancies? All these glowing emotions can't possibly be referred to your
+first husband--you told me yourself he never understood you.
+
+MARGARET. Of course he didn't--that's why I got a divorce from him. You
+know all about that. I simply couldn't exist by the side of a man who
+had no ideas beyond eating and drinking and cotton.
+
+CLEMENT. Yes, I know. But all that's three years ago--and you wrote the
+verses later.
+
+MARGARET. Yes ... But just think of the position in which I found
+myself ...
+
+CLEMENT. What sort of a position? You hadn't any privations to put up
+with, had you? From that point of view your husband, to give him his
+due, behaved really very well. You weren't forced to earn your own
+living. And even if they gave you a hundred florins for a poem--they
+certainly wouldn't give more--you weren't obliged to write a book like
+that.
+
+MARGARET. Clement, dear, I didn't mean the word "position" in a
+material sense; I meant the position in which my soul was. Haven't you
+any conception ...? When you first met me, it was much better--to a
+certain extent I had found myself; but at first ...! I was so helpless
+and distracted. I did everything I could--I painted, I even gave
+English lessons in the boardinghouse where I was living. Just think
+what it was like, to be there as a divorced woman at twenty-two, to
+have no one ...
+
+CLEMENT. Why didn't you stay quietly in Vienna?
+
+MARGARET. Because I was not on good terms with my family. No one has
+really understood me. Oh, these people ...! Do you suppose any of my
+relations could conceive that one should want anything else from life
+except a husband and pretty clothes and a position in society!
+Oh, good heavens ...! If I had had a child, things might have been very
+different--and again they might not. I am a very complex creature. But
+after all, what have you to complain of! Wasn't my going to Munich the
+best thing I could have done? How else should I ever have known you!
+
+CLEMENT. That's all right--but you didn't go there with that purpose in
+view.
+
+MARGARET. I went because I wanted to be free--inwardly free. I wanted
+to see if I could make the thing go on my own resources. And you must
+admit that it looked as if I should be able to. I was on the road to
+becoming famous. (CLEMENT looks at her dubiously.) But I cared more for
+you than even for fame.
+
+CLEMENT (good-naturedly). And I'm a bit more dependable.
+
+MARGARET. I wasn't thinking about that. I loved you from the very first
+moment--that was the thing that counted. I had always dreamed of some
+one just like you; I had always known that no other sort of man could
+make me happy. Blood isn't a mere empty word; it's the only thing that
+counts. Do you know, that's why I always have a kind of idea ...
+
+CLEMENT. What?
+
+MARGARET. At least now and then the thought comes to me that there may
+be some noble blood in my veins too.
+
+CLEMENT. How so?
+
+MARGARET. Well, it would be a possibility.
+
+CLEMENT. I don't understand.
+
+MARGARET. I told you that there used to be aristocratic visitors at my
+parents' house ...
+
+CLEMENT. Well, and if there were ...?
+
+MARGARET. Who knows ...?
+
+CLEMENT. Oh, I say, Margaret! How can you talk of such things!
+
+MARGARET. Oh, when you're about one can never say what one thinks!
+That's the only thing the matter with you--if it weren't for that you'd
+be perfect. (She nestles up to him.) I do love you so tremendously.
+The very first evening, when you came into the cafe with Wangenheim,
+I knew it at once--knew that you were the man for me. You know you
+strode in among those people like a being from another world.
+
+CLEMENT. I hope so. And you, thank goodness, didn't look as if you
+belonged to that one. No ... when I remember that crowd--the Russian
+girl, for example, who looked like a student with her close-cropped
+hair, only that she didn't wear the cap ...
+
+MARGARET. She's a very talented artist, the Baranzewich.
+
+CLEMENT. I know--you showed her to me in the Pinakothek, standing on a
+ladder, copying pictures. And then the fellow with the Polish name ...
+
+MARGARET (begins to recall the name). Zrkd ...
+
+CLEMENT. Oh, don't bother--you won't need to pronounce it any more.
+Once he delivered a lecture in the cafe, when I was there, without
+seeming in the least embarrassed.
+
+MARGARET. He's a great genius--you may take my word for it.
+
+CLEMENT. Oh, of course--they're all great geniuses at the cafe. And
+then there was that insufferable cub ...
+
+MARGARET. Who?
+
+CLEMENT. Oh, you know the fellow I mean--the one that was always making
+tactless remarks about the aristocracy.
+
+MARGARET. Gilbert--you must mean Gilbert.
+
+CLEMENT. That's the one. Of course I don't undertake to defend
+everybody in my station of life; there are clowns and boobies in every
+rank, even among poets, I've been told. But it's unmannerly of the
+fellow, one of us being there ...
+
+MARGARET. Oh, that was his way.
+
+CLEMENT. I had to take myself sharply in hand, or I should have said
+something rude.
+
+[Illustration: GERHART HAUPTMANN]
+
+_Permission Albert Langen, Munich_
+FROM OLAF GULBRANSSON'S "FAMOUS CONTEMPORARIES"
+
+MARGARET. He was an interesting man for all that ... yes. And
+besides--he was fearfully jealous of you.
+
+CLEMENT. So I thought I noticed. (Pause.)
+
+MARGARET. Oh, they were all jealous of you. Naturally ... you were so
+different. And then they all paid court to me, just because they were
+all quite indifferent to me. You must have noticed that, too, didn't
+you? What are you laughing at?
+
+CLEMENT. It's comical ... If any one had prophesied to me that I should
+marry one of the crowd at the Cafe Maximilian! The ones I liked best
+were the two young painters--they were really just as if they'd stepped
+out of a farce at the theatre. You know, those two that looked so much
+alike, and shared everything together--I fancy even the Russian girl on
+the step-ladder.
+
+MARGARET. I never troubled my head about such things.
+
+CLEMENT. Those two must have been Jews, weren't they?
+
+MARGARET. What makes you think so?
+
+CLEMENT. Oh ... because they were always cutting jokes--and then their
+pronunciation ...
+
+MARGARET. I think you might dispense with anti-Semitic remarks.
+
+CLEMENT. Come, child, don't be so sensitive. I know you're half-Jewish.
+And really, you know, I've nothing against the Jews. I even had an
+instructor once, who put me through my Greek for my final exam. He was
+a Jew, if you like--and a splendid fellow. One meets all kinds of
+people ... And I'm not sorry to have had a chance to see your Munich
+circle--it's all a bit of experience.--But, you admit, I must have
+appeared to you as a kind of life-saver.
+
+MARGARET. Yes, indeed you did. Oh, Clement, Clement ...! (She embraces
+him.)
+
+CLEMENT. What are you laughing at?
+
+MARGARET. Oh, a thought struck me ...
+
+CLEMENT. Well ...?
+
+MARGARET. "So, drunk with bliss, I hang upon thy neck ..."
+
+Clement (annoyed). I don't know why you always have to spoil a fellow's
+illusions!
+
+MARGARET. Tell me honestly, Clement--wouldn't you be proud if your
+girl--if your wife--were a great, famous authoress?
+
+CLEMENT. I've told you already what I think. You may call me narrow if
+you like, but I assure you that if you began writing poems again, or,
+even more, having them printed, in which you gushed about me or told
+the world all about our happiness, there'd be an end of the marriage--I
+should be up and off.
+
+MARGARET. And you say that--you, a man who has had a dozen notorious
+affairs!
+
+CLEMENT. Notorious or not, my dear, _I_ never told anybody about them;
+I
+never rushed into print when a girl hung, drunk with bliss, about my
+neck, so that anybody could buy it for a gulden and a half. That's the
+thing, you see. I know that there are people who get their living that
+way--but I don't consider it the thing to do. I tell you it seems worse
+to me than for a girl to show herself off in tights as a Greek statue
+at the Ronacher. At least she keeps her mouth shut--but the things that
+one of your poets blabs out, well, they're past a joke!
+
+MARGARET (uneasily). Dearest, you forget that a poet doesn't always
+tell the truth. We tell things which we haven't experienced at all, but
+what we've dreamed, invented.
+
+CLEMENT. My dear Margaret, I wish you wouldn't always keep saying "we."
+Thank heaven, you're out of that sort of thing now!
+
+MARGARET. Who knows?
+
+CLEMENT. What do you mean by that?
+
+MARGARET (tenderly). Clem, I really must tell you?
+
+CLEMENT. Why, what's up now?
+
+MARGARET. Well, I'm not out of it--I haven't given up writing.
+
+CLEMENT. You mean by that ...?
+
+MARGARET. Just what I say--that I'm still writing, or at least that I
+have written something. Yes, this impulse is stronger than other people
+can conceive. I believe I should have gone to pieces if I hadn't
+written.
+
+CLEMENT. Well, what have you been writing this time?
+
+MARGARET. A novel. I had too much in my breast that wanted to be
+said--I should have choked if I hadn't got it out. I haven't said
+anything about it before--but of course I had to tell you sooner or
+later. Kuenigel is delighted with it.
+
+CLEMENT. Who is Kuenigel?
+
+MARGARET. My publisher.
+
+CLEMENT. Then somebody's read the thing already?
+
+MARGARET. Yes--and many more will read it. Clement, you'll be
+proud--believe me!
+
+CLEMENT. You're mistaken, my dear child. I think you have ... Well,
+what sort of things have you put into it?
+
+MARGARET. That's not so easy to explain in one word. The book contains,
+so to say, the best of what is to be said about things.
+
+CLEMENT. Brava!
+
+MARGARET. And so I am able to promise you that from this time on I
+shan't touch a pen. There's no more need.
+
+CLEMENT. Margaret, do you love me or not?
+
+MARGARET. How can you ask? I love you, and you alone. Much as I have
+seen, much as I have observed, I have felt nothing--I waited for you.
+
+CLEMENT. Then bring it here, your novel.
+
+MARGARET. Bring it here? How do you mean?
+
+CLEMENT. That you felt you had to write it--may be; but at least no one
+shall read it. Bring it here--we'll throw it in the fire.
+
+MARGARET. Clement ...!
+
+CLEMENT. I ask that much of you--I have a right to ask it.
+
+MARGARET. Oh, it isn't possible! It's ...
+
+CLEMENT. Not possible! When I wish it--when I explain that I make
+everything else dependent on it ... you understand me ... it may
+perhaps turn out to be possible.
+
+MARGARET. But, Clement, it's already printed.
+
+CLEMENT. What--printed?
+
+MARGARET. Yes ... in a few days it'll be for sale everywhere.
+
+CLEMENT. Margaret ...! And all this without a word to me ...
+
+MARGARET. I couldn't help it, Clement. When you see it, you'll forgive
+me--more than that, you'll be proud of me.
+
+CLEMENT. My dear girl, this is past a joke.
+
+MARGARET. Clement ...!
+
+CLEMENT. Good-by, Margaret.
+
+MARGARET. Clement ...! What does this mean? You are going?
+
+CLEMENT. As you see.
+
+MARGARET. When will you be back?
+
+CLEMENT. That I can't at the present moment say. Good-by.
+
+MARGARET. Clement ...! (Tries to restrain him.)
+
+CLEMENT. If you please ...                                  [Exit.]
+
+MARGARET (alone). Clement ...! What does this mean! He's leaving me?
+Oh, what shall I do?--Clement!--Can he mean that all is over ...?
+No--it's impossible! Clement! I must follow him ... (Looks about for
+her hat. The bell rings.) Ah ...he's coming back! He was only trying to
+frighten me ... Oh, my Clement! (Goes toward door. Enter GILBERT.)
+
+GILBERT (to maid, who has opened door for him). I told you I was sure
+she was at home. Good morning, Margaret.
+
+MARGARET (taken aback). You ...?
+
+GILBERT. Yes, I--Amandus Gilbert.
+
+MARGARET. I ... I'm so surprised ...
+
+GILBERT. That is evident. But there's no reason why you should be. I am
+only passing through--I'm on my way to Italy. And really I've come to
+see you just for the purpose of bringing you a copy of my latest work
+in remembrance of our old friendship. (Hands her the book. As she does
+not take it at once, he lays it on the table.)
+
+MARGARET. You're very kind ... thank you.
+
+GILBERT. Oh, not at all. You have a certain right to this book. So this
+is where you live ...
+
+MARGARET. Yes. But ...
+
+GILBERT. Oh, it's only temporary, I know. For furnished rooms they
+aren't bad. To be sure, these family portraits on the walls would drive
+me to distraction.
+
+MARGARET. My landlady is the widow of a general.
+
+GILBERT. Oh, you needn't apologize.
+
+MARGARET. Apologize ...? I wasn't thinking of it.
+
+GILBERT. It's very queer, when one comes to think ...
+
+MARGARET. To think of what?
+
+GILBERT. Why shouldn't I say it? Of the little room in the Steinsdorfer
+Strasse, with the balcony looking out on the Isar. Do you remember it,
+Margaret?
+
+MARGARET. Do you think you'd better call me Margaret ... now?
+
+GILBERT. As you please ... (Pause. Suddenly.) You know really you
+behaved very badly ...
+
+MARGARET. What?
+
+GILBERT. Or do you prefer that I should speak in paraphrases?
+Unfortunately I can't find any other expression for your conduct. And
+it was all so unnecessary--it would have been just as well to be honest
+with me. There was nothing to be gained by stealing away from Munich in
+the dead of night.
+
+MARGARET. It wasn't the dead of night--I left Munich by the express at
+8.30 A. M., in bright sunshine.
+
+GILBERT. Well, anyhow, you might just as well have said good-by,
+mightn't you? (Sits.)
+
+MARGARET. The Baron may come in at any moment.
+
+GILBERT. Well, what if he does? You surely haven't told him that once
+upon a time you lay in my arms and adored me. I am just an old
+acquaintance from Munich--and as such I have surely the right to call
+on you!
+
+MARGARET. Any other old acquaintance--not you.
+
+GILBERT. Why? You persist in misunderstanding me. I am really here only
+as an old acquaintance. Everything else is over--long ago over ...
+Well, you'll see there. (Points to his book.)
+
+MARGARET. What book is that?
+
+GILBERT. My latest novel.
+
+MARGARET. Oh, you're writing novels?
+
+GILBERT. To be sure.
+
+MARGARET. Since when have you risen to that?
+
+GILBERT. What do you mean?
+
+MARGARET. Oh, I remember that your real field was the small sketch, the
+observation of trivial daily occurrences ...
+
+GILBERT (excitedly). My field ...? My field is the world! I write what
+I choose to write--I don't allow any bounds to be set to my genius. I
+don't know what should prevent me from writing a novel.
+
+MARGARET. Well, the standard critics used to say ...
+
+GILBERT. What standard critic do you mean?
+
+MARGARET. I remember, for example, a feuilleton of Neumann's in the
+_Allgemeine_ ...
+
+GILBERT (angrily). Neumann is an idiot! I've given him a blow in the
+face.
+
+MARGARET. You've given him ...?
+
+GILBERT. Oh, not literally ... Margaret, you used to be as disgusted
+with him as I was--we agreed entirely in the view that Neumann was an
+idiot. "How can that mere cipher dare ..."--those were your very words,
+Margaret, "How can he dare to set limits to you--to strangle your next
+book before its birth?" That's what you said! And now you appeal to
+that charlatan!
+
+MARGARET. Please don't shout so. My landlady ...
+
+GILBERT. I can't bother with thinking about generals' widows when ray
+nerves are on edge.
+
+MARGARET, But what did I say? I really can't understand your being so
+sensitive.
+
+GILBERT. Sensitive? You call it being sensitive? You, who used to
+quiver from head to foot if the merest scribbler in the most obscure
+rag ventured to say a word of criticism!
+
+MARGARET. I don't remember that ever any disparaging words have been
+written about me.
+
+GILBERT. Oh ...? Well, you may be right. People are usually gallant to
+a pretty woman.
+
+MARGARET. Gallant ...? So they used to praise my poems only out of
+gallantry? And your own verdict ...
+
+GILBERT. Mine ...? I needn't take back anything that I said--I may
+confine myself to remarking that your few really beautiful poems were
+written in _our_ time.
+
+MARGARET. And so you think the credit of them is really yours?
+
+GILBERT. Would you have written them if I had never existed? Weren't
+they written to _me_?
+
+MARGARET. No.
+
+GILBERT. What? Not written to me? Oh, that's monstrous!
+
+MARGARET. No, they were not written to you.
+
+GILBERT. You take my breath away! Shall I remind you of the situations
+in which your finest verses had their origin?
+
+MARGARET. They were addressed to an ideal ... (GILBERT points to
+himself.) ... whose earthly representative you happened to be.
+
+GILBERT. Ha! That's fine! Where did you get it? Do you know what the
+French say in such circumstances? "That is literature!"
+
+MARGARET (imitating his tone). "That is _not_ literature!" That is the
+truth--the absolute truth. Or do you really believe that I meant you by
+the slender youth--that I sang hymns of praise to your locks? Even in
+those days you were ... well, not slender; and I shouldn't call this
+locks. (Passes her hand over his hair. Taking the opportunity, he
+seizes her hand and kisses it. In a softer voice.) What are you
+thinking of?
+
+GILBERT. You thought so in those days--or at least that was your name
+for it. Ah, what won't poets say for the sake of a smooth verse, a
+sounding rhyme? Didn't I call you once, in a sonnet, "my wise maiden?"
+And all the time you were neither ... No, I mustn't be unjust to
+you--you _were_ wise, confoundedly wise, revoltingly wise! And it has
+paid you. But one oughtn't to be surprised; you were always a snob at
+heart. Well, now you've got what you wanted. You caught your prey, your
+blue-blooded youth with the well-kept hands and the neglected brain,
+the splendid rider, fencer, shot, tennis-player, heart-breaker--Marlitt
+couldn't have invented anything more disgusting. What more do you want?
+Whether it will always content you, that knew something higher once, is
+of course another question. I can only say this one thing to you--in my
+eyes you are a renegade from love.
+
+MARGARET. You thought that up in the train.
+
+GILBERT. I thought it up just now--just a moment ago!
+
+MARGARET. Write it down, then--it's good.
+
+GILBERT. What was it that attracted you to a man of this sort? Nothing
+but the old instinct, the common instinct!
+
+MARGARET. I don't think _you've_ got any right ...
+
+GILBERT. My dear child, in the old days I had a soul too to offer you.
+
+MARGARET. Oh, at times, only this ...
+
+GILBERT. Don't try now to depreciate our relation--you won't succeed.
+It will remain always your most splendid experience.
+
+MARGARET. Bah ... when I think that I tolerated that rubbish for a
+whole year!
+
+GILBERT. Tolerated? You were entranced with it. Don't be ungrateful--
+I'm not. Miserably as you behaved at the last, for me it can't poison
+my memories. And anyhow, that was part of the whole.
+
+MARGARET. You don't mean it!
+
+GILBERT. Yes ... And now listen to this one statement I owe to you: at
+the very time when you were beginning to turn away from me, when you
+felt this drawing toward the stable--_la nostalgie de l'ecurie_--I was
+realizing that at heart I was done with you.
+
+MARGARET. No ...!
+
+GILBERT. It's quite characteristic, Margaret, that you hadn't the least
+perception of it. Yes, I was done with you. I simply didn't need you
+any more. What you could give me, you had given me; you had fulfilled
+your function. You knew in the depths of your heart, you knew
+unconsciously ... that your day was over. Our relation had achieved its
+purpose; I do not regret having loved you.
+
+MARGARET. _I_ do!
+
+GILBERT. That's splendid! In that one small observation lies, for the
+connoisseur, the whole deep distinction between the true artist and the
+dilettante. To you, Margaret, our relation is today nothing more than
+the recollection of a few mad nights, a few deep talks of an evening in
+the alleys of the English Garden; I have made of it a work of art.
+
+MARGARET. So have I.
+
+GILBERT. How so? What do you mean?
+
+MARGARET. What you've succeeded in doing, if you please, I've succeeded
+in doing too. I also have written a novel in which our former relations
+play a part, in which our former love--or what we called by that
+name--is preserved to eternity.
+
+GILBERT. If I were in your place, I wouldn't say anything about
+eternity until the second edition was out.
+
+MARGARET. Well, anyhow, it means something different when _I_ write a
+novel from what it does when you write one.
+
+GILBERT. Yes ...?
+
+MARGARET. You see, you're a free man--you haven't got to steal the
+hours in which you can be an artist; and you don't risk your whole
+future.
+
+GILBERT. Oh ... do you?
+
+MARGARET. I have! Half an hour ago Clement left me because I owned up
+to him that I had written a novel.
+
+GILBERT. Left you? For ever?
+
+MARGARET. I don't know. It is possible. He went away in anger. He is
+unaccountable--I can't tell beforehand what he will decide about me.
+
+GILBERT. Ah ... so he forbids you to write! He won't allow the girl he
+loves to make any use of her brains--oh, that's splendid! That's the
+fine flower of the nation! Ah ... yes. And you--aren't you ashamed to
+experience the same sensations in the arms of such an idiot that you
+once ...
+
+MARGARET. I forbid you to talk like that about him! You don't
+understand him.
+
+GILBERT. Ha ...!
+
+MARGARET. You don't know why he objects to my writing--it's only out of
+love. He feels that I live in a world which is closed to him; he
+blushes to see me exposing the innermost secrets of my soul to
+strangers. He wants me for himself, for himself alone. And that's why
+he rushed off ... no, not rushed; Clement isn't the sort of person who
+rushes off ...
+
+[Illustration: PAUL HEYSE]
+
+_Permission Albert Langen, Munich_
+From Olaf Gulbransson's "Famous Contemporaries"
+
+GILBERT. An admirable bit of observation. But at any rate he's gone. We
+needn't discuss the tempo of his departure. And he's gone because he
+won't allow you to yield to your desire to create.
+
+MARGARET. Oh, if he could only understand that! I could be the best,
+the truest, the noblest wife in the world, if the right man existed!
+
+GILBERT. You admit by that expression that he isn't the right one.
+
+MARGARET. I didn't say that!
+
+GILBERT. I want you to realize that he is simply enslaving you, ruining
+you, seeking to crush your personality out of sheer egoism. Oh, think
+of the Margaret you were in the old days! Think of the freedom you had
+to develop your ego when you loved me! Think of the choice spirits who
+were your associates then, of the disciples who gathered round me and
+were your disciples too. Don't you sometimes long to be back again?
+Don't you sometimes think of the little room with the balcony ... and
+the Isar flowing beneath the window ... (He seizes her hands and draws
+near to her.)
+
+MARGARET. O God ...!
+
+GILBERT. It can all be so again--it needn't be the Isar. I'll tell you
+what to do, Margaret. If he comes back, tell him that you have some
+important business to see to in Munich, and spend the time with me. Oh,
+Margaret, you're so lovely! We'll be happy once again, Margaret, as we
+used to be. You remember, don't you? (Very close to her.) "So, drunk
+with bliss, I hang upon thy neck ..."
+
+MARGARET (retreats quickly from him). Go--go! No... no ... go, I tell
+you! You know I don't love you any more.
+
+GILBERT. Oh, ... h'm ... Really? Well, then I can only beg your pardon.
+(Pause.) Good-by, Margaret ... good-by.
+
+MARGARET. Good-by.
+
+GILBERT. Good-by ... (Turns back once more.) Won't you at least, as a
+parting gift, let me have a copy of your novel? I gave you mine.
+
+MARGARET. It isn't out yet--it won't be till next week.
+
+GILBERT. If you don't mind telling me ... what sort of a story is it?
+
+MARGARET. It is the story of my life--of course disguised, so that no
+one can recognize me.
+
+GILBERT. Oh ...? How did you manage that?
+
+MARGARET. It was quite simple. The heroine, to begin with, is not a
+writer but a painter ...
+
+GILBERT. Very clever of you.
+
+MARGARET. Her first husband was not a cotton-manufacturer but a great
+speculator--and she deceived him not with a tenor ...
+
+GILBERT. Aha!
+
+MARGARET. What are you laughing at?
+
+GILBERT. So you deceived him with a tenor? That's something I didn't
+know.
+
+MARGARET. How do you know I did?
+
+GILBERT. Why, you've just informed me yourself.
+
+MARGARET. I ...? How? I said the heroine of my novel betrays her
+husband with a baritone.
+
+GILBERT. A basso would have been grander--a mezzo-soprano more piquant.
+
+MARGARET. Then she goes not to Munich but to Dresden, and there has a
+relation with a sculptor.
+
+GILBERT. Myself, I suppose ... disguised?
+
+MARGARET. Oh, very much disguised. The sculptor is young, handsome, and
+a genius. In spite of all that, she leaves him.
+
+GILBERT. For ...?
+
+MARGARET. Guess!
+
+GILBERT. Presumably a jockey.
+
+MARGARET. Silly!
+
+GILBERT. A count, then? A prince?
+
+MARGARET. No--an archduke!
+
+GILBERT (with a bow). Ah, you've spared no expense.
+
+MARGARET. Yes--an archduke, who abandons his position at court for her
+sake, marries her, and goes away with her to the Canary Islands.
+
+GILBERT. The Canary Islands! That's fine. And then ...?
+
+MARGARET. With their landing in ...
+
+GILBERT. ... the Canaries ...
+
+MARGARET.  ... the novel ends.
+
+GILBERT. Oh, I see ... I'm very curious--especially about the disguise.
+
+MARGARET. Even you would not be able to recognize me, if it were not
+...
+
+GILBERT. Well ...?
+
+MARGARET. If it were not that in the last chapter but two I've
+reproduced all our correspondence!
+
+GILBERT. What?
+
+MARGARET. Yes--all the letters you wrote me, and all those I wrote you
+are included.
+
+GILBERT. Excuse me ... but how did you get yours to me? I've got them
+all.
+
+MARGARET. Ah, but I kept the rough drafts of them all.
+
+GILBERT. Rough drafts?
+
+MARGARET. Yes.
+
+GILBERT. Rough drafts ...! Of those letters to me that seemed to be
+dashed off in quivering haste? "Just one word more, dearest, before I
+sleep--my eyes are closing already ..." and then, when your eyes had
+quite closed, you wrote me off a fair copy?
+
+MARGARET. Well, have you anything to complain of?
+
+GILBERT. I might have suspected it. I suppose I ought to congratulate
+myself that they weren't borrowed from a Lover's Manual. Oh, how
+everything crumbles around me ... the whole past is in ruins! She kept
+rough drafts of her letters!
+
+MARGARET. You ought to be glad. Who knows whether my letters to you
+will not be the only thing people will remember about you?
+
+GILBERT. But it's an extremely awkward situation for another reason ...
+
+MARGARET. What is that?
+
+GILBERT (points to his book). You see, they're all in there too.
+
+MARGARET. What? Where?
+
+GILBERT. In my novel.
+
+MARGARET. What's in your novel?
+
+GILBERT. Our letters ... yours and mine.
+
+MARGARET. How did you get yours, then, since I have them? Ah, you see
+you wrote rough drafts too!
+
+GILBERT. Oh no--I only made copies of them before I sent them to you. I
+didn't want them to be lost. There are some in the book that you never
+got; they were too good for you--you'd never have understood them.
+
+MARGARET. For heaven's sake, is that true? (Quickly turns over the
+leaves of GILBERT'S book.) Yes, it is! Oh, it's just as if we told the
+whole world that we had ... Oh, good gracious ...! (Excitedly turning
+over the leaves.) You don't mean to tell me you put in the one I wrote
+you the morning after the first night ...
+
+GILBERT. Of course I did--it was really brilliant.
+
+MARGARET. But that's too dreadful! It'll be a European scandal. And
+Clement ... heavens! I'm beginning to wish that he may not come back.
+I'm lost--and you with me! Wherever you go, he'll know how to find
+you--he'll shoot you down like a mad dog!
+
+GILBERT (puts his book in his pocket). A comparison in very poor taste.
+
+MARGARET. How came you by that insane idea? The letters of a woman whom
+you professed to love ...! It's easy to see that you are no gentleman.
+
+GILBERT. Oh, that's too amusing! Didn't you do exactly the same thing?
+
+MARGARET. I am a woman.
+
+GILBERT. You remember it now!
+
+MARGARET. It is true--I have nothing to boast of over you. We are
+worthy of each other. Yes ... Clement was right; we are worse than the
+women at the Ronacher who exhibit themselves in tights. Our most hidden
+bliss, our sorrows, all ... given to the world ... Bah! I loathe
+myself! Yes, we two belong together--Clement would be quite right to
+drive me from him. (Suddenly.) Come, Amandus!
+
+GILBERT. What are you going to do?
+
+MARGARET. I accept your proposal.
+
+GILBERT. Proposal? What proposal?
+
+MARGARET. I'll fly with you! (Looks about for her hat and cloak.)
+
+GILBERT. What are you thinking of?
+
+MARGARET (very much excited, puts her hat on with decision). It may
+all be as it was before--so you said just now. It needn't be the Isar
+... Well, I'm ready.
+
+GILBERT. But this is perfectly crazy! Fly with me ...? What would be
+the use of that? Didn't you say yourself that he would know how to find
+me wherever I went? If you were with me, he would find you too. It
+would be a great deal more sensible for each of us alone ...
+
+MARGARET. You wretch! Would you abandon me now? And a few minutes ago
+you were on your knees to me! Have you no shame?
+
+GILBERT. What is there to be ashamed of? I am an ailing, nervous man
+... I am subject to moods ... (MARGARET, at window, utters a loud cry.)
+What's the matter? What will the general's widow think of me?
+
+MARGARET. There he is! He's coming!
+
+GILBERT. In that case ...
+
+MARGARET. What--you're going?
+
+GILBERT. I didn't come hero with the intention of calling on the Baron.
+
+MARGARET. He'll meet you on the stairs--that would be worse still! Stay
+where you are--I refuse to be the only victim.
+
+GILBERT. Don't be a fool! Why are you trembling so? He can't have read
+both novels. Control yourself--take off your hat. Put your cloak away.
+(Helps her to take her things off.) If he finds you in this state,
+he'll be bound to suspect ...
+
+MARGARET. It's all one to me--as well now as later. I can't endure to
+wait for the horror--I'll tell him everything at once.
+
+GILBERT. Everything?
+
+MARGARET. Yes, as long as you're here. If I come out honestly and
+confess everything, he may forgive me.
+
+GILBERT. And what about me? I have better things to do in the world
+than to allow myself to be shot down like a mad dog by a jealous baron!
+(Bell rings.)
+
+MARGARET. There he is--there he is!
+
+GILBERT. You won't say anything!
+
+MARGARET. Yes, I mean to speak out.
+
+GILBERT. Oh, you will, will you? Have a care, then! I'll sell my skin
+dearly.
+
+MARGARET. What will you do?
+
+GILBERT. I'll hurl such truths into his very face as no baron ever
+heard before. (Enter CLEMENT; rather surprised at finding him, very
+cool and polite.)
+
+CLEMENT. Oh ... Herr Gilbert, if I'm not mistaken?
+
+GILBERT. Yes, Baron. Happening to pass this way on a journey to the
+south, I could not refrain from coming to pay my respects ...
+
+CLEMENT. Ah, I see ... (Pause.) I'm afraid I have interrupted a
+conversation--I should be sorry to do that. Please don't let me be in
+the way.
+
+GILBERT (to MARGARET). Ah ... what _were_ we talking about?
+
+CLEMENT. Perhaps I may be able to assist your memory. In Munich you
+always used to be talking about your books ...
+
+GILBERT. Ah ... precisely. As a matter of fact, I _was_ speaking of my
+new novel ...
+
+CLEMENT. Oh ... then please go on. It's quite possible to discuss
+literature with me--isn't it, Margaret? What is your novel? Naturalist!
+Symbolist? A chapter of experience?
+
+GILBERT. Oh, in a certain sense we all write but of things we have
+lived.
+
+CLEMENT. That's very interesting.
+
+GILBERT. Even when one writes a Nero, it's absolutely indispensable
+that at least in his heart he shall have set fire to Rome ...
+
+CLEMENT. Of course.
+
+GILBERT. Where else is one to get inspiration except from oneself?
+Where is one to find models except in the life around one? (MARGARET is
+growing more and more uneasy.)
+
+CLEMENT. The trouble is that the model's consent is so seldom asked.
+I'm bound to say, if I were a woman, I shouldn't thank a man for
+telling the world ... (Sharply.) In decent society we call that ...
+compromising a woman.
+
+GILBERT. I don't know whether I may include myself in "decent
+society"--but I call that doing honor to a woman.
+
+CLEMENT. Oh!
+
+GILBERT. The essential thing is to hit the mark. What, in the higher
+sense, does it matter whether a woman has been happy in one man's arms
+or another's?
+
+CLEMENT. Herr Gilbert, I will call your attention to the fact that you
+are speaking in the presence of a lady!
+
+GILBERT. I am speaking in the presence of an old comrade who may be
+supposed to share my views on these matters.
+
+CLEMENT. Oh ...!
+
+MARGARET (suddenly). Clement ...! (Throws herself at his feet.)
+Clement ...!
+
+Clement (taken aback). Really ... really, Margaret!
+
+MARGARET. Forgive me, Clement!
+
+CLEMENT. But--Margaret ...! (To GILBERT.) It is extremely unpleasant
+for me, Herr Gilbert ... Get up, Margaret--get up! It's all right.
+(MARGARET looks up at him inquiringly.) Yes--get up! (She rises.) It's
+all right--it's all settled. You may believe me when I tell you. All
+you've got to do is to telephone a single word to Kuenigel. I've
+arranged everything with him. We'll call it in--you agree to that?
+
+GILBERT. What are you going to call in, may I ask? Her novel?
+
+CLEMENT. Oh, you know about it? It would seem, Herr Gilbert, that the
+comradeship you speak of has been brought pretty well up to date.
+
+GILBERT. Yes ... There is really nothing for me to do but to ask your
+pardon. I am really in a very embarrassing position ...
+
+CLEMENT. I regret very much, Herr Gilbert, that you have been forced to
+be a spectator of a scene which I may almost describe as domestic ...
+
+GILBERT. Ah ... well, I do not wish to intrude any further--I will wish
+you good day. May I, as a tangible token that all misunderstanding
+between us has been cleared up, as a feeble evidence of my good wishes,
+present you, Baron, with a copy of my latest novel?
+
+CLEMENT. You are very kind, Herr Gilbert. I must own, to be sure, that
+German novels are not my pet weakness. Well, this is probably the last
+I shall read--or the next to the last ...
+
+MARGARET, GILBERT. The next to the last ...?
+
+CLEMENT. Yes.
+
+MARGARET. And the last to be ...?
+
+CLEMENT. Yours, my dear. (Takes a book from his pocket.) You see, I
+begged Kuenigel for a single copy, in order to present it to you--or
+rather to both of us. (MARGARET and GILBERT exchange distracted
+glances.)
+
+MARGARET. How good you are! (Takes the book from him.) Yes ... that's
+it!
+
+CLEMENT. We'll read it together.
+
+MARGARET. No, Clement ... no ... I can't let you be so good! There ...!
+(Throws the book into the fire.) I don't want to hear any more of all
+that.
+
+GILBERT (delighted). Oh, but ...!
+
+CLEMENT (goes toward the chimney). Margaret ...! What are you doing?
+
+MARGARET (stands in front of fire, throws her arms round CLEMENT).
+_Now_ will you believe that I love you?
+
+GILBERT (much relieved). I think I am rather in the way ... Good-by
+... good day, Baron ... (Aside.) To think that I should have to miss a
+climax like that ...! [Exit.]
+
+
+
+
+
+FRANK WEDEKIND
+
+* * * * * *
+
+THE COURT SINGER
+
+A Play in One Act
+
+
+DRAMATIS PERSONAE
+
+GERARDO, Imperial and Royal Court Singer
+
+MRS. HELEN MAROWA
+
+PROFESSOR DUeHRING
+
+MISS ISABEL COEURNE
+
+MULLER, hotel proprietor
+
+A valet
+
+An elevator boy
+
+A piano teacher
+
+
+[Illustration: FRANK WEDEKIND]
+
+
+
+
+
+THE COURT SINGER (1900)
+
+TRANSLATED BY ALBERT WILHELM BOESCHE, PH.D.
+Assistant Professor of German, Cornell University
+
+
+SCENERY
+
+
+Pretentiously furnished room in a hotel. Entrance from the corridor in
+the centre; also side doors. In front to the right a window with heavy
+closed curtains. To the left a grand piano. Behind the piano a Japanese
+screen covering the fireplace. Big open trunks are standing around.
+Enormous laurel wreaths on several upholstered armchairs. A mass of
+bouquets are distributed about the room, some of them being piled up on
+the piano.
+
+
+
+SCENE I
+
+        Valet de chambre. Immediately afterward an elevator boy.
+
+VALET (enters with an armful of clothes from the adjoining room, puts
+them into one of the big trunks. Knocks on the door; he straightens
+up). Well?--Come in!
+
+                         Enter an elevator boy.
+
+BOY. There's a woman downstairs wants to know if Mr. Gerardo is in.
+
+VALET. No, he isn't in. (Exit elevator boy. Valet goes into the
+adjoining room, returns with another armful of clothes. Knock on the
+door. He lays the clothes aside and walks to the door.) Well, who's
+this now? (Opens the door, receives three or four large bouquets, comes
+forward with them and lays them carefully on the piano, then resumes
+packing. Another knock, he goes to the door, opens it, receives a batch
+of letters in all varieties of colors, comes forward and examines the
+addresses.) "Mr. Gerardo."--"Courtsinger Gerardo."--"Monsieur
+Gerardo."--"Gerardo Esq."--"To the Most Honorable Courtsinger
+Gerardo"--that's from the chambermaid, sure!--"Mr. Gerardo, Imperial
+and royal Courtsinger." (Puts the letters on a tray, then continues
+packing.)
+
+
+
+
+
+                                Scene II
+
+                 GERARDO, valet, later the elevator Boy.
+
+GERARDO. What, aren't you through with packing yet?--How long does it
+take you to pack?
+
+VALET. I'll be through in a minute, Sir.
+
+GERARDO. Be quick about it. I have some work left to do before I go.
+Come, let me have a look at things. (He reaches into one of the
+trunks.) Great Heavens, man! Don't you know how to fold a pair of
+trousers? (Takes out the garment in question.) Do you call that
+packing? Well I _do_ believe, I might teach you a thing or two, though,
+surely, you ought to be better at this than I! Look here, that's the
+way to take hold of a pair of trousers. Then hook them here. Next, turn
+to these two buttons. Watch closely now, it all depends on these two
+buttons; and then--pull--the trousers straight. There you are! Now
+finish up by folding them once--like this. That's the way. They won't
+lose their shape now in a hundred years!
+
+VALET (quite reverent, with eyes cast down). Perhaps Mr. Gerardo used
+to be a tailor once.
+
+GERARDO. What? A tailor, I? Not quite. Simpleton! (Handing the trousers
+to him.) There, put them back, but be quick about it.
+
+VALET (bending down over the trunk). There's another batch of letters
+for you, Sir.
+
+GERARDO (walking over to the left). Yes, I've seen them.
+
+VALET. And flowers!
+
+GERARDO. Yes, yes. (Takes the letters from the tray and throws himself
+into an armchair in front of the piano.) Now, for pity's sake, hurry up
+and get through. (Valet disappears in adjoining room. Gerardo
+opens the letters, glances through them with a radiant smile, crumples
+them up and throws them under his chair. From one of them he reads as
+follows:) "... To belong to you who to me are a god! To make me
+infinitely happy for the rest of my life, how little that would cost
+you! Consider, please, ..." (To himself.) Great Heavens! Here I am
+to sing Tristan in Brussels tomorrow night and don't remember a
+single note!--Not a single note! (Looking at his watch.) Half-past
+three.--Forty-five minutes left. (A knock.) Come i--n!
+
+BOY (lugging in a basket of champagne). I was told to put this in
+Mr....
+
+GERARDO. _Who_ told you?--Who is downstairs?
+
+BOY. I was told to put this in Mr. Gerardo's room.
+
+GERARDO (rising). What is it? (Relieves him of the basket.) Thank you.
+(Exit elevator boy. GERARDO lugs basket forward.) For mercy's sake! Now
+what am I to do with this! (Reads the name on the giver's card and
+calls out.) George!
+
+VALET (enters from the adjoining room with another armful of clothes).
+It's the last lot. Sir. (Distributes them among the various trunks
+which he then closes.)
+
+GERARDO. Very well.--I am at home to no one!
+
+VALET. I know. Sir.
+
+GERARDO. To no one, I say!
+
+VALET. You may depend on me, Sir. (Handing him the trunk keys.) Here
+are the keys, Mr. Gerardo.
+
+GERARDO (putting the keys in his pocket). To _no one!_
+
+VALET. The trunks will be taken down at once. (Starts to leave the
+room.)
+
+GERARDO. Wait a moment ...
+
+VALET (returning). Yes, Sir?
+
+GERARDO (gives him a tip). What I said was: to _no one!_
+
+VALET. Thank you very much indeed. Sir. [Exit.]
+
+
+
+
+                               SCENE III
+
+GERARDO (alone, looking at his watch). Half an hour left. (Picks out
+the piano arrangement of "Tristan and Isolde" from under the flowers on
+the piano and, walking up and down, sings mezza voce:)
+
+           "Isolde! Beloved! Art thou mine?
+            Once more my own? May I embrace thee?"
+
+(Clears his throat, strikes two thirds on the piano and begins anew:)
+
+           "Isolde! Beloved! Art thou mine?
+            Once more my own? ..."
+
+(Clears his throat.) The air is simply infernal in here! (Sings:)
+
+           "Isolde! Beloved! ..."
+
+I feel as if there were a leaden weight on me! I must have a breath of
+fresh air, quick! (Goes to the window and tries to find the cord by
+which to draw the curtain aside.) Where can that thing be?--On the
+other side. There! (Draws the curtain aside quickly and seeing MISS
+COEURNE before him, throws back his head in a sort of mild despair.)
+Goodness gracious!
+
+
+
+                                Scene IV
+
+                         MISS COEURNE. GERARDO
+
+MISS COEURNE (sixteen years old, short skirts, loose-hanging light
+hair. Has a bouquet of red roses in her hand, speaks with an English
+accent, looks at GERARDO with a full and frank expression). Please, do
+not send me away.
+
+GERARDO. What else am I to do with you? Heaven knows _I_ did not ask
+you to come here. It would be wrong of you to take it amiss but, you
+see, I have to sing tomorrow night. I must tell you frankly. I thought
+I should have this half hour to myself. Only just now I've given
+special and strictest orders not to admit anybody, no matter who it
+might be.
+
+MISS COEURNE (stepping forward). Do not send me away. I heard you as
+Tannhaeuser last night and came here merely to offer you these roses.
+
+GERARDO. Yes?--Well?--And--?
+
+MISS COEURNE. And myself!--I hope I am saying it right.
+
+GERARDO (grasps the back of a chair; after a short struggle with
+himself he shakes his head). Who are you?
+
+MISS COEURNE. Miss Coeurne.
+
+GERARDO. I see.
+
+MISS COEURNE. I am still quite a simple girl.
+
+GERARDO. I know. But come here, Miss Coeurne. (Sits down in an armchair
+and draws her up in front of him.) Let me have a serious talk with you,
+such as you have never heard before in your young life but seem to need
+very much at the present time. Do you think because I am an artist--now
+don't misunderstand me, please. You are--how old are you?
+
+MISS COEURNE. Twenty-two.
+
+GERARDO. You are sixteen, at most seventeen. You make yourself several
+years older in order to appear more attractive to me. Well now? You are
+still quite simple, to be sure. But, as I was going to say, my being an
+artist certainly does not impose upon me the duty to help you to get
+over being simple! Don't take it amiss. Well? Why are you looking away
+now?
+
+MISS COEURNE. I told you I was still very simple because that's the way
+they like to have young girls here in Germany.
+
+GERARDO. I am not a German, my child, but at the same time ...
+
+MISS COEURNE. Well?--I am not so simple, after all.
+
+GERARDO. I am no children's nurse either! That's not the right word, I
+feel it, for--you are no longer a child, unfortunately?
+
+MISS COEURNE. No!--Unfortunately!--Not now.
+
+GERARDO. But you see, my dear young woman--you have your games of
+tennis, you have your skating club, you may go bicycling or take
+mountain trips with your lady friends. You may enjoy yourself swimming
+or riding on horseback or dancing whichever you like. I am sure you
+have everything a young girl could wish for. Then why do you come to
+me?
+
+MISS COEURNE. Because I hate all of that and because it's such a bore!
+
+GERARDO. You are right; I won't dispute what you say. Indeed, you
+embarrass me. I myself, I must frankly confess, see something else in
+life. But, my child, I am a man and I am thirty-six years old. The time
+will come when you may likewise lay claim to a deeper and fuller life.
+Get two years older and, I am sure, the right one will turn up for you.
+Then it will not be necessary for you to come unasked to me, that is to
+say to one whom you do not know any more intimately than--all Europe
+knows him--and to conceal yourself behind the window curtains in order
+to get a taste of the higher life. (Pause. MISS COEURNE breathes
+heavily.) Well?--Let me thank you cordially and sincerely for your
+roses! (Presses her hand.) Will you be satisfied with that for today?
+
+MISS COEURNE. As old as I am, I never yet gave a thought to a man until
+I saw you on the stage yesterday as Tannhaeuser.--And I will promise
+you ...
+
+GERARDO. Oh please, child, don't promise me anything. How can a promise
+you might make at the present time be of any value to me? The
+disadvantage of it would be entirely yours. You see, my child, the most
+loving father could not speak more lovingly to you than I. Thank a kind
+providence for not having been delivered into some other artist's hands
+by your indiscretion. (Presses her hand.) Let it be a lesson to you for
+the rest of your life and be satisfied with that.
+
+MISS COEURNE (covering her face with her handkerchief, in an undertone,
+without tears). Am I so ugly?
+
+GERARDO. Ugly?--How does that make you ugly?--You are young and
+indiscreet! (Rises nervously, walks over to the left, returns, puts his
+arm around her and takes her hand.) Listen to me, my child! If I have
+to sing, if I am an artist by profession, how does that make you ugly?
+What an unreasonable inference: I am ugly, I am ugly. And yet it is
+the same wherever I go. Think of it! When I've only a few minutes left
+to catch the train, and tomorrow night it's Tristan ...! Do not
+misunderstand me, but surely, my being a singer does not make it
+incumbent upon me to affirm the charm of your youthfulness and beauty.
+Does that make you ugly, my child? Make your appeal to other people who
+are not as hard-pressed as I am. Do you really think it would ever
+occur to me to, say such a thing to you?
+
+MISS COEURNE. To say it? No. But to think it.
+
+GERARDO. Now, Miss Coeurne, let us be reasonable! Do not inquire into
+my thoughts about you. Really, at this moment they do not concern us in
+the least. I assure you, and please take my word for it as an artist,
+for I could not be more honest to you: I am unfortunately so
+constituted that I simply cannot bear to see any creature whatsoever
+suffer, not even the meanest. (Looking at her critically, but with
+dignity.) And for you, my child, I am sincerely sorry; I may say that
+much, after you have so far fought down your maidenly pride as to wait
+for me here. But please, Miss Coeurne, do take into account the life I
+have to lead. Just think of the mere question of time! At least two
+hundred, may be as many as three hundred charmingly attractive young
+girls of your age saw me on the stage yesterday in the part of
+Tannhaeuser. Suppose now every one of these young girls expected as much
+of me as you do. What in the world would become of my singing? What
+would become of my voice? Just how could I keep up my profession?
+(She sinks into a chair, covers her face and weeps; he sits down
+on the armrest beside her, bends over her, sympathetically.) It's
+really sinful of you, my child, to shed tears over being so young. Your
+whole life is still before you. Be patient. The thought of your youth
+should make you happy. How glad the rest of us would be--even if one
+lives the life of an artist like myself--to start over again from the
+very beginning. Please be not ungrateful for hearing me yesterday.
+Spare me this disconcerting sequel. Am I to blame for your falling in
+love with me? You are only one of many. My manager insists on my
+assuming this august manner on the stage. You see there's more to it
+than mere singing. I simply have to play the part of Tannhaeuser that
+way. Now be good, my child. I have only a few moments left. Let me use
+them in preparing for tomorrow.
+
+MISS COEURNE (rises, dries her tears), I cannot imagine another girl
+acting like me.
+
+GERARDO (man[oe]uvering her to the door). Quite right, my child ...
+
+MISS COEURNE (gently resisting him, sobbing). At least not--if ...
+
+GERARDO. If my valet were not guarding the door downstairs.
+
+MISS COEURNE (as above). --if--
+
+GERARDO. If she is as pretty and charmingly young as you.
+
+MISS COEURNE (as above). --if--
+
+GERARDO. If she has heard me just once as Tannhaeuser.
+
+MISS COEURNE (sobbing again violently). If she is as respectable as I!
+
+GERARDO (pointing to the grand piano). Now, before you leave, take a
+look at those flowers. Let it be a warning to you, if you should ever
+feel tempted again to fall in love with a singer. Do you see, how fresh
+they are, all of them! I just let them fade and go to waste or give
+them to the porter. Then look at these letters. (Takes a
+handful from the tray.) I know none of the ladies who have written
+them; don't you worry. I leave them to their fate. What else can I do?
+But, you may believe me, every one of your charming young friends is
+among them.
+
+MISS COEURNE (pleadingly). Well, I won't hide myself a second time.--I
+won't do it again ...
+
+GERARDO. Really, my child, I haven't any more time. It's too bad, but I
+am about to leave town. I told you, did I not, that I am sorry for you?
+I really am, but my train is scheduled to leave in twenty-five minutes.
+So what more do you want?
+
+MISS COEURNE. A kiss.
+
+GERARDO (standing up stiff and straight). From me?
+
+MISS COEURNE. Yes.
+
+GERARDO (putting his arm around her, dignified, but sympathetic). You
+are desecrating art, my child. Do you really think it's for this that
+they are willing to pay my weight in gold? Get older first and learn to
+respect more highly the chaste goddess to whom I devote my life and
+labor.--You don't know whom I mean?
+
+MISS COEURNE. No.
+
+GERARDO. That's what I thought. Now, in order not to be inhuman, I will
+present you with my picture. Will you give me your word that after that
+you will leave me?
+
+MISS COEURNE. Yes.
+
+GERARDO. Very well, then. (Walks back of the table to sign one of his
+photographs.) Why don't you try to interest yourself in the operas
+themselves rather than in the men on the stage? You may find it to be a
+higher enjoyment, after all.
+
+MISS COEURNE (in an undertone). I am too young.
+
+GERARDO. Sacrifice yourself to music! (Comes forward and hands her the
+photograph.) You are too young, but--may be you'll succeed in spite of
+that. Do not see in me the famous singer, but the unworthy
+tool in the hands of a master. Look around among the married women you
+know; all of them Wagnerians! Study his librettos, learn to feel each
+leitmotiv. That will keep you from committing indiscretions.
+
+MISS COEURNE. I thank you.
+
+GERARDO (escorts her out into the hall, rings for the valet in passing
+through the door. Returns and picks up again the piano arrangement of
+"Tristan and Isolde;" walks to the right). Come in!
+
+
+
+                                Scene V
+
+                            GERARDO. VALET.
+
+VALET (panting and breathless). Yes, Sir? Your orders?
+
+GERARDO. Are you standing at the door downstairs?
+
+VALET. Not at present. Sir.
+
+GERARDO. I can see as much--simpleton! But you won't let anybody come
+up here, will you?
+
+VALET. There were three ladies inquiring about you.
+
+GERARDO. Don't you dare admit anybody, whatever they tell you.
+
+VALET. Then there's another batch of letters.
+
+GERARDO. Yes, never mind. (Valet puts letter on tray.) Don't you dare
+admit anybody!
+
+VALET (at the door). Very well. Sir.
+
+GERARDO. Not even, if they should offer you an annuity for life.
+
+VALET. Very well, Sir.                         [Exit.]
+
+
+
+                                Scene VI
+
+                                GERARDO.
+
+GERARDO (alone, tries to sing). "Isolde! Beloved! Art thou ..." I
+should think these women might get tired of me _some_ time! But, then,
+the world holds so many of them! And I am only one. Well, everybody
+bears his yoke and has to bear it! (Walks to the piano and strikes two
+thirds.)
+
+[Illustration: SIEGFRIED WAGNER]
+
+FROM OLAF GULBRANSSON'S "FAMOUS CONTEMPORARIES"
+Permission Albert Langen, Munich
+
+
+
+                               SCENE VII
+
+           GERARDO. PROFESSOR DUeHRING. Later a piano teacher.
+
+Professor Duehring, seventy years old, dressed in black, long, white
+beard, his aquiline nose tinged with red, suggesting fondness for wine,
+gold ringed spectacles, frock coat and silk hat, carries the score of
+an opera under his arm, enters without knocking.
+
+GERARDO (turning around). What do you want?
+
+DUeHRING. Mr. Gerardo, I--I have ...
+
+GERARDO. How did you get in here?
+
+DUeHRING. I've been watching my chance for two hours down on the
+sidewalk, Mr. Gerardo.
+
+GERARDO (recollecting). Let me see, you are ...
+
+DUeHRING. For fully two hours I've been standing down on the sidewalk.
+What else was I to do?
+
+GERARDO. But, my dear sir, I haven't the time.
+
+DUeHRING. I don't mean to play the whole opera to you now.
+
+GERARDO. I haven't the time left ...
+
+DUeHRING. You haven't the time left! How about _me_! You are thirty. You
+have attained success in your art. You can continue following your bent
+through the whole long life that still is before you. I will ask you to
+listen only to your own part in my opera. You promised to do so when
+you came to town.
+
+GERARDO. It's to no purpose, Sir. I am not my own master ...
+
+DUeHRING. Please, Mr. Gerardo! Please, please! Look at me, here's an old
+man lying before you on his knees who has known only one thing in life:
+his art. I know what you would reply to me, you, a young man who has
+been carried aloft on the wings of angels, one might say. "If you would
+have the goddess of Fortune find you, don't hunt for her." Do you
+imagine, when one has cherished but a single hope for fifty years, one
+could possibly have overlooked any means whatsoever within human reach,
+to attain that hope? First one turns cynical and then serious again.
+One tries to get there by scheming, one is once more a light hearted
+child, and again an earnest seeker after one's artistic ideals--not for
+ambition's sake, not for conviction's sake, cannot help it, because
+it's a curse which has been laid on one by a cruel omnipotence to which
+the life-long agony of its creature is a pleasing offering! A pleasing
+offering, I say, for we whom art enthralls rebel against our lot as
+little as does the slave of a woman against his seductress, as little
+as does the dog against his master who whips him.
+
+GERARDO (in despair). I am powerless ...
+
+DUeHRING. Let me tell you, my dear Sir, the tyrants of antiquity who, as
+you know, would have their slaves tortured to death just for a pleasant
+pastime, they were mere children, they were harmless innocent little
+angels as compared with that divine providence which thought it was
+creating those tyrants in its own image.
+
+GERARDO. While I quite comprehend you ...
+
+DUeHRING (while GERARDO vainly tries several times to interrupt him; he
+follows GERARDO through the room and repeatedly blocks his attempt to
+reach the door). You do not comprehend me. You cannot comprehend me.
+How could you have had the time to comprehend me! Fifty years of
+fruitless labor, Sir, that is more than you can comprehend, if one has
+been a favorite child of fortune like you. But I'll try to make you
+realize it approximately, at least. You see, I am too old to take my
+own life. The proper time to do that is at twenty-five, and I have
+missed my opportunity. I must live out my life now, my hand has grown
+too unsteady. But would you know what an old man like me will do! You
+ask me how I got in here. You have put your valet on guard at the hotel
+entrance. I did not try to slip by him, I've known for fifty years what
+he will tell me: the gentleman is not in. But with my score here I
+stood at the corner of the building for two hours in the rain until he
+went up for a moment. Then I followed him, and while you were speaking
+to him in here, I concealed myself on the staircase--I need not tell
+you where. And then, when he had gone down again, I entered here.
+That's what a man of my years will do to reach one who might be his
+grandson. Please, Sir, please, let not this moment be without result
+for me even though it cost you a day, even though it cost you a whole
+week. It will be to your advantage as well as mine. A week ago, when
+you came to town on your starring tour, you promised me to let me play
+my opera to you; and since that time I've called every day. You either
+were rehearsing or had lady visitors. And now you are about to depart,
+which would mean that an old man like me in vain spent a whole week
+standing around in the street! And all it would cost you is a single
+word: "I will sing your Hermann." Then my opera will be performed. Then
+you will thank God for my intrusiveness, for--you sing "Siegfried,"
+you sing "Florestan"--but you haven't in your repertory a more grateful
+part, one more adapted to a singer of your resources than that of
+"Hermann." Then with loud acclaim they will draw me out of my
+obscurity, and perhaps I'll have the opportunity of giving to the world
+at least a part of what I might have given, if it had not cast me out
+like a leper. But the great material gain resulting from my long
+struggle will not be mine, you alone will ...
+
+GERARDO (having given up the attempt to stop his visitor, leans on the
+mantle piece of the fireplace. While drumming on the marble slab with
+his right hand, something behind the screen seems to excite his
+curiosity. He investigates, then suddenly reaches out and draws a piano
+teacher forward, dressed in gray. Holding her by the collar, with
+outstretched arm, he thus leads her forward in front of the piano and
+out through the centre door. Having locked the door, to DUeHRING).
+Please, don't let this interrupt you!
+
+DUeHRING. You see, there are performed ten new operas every year which
+become impossible after the second night, and every ten years a good
+one which lives. Now this opera of mine _is_ a good one, it is well
+adapted for the stage, it is sure to be a financial success. If you let
+me, I'll show you letters from Liszt, from Wagner, from Rubinstein, in
+which these men look up to me as to a superior being. And why has it
+remained unperformed to the present day? Because I don't stand in the
+public market-place. I tell you, it's like what will happen to a young
+girl who for three years has been the reigning beauty at all dancing
+parties, but has forgotten to become engaged. One has to give way to
+another generation. Besides you know our court theatres. They are
+fortresses, I can assure you, compared with which the armor-plate of
+Metz and Rastadt is the merest tin. They would rather dig out ten
+corpses than admit a single living composer. And it's in getting over
+these ramparts that I ask you to lend me a hand. You are inside at
+thirty, I am outside at seventy. It would cost you just a word to let
+me in, while I am vainly battering my head against stone and steel.
+That's why I have come to you (_very passionately_) and if you are not
+absolutely inhuman, if your success has not killed off in you the very
+last trace of sympathy with striving fellow-artists, you cannot refuse
+my request.
+
+GERARDO. I will let you know a week from now. I will play your opera
+through. Let me take it along.
+
+DUeHRING. I am too old for that, Mr. Gerardo. Long before a week, as
+measured by your chronology, has elapsed, I shall lie beneath the sod.
+I've been put off that way too often. (Bringing down his fist on the
+piano.) Hie Rhodus! Hie salta! It's five years ago now that I called on
+the manager of the Royal Theatre, Count Zedlitz: "What have
+you got for me, my dearest professor?" "An opera, your Excellency."
+"Indeed, you have written a new opera? Splendid!" "Your Excellency,
+I have not written a new opera. It's an old opera. I wrote it
+thirteen years ago."--It wasn't this one here, it was my _Maria de
+Medicis_.--"But why don't you let us have it then? Why, we are just
+hunting for new works. We simply cannot shuffle through any longer,
+turning the old ones over and over. My secretary is traveling from one
+theatre to another, without finding anything, and you, who live right
+here, withhold your production from us in proud disdain of the common
+crowd!" "Your Excellency," I replied, "I am not withholding anything
+from anybody. Heaven is my witness. I submitted this opera to your
+predecessor, Count Tornow, thirteen years ago and had to go to his
+office myself three years later to get it back. Nobody had as much as
+looked at it." "Now just leave it here, my dear professor. A week from
+now at the latest you'll have our answer." And in saying this he pulls
+the score from under my arm and claps it into the lowest drawer and
+that's where it is lying today! That's where it is lying today, Sir!
+But what would I do, child that I am in spite of my white hair, but go
+home and tell my Gretchen: they need a new opera here at our theatre.
+Mine is practically accepted now! A year later death took her away from
+me,--and she was the one friend left who had been with me when I began
+to work on it. (Sobs and dries his tears.)
+
+GERARDO. Sir, I cannot but feel the deepest sympathy for you ...
+
+DUeHRING. That's where it is lying today.
+
+GERARDO. May be you actually are a child in spite of your white hair. I
+must confess I doubt if I can help you.
+
+DUeHRING (in violent rage). So you can endure the sight of an old man
+dragging himself along beside you on the same path on which
+your victorious flight carries you to the sun! Who knows but tomorrow
+you will lie on your knees before me and boast of knowing me, and today
+you see in the agonized groan of a creative artist nothing but a sad
+mistake and you cannot wring from your greed of gold the half hour it
+would take to rid me of the chains that are crushing me.
+
+GERARDO. Sit down and play, sir! Come!
+
+DUeHRING (sits down at the piano, opens his score, and strikes two
+chords). No, that's not the way it reads. I have to get back into it
+first. (Strikes three chords, then turns several leaves.) That is the
+overture; I won't detain you with it.--Now here comes the first scene
+... (Strikes two chords.) Here you stand at the deathbed of your
+father. Just a moment until I get my bearings ...
+
+GERARDO. Perhaps all you say is quite true. But at any rate you
+misjudge my position.
+
+DUeHRING (plays a confused orchestration and sings in a deep grating
+voice).
+
+      Alas, now death has come to the castle
+      As it is raging in our huts.
+      It moweth down both great and small ...
+
+(Interrupting himself.) No, that's the chorus. I had thought of playing
+it to you because it's very good. Now comes your turn. (Resumes the
+accompaniment and sings hoarsely:)
+
+      My life unto this fateful hour
+      Was dim and gray like the breaking morn.
+      Tortured by demons, I roamed about.
+      My eye is tearless!
+      Oh let me kiss once more thy hoary hair!
+
+(Interrupting himself.) Well? (Since GERARDO does not answer, with
+violent irritation.) These anaemic, threadbare, plodding, would-be
+geniuses who are puffing themselves up today! Whose technique is so
+sublime, it makes them sterile, impotent at twenty! Meistersingers,
+philistines, that's what they are, whether they are starving or
+basking in the public favor. Fellows that go to the cookbook rather
+than to nature to satisfy their hunger. They think, indeed, they've
+learned her secret--naivete! Ha--ha!--Tastes like plated brass!--They
+make art their starting-point rather than life! Write music for
+musicians rather than for yearning mankind! Blind, benighted
+ephemerons! Senile youths whom the sun of Wagner has dried and
+shriveled up! (Seizing GERARDO'S arm violently.) To judge a man's
+creative genius, do you know where I take hold of him first?
+
+GERARDO (stepping back). Well?
+
+DUeHRING (putting his right hand around his own left wrist and feeling
+his pulse). This is where I take hold of him first of all. Do you see,
+right here! And if he hasn't anything here--please, let me go on
+playing. (Turning more leaves.) I won't go through the whole monologue.
+We shouldn't have the time anyway. Now here, scene three, end of the
+first act. That's where the farm laborer's child, who had grown up with
+you in the castle, suddenly enters. Now listen--after you have taken
+leave of your highly revered mother. (Rapidly reading the text:) Demon,
+who art thou? May one enter? (To GERARDO.) Those words are hers, you
+understand. (Continues reading.) Barbette! Yes, it is I. Is your father
+dead? There he lies! (Plays and sings in the highest falsetto.)
+
+      Full often did he stroke my curls.
+      Wherever he met me he was kind to me.
+      Alas, this is death.
+      His eyes are closed ...
+
+(Interrupting himself, looking at GERARDO with self-assurance.) Now
+isn't that music?
+
+GERARDO. Possibly.
+
+DUeHRING (striking two chords). Isn't that something more than the
+_Trumpeter of Saekkingen_?
+
+GERARDO, Your confidence compels me to be candid. I cannot imagine how
+I could use my influence with any benefit to you.
+
+DUeHRING. In other words you mean to tell me that it is antiquated
+music.
+
+GERARDO. I would much rather call it modern music.
+
+DUeHRING. Or modern music. Pardon my slip of the tongue, Mr. Gerardo.
+It's what will happen when one gets old. You see, one manager will
+write me: We cannot use your opera, it is antiquated music--and another
+writes: We cannot use it because it is modern music. In plain language
+both mean the same: We don't want any opera of yours, because as a
+composer _you don't count_.
+
+GERARDO. I am a Wagner singer, Sir, I am no critic. If you want to see
+your opera performed, you had better apply to those who are paid for
+knowing what is good and what is bad. My judgment in such matters,
+don't doubt that for a moment, Sir, counts the less, the more I am
+recognized and esteemed as a singer.
+
+DUeHRING. My dear Mr. Gerardo, you may rest assured, I don't believe in
+your judgment either. What do I care for your judgment! I think I know
+what to expect of a tenor. I am playing this opera to you to make you
+say: I'll sing your Hermann! I'll sing your Hermann!
+
+GERARDO. It won't avail you anything. I must do what I am asked to do;
+I am bound by my contracts. You can afford to stand down in the street
+for a week. A day more or less makes no difference to you. But if _I_
+do not leave here by the next train, my prospects in this world are
+ruined. May be, in another world they will engage singers who break
+their contracts! My chains are drawn more tightly than the harness of a
+carriage horse. If anybody, even an absolute stranger, asks me
+for material assistance lie will find I have an open hand, although the
+sacrifice of happiness my calling exacts of me is not paid for with
+five hundred thousand francs a year. But if you ask of me the slightest
+assertion of personal liberty, you are expecting too much of a slave
+such as I am. I _can not_ sing your Hermann as long as you don't count
+as a composer.
+
+DUeHRING. Please, Sir, let me continue. It will give you a desire for
+the part.
+
+GERARDO. If you but knew, Sir, how often I have a desire for things
+which I must deny myself and how often I must assume burdens for which
+I have not the least desire! I have absolutely no choice in the matter.
+You have been a free man all your life. How can you complain of not
+being in the market? Why don't you go and put yourself in the market?
+
+DUeHRING. Oh, the haggling--the shouting--the meanness you meet with! I
+have tried it a hundred times.
+
+GERARDO. One must do what one is capable of doing and not what one is
+incapable of doing.
+
+DUeHRING. Everything has to be learned first.
+
+GERARDO. One must learn that which one is capable of learning. How am I
+to know if the case is not very much the same with your work as a
+composer.
+
+DUeHRING. I _am_ a composer, Mr. Gerardo.
+
+GERARDO. You mean by that, you have devoted your whole strength to the
+writing of operas.
+
+DUeHRING. Quite so.
+
+GERARDO. And you hadn't any left to bring about a performance.
+
+DUeHRING. Quite so.
+
+GERARDO. The composers whom I know go about it just the other way. They
+slap their operas on paper the best way they know and keep their
+strength for bringing about a performance.
+
+DUeHRING. They are a type of composer I don't envy.
+
+GERARDO. They would reciprocate that feeling, Sir. These people do
+count. One must be _something_. Name me a single famous man who did not
+_count_! If one is not a composer, one is something else, that's all,
+and there's no need of being unhappy about it, either. I was something
+else myself before I became a Wagner singer--something, my efficiency
+at which nobody could doubt, and with which I was entirely satisfied.
+It is not for _us_ to say what we are intended for in this world. If it
+were, any Tom, Dick, or Harry might come along! Do you know what I was
+before they discovered me? I was a paperhanger's apprentice. Do you
+know what that is like! (Indicating by gesture.) I put paper on
+walls--with paste. I don't conceal my humble origin from anybody. Now
+just imagine, that as a paperhanger I should have taken it into my head
+to become a Wagner singer! Do you know what they would have done to me?
+
+DUeHRING. They would have sent you to the madhouse.
+
+[Illustration: LEO TOLSTOY]
+
+_Permission Albert Langen, Munich_
+FROM OLAF GULBRANSSON'S "FAMOUS CONTEMPORARIES"
+
+GERARDO. Exactly, and rightly so. Whoever is dissatisfied with what he
+is will not get anywhere as long as he lives. A healthy man does that
+at which he is successful; if he fails, he chooses another calling. You
+spoke of the judgment of your friends. It does not take much to obtain
+expressions of approbation and admiration which do not cost those
+anything who utter them. Since my fifteenth year I have been paid for
+every labor I've performed and should have considered it a disgrace to
+be compelled to do something for nothing. Fifty years of fruitless
+struggling! Can anybody be so stubborn as not to have that convince him
+of the impossibility of his dreams! What did you get out of your life?
+You have sinfully wasted it! I have never striven for anything out of
+the ordinary; but, Sir, I can assure you of one thing: that since my
+earliest childhood days I have never had enough time left to stand out
+in the street for a whole week. And if I were to think that in
+my old days I might be compelled to do that very thing--Sir, I am
+speaking only for myself now--but I cannot imagine how I could still
+muster the courage to look people in the face.
+
+DUeHRING. What? With such an opera in your hands! Remember, I am not
+doing it for my own sake; I am doing it for art's sake.
+
+GERARDO. You overestimate art. Let me tell you that art is something
+quite different from what people make themselves believe about it.
+
+DUeHRING. I know nothing higher on earth!
+
+GERARDO. That's a view shared only by people like yourself to whose
+interest it is to make this view prevail generally. We artists are
+merely one of bourgeoisie's luxuries in paying for which they will
+outbid each other. If you were right, how would an opera like _Walkuere_
+be possible which deals with things the exposure of which is absolutely
+abhorrent to the public. Yet when _I_ sing the part of Siegmund, the
+most solicitous mothers will not hesitate to bring in their thirteen or
+fourteen year old daughters. And indeed, as I am standing on the stage,
+I know for certain that not one person in the audience any longer pays
+the slightest attention to the action itself. If they did they would
+get up and out. That's what they actually did when the opera was still
+new. Now they have accustomed themselves to ignoring it. They notice it
+as little as they notice the air separating them from the stage. That,
+you see, is the meaning of what you call art! To this you have
+sacrificed fifty years of your life! Our real duty as artists is to
+produce ourselves to the paying public night after night under one
+pretense or another. Nor is its interest limited to such exhibitions;
+it fastens itself as tenaciously upon our private life. One belongs to
+the public with every breath one draws; and because we submit to this
+for money, people never know which they had better do most, idolize us
+or despise us. Go and find out how many went to the theatre
+yesterday to hear me sing and how many came to gape at me as they would
+gape at the emperor of China if he were to come to town tomorrow. Do
+you know what the public is after in its pursuit of art? To shout
+bravos, to throw flowers and wreaths upon the stage, to have something
+to talk about, to be seen by others, to say Ah and Oh, once in a while
+to take a hand in unhitching a performer's horses--these are the
+public's real wants, and I satisfy them. If they pay me half a million,
+I in return furnish a living to a legion of cabmen, writers, milliners,
+florists, tavernkeepers. The money is made to circulate. People's blood
+is made to circulate. Young girls become engaged, old maids get
+married, wives fall victims to their husbands' friends, and
+grandmothers get no end of topics for gossip. Accidents and crimes are
+made to happen. At the ticket office a child is trampled to death, a
+lady is robbed of her pocketbook, a gentleman in the audience becomes
+insane during a performance. That creates business for physicians,
+lawyers ... (he is seized by a fit of coughing.) And to think in this
+condition I am to sing Tristan tomorrow!--I am not telling you these
+things out of vanity but to cure you of your delusion. The standard by
+which to judge a man's importance in this world is the world itself and
+not some fixed conviction one may have acquired through years of
+brooding meditation. I did not put myself in the market either; they
+discovered me. There are no unappreciated, neglected geniuses. We are
+not the makers and masters of our own fate; man is born a slave!
+
+DUeHRING (who has been turning the leaves of his manuscript). Please,
+before I go, let me play to you the first scene of the second act. It's
+laid in a park, you know, just like the famous picture: _Embarquement
+pour Cythere_ ...
+
+GERARDO. But I told you I haven't the time! Besides what am I to gather
+from a few detached scenes'?
+
+DUeHRING (slowly packing up his manuscript). I am afraid, Mr. Gerardo,
+you are somewhat misjudging me. After all, I am not quite so unknown to
+the rest of the world as I am to you. My person and name are known.
+Wagner himself mentions me often enough in his writings. And let me
+tell you, if I die today, my works will be performed tomorrow. I am as
+sure of that as I know that my music will retain its value. My Berlin
+publisher writes me every day: All that's needed is for you to die. Why
+then in the world don't you?
+
+GERARDO. All I can reply to you is this: that since Wagner's death
+there hasn't been a call for new operas anywhere. If you offer new
+music, you have all conservatories, all singers and the whole public
+against you from the start. If you want to see your works performed,
+write a music which does not differ the least from what is in vogue
+today; just copy; steal your opera in bits and scraps from the whole of
+Wagner's operas. Then you may count with considerable probability on
+having it accepted. My tremendous hit last night should prove to you
+that the old music is all that's needed for years to come. And my
+opinion is that of every other singer, of every manager and of the
+whole paying public. Why should I go out of my way to have a new music
+whipped into me when the old music has already cost me such inhuman
+whippings?
+
+DUeHRING (offers him his trembling hand). I am sorry but I fear I'm too
+old to learn to steal. That's the kind of thing one has to begin young
+or one will never learn.
+
+GERARDO. I hope I haven't offended you, Sir.--But, my dear Sir,--if you
+would permit me--the thought that life means a hard struggle to
+you--(speaking very rapidly) it so happens that I have received five
+hundred marks more than I ...
+
+DUeHRING (looks at GERARDO with his eyes wide open, then suddenly starts
+for the door). Please, please, I beg of you, no! Don't finish what you
+meant to say. No, no, no! That is not what I came for. You know what a
+great sage has said:--They are all of them good-natured, but ...!--No,
+Mr. Gerardo, I did not ask you to listen to my opera in order to
+practise extortion on you. I love my child too much for that. No
+indeed, Mr. Gerardo ...
+
+                                    [Exit through the centre door.]
+
+GERARDO (escorting him to the door). Oh please. Sir.--Happy to have
+known you, Sir.
+
+
+
+                               SCENE VIII
+
+GERARDO (alone, comes forward, sinks into an armchair, with basket
+of champagne in front of him, looks at the bottles). For whom am I
+raking together so much money?--For my children I Yes, if I had any
+children!--For my old age?--Two more years will make a wreck of
+me!--Then it will be:
+
+           "Alas, alas,
+            The hobby is forgotten!"
+
+
+
+                                SCENE IX
+
+                GERARDO, HELEN MAROWA, later the valet.
+
+HELEN (of striking beauty, twenty-seven years, street dress, muff;
+greatly excited). I am just likely, am I not, to let that creature
+block my way! I suppose you placed him down there to prevent me from
+reaching you!
+
+GERARDO (has started from his chair). Helen!
+
+HELEN. Why, you knew that I was coming, didn't you?
+
+VALET (in the open door which has been left so by HELEN; holds hand to
+his cheek). I did my very best, Sir, but the lady ... she ... she ...
+
+HELEN. Boxed your ears!
+
+GERARDO. Helen!
+
+HELEN. Would you expect me to put up with such an insult?
+
+GERARDO (to the valet). You may go. [Exit VALET.]
+
+HELEN (lays her muff on a chair). I can no longer live without you.
+Either you will take me along or I shall kill myself.
+
+GERARDO. Helen!
+
+HELEN. I shall kill myself! You cut asunder my vital nerve if you
+insist on our separation. You leave me without either heart or brain.
+To live through another day like yesterday, a whole day without seeing
+you,--I simply cannot do it. I am not strong enough for it. I implore
+you, Oscar, take me along! I am pleading for my life!
+
+GERARDO. It is impossible.
+
+HELEN. Nothing is impossible if you are but willing! How can you say it
+is impossible? It is impossible for you to leave me without killing me.
+These are no empty words, I do not mean it as a threat; it is the
+simple truth! I am as certain of it as I can feel my own heart in here:
+not to have you means death to me. Therefore take me along. If not for
+my sake, do it for human mercy's sake! Let it be for only a short time,
+I don't care.
+
+GERARDO. I give you my word of honor, Helen, I cannot do it.--I give
+you my word of honor.
+
+HELEN. You must do it, Oscar! Whether you can or not, you must bear the
+consequences of your own acts. My life is dear to me, but you and my
+life are one. Take me with you, Oscar, unless you want to shed my
+blood!
+
+GERARDO. Do you remember what I told you the very first day within
+these four walls?
+
+HELEN. I do. But of what good is that to me now?
+
+GERARDO. That there could be no thought of any real sentiment in our
+relations?
+
+HELEN. Of what good is that to me now? Did I know you then? Why, I did
+not know what a man could be like until I knew you! You foresaw it
+would come to this or you would not have begun by exacting from me that
+promise not to make a scene at your departure. Besides do you think
+there is anything I should not have promised you if you had asked me
+to? That promise means my death. You will have cheated me out of my
+life if you go and leave me!
+
+GERARDO. I cannot take you with me!
+
+HELEN. Good Heavens, didn't I know that you would say that! Didn't I
+know before coming here! It's such a matter of course! You tell every
+one of them so. And why am I better than they! I am one of a hundred.
+There are a million women as good as I. I needn't be told, I
+_know_.--But I am ill, Oscar! I am sick unto death! I am love-sick! I
+am nearer to death than to life! That is your work, and you can save me
+without sacrificing anything, without assuming a burden. Tell me, why
+can you not?
+
+GERARDO (emphasizing every word). Because my contract does not allow me
+either to marry or to travel in the company of ladies.
+
+HELEN (perplexed). What is to prevent you?
+
+GERARDO. My contract.
+
+HELEN. You are not allowed to ...?
+
+GERARDO. I am not allowed to marry until my contract has expired.
+
+HELEN. And you are not allowed to ...?
+
+GERARDO. I am not allowed to travel in the company of ladies.
+
+HELEN. That's incomprehensible to me. Whom in the world does it
+concern?
+
+GERARDO. It concerns my manager.
+
+HELEN. Your manager?--What business is it of his?
+
+GERARDO. It is his business.
+
+HELEN. Perhaps because it might affect your voice?
+
+GERARDO. Yes.
+
+HELEN. Why, that's childish!--_Does_ it affect your voice?
+
+GERARDO. It does not.
+
+HELEN. Does your manager believe such nonsense?
+
+GERARDO. No, he does not believe it.
+
+HELEN. That's incomprehensible to me. I don't understand how
+a--respectable man can sign such a contract!
+
+GERARDO. My rights as a man are only a secondary consideration. I am an
+artist in the first place.
+
+HELEN. Yes, you are. A great artist! An eminent artist! Don't you
+comprehend how I must love you? Is that the only thing your great mind
+cannot comprehend? All that makes me appear contemptible now in my
+relation to you is due to just this, that I see in you the only man who
+has ever made me feel his superiority to me and whom it has been my
+sole thought to win. I have clenched my teeth to keep from betraying to
+you what you are to me for fear you might weary of me. But my
+experience of yesterday has left me in a state of mind which no woman
+can endure. If I did not love you so madly, Oscar, you would think more
+of me. That is so terrible in you that you must despise the woman whose
+whole world you are. Of what I formerly was to myself there is not a
+trace left. And now that your passion has left me a burned-out shell,
+would you leave me here? You are taking my life with you, Oscar! Then
+take with you as well this flesh and blood which has been yours, or it
+will perish!
+
+GERARDO. Helen ...!
+
+HELEN. Contracts! What are contracts to you! Why, there's not a
+contract made that one cannot get around in some way! What do people
+make contracts for? Don't use your contract as a weapon with which to
+murder me. I am not afraid of your contracts! Let me go with you,
+Oscar! We'll see if he as much as mentions a breach of contract. He
+won't do it or I am a poor judge of human nature. And if he does
+object, it will still be time for me to die.
+
+GERARDO. But we have no right to possess each other, Helen! You are
+as little free to follow me as I am to assume such a responsibility. I
+do not belong to myself; I belong to my art ...
+
+HELEN. Oh don't talk to me of your art! What do I care for your art.
+I've clung to your art merely to attract your attention. Did Heaven
+create a man like you to let you make a clown of yourself night after
+night? Are you not ashamed of boasting of it? You see that I am willing
+to overlook your being an artist. What wouldn't one overlook in a
+demigod like you? And if you were a convict, Oscar, I could not feel
+differently toward you. I have lost all control over myself! I should
+still lie in the dust before you as I am doing now! I should still
+implore your mercy as I am doing now! My own self would still be
+abandoned to you as it is now! I should still be facing death as I am
+now!
+
+GERARDO (laughing). Why, Helen, you and facing death! Women so richly
+endowed for the enjoyment of life as you are do not kill themselves.
+You know the value of life better than I. You are too happily
+constituted to cast it away. That is left for others to do--for stunted
+and dwarfed creatures, the stepchildren of nature.
+
+HELEN. Oscar, I did not say that I was going to shoot myself. When did
+I say that? How could I summon the courage? I say that I shall die if
+you do not take me with you just as one might die of any ailment
+because I can live only if I am with you! I can live without anything
+else--without home, without children, but not without you, Oscar! I can
+_not_ live without _you_!
+
+GERARDO (uneasy). Helen--if you do not calm yourself now, you will
+force me to do something terrible! I have just ten minutes left. The
+scene you are making here won't be accepted as a legal excuse for my
+breaking my contract! No court would regard your excited state of mind
+as a sufficient justification. I have ten more minutes to give you. If
+by that time you have not calmed yourself, Helen--then I cannot leave
+you to yourself!
+
+HELEN. Oh let the whole world see me lie here!
+
+GERARDO. Consider what you will risk!
+
+HELEN. As if I had anything left to risk!
+
+GERARDO. You might lose your social position.
+
+HELEN. All I can lose is you!
+
+GERARDO. What about those to whom you belong?
+
+HELEN. I can now belong to no one but you!
+
+GERARDO. But I do not belong to you!
+
+HELEN. I've nothing left to lose but life itself.
+
+GERARDO. How about your children?
+
+HELEN (flaring up). Who took me away from them, Oscar! Who robbed my
+children of their mother!
+
+GERARDO. Did I make advances _to you_?
+
+HELEN (with intense passion). No, no! Don't think that for a moment! I
+just threw myself at you and should throw myself at you again today! No
+husband, no children could restrain me! If I die, I have at least
+tasted life! Through you, Oscar! I owe it to you that I have come to
+know myself! I have to thank you for it, Oscar!
+
+GERARDO. Helen--now listen to me calmly ...
+
+HELEN. Yes, yes--there are ten minutes left ...
+
+GERARDO. Listen to me calmly ... (Both sit down on the sofa.)
+
+HELEN (staring at him). I have to thank you for it ...
+
+GERARDO. Helen--
+
+HELEN. I don't ask you to love me. If I may but breathe the same air
+with you ...!
+
+GERARDO (struggling to preserve his composure). Helen--to a man like me
+the conventional rules of life cannot be applied. I have known society
+women in all the lands of Europe. They have made me scenes, too, when
+it was time for me to leave--but when it came to choosing, I always
+knew what I owed to my position. Never yet have I met with such an
+outburst of passion as yours. Helen--I am tempted every day to withdraw
+to some idyllic Arcadia with this or that woman. But one has his duty
+to perform; you as well as I; and duty is the highest law ...
+
+HELEN. I think I know better by this time, Oscar, what is the highest
+law.
+
+GERARDO. Well, what is it? Not your love, I hope? That's what every
+woman says! Whatever a woman wants to carry through she calls good, and
+if anybody refuses to yield to her then he is bad. That's what our fool
+playwrights have done for us. In order to draw full houses they put the
+world upside down and call it great-souled if a woman sacrifices her
+children and her family to indulge her senses. I should like to live
+like a turtledove, too. But as long as I have been in this world I have
+first obeyed my duty. If after that the opportunity offered, then, to
+be sure, I've enjoyed life to the full. But if one does not follow
+one's duty, one has no right to make the least claims on others.
+
+HELEN (looking away; abstractedly). That will not bring the dead to
+life again ...
+
+[Illustration: D. MOMMSEN]
+
+_Permission Albert Langen, Munich_
+FROM OLAF GULBRANSSON'S "FAMOUS CONTEMPORARIES"
+
+GERARDO (nervously). Why, Helen, don't you see, I want to give back
+your life to you! I want to give back to you what you have sacrificed
+to me. Take it, I implore you! Don't make more of it than it is! Helen,
+how can a woman so disgracefully humiliate herself! What has become of
+your pride? With what contempt would you have shown me my proper place
+if I had fallen in love with you, if it had occurred to me to be
+jealous! What am I in the eyes of the society in which you move! A man
+who makes a clown of himself! Would you fling away your life for a man
+whom a hundred women have loved before you, whom a hundred women will
+love after you without allowing it to cause them a moment of distress!
+Do you want your flowing blood to make you ridiculous in the sight of
+God and man?
+
+HELEN (looking away). I know very well that I am asking an unheard-of
+thing of you but--what else can I do ...
+
+GERARDO (soothingly). I have given you all that's in my power to give.
+Even to a princess I could not be more than I have been to you. If
+there is one thing further our relations, if continued, might mean to
+you, it could only be the utter ruin of your life. Now release me,
+HELEN! I understand how hard you find it, but--one often fears one is
+going to die. I myself often tremble for my life--art as a profession
+is so likely to unstring one's nerves. It's astonishing how soon one
+will get over that kind of thing. Resign yourself to the fortuitousness
+of life. We did not seek one another because we loved each other; we
+loved each other because we happened to find one another! (Shrugging
+his shoulders.) You say I must bear the consequences of my acts, Helen.
+Would you in all seriousness think ill of me now for not refusing you
+admittance when you came under the pretext of having me pass on your
+voice? I dare say you think too highly of your personal advantages for
+that; you know yourself too well; you are too proud of your beauty.
+Tell me, were you not absolutely certain of victory when you came?
+
+HELEN (looking away). Oh, what was I a week ago! And what--what am I
+now!
+
+GERARDO (in a matter-of-fact way). Helen, ask yourself this question:
+what choice is left to a man in such a case? You are generally known as
+the most beautiful woman in this city. Now shall I, an artist, allow
+myself to acquire the reputation of an unsociable lout who shuts
+himself up in his four walls and denies himself to all visitors?
+The second possibility would be to receive you while at the same time
+pretending not to understand you. That would give me the wholly
+undeserved reputation of a simpleton. Third possibility--but this is
+extremely dangerous--I explain to you calmly and politely the very
+thing I am saying to you now. But that is very dangerous! For apart
+from your immediately giving me an insulting reply, calling me a vain
+conceited fool, it would, if it became known, make me appear in a most
+curious light. And what would at best be the result of my refusing the
+honor offered me? That you would make of me a contemptible helpless
+puppet, a target for your feminine wit, a booby whom you could tease
+and taunt as much as you liked, whom you could torment and put on the
+rack until you had driven him mad. (He has risen from the sofa.) Say
+yourself, Helen; what choice was left to me? (She stares at him, then
+turns her eyes about helplessly, shudders and struggles for an answer.)
+In such a case I face just this alternative:--to make an enemy who
+despises me or--to make an enemy who at least respects me. And
+(stroking her hair) Helen!--one does not care to be despised by a woman
+of such universally recognized beauty. Now does your pride still permit
+you to ask me to take you with me?
+
+HELEN (weeping profusely). Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God ...
+
+GERARDO. Your social position gave you the opportunity to make advances
+to me. You availed yourself of it.--I am the last person to think ill
+of you for that. But no more should you think ill of me for wishing to
+maintain my rights. No man could be franker with a woman than I have
+been with you. I told you that there could be no thought of any
+sentimentalities between you and me. I told you that my profession
+prevented me from binding myself. I told you that my engagement in
+this city would end today ...
+
+HELEN (rising). Oh how my head rings! It's just words, words, words I
+hear! But I (putting her hands to her heart and throat) am choking here
+and choking here! Oscar--matters are worse than you realize! A woman
+such as I am more or less in the world--I have given life to two
+children. What would you say, Oscar ... what would you say if tomorrow
+I should go and make another man as happy as you have been with me?
+What would you say then, Oscar?--Speak!--Speak!
+
+GERARDO. What I should say? Just nothing. (Looking at his watch.)
+Helen ...
+
+HELEN. Oscar!--(On her knees.) I am imploring you for my life! For my
+life! It's the last time I shall ask you for it! Demand anything of me!
+But not that! Don't ask my life! You don't know what you are doing! You
+are mad! You are beside yourself! It's the last time! You detest me
+because I love you! Let not these minutes pass!--Save me! Save me!
+
+GERARDO (pulls her up in spite of her). Now listen to a kind word!--
+Listen to a--kind--word ...
+
+HELEN (in an undertone). So it must be!
+
+GERARDO. Helen--how old are your children?
+
+HELEN. One is six and the other four.
+
+GERARDO. Both girls?
+
+HELEN. No.
+
+GERARDO. The one four years old is a boy?
+
+HELEN. Yes.
+
+GERARDO. And the younger one a girl?
+
+HELEN. No.
+
+GERARDO. Both boys?
+
+HELEN. Yes.
+
+GERARDO. Have you no pity for them?
+
+HELEN. No.
+
+GERARDO. How happy I should be if they were mine!--Helen--would you
+give them to me?
+
+HELEN. Yes.
+
+GERARDO (half jokingly). Suppose I should be as unreasonable as
+you--taking it into my head that I am in love with some particular
+woman and can love no other! I cannot marry her. I cannot take her with
+me. Yet I must leave. Just what would that lead me to?
+
+HELEN (from now on growing constantly calmer). Yes,
+yes.--Certainly.--I understand.
+
+GERARDO. Believe me, Helen, there are any number of men in this world
+like me. The very way you and I have met ought to teach you something.
+You say you cannot live without me. How many men do you know? The more
+you will come to know the lower you will rate them. Then you won't
+think again of taking your life for a man's sake. You will have no
+higher opinion of them than I have of women.
+
+HELEN. You think I am just like you. I am not.
+
+GERARDO. I am quite serious, Helen. Nobody loves just one particular
+person unless he does not know any other. Everybody loves his own kind
+and can find it anywhere when he has once learned how to go about it.
+
+HELEN (smiling). And when one has met one's kind, one is always sure of
+having one's love returned!
+
+GERARDO (drawing her down on the sofa). You have no right, Helen, to
+complain of your husband! Why did you not know yourself better! Every
+young girl is free to choose for herself. There is no power on earth
+that could compel a girl to belong to a man whom she doesn't like. No
+such violence can be done to woman's rights. That's a kind of nonsense
+those women would like to make the world believe who having sold
+themselves for some material advantage or other would prefer to escape
+their obligations.
+
+HELEN (smiling). Which would be a breach of contract, I suppose.
+
+GERARDO. If _I_ sell myself, they are at least dealing with an honest
+man!
+
+HELEN (smiling). Then one who loves is not honest!
+
+GERARDO. No!--Love is a distinctly philistine virtue. Love is sought by
+those who do not venture out into the world, who fear a comparison with
+others, who haven't the courage to face a fair trial of strength. Love
+is sought by every miserable rhymester who cannot live without being
+idolized by some one. Love is sought by the peasant who yokes his wife
+together with his ox to his plow. Love is a refuge for molly-coddles
+and cowards!--In the great world in which I live everybody is
+recognized for what he is actually worth. If two join together, they
+know exactly what to think of one another and need no love for it.
+
+HELEN (once more in a pleading tone). Will you not introduce me into
+that great world of yours!
+
+GERARDO. Helen--would you sacrifice your own happiness and that of your
+family for a fleeting pleasure!
+
+HELEN. No.
+
+GERARDO. Do you promise me to return to your family without show of
+reluctance!
+
+HELEN. Yes.
+
+GERARDO. And that you will not die, not even as one might die of some
+ailment!
+
+HELEN. Yes.
+
+GERARDO. Do you really promise me!
+
+HELEN. Yes.
+
+GERARDO. That you will be true to your duties as a mother--and as a
+wife!
+
+HELEN. Yes.
+
+GERARDO. Helen!
+
+HELEN. Yes!--What more do you want!--I promise you.
+
+GERARDO. That I may leave town without fear!
+
+HELEN (rising). Yes.
+
+GERARDO. Now shall we kiss each other once more!
+
+HELEN. Yes--yes--yes--yes--yes--yes ...
+
+GERARDO (after kissing her in a perfunctory manner). A year from now,
+Helen, I shall sing again in this town.
+
+HELEN. A year from now!--Yes, to be sure.
+
+GERARDO (affectedly sentimental). Helen! (HELEN presses his hand, takes
+her muff from the chair, pulls from it a revolver, shoots herself in
+the head and sinks to the floor.) Helen! (He totters forward, then
+backward and sinks into an armchair.) Helen! (Pause.)
+
+
+
+                                SCENE X
+
+   Same as before. The elevator boy. Two chambermaids. A scrubwoman.
+              MUeLLER. proprietor of the hotel. The valet.
+
+ELEVATOR BOY (enters, looks at GERARDO and at HELEN). Mr.--Mr. Gerardo!
+(GERARDO does not move. Boy steps up to HELEN. Two chambermaids and a
+scrubwoman, scrubber in hand, edge their way in hesitatively and step
+up to HELEN.)
+
+SCRUBWOMAN (after a pause). She's still alive.
+
+GERARDO (jumps up, rushes to the door and runs into the proprietor.
+Pulls him forward). Send for the police! I must be arrested! If I leave
+now, I am a brute and if I remain, I am ruined, for it would be a
+breach of contract. (Looking at his watch.) I still have a minute and
+ten seconds left. Quick! I must be arrested within that time!
+
+MUeLLER. Fritz, get the nearest policeman!
+
+ELEVATOR BOY. Yes, Sir!
+
+MUeLLER. Run as fast as you can! (Exit elevator boy. To GERARDO.) Don't
+let it upset you, Mr. GERARDO. That kind of thing is an old story with
+us here.
+
+GERARDO (kneels down beside HELEN, takes her hand). Helen! She's still
+alive! She's still alive! (To MUeLLER.) If I am arrested, it counts as a
+legal excuse. How about my trunks?--Is the carriage at the door?
+
+MUeLLER. Has been there the last twenty minutes, Sir. (Goes to the door
+and lets in the valet who carries down one of the trunks.)
+
+GERARDO (bending over HELEN). Helen!--(In an undertone.) It can't hurt
+me professionally. (To MUeLLER.) Haven't you sent for a physician yet?
+
+MUeLLER. The doctor has been 'phoned to at once. Will be here in just a
+minute, I am sure.
+
+GERARDO (putting his arms under HELEN'S and half raising her).
+Helen!--Don't you recognize me, Helen?--Come now, the physician will be
+here in just a moment!--Your Oscar, Helen!--Helen!
+
+ELEVATOR BOY (in the open door). Can't find a policeman anywhere!
+
+GERARDO (forgets everything, jumps up, lets HELEN fall back to the
+floor). I must sing "Tristan" tomorrow! (Colliding with several pieces
+of furniture, he rushes out through the centre door.)
+
+
+
+
+
+ERNST HARDT
+
+* * * * * *
+
+TRISTRAM THE JESTER[A]
+
+DRAMATIS PERSONAE
+
+
+MARK, King of Cornwall
+
+ISEULT of Ireland (MARK'S wife)
+
+BRANGAENE, ISEULT'S lady
+
+GIMELLA, ISEULT'S lady
+
+PARANIS, ISEULT'S page
+
+DUKE DENOVALIN
+
+SIR DINAS of Lidan
+
+SIR GANELUN
+
+UGRIN, MARK'S jester
+
+STRANGE JESTER, disguise of TRISTRAM of Lyonesse
+
+STRANGE LEPER, disguise of TRISTRAM of Lyonesse
+
+Also five Gaelic Barons. IWEIN, the King of the Lepers. The Lepers of
+Lubin, a Herald, a young shepherd, the Executioner. Three guards in
+full armor, the Strange Knight, Knights, Men-at-arms, grooms and a
+group of the inhabitants of the town.
+
+Dress and bearing of the characters have something of the chaste,
+reserved manner of the princely statues in the choir of Naumburg
+Cathedral.
+
+                     Scene--The Castle of St. Lubin
+
+
+      [Footnote A: Permission Richard G. Badger, Boston.]
+
+
+
+
+
+TRISTRAM THE JESTER (1907)
+
+TRANSLATED BY JOHN HEARD, JR.
+
+
+
+
+ACT I
+
+
+ISEULT'S apartment at St. Lubin.--A curtain hung from the ceiling cuts
+off one-third of the room. This third is raised one step above the rest
+of the room. The background is formed by a double bay-window through
+which may be seen the tops of some pine trees. In front of a couch, on
+a small table, stands a large gold shrine in which rests the magic
+brachet Peticru, a toy of jewels and precious metals. Beside it stands
+a burning oil torch. The remaining two-thirds of the room are almost
+empty. A table stands in the foreground; on the floor lies a rug on
+which are embroidered armorial designs. In the middle and at both sides
+are wide double doors. ISEULT sits on the couch before the shrine. She
+is clad in a fur-trimmed robe. BRANGAENE loosens ISEULT'S hair which is
+divided into two braids. The cold, gray light of dawn brightens
+gradually; the rising sun falls on the tops of the trees, coloring them
+with a flood of red and gold.
+
+
+
+SCENE I
+
+ISEULT (singing).
+      Brachet of safran and em'rald!
+      Oh, brachet of purple and gold
+      Once made by the mighty Urgan
+      In Avalun's wondrous wold.
+
+      Oh purple, and safran, and gold,
+      When cast in the dim of the night,
+      Have magical power to aid
+      All lovers in sorrowful plight!
+
+      Lord Tristram slew mighty Urgan,
+      Lord Tristram the loving, the true,
+      And pitying sorrowful lovers
+      He carried away Peticru.
+      Lord Tristram, the thoughtful and valiant,
+      Lord Tristram, the noble and high,
+      Has sent me this wondrous brachet
+      Lest weeping and grieving I die.
+
+      Lord Tristram, my friend, is unfaithful,
+      And God's wrath on him shall descend;
+      Though cruelly he has betrayed me,
+      My love even death cannot end.
+
+      Iseult with her hair of spun gold,
+      Where rubies and emeralds shine,
+      When the end of her life is at hand,
+      Round Tristram some charm can entwine.
+
+      --When Tristram too shall die....
+
+      [ISEULT stands up, extinguishes the light,
+      and, flooded by her hair, steps to the window.
+      BRANGAENE opens a chest from which she takes
+      robes, combs, a mirror, and several small
+      boxes. She prepares a small dressing table.]
+
+ISEULT.
+      The light begins to filter through the land;
+      Behold, the trees with storm-bow'd tips drop down
+      A thousand drops into the moss below
+      That seem as many sparks, all cold and bright.
+
+      Each day is followed by another one,
+      And then another day, and after each
+      Comes night. Thus runs my life's long chain of beads,
+      All black and white, endless, and all the same.
+
+      [She turns and throws off her cloak.]
+
+      Give me my new white cloak, and comb my hair,
+      I pray, Brangaene.--O, it aches!
+
+      [BRANGAENE throws a cloak over her shoulders.
+      ISEULT sits down at the dressing table while
+      BRANGAENE combs her hair, dividing it into
+      strands and throwing it, as she combs it,
+      over ISEULT'S shoulder.]
+
+BRANGAENE.
+                              The comb
+      Slides like a keel. Its narrow teeth can find
+      No bottom, neither shore in this blond sea.
+      I never saw thy hair so full, Iseult,
+      Nor yet so heavy! See the golden gold.
+
+ISEULT.
+      It aches--!
+
+BRANGAENE.
+      And here it's damp as though last night
+      It secretly had dried full many tears.
+
+ISEULT.
+      I wonder if Lord Tristram spent last night
+      By his new bride--and if he calls her all
+      Those sweetest names he made for me.
+        Perhaps
+      He sat upon her couch and told her tales
+      Of me that made them laugh--! I wonder too
+      If she be fair. Lord Tristram's new-wed bride!--
+
+
+
+SCENE II
+
+ISEULT turns quickly as her page comes in by the right hand door. He
+carries a chess-board and sets it down on the table in the
+foreground.
+
+ISEULT.
+
+      Were then thy dreams too painfully like this life,
+      Paranis, that thou hast outstripped the sun
+      And now, with eyes all red and swollen, star'st
+      So heavily?
+
+PARANIS.
+                    Your pardon. Queen Iseult,
+      I could not sleep. Oh lady, what a night!
+      I tremble still!
+
+ISEULT.
+                      The night indeed was wild.
+
+PARANIS.
+      Ay, like the sea the gale whips up. The wind
+      Swept all the covers from my bed and left
+      Me cold and trembling. Branches beat the wall
+      Above my head like demons of the storm.
+      The owls kept screaming in the groaning eaves
+      And whispered like lost souls in agony!
+      Hark! Hear him roar! Oh God, it's Husdent!
+      Oh listen to him roar. I never heard
+      A hound thus howl before!
+
+ISEULT.
+                          Peace, child. He cries
+      Thus every night since he has lost his lord.
+
+PARANIS.
+      What? Every night and yet King Mark can sleep?
+
+ISEULT.
+      King Mark can sleep as all good knights can sleep
+      At any time and any where, while we,
+      Poor souls, must like a beggar sue for sleep
+      As for an alms.
+
+      (To BRANGAENE.)
+
+                       The mirror and the cloak.
+
+PARANIS.
+      Pray tell me, Queen Iseult, why came we here
+      With good King Mark and left Tintagel's halls?
+      Why journeyed we to St. Lubin? The place
+      Is gloomy and an awful wood grows round
+      The castle walls. Oh 'tis an awful wood.
+      I am afraid, Iseult.
+
+ISEULT.
+                              Yea, boy, the wood
+      Is black and gloomy here. Give me some oil,
+      Brangaene, for my lips are parched and dried
+      From weeping all this never-ending night.
+
+PARANIS (goes to the casement).
+      Above Tintagel, lo, the sky was blue;
+      The sun shone on a foreign ship that came
+      Across the seas and lay at anchor there
+      And made it look like gold. The ship came in
+      As we rode through the gate. I wish that I
+      Were at Tintagel once again and saw
+      That ship. For here black clouds obscure the sun
+      And hang close to the ground; they fly along
+      Like mighty ghosts. The earth smells damp and makes
+      Me shiver--Ugh--!
+
+ISEULT (steps to the casement beside him and puts her arm
+      about his neck).
+      Nay, not today, for see,
+      The sun will shine and pour its golden rays
+      E'en o'er the Morois.
+
+      [She leans out until her head is overflowed
+      by the sunlight.]
+
+                              Oh, it's very hot!
+
+PARANIS (falling on his knees).
+      Oh Queen Iseult pray take the fairy dog
+      Into thy hands and it will comfort thee--
+      That wondrous brachet, Tristram's latest gift.
+      For, lo, since from Tintagel we have come
+      My heart is troubled by a wish to ask
+      Of thee a question, for Brangaene says
+      That when thou think'st of certain things thou weep'st
+      But I have never felt the like.
+
+ISEULT.
+                                       Poor boy!
+      I lay awake the whole night through and yet
+      Not once did I take Petikru to me,
+      So ask, my child! What wouldst thou know!
+        Mine eyes
+      Are dry, for all my tears are spent, and gone.
+
+      [She has returned to the dressing table.]
+
+PARANIS.
+      Is this the wood where thou and Tristram dwelt,
+      As people say, when ye had fled away?
+
+ISEULT.
+      'Tis true this wood once sheltered us.
+
+PARANIS (at the casement).
+                                      This wood?
+      This fearful wood? 'Twas here that thou, Iseult
+      Of Ireland, Iseult the Goldenhaired,
+      Took refuge with Lord Tristram like a beast
+      Hard pressed by dogs and men? There hang, perhaps.
+      Among the branches still some tattered shreds
+      From robes thou wor'st; and blood still tints the roots
+      Thou trod'st upon with bare and wounded feet!
+      'Twas here thou say'st? Within this wood?
+
+ISEULT (rising).
+      Yes, child,
+      And this the castle--
+
+      [BRANGAENE takes the cloak from ISEULT'S
+      shoulders and helps her put on a loose
+      flowing garment. ISEULT'S hair is hidden
+      beneath a close-fitting cap.]
+
+PARANIS (steps nearer, in great surprise).
+                       Where ye fled from Mark's
+      Abom'nable decree? The castle makes
+      Me shudder and the wood that grows around.
+
+BRANGAENE (quoting the decree).
+     "And if from this day on Lord Tristram dares
+      To show himself within my realm--he dies,
+      And with him dies Iseult of Ireland ..."
+
+ISEULT (quoting).
+     "And witness here my name signed with my blood--"
+
+      [She goes to the table on the right and sets
+      up the chess-men. PARANIS sits on a cushion
+      at her feet. BRANGAENE clears the dressing
+      table.]
+
+PARANIS. Is it since that day thou hast wept, my Queen?
+
+ISEULT. Thou know'st my secret boy and yet canst ask!
+
+BRANGAENE.
+      Inquire not too much, Paranis, lest
+      A deeper knowledge of such things consume
+      Thy soul, and leave in place a cinder-pile.
+
+PARANIS.
+      There's more they say, yet I believe no more.
+
+ISEULT.
+      And what do people say, Paranis?
+
+PARANIS.
+                                            Why,
+      They say Lord Tristram, since he fled away
+      To save his life, and, ay, to save thine too.
+      Forgot thee. Queen Iseult, and thy great love
+      And wed another in a foreign land.
+
+ISEULT.
+      They call her Isot of the Fair White Hands.
+
+      [A pause.]
+
+PARANIS.
+      When I'm a man, and wear my gilded spurs
+      I'll love and serve thee with a truer love
+      Than Tristram did.
+
+ISEULT.
+                     How old art thou, my child?
+
+PARANIS.
+      When I first came to serve thee as a page
+      Thirteen I was; that was a year ago.
+      I'm fourteen now, but when I dream, I dream
+      That I am older and I love thee then
+      In knightly fashion, and my sword is dull'd
+      And scarred by blows that it has struck for thee.
+      My heart beats high when I behold thy face;
+      My cheek burns hot or freezes ashen pale.
+      And then, at other times, I dream that I
+      Have died for thee, only to wake and weep
+      That I am still a child!
+
+ISEULT.
+                                   Listen to me,
+      Paranis. Once, wandering, a gleeman came
+      Two years agone and sang a lay in Mark's
+      High hall; but, see! I said not it applied
+      To us, this song of his. A song it was
+      And nothing more. This lay told of a queen,
+      A certain queen whose page once loved her much,
+      With all the courtesy of Knighthood's laws;
+      Whose every glance was for his lady's face;
+      Whose cheeks alternately went hot and cold
+      When she was near. But when the King perceived
+      His changing color and his burning looks,
+      He slew the boy, and, tearing out his heart,
+      Now red, now pale, he roasted it, and served
+      It to his queen and told her 'twas a bird
+      His favorite hawk had slain that day.
+
+PARANIS.
+                                        Tell me,
+      I pray, my lady, when a Knight has won
+      His spurs may he write songs?
+
+ISEULT.
+                                Ay, that he may.
+
+PARANIS.
+      Since that is so, I'd rather sing than fight.
+      I'll go from court to court and sing in each
+      How Tristram was untrue to Queen Iseult!
+      I will avenge thy wrongs in songs instead
+      Of with the sword, and every one who hears
+      My words shall weep as thou, my queen, has wept.
+      I like the lay about that page's heart
+      Thou toldst me.
+
+ISEULT.
+                          Remember it, my child;
+      Brangaene knows the melody thereof.
+      And she shall teach it thee that thou mayst learn
+      The lay.
+
+PARANIS (at the window).
+               The King's awake; I hear him call
+      His hounds.
+
+ISEULT.
+                   Then go, Paranis, bear to him
+      My morning and my wifely greeting; say
+      I rested well this night; that thou hast left
+      Me overjoyed and happy that the day
+      Is fair. Now haste thee, boy, for soon
+      The Gaelic barons through the gates shall ride
+      Coming to pay their homage to King Mark,
+      Delay not, child, and if the King shall grant
+      Thee spurs, with mine own hands I'll choose thee out
+      The finest pair, and deep my name shall stand
+      Engraved in the gold. Go greet the King.
+
+      [PARANIS kisses the hem of her robe and
+      goes.]
+
+
+
+SCENE III
+
+ISEULT.
+      Lord Tristram has kept true unto my name
+      At least--if not to me! 'Tis now the tenth
+      Year that I mourn for him! In countless nights
+      Of endless agony have I repaid
+      Those other nights of happiness and bliss.
+      Through age-long days now beggared of their joy
+      I have atoned for all the smiles of yore.
+      Unkindly have ye dealt with me, sweet friend!
+      Disloyal Tristram! God shall punish thee.
+      Not I.
+
+      [BRANGAENE kneels weeping beside her and
+      buries her face in ISEULT'S robes. ISEULT
+      raises her up.]
+
+      And thou, dear one, sweet sister, come!
+      My sorrow's past enduring! Help me, help!
+      At Lubin here the very walls have tongues;
+      At Lubin here the sombre forest moans;
+      At Lubin here old Husdent whimpers day
+      And night unceasingly. 'Twas at Lubin
+      I parted from him last, my dearest friend,
+      And to his parting vows I answered thus:
+      "Take, friend, this golden ring with em'rald stone,
+      And if in thy name one shall bring it me,
+      No dungeon walls, no castle gates, no bolts
+      Shall keep me far from thee." And he: "I thank
+      Thee, dearest lady, and I swear that if,
+      At any time, in any place, one calls
+      On me by thy sweet name I'll stand and wait
+      And answer in thy name by day or night."
+      And then--and then--he rode away!
+
+BRANGAENE.
+                                         Iseult!
+      Iseult, my dearest, might I die, for I,
+      Wretch that I am, am most at fault,
+      Too ready for deceits and secret ways!
+
+ISEULT.
+      Because I love a life, and better still
+      A death, that's great from savage unrestraint,
+      Such as I found in mighty Tristram's love,
+      'Tis not thy fault. And formerly when thou
+      Didst lend me thine own maiden smock to wear
+      Upon my bridal night with Mark, since mine
+      Was torn when I set foot on Cornish ground,
+      Thou didst fulfill what, as my guardian friend,
+      Thou hadst foreseen in earlier days. Weep not
+      Because I weep; Lord Tristram's treachery
+      Is his, not ours. For this it is I weep.
+
+BRANGAENE.
+      Thou shouldst not say, he is not faithful still.
+      Dear sister. What know we of him or his?
+
+ISEULT.
+      That he has married!
+
+BRANGAENE.
+                          Ay, her name's Iseult.
+      My name! I shudder when I think thereon.
+      And lo, his perjured tongue rots not, nor cleaves
+      Unto his teeth, nor does the name he calls
+      Her by choke in his throat and strangle him.
+
+BRANGAENE.
+      Mark me, Iseult, I had not meant to speak,
+      But now I must: a servant of King Mark's
+      Spoke lately of that ship we saw sail in
+      And then cast anchor 'neath Tintagel's walls.
+      A merchant ship it is, he said, and hails
+      Direct from Arundland. Now send
+      And bid these merchants leave their ship and come,
+      That they may tell what they have seen or heard
+      Of Tristram and his fate.
+
+PARANIS (runs in and leaps upon the window-sill).
+                            Oh Queen, there come
+      Three Gaelic earls! Dinas of Lidan first.
+
+BRANGAENE (hastening to his side).
+      Come then, Iseult, and from the casement here
+      Behold the faithful Dinas, Tristram's friend!
+
+PARANIS.
+      The one in coat of mail who rides behind
+      Who is the man, Brangaene, canst thou see?
+
+BRANGAENE.
+      Oh God! Denovalin, ill-omened bird
+      Of grim Tintagel.
+
+ISEULT.
+                           Arund? Didst thou say
+      A merchant ship sailed in from Arundland?
+      That great gold sail, Brangaene, came across
+      The ocean to Tintagel? What? A ship,
+      And merchant men from Arund? Speak, friend, speak!
+      Thou talk'st of Arund, and remain'st unmoved!
+      Brangaene, cruel, speak and say the men
+      Are on their way to me, or are now here!
+      Torture me not!
+
+BRANGAENE.
+                     Nay, hear me speak, Iseult;
+      I said a servant of King Mark's said this;
+      I know not whether it be true; to know
+      We must be back within Tintagel's walls.
+
+ISEULT (in rising agitation).
+      Wait till we're back within Tintagel's walls?
+      Not see the merchants till we are gone back,
+      And linger thus for three whole days, say'st thou?
+      Nay, nay, Brangaene, nay I will not wait.
+      'Twas not for this ten never-ending years
+      I sat upon Tintagel's tower and watched
+      With anxious eyes the many ships sail o'er
+      The green expanse from sky to sky. 'Twas not
+      For this; that day by day Paranis went,
+      At my behest, down to the port, while I
+      Sat counting every minute, one by one,
+      Until he should return, and tell me tales
+      Of ships and lands indifferent as a fly's
+      Short life to me!--And now thou tellest me
+      A ship is here; a great gold sail lies moor'd
+      Hard by Tintagel's walls, a ship in which
+      Men live, and speak, and say when asked:
+      "Where come ye from!" "From Arundland we sail."
+      Go quick, Brangaene; to Tintagel send, I pray,
+      At once some swift and faithful messenger,
+      And bid him with all haste lead here to me
+      These merchants over night. I need both silks
+      And laces, samite and the snowy fur
+      Of ermines, and whatever else they have.
+      All that they have I'll gladly buy! Let them
+      But ride with speed!
+
+BRANGAENE.
+                        Ay, ride as peddlers do!
+      Yet will I send Gawain, since 'tis thy wish,
+      And with him yet another.
+
+PARANIS.
+                                   Queen Iseult,
+      May I go with Gawain? I'll make them ride,
+      These merchant-men! I'll stick my dagger twixt
+      Their shoulder blades and prick them 'till from fear
+      They fairly fly to thee!
+
+ISEULT.
+                             Nay, rather, child,
+      Stay here with me; but help Brangaene find Gawain.
+
+      [BRANGAENE and PARANIS open the door at
+      the back of the stage but stand back on
+      either side to permit MARK and the three
+      Barons to enter.]
+
+BRANGAENE.
+      The King!
+
+
+
+SCENE IV
+
+BRANGAENE and PARANIS go. MARK and the barons remain standing at some
+distance from ISEULT. DENOVALIN remains in the background and during
+this and the following scene stands almost motionless in the same spot.
+
+MARK.
+                  There stands Iseult, my queen,
+      All glorious as the summer day that shines
+      O'er all the world! Now welcome, my Iseult!
+      Now welcome to Lubin! These gallant lords
+      Are come to greet thee--Dinas, Ganelun,
+      Denovalin.--They have not seen thee now
+      For many months. And ye, my noble lords.
+      Is she not blonder than of yore?
+
+      [He glances at a locket that hangs about his
+      neck.]
+
+                                        For see!
+      This lock of hair Lord Tristram brought me once.
+      Behold it now, 'tis almost black next hers.
+
+ISEULT.
+      I greet thee, Dinas, Lord of Lidan, friend,
+      Most loyal friend:--and thou. Lord Ganelun,
+      Most heartily, for many days have pass'd
+      Since last we met.
+
+DINAS.
+                          Ay, many days, Iseult.
+
+ISEULT.
+      Hast thou forgot Tintagel's King and Queen?
+      'Twas not so once.
+
+GANELUN.
+                     I've been at Arthur's court
+      Nigh on two years, and there have taken part
+      In many deeds of high renown. 'Tis this
+      Has kept me from Tintagel and from home.
+
+DINAS.
+      And I, fair Queen Iseult, am growing old;
+      I've left the saddle for the pillow's ease.
+
+      (Pointedly.)
+
+      I see the chess-board stands prepared and so,
+      If Mark permits, 'tis I who in his place
+      Will lead the crimson pawns today, as we
+      Were wont to do in former days. I love
+      The game but have no friend with whom to play.
+
+MARK.
+      Ay, Dinas, good it is to have some one
+      Who loves us near us in our twilight years;
+      So play today with Goldenhaired Iseult.
+      Perchance it may amuse her too, for oft
+      She seemeth sad, and mourns as women do
+      Who have no children.--God forgive us both!
+      But come, my lords, first let us drink a pledge
+      Of greeting, and permit this man to make
+      His peace with my fair queen. I hate long feuds.
+      Come, friends, come, let us drink, for all this day
+      We'll spend together in good fellowship.
+
+      [He leaves the room with DINAS and GANELUN
+      by the door on the right. ISEULT and
+      DENOVALIN stand opposite each other, some
+      distance apart, silent and motionless.]
+
+
+
+SCENE V
+
+DENOVALIN (calmly and insinuatingly).
+      Am I a vulture, Queen Iseult, that thou
+      Art silent when I am within thy cage?
+
+ISEULT (angrily).
+      My Lord Denovalin, how dar'st thou show
+      Thyself thus brazenly before me here?
+
+DENOVALIN.
+      Harsh words the Queen Iseult is pleased to use!
+
+ISEULT.
+      And I shall beg the King that he forbid
+      Thee to appear within a mile around
+      The castle with thy visor raised.
+
+DENOVALIN.
+                                       King Mark
+      Is not my over-lord. I'm not his liege.
+
+ISEULT.
+      And I tell thee, my Lord Denovalin,
+      Thy face is more abhorred by me than plague;
+      More hateful than dread leprosy! Away!
+
+DENOVALIN.
+      More measured should'st thou be in thy reproof.
+
+      (Much moved.)
+
+      It was for thee I came today, harsh Queen!
+
+ISEULT.
+      When last thou stoodst before my face, my Lord,
+      Naked I was, and men at arms prepar'd
+      The glowing pyre whereon thy jealousy
+      Had doomed my youthful body to be burned!
+      Calm wast thou then; no quiver moved thy face,
+      Untroubled by thy deed. Dost thou forget?
+
+DENOVALIN.
+      And Tristram stood beside thee then, as he
+      Had stood, when I accused thee to King Mark,
+      And when I see him standing next to thee,
+      My eyes grow dim and all the world seems red
+      With blood. 'Twas him I saw, not thee, Iseult,
+      Else had I died of sorrow and of shame.
+
+ISEULT.
+      What, _thou_? _Thou_ grieve! _Thou_ die of shame? The stones
+      Shall soften and shall melt ere thou, my lord,
+      Hast learned what pity means!
+
+DENOVALIN.
+                              Thou dost misjudge
+      Me, Queen Iseult, for when thy foot first touched
+      The Cornish strand as thou stepped'st from thy ship
+      And came to be the bride of Mark, I saw
+      Thee then, and by the Lord, a solemn oath
+      Of loyalty upon thy golden hair
+      To thee I swore! Oh thou wast wondrous fair!
+
+ISEULT.
+      And I, my Lord, what evil did I thee?
+
+DENOVALIN.
+      Thou loved'st Tristram.
+
+ISEULT.
+                                What? Denovalin,
+      When, by a miracle of God, I have
+      Escaped the fiery death which thou prepared'st;
+      When, with these tender hands of mine, I bore
+      Before my judges, and without a burn
+      The glowing iron, and with sacred oath
+      Have sworn, thou darest doubt Almighty God's
+      Decree, and dar'st accuse me still, and say
+      I love Lord Tristram with a guilty love?
+      This nephew of my wedded spouse! Of this
+      I'll make complaint unto my sponsors, Lord!
+
+DENOVALIN (calmly).
+      Almighty God thou hast, perhaps, deceived,
+      But we, at least, Iseult, we must be frank,
+      Though enemies, and deal straightforwardly
+      With one another.
+
+ISEULT.
+      Go, thou were-wolf!--Go!
+
+DENOVALIN.
+      There was a time when I, too, heard the song
+      Of birds in spring-time; but the fragrant breath
+      Thy golden hair exhales,--that hair which I
+      Have seen flow rippling through Lord Tristram's hands--
+      Has made me hard and rough--a very beast!
+      I live pent up within my castle walls
+      As some old wolf! I sleep all day and ride
+      At night! Ay, ride until my steed comes home
+      With gasping nostril and with bloody flank,
+      And lies as dead when morning comes! My hounds
+      Fall dead along the road! And yet, may be,
+      That long before the earliest cock has crowed
+      I cry aloud upon thy name each day
+      Like one who swelters in his own life's blood!
+      Remember this, for hadst thou once, Iseult,
+      Beside me ridden ere the night grew dark,
+      Perchance this hatred of all living things
+      Had never got such hold upon my soul.
+      Remember this, throughout the many things
+      Which shall, ere evening, come to pass.
+      And evening comes to thee, Iseult,--to me,
+      To all! And so 'tis best thou understand
+      The secret of the past fairly to judge.
+      This is the peace I fain would have with thee.
+
+ISEULT.
+      I am afraid--afraid--of thee!
+
+DENOVALIN.
+                                   Thou shouldst
+      Not fear, Iseult, these words so seemingly
+      Devoid of sense!
+
+      (Changing the subject.)
+
+                        At dawn today I rode
+      Along the Morois.
+
+ISEULT.
+      Ay, since that's the road
+      That leads the straightest from thy lofty hall
+      To St. Lubin.--
+
+DENOVALIN.
+                        I met a quarry there!
+      A quarry wondrous strange! Shall I, Iseult,
+      Go bring it bound to thee?
+
+ISEULT (in great anxiety).
+                                  I wish no fur,
+      Or pelts slain by thy hand, Denovalin--
+
+DENOVALIN.
+      That I believe, Iseult, yet it might please King Mark.
+
+      (Breaking out passionately.)
+
+                      It might be that once more
+      Thou felt'st the burning touch of death, all hot
+      And red. And if no safe retreat there were
+      For thee in Cornwall, save my castle walls,
+      And not a man in Cornwall stood to shield
+      Thy golden tresses from the hangman's hand
+      Except myself! If such the case what wouldst
+      Thou do if I said "come?"
+
+ISEULT (wild with terror and despair).
+                               If such the case,
+      Oh God of Bethlehem! If such the case
+      I'd fling my arms about the neck of Death,
+      And, clinging close to him, I'd spit at thee,
+      Denovalin! Those wrinkles, cold and hard,
+      About thy mouth on either side disgust
+      Me! Go, Denovalin! I loath thee! Go!
+
+DENOVALIN.
+      I go, Iseult, for thou hast made thy choice;
+      Forget it not. Forget not, too, the pact
+      Of peace my soul has made with thine. Farewell!
+      I'll go and bid Lord Dinas come to play
+      At chess with thee. Play quickly, Queen Iseult,
+      Thy time is short, and short shall be thy game!
+
+      [He goes.]
+
+
+
+SCENE VI
+
+ISEULT.
+      Oh God, how bitter are his words! They cut
+      Like sharpen'd swords and burn like hissing flames!
+      What is his will? His speech, though witless, ay,
+      And senseless too, insults and threatens me.--
+      It warns me too--of what?--Oh God, I quake!
+      If but Brangaene came, or Dinas came!
+      They come not and this creeping fear--how hard
+      It grips my soul!--More Gaelic barons come--!
+      How often have I stood concealed here
+      And seen him come proud riding through the gate!
+      My friend that comes no more! How grand he was!
+      His lofty stature did o'ertop them all!
+      How nobly trod his steed!--Dear Tristram, friend.
+      Does thy new Isot's heart beat quick as mine
+      At but the thought of thy dear step?
+
+      (Kneels down in front of the little shrine.)
+
+                                       And thou,
+      Oh little brachet, thinks thy lord of me,
+      As I of him!--"For they who drink thereof
+      Together so shall love with every sense
+      Alive, yet senseless--with their every thought
+      Yet thoughtless too, in life, in death, for aye--.
+      Yet he, who once has known the wond'rous bliss
+      Of that intoxicating cup of love,
+      Spits out the draught disloyally, shall be
+      A homeless and a friendless worm--a weed
+      That grows beside the road." Oh Tristram, Lord.
+
+         DINAS enters. ISEULT rushes toward him.
+
+      Dinas of Lidan! Dearest friend, most true!
+      With what has this man threatened me? Of what,
+      Then, warned?--friend, speak, for round me whirls the world;
+      My brain is dizzy with each thought!
+
+DINAS.
+      My Lord
+      Denovalin has bid me come to thee
+      To play at chess. He said thou wast in haste.
+      And has he, as Mark ordered him, made peace
+      With thee?
+
+ISEULT.
+                      Made peace with me! I told
+      Thee, Dinas, that he has stirred up the past
+      With gloomy words and threatened me. He spoke
+      Forebodingly of coming days--; I fear
+      His words and know not what is brewing o'er
+      My head!
+
+DINAS.
+                  Denovalin has threatened thee!
+      That bodes no good!
+
+ISEULT.
+      What think'st thou, Dinas? Speak!
+
+DINAS.
+      It makes me almost fear that I was not
+      Deceived this morn as through the mist I rode.
+
+ISEULT.
+      Oh Dinas!
+
+DINAS.
+      For I saw a man who rode
+      As secretly, and stole along the way
+      Concealed in the murky mists of dawn.
+      I--
+
+ISEULT.
+            Dinas!
+
+DINAS.
+                 Tristram's in the land, Iseult!
+
+ISEULT.
+      Oh Dinas, speak! (Softly.) My friend. Lord Tristram came
+      At dawn today--? The man who loved me so!
+      My dearest Lord--! Oh Dinas, Dinas, didst
+
+      (recovering herself)
+
+      Thou speak to him?
+
+DINAS (sternly).
+      Twice called I him. He fled.
+
+ISEULT.
+      Oh, why didst thou not call him in my name?
+      He would have stood thee answer then, for that
+      He swore to me he'd do, by day or night
+      At any place....
+
+DINAS.
+                 I called him in thy name,
+      And yet he fled away.
+
+ISEULT.
+                        He fled from thee?
+
+      (Angrily.)
+
+      It was not Tristram then! How dar'st thou speak
+      Such slander 'gainst my Lord!
+
+DINAS.
+                                  I swore that I
+      Would be thy friend, and for thy sake, Iseult,
+      His friend. But now I say Lord Tristram broke
+      The oath he swore to thee, and on this day
+      Hath wronged thee grievously, Iseult.
+
+ISEULT (heavily and brokenly).
+                                     The spouse
+      Of Isot of the Fair White Hands appeared
+      To thee, say'st thou, and broke his parting oath.
+      The last he swore to Iseult Goldenhaired?
+
+PARANIS (enters in ill-suppressed excitement).
+      Lord Dinas, from King Mark I come. He bids
+      Thee come to him straightway with all despatch,
+      For in the name of justice calls he thee.
+
+ISEULT.
+      Oh Dinas, Dinas, Tristram broke his oath--!
+      Lord Tristram broke his oath--!
+
+DINAS.
+                             And dost thou know,
+      My queen, that we must now attempt to ward
+      The consequences of King Mark's decree
+      And its fulfilment from thy head?
+
+ISEULT (angrily).
+                                         How can
+      An alien woman's spouse affect my life?
+
+DINAS.
+      I go to stem with all the strength I have
+      This current of perdition. Fare thee well.
+
+      [As DINAS goes out, three armed guards
+      step into the room and stand on either
+      side of the door.]
+
+ISEULT.
+      And fare thee well, thou truest of the true!
+
+      (To the guards.)
+
+      And ye, what seek ye here?
+
+GUARD.
+                               King Mark has bid
+      Us guard thy door; thou may'st not go abroad
+      Till Mark has bid thee come.
+
+PARANIS (falls on his knees).
+      Gawain lies bound;
+      Brangaene's cast into a prison cell,
+      And something awful's taking place within
+      The castle walls!--I know not what it is!
+
+ISEULT.
+      Paranis, child, be still.
+
+
+
+
+ACT II
+
+
+The High Hall of St. Lubin Castle.--Bay windows. On the right, in the
+background is a wide double-door. On the left, in the background, and
+diagonally to it stands a long table surrounded by high-back chairs.
+The chairs at either end of the table are higher than the others and
+are decorated with the royal arms. Against the wall on the left stands
+a throne.
+
+Four Gaelic barons stand, or sit about the table. LORD GANELUN enters.
+
+
+
+                                SCENE I
+
+A BARON.
+      And canst thou tell us now. Lord Ganelun,
+      What's taking place that we are summoned here
+      In council while our legs are scarcely dry
+      From our long ride?
+
+2D BARON.
+                          A welcome such as this
+      I like not, Lords!
+
+GANELUN.
+                         I know no more than ye,
+      My lords, who are but lately come.
+
+3D BARON.
+                                       And where
+      Is Mark, the King?
+
+2D BARON.
+                          Instead of greeting us
+      He sends a low born knave, and bids us wait
+      Within these dry and barren walls.
+
+1ST BARON (stands up).
+                                         By God,
+      I feel a wish to mount my horse and ride
+      Away!
+
+5TH BARON (entering).
+             Do ye, my Lords, know why King Mark
+      Lets Tristram's savage hound, old Husdent live?
+      It needed but a little that it caused
+      My death!
+
+4TH BARON.
+                  Just now?
+
+5TH BARON.
+                           As I rode by its cage
+      It leap'd against the bars, and made them shake
+      With such a noise that my affrighted horse
+      Uprear'd, and headlong sprang across the court.
+
+GANELUN.
+      The hound is wolflike; none can go within
+      His cage. Three keepers has he torn to death.
+
+5TH BARON.
+      A wild and dang'rous beast! I would not keep
+      The brute within my castle walls.
+
+3D BARON (walks irritatedly to the window).
+                                        How this
+      Long waiting irks my soul, good friends!
+
+1ST BARON.
+                                         So cold
+      A welcome have I never yet received,
+      And new the custom is!
+
+GANELUN.
+                            Have patience, sirs,
+      It seems King Mark and Lord Denovalin
+      Discuss in secret weighty things--
+
+3RD BARON.
+                                      --And wish
+      To teach us how to wait!
+
+GANELUN.
+                          Nay, here's King Mark!
+
+[Illustration: ERNST HARDT]
+
+
+
+                                SCENE II
+
+MARK and DENOVALIN enter; behind them comes a man-at-arms who closes
+the door and stands against the wall beside it. MARK holds a parchment
+in his hand, and, without noticing the barons, walks agitatedly to the
+front of the stage. DENOVALIN goes behind the table and places himself
+between it and the throne. The barons rise.
+
+1ST BARON.
+      Does Mark no longer know us that he greets
+      Us not?
+
+2D BARON.
+                  And dost thou know, my Lord--?
+
+MARK (turning angrily upon the baron).
+                                            Am I
+      A weak old man because my hair is gray,
+      Because my hands are wrinkled, ay, and hard,
+      Because at times my armor chafes my back?
+      Am I an old and sapless log? A man
+      Used up who shall forever keep his peace?
+
+      (Controlling himself.)
+
+      I crave your pardon, Lords, pray take your seats.
+
+DINAS.
+      Thou badst me come to thee.
+
+MARK.
+                                Yes, Dinas, yes,
+      So take thy place.
+
+      (He controls his emotion with great difficulty
+      and speaks heavily.)
+
+                       And ye, my noble friends,
+      Give ear. A great and careful reckoning shall
+      Take place 'twixt you and me. Your sanctioning word
+      I wish, for what I am about to do,
+      For yonder man has, with an evil lance,
+      Attacked me and he has so lifted me
+      Out of my saddle that my head doth swim,
+      And trembles from the shock, and so I pray
+      You to forgive the churlish greeting ye
+      Received; 'twas accident, not scorn. I bid
+      You welcome, one and all, most heartily.
+
+3D BARON.
+      We greet thee, Mark.
+
+GANELUN.
+                      But tell us now what thing
+      So overclouds thy mind; thy welfare dwells
+      Close intertwined with ours.
+
+DENOVALIN (unfolding the parchment).
+                              And now, my Lords,
+      Are any of the witnesses not here
+      Who signed the contract and decree which Mark
+      Drew up with Tristram and with Queen Iseult!
+
+1ST BARON.
+      'Tis then of this decree that thou wouldst speak?
+
+3D BARON.
+      I signed.
+
+4TH BARON.
+                  And I.
+
+5TH BARON.
+                        And I.
+
+MARK.
+                                 Three witnesses
+      There were, and ye are three. 'Tis good, my Lords,
+      That we are all assembled here.
+
+      [He speaks brokenly and with all the marks
+      of mental suffering and suppressed emotion.]
+
+                                         Ye know
+      How long I lived alone within these walls
+      With my good nephew Tristram and not once
+      Did any woman cross my threshold o'er.
+
+5TH BARON.
+      And 'twas through us that things were changed; we cried
+      Upon thee for a son and heir.
+
+2D BARON.
+                                          Iseult
+      Then came from Ireland to be thy Queen.
+
+DENOVALIN (coldly, firmly, and in a loud voice).
+      Nobly escorted, in Lord Tristram's care!
+
+MARK (softly).
+      I wooed Iseult, and much it pleased me then
+      To call this sweet and noble lady mine,
+      And so to honor her. But see, it was
+      But for a single day, then came this man
+
+      (Points to DENOVALIN.)
+
+      And spake to me and said: "Thy wife Iseult
+      And Tristram whisper in the dark!" And since
+      The speaking of that evil word, this world
+      Has turned to hell, and through my veins my blood
+      Has run like seething fire for her sake,
+      Who was my wife, and cried for her as though
+      She were not mine!
+
+3D BARON.
+                      But thou didst not believe
+      These evil words?
+
+MARK.
+                            No, never in my life
+      Did I fight off a foeman from myself
+      More fiercely than these words.
+
+DENOVALIN (sternly).
+                               But soon this man
+      Came back and said: "The hands of Queen Iseult
+      And Tristram's hands are locked when it is dark."
+
+MARK.
+      And then I slunk about them like a wretch,
+      My lords; I spied upon their lips, their hands,
+      Their eyes! I watched them like a murderer;
+      I listened underneath their window-sills
+      At night to catch their dreaming words, until
+      I scorned myself for this wild wretchedness!
+      Nothing, nothing I found, and yet Iseult
+      From that time on was dearer than my God
+      And his Salvation!
+
+GANELUN.
+                           Yet thou ever held'st
+      Iseult in honor and esteem!
+
+MARK.
+                                 Ay, that I did,
+      Friend Ganelun, but soon that man there came
+      And whispered in mine ear: "Art thou stone blind?
+      Thy nephew Tristram and thy Queen Iseult
+      Are sleeping in each other's arms by day
+      And night!" Oh God! Oh God! My Lords, I set
+      To work--and thought I'd caught the pair!--Poor fool!
+
+      (He hides his face.)
+
+DINAS.
+      'Tis so; and thou badst build a mighty pyre
+      Of seasoned wood and well dried peat. But God
+      Almighty blew the fire out. They fled,
+      The twain together, to the Morois land.
+
+MARK.
+      And then one night I stole upon them both.
+      (Lord Dinas knew of this alone, my Lords.)
+      Iseult was sleeping, and Lord Tristram slept
+      An arm's length scarce before me in the moss
+      All pale and wan, and breathed so heavily,
+      So wearily, like some hard hunted beasts.
+
+      (Groaning.)
+
+      Oh God, how easy was it then!--See what
+      Befell! There, 'twixt their bodies lay a sword,
+      All naked, ay, and sharp--
+      'Twas Morholl's sword!
+      --Then silently I took it, and I left
+      Mine own, and, like a fool, I wept at their
+      Great purity!
+
+2D BARON.
+                      Was Tristram so much moved
+      By this exchange of swords that he gave back
+      Thy wife Iseult?
+
+MARK (violently).
+                       And, God! I took her! See
+      His cunning counsel circumvented then
+      The red hot steel and made her innocence
+      Seem more apparent, and her hands shone white,
+      Unburned, and all unscarred like ivory
+      After the test! My nephew Tristram fled,
+      Exiled, and the decree that ye all know
+      Was sealed. So harken now, ye witnesses
+      Of the decree: if Tristram were to break
+      The bond and secretly, and in disguise
+      Return to Cornwall--
+
+3d BARON.
+                                     God forbid!
+
+4TH BARON.
+                                          Yet if
+      Lord Tristram should do this and break the bond,
+      And thus endanger both his life and Queen Iseult's--
+
+5TH BARON.
+             If such the case they lied to thee,
+      King Mark, and unto God!
+
+MARK.
+                           They lied! They lied!
+      Ay, man, they lied to me and unto God!
+      And now I need no longer feel my way
+      Nor tap about me in the dark, nor bump
+      My soul against my blindness! Ay, they lied!
+      My bed was foul; my life a jest for knaves,
+      For they had lied. But then, behold, that man
+      There came,--Denovalin I hate thee!--came
+      And said Lord Tristram broke the bond--
+
+      [The Barons spring up.]
+
+1ST BARON.
+                                         How so?
+
+2D BARON.
+      What knows he?
+
+3D BARON.
+                  Speak, Denovalin!
+
+GANELUN.
+                                     Thou say'st
+      Lord Tristram broke the bond that holds his life?
+
+5TH BARON.
+      I'll not believe it!
+
+4TH BARON.
+                          Tristram wed, ye know,
+      The daughter of King Kark of Arundland.
+
+3D BARON.
+      Denovalin must bring us proofs!
+
+MARK.
+                                         Gently,
+      My Lords. Before the high tribunal shall
+      He speak. Go, call the Queen.
+
+      [The man-at-arms goes.]
+
+DINAS.
+                                      King Mark,
+      Why dost thou hasten to believe this tale?
+      Remember, 'tis Denovalin who speaks.
+
+MARK.
+      'Tis not a matter of belief, my friend,
+      I wish to know if for her sake he came;
+      To see her once again--no more. The rest
+      I know, and I know, too, the end of this;
+      This game that's played about my life, my blood.
+      Mine honor!
+
+
+
+                               SCENE III
+
+The guardsman announces the queen who enters the hall followed by
+PARANIS. She remains in the background. The barons rise as she appears.
+
+GUARDSMAN.
+            Place! Iseult the queen comes! Place!
+
+ISEULT (quietly and gently).
+      Ye called me, sirs; now speak, for I am here.
+
+MARK (takes an angry step toward her, checks himself, and stares at her
+a moment. He speaks slowly and Without moving).
+
+      Lord Dinas, bid Iseult of Ireland draw near!
+
+      [ISEULT, without waiting for DINAS, steps
+      to the middle of the hall. MARK does not
+      move and speaks louder.]
+
+      Lord Dinas, bid Iseult of Ireland draw near!
+      And sit there by the board--there at the head
+      And facing me.
+
+ISEULT.
+      And may I ask thee now
+      What this extraordinary custom is,
+      That twice thou dost repeat it, Mark? In mine
+      Own land of Ireland I never saw
+      A man thus treat his wife. So, if it suits
+      Thy will,--I'll stand!
+
+      [Neither MARK nor the barons move.
+      Anxiously.]
+
+      Will no one speak to me?
+
+MARK.
+      My Lords, sit down.
+
+      [He walks in front of the table. PARANIS
+      kneels beside ISEULT, who lays her hand
+      upon his head as on the head of a dog.]
+
+ISEULT.
+              Thou call'dst me, Mark, and bad'st
+      Me come in terms full stern and harsh--I came,
+      For 'tis my heartfelt duty to obey.
+      Since thou art good to me and kind. Thou know'st
+      This hall, these men, that stand around, awake
+      Full many a painful memory in my heart,
+      And so I crave a swift reply. What will
+      Ye of me here?
+
+MARK (roughly).
+                       Why was Gawain sent forth
+      In secret to Tintagel from Lubin?
+
+ISEULT.
+      He went not secretly, but openly.
+      My Lord, and that because some merchant-men
+      Came to Tintagel from across the seas
+      With merchandise. I wished to bid them come
+      To me that I might choose me from their stock the wares
+      That pleased me and the many things I need.
+
+MARK (scornfully).
+      The purchase must be made at once, I trow!
+      Since here, more than elsewhere, thou need'st such things.
+      'Tis true that fifteen beasts of burden stayed
+      Behind, all laden with thy things alone,
+      Unnoticed by a well beside the road,
+      Iseult, I recollect me now!
+
+ISEULT.
+                                      Nay, Lord,
+      Yet St. Lubin brings me full many a sad
+      And weary hour. I, therefore, thought to gain
+      Some slight diversion and amusement too
+      To soothe my woe. Thou know'st the joy I have
+      Of mingled masses of bright colored things
+      Both strange and rare!
+
+      (Anxiously.)
+
+                 The rustling silks; the gold--;
+      Th' embroidery of robes; the jewel's flash;--
+      Furs, chains and golden girdles, needles,
+      clasps! To see, and in my hands to hold such things
+      O'erjoys me much!--A childish whim, perhaps,
+      But thou thyself this pleasure oft procured'st
+      And sent the merchants to my bower. What
+      Wonder is it then that I myself should think
+      Of this same thing?
+
+MARK.
+                'Tis so, I wronged thy thoughts,
+      For I myself have often brought such men
+      To thee. These peddlers and these mountebanks
+      Are famous friends! I see it now! They come
+      From far and wide; they travel much; they are
+      Both wise and cunning--apt, indeed, to serve
+      As messengers!
+
+ISEULT.
+                  Ay, Mark, thou didst me wrong.
+      But greater to Brangaene and Gawain!
+      I pray thee set them free; they but obeyed
+      My will.
+
+MARK (angrily).
+      Bring forth the pair, and set them free
+      These go-betweens Brangaene and Gawain!
+
+      [The soldier goes.]
+
+      Tell now, my Lord Denovalin, thy tale,
+      And speak thy words distinctly, ay, and loud!
+      And ye, my Lords, I pray you, listen well;
+      A pretty tale!
+
+      [He crouches on the steps of the throne,
+      and stares at ISEULT. DENOVALIN steps
+      forward from behind the table.]
+
+DENOVALIN.
+                           I rode today at dawn,
+      And, coming through the Morois, saw, while yet
+      The mist was hanging in the trees, around
+      A curving of the road, a man who rode.
+      Full proud and straight he sat upon his steed,
+      But yet he seemed to wish that none should see
+      Him there, for carefully did he avoid
+      The clearer spots, and peering round about,
+      He listened and he keenly watched, then turned
+      Into a thicket when afar he heard
+      The hoof-beats of my horse. I followed him,
+      And soon I was as near as a man's voice
+      Will carry. Loud and haughtily I called
+      To him, but then he drove the spurs so deep
+      Into his steed that, like a wounded stag,
+      It sprang into the air and dashed away.
+      I followed close behind, and bade the man
+      In knightly and in manly honor stand.
+      He heeded not my words and fled away,
+      And then I cried aloud that he should stand,
+      And called him by Iseult the Goldenhaired.
+
+ISEULT (passionately and firmly).
+      And at my name Lord Tristram stood.
+
+      (Anxiously.)
+
+                                          Did he
+      Not stand and wait?
+
+      (Imploringly.)
+
+                       Oh, say that at that call
+      Lord Tristram stood!
+
+      (Passionately.)
+
+                      And I will bless thy lips.
+
+MARK (cries out in a muffled voice).
+      Iseult!
+
+ISEULT.
+            I'll kiss thy hand, my Lord, and I--
+
+DENOVALIN.
+      Who says, proud Queen Iseult, the man I saw
+      Was Tristram, noble Lord of Lyonesse?
+
+ISEULT (her voice becomes proud and cold).
+      My Lord Denovalin, I'll kiss thy hands
+      If thou wilt say my husband's nephew stood
+      And bided you, for sorely would it vex
+      My heart if such a knight should flee from such
+      A man as thou! 'Twould shame me much, for know,
+      My Lord Denovalin, I scorn and hate
+      Thee as a cur!
+
+DENOVALIN (suppressing his emotion).
+                       If Tristram stood or fled
+      From me, I do not say.
+
+ISEULT.
+                                   That vexes me
+      Indeed, for now, my Lords, I turn to you
+      With deeper and more serious complaints
+      Against Lord Tristram that so rashly he
+      Has broken Mark's decree, thus forcing me
+      To share a guilt of which my soul is clean!
+
+MARK (crouches on the steps of the throne groaning).
+      Oh see how well her Irish tongue can twist
+      Her words to suit her will! Her words are smooth;
+      So smooth that when one grasps them they escape
+      The hand like shining, slippery, squirming snakes!
+      And she has subtle words, caressing words,
+      And words that set the mind on fire; hot words
+      That burn, and haughty ones that swell and puff
+      Like stallions' nostrils, and toss high their heads!
+      Oh she has words, and words, and many words
+      With which to frame her lies!
+
+      (He takes a step toward ISEULT. Angrily.)
+
+                               And see her eyes!
+      Those wondrous eyes! Eyes for deceit! She has
+      Deceived me with those eyes and lips of hers since first
+      She set her foot upon the Cornish shore!
+
+ISEULT (trembling with shame and anger).
+      Thy words are like the shame of women, Mark!
+      Like filthy hands! Irish I am, but there,
+      In word and deed, polite restraint prevails
+      And courteous measuredness; there fiery wrath
+      Becomes ne'er master of the man! And so
+      I was not taught in early youth to guard
+      Myself from drunkenness of wrath!
+
+MARK.
+                                         O hark!
+      That was a sample of her haughty words!
+      Iseult the Goldenhaired of Ireland
+      Didst thou with thine own hand and blood sign this?
+
+ISEULT.
+      Ay, Mark, I signed the bond.
+
+      (With closed eyes quoting.)
+
+                               "And if from this
+      Day on Lord Tristram dares to show himself
+      Within my realm, he dies, and with him dies
+      Iseult of Ireland"--I signed my name
+      And wrote it with my blood.
+
+MARK.
+                                       Denovalin
+      Most solemnly has pledged his head and soul
+      That he has seen my nephew Tristram, Lord
+      Of Lyonesse within my realm, and so,
+      If none stand forth to contradict, Iseult
+      Of Ireland shall die.
+
+DINAS (stands up).
+                                       Denovalin
+      Has lied!
+
+MARK.
+                        Dinas of Lidan!
+
+GANELUN.
+                          Well said, good
+      Dinas!
+
+DINAS.
+            I, too, did meet a man today
+      At early dawn whom I first held to be
+      Lord Tristram, nephew of King Mark.
+      Since from the east I rode and thou, my Lord
+      Denovalin, came through the Morois land
+      From thy good castle in the west, and since
+      Lubin stood as a central point between
+      Us both, Lord Tristram must have been two-fold
+      That in the east and in the west he crossed
+      My path, and at the self-same hour, the road
+      Of Lord Denovalin. This cannot be
+      And so one of the men was not the true
+      Lord Tristram; one of us was therefore wrong.
+      And if 'twas one, then why not both
+      My Lord Denovalin and I?
+
+MARK.
+                                    Dinas,
+      Had I not known thee from thy youth I might
+      Have held thee guilty with Iseult! Has she
+      Ensnared thee too with perjured oaths and false
+      And lying countenance, that thou dost seek
+      To die for her so eagerly? Thy hair
+      Is gray like mine. Thou dreamest, man,
+      Denovalin has pledged his word that he
+      Has seen Lord Tristram! Ponder well ere thou
+      Take up his downflung glove.
+
+2D BARON.
+                                   Yet Dinas may
+      Be right.
+
+3D BARON.
+                  I think so too.
+
+5TH BARON.
+                                 There cannot be
+      Two Tristrams in the Morois wood.
+
+DENOVALIN (springing up).
+                                       My Lords,
+      I've pledged my word! Take heed unto your tongues!
+
+GANELUN.
+      It seems but right to me that Queen Iseult
+      Should not be put to death until the true
+      Lord Tristram, quick or dead, be found.
+
+2D BARON.
+                                       Well said
+      Lord Ganelun!
+
+3D BARON.
+                     So think we all. King Mark!
+
+ISEULT.
+      By God! my Lords, it is enough! ye sit
+      Discussing here in calm indifference
+      If I shall live or die, as though I were
+      An animal! My race is nobly sprung;
+      I will that ye bow down before my blood,
+      Since ye do not bow down to womanhood!
+      I will that ye permit me to return
+      To my apartments and that ye do not
+      Here keep me standing like a haltered beast!
+      King Mark may let me know your will when ye
+      Decide. And now I wish to go.
+
+MARK (in swelling anger).
+                                    Oh hear her,
+      My Lords, hear her, does she not make one wish.
+      Groaning, to cast oneself before her feet;
+      To kiss her very shoes when she can find
+      Such noble sentiments and words! Behold
+      Her there! Is she not fuller than the whole
+      Wide world of smiles and tears. And when she laughed
+      With that fair mouth, entrancing and all pale,
+      Or silvery bright that God's whole world did dance
+      And sing in God's own hand, 'twas not on me
+      She smiled. And when upon her lowered lids
+      There trembled tears like drops of pearly dew
+      Upon a flower's brim, 'twas not for me
+      She wept! A phantom hovered over us
+      In all the sweet dark hours; 'twas for this ghost,
+      The phantom likeness of Lord Tristram's self,
+      She wept and smiled, true to her soul, though all
+      The while her soulless body lay all cold
+      Within mine arms deceiving me with smiles
+      And tears! She shall not die till Tristram can
+      Be found. Bethink you, Lords, the minutes that
+      Ye grant that mouth to smile! The minutes that
+      Ye grant those eyes to weep! Whom will it not
+      Deceive,--her laughter and her tears! Both you,
+      And me, and God! But I will change her smiles
+      To tears; her weeping to the bitter laugh
+      Of hideousness, that we at last may rest,
+      And be secure from all her woman's wiles!
+      And since she shall not die, then I will give her
+      As a gift! This surely is my kingly right,
+      For I am Mark, her lawful spouse and lord.
+      Today at noon, when in the sun her hair
+      Shall shine the brightest in the golden light
+      Unto the leprous beggars of Lubin
+      I'll give her as a gift!
+
+DINAS.
+                             Mark, art thou mad?
+
+PARANIS.
+      The Queen! Oh help!
+
+ISEULT (recovering herself).
+                    'Tis nought; I'm better now.
+
+GANELUN.
+      Thou speak'st a thing, in sorrow and in wrath,
+      A thing so terrible one fears to think
+      Thereon!
+
+1ST BARON.
+                  Bethink thee, Mark!
+
+2D BARON.
+                              Thou ravest, King.
+
+4TH BARON.
+      Thou dost a most foul thing;--recall thy words!
+
+MARK (crouches on the steps of the throne with
+      his back to the barons).
+      At mid-day shall the lepers of Lubin
+      Collect, and wait within the court.
+
+DINAS.
+                                       Farewell,
+      King Mark, I'll stay with thee no more!
+
+GANELUN.
+                                            I go
+      With thee.
+
+1ST BARON.
+      And I.
+
+2D BARON.
+                     We leave thee, one and all!
+
+MARK (turns his head, almost smiling).
+      Will no one stay with me?
+
+DENOVALIN (stepping forward).
+                              I will, King Mark.
+
+MARK (springing up).
+      Oh, drive this man outside the walls, and bid
+      Him ride with speed! I feel a great
+      Desire to dip my hands in his foul blood
+      After this awful marriage feast! And if
+      A second time the Lord shall testify
+      'Gainst thee, Denovalin, then shalt thou die!
+      I swear it! Thou shalt die!
+
+DENOVALIN (calmly).
+                                 My castle walls
+      Are high and strong, oh Mark!
+
+ISEULT.
+                          What loathsome brutes,
+      What wretched beasts lust makes of men!
+       Behold
+      Thyself, Oh Mark, thou that art wise and kind;
+      How deep consumed by lust! Thou wilt not let
+      Me live, but dost thy best to shame. That which
+      Thou lovest most, thou castest forth to be
+      A prey to vultures, and thou think'st the while
+      Thou hatest me! Oh Mark, how thou dost err
+      In thinking that thou hatest me! Behold,
+      I pity thee! And shall I now beseech,
+      And wring my hands, humbling myself to thee?
+      I do not know how women nobly born
+      Can live on through the loathsome leper test,
+      And will not think thereon, for 'tis enough
+      To make a woman die, yet, once again,
+      Before you all; before my God I swear,
+      And will repeat my solemn oath, and then,
+      When I have sworn it, He will send His help
+      Or let my flesh be torn between the dogs
+      And leprous human vultures of Lubin.
+      I swear that I have never thrilled with love
+      But for that man who elapsed me in his arms,
+      A maiden still, as clean and pure as snow
+      New-fallen on a winter's morn. This man,
+      And this man only, have I loved with all
+      The faith and passion of my womanhood.
+      I gave myself to him with all my soul;
+      My heart was full of dancing and of song;
+      My love was wreathed in smiles as some May-morn
+      Laughs softly on the mountain tops. This man
+      I loved; no other have I loved, though he
+      May grieve, and shame me, and deceive!--King Mark!
+
+MARK (almost screaming).
+      Oh shield me, he that loves me, from her oaths!
+
+DENOVALIN (turns calmly to ISEULT).
+      Lead back the Queen into her chamber, page!
+
+
+
+
+ACT III
+
+
+The Inner Courtyard of the Castle.--In the foreground at the left is
+the Castle gate. In the background on the right, at the top of a broad
+flight of steps, under an arcade of columns, stands the door of the
+chapel. At the left of the gate entering the courtyard are some
+buildings, behind which may be seen the high castle walls surmounted by
+trees. The road from the Castle to the church is laid with carpets. In
+the middle of the stage, on the right, stands a stone well. In the
+background is a crowd of people held back by three armed guards. At the
+foot of the steps, one on each side, stand two men-at-arms.
+
+
+
+                                SCENE I
+
+1ST GUARD.
+      Back, crowd not there! Stand back!
+
+2D GUARD.
+                                The children may
+      Stand in the front, but hold them. There crawls one!
+
+1ST GUARD (pushing the child back into the crowd).
+      My little friend, get back! Now see, I'll make
+      A line upon the ground, and if thy toes,
+      But by a hair's breadth, cross that line again,
+      I'll drop my spear on them and they shall be
+      As flat as any barley cake.
+
+      [Laughter.]
+
+1ST GIRL.
+                                    Ha, Ha!
+
+2D GIRL.
+      Hast thou become a baker, oh Gilain!
+
+1ST GUARD (lifting his mailed hand).
+      Ay, wench, would'st see me knead my dough?
+
+      [Laughter.]
+
+A BOY.
+                                        Be still
+      I hear the crier's voice from down below!
+
+A GIRL.
+      He's wandered up and down the streets since dawn
+      And called until my blood runs cold!
+
+THE BOY.
+                                     Hush.
+
+THE GIRL.
+                                           Hark!
+
+VOICE OF THE CRIER (distant and ringing).
+      Today at noon, because King Mark has found
+      Her faithless and untrue, shall Queen Iseult
+      Be given to the lepers of Lubin,--
+      A gift to take or leave. And, furthermore,
+      Lord Tristram, who was once her paramour,
+      Transgressed King Mark's decree by entering
+      His realm. Whoever catches him and brings
+      Him quick or dead unto the King shall have
+      One hundred marks of gold for his reward.
+      'Tis good King Mark's decree that every one
+      Should hear and know these things that I have cried.
+
+A CHILD.
+      Oh, I'm afraid! Will he come here, that man?
+
+THE GIRL.
+      I know it all by heart, and still he cries!
+
+A MAN.
+      Ay, let him cry!
+
+ANOTHER MAN.
+                      Lord Tristram, he's a fox;
+      To catch him they must have a good deep pit
+      Or else he'll scratch them so that all their lives
+      They'll think thereon.
+
+A GIRL.
+                        Tristram's a noble lord,
+      I'd shield him an I could.
+
+A SECOND GIRL.
+                                   I want to see
+      The Queen close by.
+
+A THIRD GIRL.
+                        Ay, so do I!
+
+A FOURTH GIRL.
+                                      I'll strew
+      Some flowers in her path as she goes past.
+
+1ST GIRL.
+      My father made her once a pair of shoes
+      Of fine white satin, bound with golden clasps
+      And crimson 'broidery. He says her feet
+      Are delicate and small; as white and slim
+      As are the Virgin Mary's in the shrine
+      That stands within Tintagel's lofty church
+      Above the great high altar.
+
+4TH GIRL.
+                                Poor, poor soul!
+
+OLD WOMAN.
+      Ay, let her see where those white feet of hers
+      Have carried her!
+
+3D GUARD (to a boy who has climbed upon the wall).
+      Hey, thou! Come down! The wall
+      And rocks are full an hundred fathoms high,
+      So, if thou fall, thy howling will not help.
+
+THE BOY.
+      I want to sit here when the lepers come!
+
+ANOTHER BOY.
+      A good place that! I'll climb up too.
+
+A FOURTH BOY.
+                                          I too!
+
+1ST GUARD.
+      Now none of you may stay within the court
+      To stare when Queen Iseult is given o'er
+      Unto the lepers. Mark has granted this
+      Unto the Queen since 'twas her only wish.
+      Ye all must go into the church.
+
+A MAN.
+                                        May none
+      Then stay without and watch the lepers?
+
+ANOTHER MAN.
+                                      's wounds!
+      Why then I came for nothing, all this way!
+
+A WOMAN (indignantly).
+      Oh shame, thou beast, would'st gloat and make a show
+      Of that which one scarce dares to think of? Fie!
+      For such foul thoughts thou shouldst be thrown
+      To Husdent to devour!
+
+2D GUARD.
+                          Stop wrangling, there!
+
+A GIRL.
+      Poor Queen! I pity her!
+
+A SECOND GIRL.
+                          King Mark's too harsh!
+
+A MAN.
+      She's made a cuckold of him, Girl!
+
+OLD WOMAN.
+                                         And now
+      He's tossing her with those new horns of his!
+
+YOUNG SHEPHERD.
+      Is then the Queen Iseult so wondrous fair
+      As she is said to be?
+
+A GIRL.
+                              Hast thou not seen
+      The Queen?
+
+SHEPHERD.
+                  No, never yet!
+
+A GIRL.
+                                 He's never seen
+      The Queen?
+
+A BOY.
+                Behold, here's one who never saw
+      Our Queen!
+
+A VOICE.
+      Who is he?
+
+1ST GUARD.
+                 Speak, where wast thou, friend,
+      When Queen Iseult stood bound here to the stake?
+
+A GIRL.
+      All naked in her wondrous beauty--
+
+ANOTHER GIRL.
+                                             All
+      For her great love.
+
+THE BOY.
+                        We all did see her then.
+
+SHEPHERD.
+      I've come since then from Toste in the hills.
+
+A WOMAN.
+      Here, let this fellow stand in front, that he
+      May see the Queen's fair face before this swarm
+      Of vultures has devoured it.
+
+1ST GUARD.
+                                      Come here;
+      If thou hast never seen the Queen thou may'st
+      Stand here beside the steps.
+
+SHEPHERD.
+                              I thank thee.
+
+A SOLDIER (drawing him beside him).
+                                           Here!
+
+A VOICE.
+      Here come the soldiers!
+
+A CHILD.
+                        Lift me, father.
+
+A VOICE.
+                                          Hsh--!
+
+
+
+                                SCENE II
+
+Soldiers march past and enter the church. The church door stays open.
+
+
+A GIRL.
+      I pray thee, Gilain, who will lead the Queen?
+
+1ST GUARD.
+      The hangman and King Mark.
+
+THE GIRL.
+                              Poor soul!
+
+OLD WOMAN.
+                                     Why weep'st
+      Thou, girl?
+
+OLD MAN (as a crucifix is carried past).
+        Friends, cross yourselves. The crucifix!
+
+SHEPHERD (leans forward so that he can see across the
+      courtyard into the castle).
+      Behold, she comes! My God, how beautiful--!
+      An angel--!
+
+THE SOLDIER (as GIMELLA passes).
+                That, my friend, is but her maid
+      Gimella.
+
+2D GUARD.
+          Back! Stand back! Thou shalt not push!
+
+SHEPHERD.
+      Oh there! Behold, she is a fairy! Yea,
+      And she is fairer than Gimella far!
+      I'll fall upon my knees when she goes past.
+      She's wondrous fair, ay, fairer than a flower,
+      A lily--See--!
+
+THE SOLDIER (as BRANGAENE goes by).
+                Stand up, thou knave, for that's
+      Brangaene. She's our lady's faithful maid.
+
+SHEPHERD.
+      She too was fair! Can one imagine then,
+      There's any one more beautiful than she?
+      What wondrous women Mark has at his court!
+      Such ladies have I never seen--There dwell
+      None such in Toste! See--! This one--! Oh, God!
+      Oh, God! The sun has fall'n--! Its blinding rays--!
+
+      [Falls on his knees.]
+
+[Illustration: A DAUGHTER OF THE PEOPLE]
+KARL HAIDER
+
+THE SOLDIER (softly).
+      That was the Queen!
+
+      [ISEULT walks past between MARK and the
+      hangman. She is draped in a purple cloak;
+      her feet are bare. PARANIS follows her.
+      Part of the crowd kneels down.]
+
+SHEPHERD (staring).
+                        Oh, Queen Iseult! Iseult
+      The Goldenhaired!
+
+A GIRL.
+                        Oh fairest, dearest one!
+
+ANOTHER GIRL.
+      Oh Queen, smile down upon us once again!
+
+      [A rattling sound is heard. The Strange
+      Leper steps from behind one of the columns.
+      His bearded face is hidden by the hood of
+      his cloak. The crowd draws away shuddering,
+      the procession halts. The leper kneels
+      before ISEULT and bows so low that his
+      forehead almost touches her feet.]
+
+A VOICE.
+      A leper, see!
+
+A GIRL.
+                           Oh Virgin Mary, help!
+
+A 2D GIRL.
+      Whence came he here!
+
+A 3D GIRL.
+                       He had concealed himself!
+
+MARK (slowly).
+      --Thou cam'st too soon my friend!
+
+      [The leper disappears sidewise under the
+      steps. The procession goes into the
+      church, from which an organ begins to
+      sound. The soldiers and the crowd follow
+      after.]
+
+A GIRL (covering her face with her hands).
+                             Oh, our poor Queen!
+
+A 2D GIRL.
+      She was like alabaster, cold and white!
+
+A 3D GIRL.
+      Not once along the awful way she raised
+      Her eyes!
+
+A 4TH GIRL.
+                  She did not wish to see!
+
+THE 1ST GIRL.
+                                         Oh fie,
+      That Mark should shame her so!
+
+THE 2D GUARD.
+                             Make haste, ye must
+      Go in!
+
+1ST GUARD (to the kneeling shepherd).
+                Wake up! Thou too must go within
+      The church. Now come!
+
+SHEPHERD.
+                              The sun fell down!
+      It grazed my eyes!
+
+A GIRL.
+                     I'll pray with all my heart
+      For our poor Queen!
+
+A 2D GIRL.
+                     We all will pray--and curse
+      The King!
+
+3D GUARD.
+       Thou slut, be still, and hold thy tongue!
+      Make haste into the church--go in!
+
+1ST GUARD.
+                                          I hear
+      The lepers coming! hark!
+
+3D GUARD.
+                     Here, girl, thou'st dropped
+      Thy kerchief!
+
+      [He picks it up.]
+
+THE GIRL.
+                  Thanks!
+
+1ST GUARD (taking the old man by the arm).
+            Take hold of me, old man.
+      Make haste.
+
+      [The doors of the church close: the stage
+      remains empty for a few seconds. The music
+      of the organ swells, and a hymn is heard.
+      Then, by snatches, first distantly, then
+      nearer, the rythmical rattling of the lepers
+      resounds.]
+
+
+
+                                SCENE III
+
+The lepers enter the courtyard. They are a wild pack dressed in gaudy
+rags, and rumpled, armless cloaks with hoods; carrying long staves and
+crutches; with colored cloths bound about their sinister foreheads.
+Their faces are sunburnt, their hair is snow-white and streams in the
+wind. Some have their heads shaved. Their arms and feet are bare.
+Altogether they present a motley appearance, though the hardships of
+their life, as a band forced to live together, give them the aspect of
+weather-beaten and dried chaff driven hither and thither by the wind.
+They stand shyly and rock unsteadily on their dried and shrunken
+legs--silent and restless. Like ghosts of the noonday, they try to hush
+their voices throughout the scene.
+
+IWEIN (is the first to enter; the others file past him).
+                Come quick! They've all gone in!
+
+A LEPER.
+                              Right here
+      The cat shall catch the bird!
+
+A YOUNG LEPER (wearing a wreath, made of three or four
+      large red flowers, in his dark hair).
+                                         Heisa! Heisa!
+
+IWEIN.
+      Speak softly, there, lest ye disturb the mass.
+
+AN OLD LEPER (feeble, and supporting himself on a crutch,
+      in the tone of the town crier, almost singing).
+      Today shall Queen Iseult, our good King's spouse
+      Be given to us, the lepers of Lubin--
+      So cried the herald!--
+
+YOUNG LEPER.
+                         Brother, brother, dance
+      With me, for I'm the bridegroom--Ah!--
+
+OLD LEPER (in the same tone).
+                                           Today
+      Shall Queen Iseult--
+
+      [Every time that the old leper begins to
+      speak he is silenced by the others.]
+
+YOUNG LEPER (striking him).
+      Thou fool!
+
+      (To a fourth leper.)
+
+                        Come dance!
+
+4TH LEPER.
+                                       Be still!
+      At noon to eat raw turnips, then at night
+      To have the Queen to sleep with in the straw!
+      Ha, ha! It makes me laugh!
+
+A REDHAIRED LEPER.
+                            King Mark shall give
+      Us wine to celebrate our wedding feast!
+
+YOUNG LEPER (dancing).
+      Oh, brother, come and dance with me!
+
+A SIXTH LEPER.
+                                          I want
+      To look at her and then get drunk!
+
+YOUNG LEPER.
+                                     Come, then,
+      And dance with me, my little brother, dance!
+
+IWEIN (coming from the gate).
+      Be still, and stand in order by the steps,
+      That we may see her when the hangman brings
+      Her forth.
+
+1ST LEPER (sits down on the ground).
+                  I will not stand.
+
+IWEIN.
+                          Then crawl, thou toad!
+
+7TH LEPER.
+      Iseult the Goldenhaired!--The lepers' bride,
+      And Queen!
+
+      (He laughs.)
+
+REDHAIRED LEPER.
+      Well spoken, friend! We'll call her that!
+
+OLD LEPER.
+      Today shall Queen Iseult--
+
+8TH LEPER. She shall be mine
+      I' the morning of all holidays!
+
+1ST LEPER.
+                                           And I
+      Will have her late at night.
+
+REDHAIRED LEPER.
+                            I'll take her first!
+
+6TH LEPER.
+      Not so; Iwein shall have her first for he's
+      Our King!
+
+YOUNG LEPER (to redhaired leper).
+      Who? Thou?
+
+9TH LEPER.
+                    Thou have her first? Who art
+      Thou, then, thou redhaired knave?
+
+10TH LEPER (calling out loudly).
+                             Here's one who says
+      He'll tame the Queen!
+
+1ST LEPER.
+                        Oh, break his jaw!
+
+YOUNG LEPER.
+                                          I want
+      Her now, my friends; my loins burn and itch
+      For her!
+
+REDHAIRED LEPER.
+          I'll beat you, cripples, and I'll make
+      You all more cripple than ye are,
+      Unless ye give her me to kiss and hug
+      For one full week at least!
+
+IWEIN.
+                              What crowest thou,
+      Redheaded rooster!--Ye shall all draw lots
+      For who shall have her after me!
+
+11TH LEPER.
+                                       Ay, let's
+      Draw lots.
+
+REDHAIRED LEPER.
+                  Plague on you all!
+
+4TH LEPER.
+                                 It's on us now!
+      Come, let's draw lots!
+
+6TH LEPER.
+      Draw lots!
+
+OLD LEPER.
+                  But first of all
+      I'll make her mend my clothes.
+
+4TH LEPER (tearing up a cloth).
+                             I'll tear the lots!
+
+1ST LEPER.
+      Here, put them in my cloak! Now come, and draw!
+
+12TH LEPER.
+      Look yonder! There's another one.
+
+REDHAIRED LEPER.
+                                   Where! Where?
+
+      [As they crowd around, the Strange Leper
+      steps from behind the column.]
+
+6TH LEPER.
+      There, yonder, see--?
+
+10TH LEPER.
+                        Who is he?
+
+9TH LEPER.
+                                    Look!
+
+YOUNG LEPER (goes to the steps).
+                                         Who art
+      Thou!
+
+IWEIN.
+            Speak! Art thou a leper too, as we?
+
+OLD LEPER (to the stranger).
+      Today shall Queen Iseult, our good King's spouse--
+
+REDHAIRED LEPER.
+      Be still, old fool!
+
+IWEIN.
+                        Wilt thou not answer me?
+      I am Iwein, the Lepers' King; what wouldst
+      Thou here?
+
+      [The Strange Leper throws money among them.]
+
+1ST LEPER (leaping, with the rest, to seize the money).
+                  Holla!
+
+10TH LEPER.
+                             He's throwing money! See!
+
+STR. LEPER.
+      I am a leper from Karesh and wish
+      To dwell among you here at St. Lubin.
+
+4TH LEPER.
+      Thou'st smelt the bird from far, good friend!
+
+REDHAIRED LEPER.
+                                         We will
+      Admit no new companion to our band!
+
+9TH LEPER.
+      Go home, we'll none of thee!
+
+11TH LEPER.
+                            Hast thou more gold?
+
+STR. LEPER (holding up a purse).
+      Iwein shall have it and distribute it
+      Among you, if ye'll take me in.
+
+12TH LEPER.
+                                   Ha! 's death!
+      Thou art a rich young varlet!
+
+1ST LEPER.
+                                   Let him stay!
+
+4TH LEPER.
+      I care not if there be one more or less!
+
+IWEIN.
+      Come down to us. What is thy name?
+
+      [The Strange Leper comes down from the
+      steps.]
+
+7TH LEPER.
+                                        How tall
+      Thou art! If Godwin dares to threaten me
+      Thou'lt punish him.
+
+YOUNG LEPER.
+                  And what's thy name?
+
+STR. LEPER.
+                                       Why, call
+      Me then the Sad One, for that is my name.
+
+IWEIN.
+      Then come, thou Sad One, take thy place.
+        They'll keep
+      Us not much longer waiting for our spouse.
+
+6TH LEPER (to the stranger).
+      King Mark's a kind and gen'rous King to think
+      Of giving us a wife!
+
+OLD LEPER (to the stranger).
+                        The herald cried
+      That Queen Iseult of Ireland, King Mark's
+      Own spouse today should be--
+
+IWEIN.
+      Fool, hold thy tongue!
+      Let's all together make a noise, and shake
+      Our clappers as a sign.
+
+      [They shake their rattles.]
+
+12TH LEPER.
+                             The door! The door!
+
+YOUNG LEPER.
+      Be still! Be still! She's coming now!
+
+IWEIN.
+                                       Be still.
+
+
+
+                                SCENE IV
+
+The door of the church is partially opened. The hangman leads ISEULT
+out. The Strange Leper falls on his knees and bows deep to the ground.
+
+
+YOUNG LEPER.
+      Let's fall upon our knees, Iwein!
+
+      [A few lepers kneel. The hangman takes
+      ISEULT'S crown and cloak away. She stands
+      there, draped only in her golden hair. Her
+      eyes are closed and she remains motionless.]
+
+THE HANGMAN (kissing ISEULT'S foot).
+                                         Forgive
+      Me, Queen Iseult, for God's sweet sake!
+
+      [He goes back into the church. The door
+      closes and the organ sounds louder in the
+      silence.]
+
+IWEIN.
+                                          We are
+      The lepers of Lubin, and thou, by Mark's
+      Decree, art now our bride. Come down that we--
+
+      [The Strange Leper, with a violent effort,
+      springs to his feet, and turns upon the
+      lepers.]
+
+STR. LEPER.
+      Who spoke? Which one of you? Tell me, who spoke?
+      Scabs! Vultures! Curs, away! Be off! If one
+      Of you but speaks again I'll trample you
+      Beneath my feet and grind you in the dirt.
+      What wish ye here? Here's gold! Be off, ye curs!
+
+      [Only a few stoop to gather the gold he
+      throws among them.]
+
+YOUNG LEPER (rushes at him; IWEIN holds him back).
+      Thou! Thou!
+
+IWEIN.
+              Who art thou that insults us thus?
+
+10TH LEPER.
+      Thou! Hold thy tongue, else will Iwein give thee
+      So sound a drubbing that thou shalt fall dead
+      Upon the ground!
+
+8TH LEPER.
+                        Iwein is strong!--He was
+      A mighty Lord!
+
+STR. LEPER.
+                  Will ye not go?
+
+1ST LEPER.
+                                     Hark, thou,
+      This woman here is ours.
+
+REDHAIRED LEPER (thrusting a stick into IWEIN'S hand).
+                             Go, knock him down!
+
+7TH LEPER.
+      Come on!
+
+      [The Strange Leper snatches the club from
+      the feeble leper so that he falls, knocks
+      IWEIN to the ground, and leaps into the
+      crowd dealing fierce blows right and left.
+      In his left hand he holds a sword which
+      he does not use. In the following scene,
+      also, the lepers' voices are hushed from
+      fear and surprise.]
+
+STR. LEPER.
+              There lies Iwein! Be off, ye dogs!
+
+OLD LEPER.
+      Ai! oh!
+
+10TH LEPER.
+            He's killed Iwein!
+
+4TH LEPER.
+                                Lay hold of him!
+
+7TH LEPER.
+      Thou, Red One, seize him by the throat--I'll leap
+      Upon him from behind!
+
+      [The Strange Leper knocks the Redhaired
+      Leper down.]
+
+REDHAIRED LEPER.
+                        Help! Help!
+
+STR. LEPER.
+                                      There lies
+      Your Red One!
+
+4TH LEPER.
+                  Fly! He has a sword!
+
+11TH LEPER (receiving a blow).
+                                        Oh help!
+
+OLD LEPER.
+      Come, brothers, let us run.
+
+6TH LEPER (struck).
+                              Oh, oh!
+
+STR. LEPER.
+                                            Away
+      With you! Be off!
+
+7TH LEPER (struck).
+      Ai! Ai!
+
+      [Some of the lepers try to carry away the
+      wounded as they run.]
+
+YOUNG LEPER.
+                                 Let's carry off
+      Iwein! Come, pick him up.
+
+1ST LEPER.
+                                 And Godwin too!
+      Make haste!
+
+11TH LEPER (struck).
+                  Oh help!
+
+STR. LEPER (driving the whole troupe to the gate).
+                 Back, curs, back to your holes!
+      Crawl back into your noisome dens!
+
+7TH LEPER (struck).
+                                        Oh! 'tis
+      Beelzebub himself!
+
+10TH LEPER.
+                        The devil!
+
+9TH LEPER.
+                                    Hold!
+
+12TH LEPER.
+      We go! We go!
+
+6TH LEPER.
+                    King Mark shall punish thee!
+
+STR. LEPER (throwing the club after them).
+      Here, take your crutch and flee, ye curs!
+
+VOICES OF THE LEPERS (outside).
+                                       Oh, oh!--
+      He wounded me!--Fly!--Fly!--
+
+
+
+                                SCENE V
+
+The Strange Leper, whose hood has fallen back during the conflict, goes
+quickly to the foot of the steps. His forehead is bound with a narrow
+band. ISEULT stands motionless with closed eyes.
+
+STR. LEPER.
+                                         Iseult!
+
+      (Anxiously, wonderingly and imploringly.)
+
+                                         Iseult!
+
+ISEULT (throws back her head, shuddering. She keeps
+      her eyes closed. Slowly and heavily.)
+      Thou beast! Thou dog!
+
+STR. LEPER.
+                        Iseult! 'Tis I who call!
+
+ISEULT (hastily, as though to cover herself with the words).
+      I beg thee, beast, thou evil beast, speak not!
+      If in thy loathsome carcass there still dwells
+      Some remnant of a man, I pray thee slay
+      Me, but speak not!
+
+STR. LEPER (uncertainly).
+                              Iseult!
+
+      [He falls on his knees opposite the steps,
+      but at a distance from them; and leans
+      back until his thighs rest upon his heels.]
+
+ISEULT.
+                            Speak not! Be still,
+      And kill me now! They've left me not so much
+      As one small pin with which to kill myself!
+      Behold! I kneel to thee, and like some low
+      And humble maid, I beg thee, beast, to kill
+      Me, and I'll bless thee!
+
+STR. LEPER.
+                          Oh, Iseult, dost thou
+      No longer love Lord Tristram who was once
+      Thy friend?
+
+ISEULT (stares at him for a moment).
+      Thou speak'st, thou speak'st, thou beast, and star'st!
+      Yet God shall punish thee since, though I beg,
+      Thou would'st not kill me now!
+
+STR. LEPER (crying out despairingly).
+                                  Iseult, awake!
+      Oh Golden One, 'tis Tristram calls!
+
+ISEULT.
+                                     Thou seekst
+      With scorn and biting words to martyr me,
+      And kill me then! Oh say that thou wilt kill
+      Me afterward--when thou hast railed enough!
+      --And thou wilt come no nearer than thou art?
+
+STR. LEPER.
+      Iseult, awake! Awake, Iseult, and speak,
+      And tell me if thou lovest Tristram still!
+
+ISEULT.
+      Ah, he was once my friend! Why dost thou use
+      The dagger of his name to prick my heart?
+      I loved him once, and 'tis for that I stand
+      Here!--Kill me now!
+
+STR. LEPER (going to the foot of the steps).
+                     God help me! Hear me speak,
+      Iseult, for I'm--
+
+      (His voice breaks with a sigh.)
+
+                       I'm Tristram's messenger!
+      Thine erstwhile friend--Him whom thou loved'st!
+
+ISEULT (angrily).
+                        Would'st shame
+      Me in my shame? Thou beast!
+
+STR. LEPER.
+                                  I wish to save
+      Thee now. Dost thou love Tristram still?
+
+ISEULT (going down a few steps, slowly and carefully).
+                                        Thou art
+      A messenger of his?--And dost thou come,
+      Perchance, to take me to him?
+
+      (Breaking out.)
+
+                                   Does thy Lord
+      Desire me, to give me as a gift
+      From some strange land, to his new bride?
+
+      [The Strange Leper hides his face in his
+      hands.]
+
+                                            Am I
+      To sit within a cage and watch him kiss
+      Her? Listen to him call his wife "Iseult?"
+      Was this his sweet design, or does Iseult
+      The Snowy Handed crave my golden hair
+      To make a pillow for voluptuous hours?
+      How strange that Tristram should so long for me
+      That he sends forth his messengers! And will
+      He lay us both within the self-same bed?
+      Caress and kiss us both at once throughout
+      The night's long, heavy hours? In other days
+      More modest was thy Lord in his desires.
+
+      (Passionately.)
+
+      Now kill me, kill me, beast! I've lived enough.
+
+STR. LEPER.
+      Iseult, dost thou not know me yet?
+
+ISEULT.
+                                      How should
+      I know thee, beast, or in what roadside ditch
+      Lord Tristram found thee as he fled away
+      This morning through the Morois from a man
+      Who called upon him in my name?
+
+STR. LEPER.
+                                       Oh, judge
+      Him not too quickly. Queen Iseult! He stood
+      And waited for the man, who in thy name
+      Had called!
+
+ISEULT (in fierce anger).
+                 He stood, say'st thou? Why then
+      He has not wed Iseult, white handed Queen?
+      I dreamed it all, and sobbed but in my dreams,
+      Perhaps? 'Twas then dream-tears I wept at this
+      Report?
+
+STR. LEPER.
+                Be merciful to Tristram, Queen!
+
+      [ISEULT descends a few more steps; looks
+      at him searchingly, and speaks, in a way,
+      questioningly.]
+
+ISEULT.
+      Wast thou his servant while he still was true,
+      And caught'st the plague while on his wedding trip?
+      Then weep for him, thou poor diseased beast!
+      I know thee not. And if thy master stood
+      Here too,--Lord Tristram, whom I once did love
+      And who returned my love in youthful years--
+      If he now stood before me here, I should
+      Not recognize his face behind the mask
+      Of cowardice which he has worn of late.
+      His faithlessness sticks to him like black slime!
+      Go tell him that!--I hate him in this mask!
+      He was so loving and so true when first
+      I knew and loved him! God shall punish him!
+
+STR. LEPER.
+      Iseult, great God has punished him enough;
+      His soul is writhing in its agony
+      Before thy feet!
+
+ISEULT.
+                        His soul is leprous, ay!
+      And 'tis an awful thing when one's own soul
+      Is leprous grown!--I loathe and hate him now!
+
+STR. LEPER (leaping up).
+      Iseult!
+
+ISEULT (wildly).
+          Go call the Vultures, call them forth!
+      I want to dance in their white arms, and flee
+      From Tristram's leprous soul that has betrayed
+      And shamed me thus!
+
+STR. LEPER.
+                           May God in mercy help
+      Him, for he loves thee still, Iseult, in life
+      And death!
+
+      [He starts toward the gate.]
+
+VOICE OF LORD DENOVALIN.
+            Let none go out! Draw up the bridge,
+      And close the castle gates! I'll catch the hound!
+
+      [Iseult staggers a few steps and collapses.]
+
+STR. LEPER.
+      Denovalin, Iseult! Our hated foe
+      Denovalin! Quick, hide thy nakedness
+      Within this cloak!
+
+      [He covers her with his cloak and bends
+      over her.]
+
+                           Dear lady I will kill
+      This man and then myself!
+
+      (Denovalin enters.)
+
+DENOVALIN.
+                            Thou, there! Who art
+      Thou? Speak, thou hound! Who dares thus brazenly
+      To set at naught King Mark's decreed commands?
+
+STR. LEPER (who has sprung upon the curbing of the wall).
+      Denovalin, a second time thou shalt
+      Not flee from me!--Take heed, and guard thyself!
+
+      [He springs at DENOVALIN and overthrows
+      him. He then swings himself up on the
+      wall and stands there for a second; his
+      leper's garment is thrown back and he
+      appears in a coat of silver mail, shining
+      in the sunlight.]
+
+DENOVALIN.
+      Tristram of Lyonesse!
+
+STR. LEPER (pulling his cloth from his head).
+                                  Dost recognize
+      Him by the stroke? God help me now!
+
+      [He leaps down from the wall. The stage
+      remains for a time empty. The organ
+      sounds; the gates are opened and two
+      guards stand on either side of the steps.
+      The church is gradually emptied.]
+
+
+
+                                SCENE VI
+
+A SOLDIER (in subdued tones).
+                                      What? Dost
+      Thou weep, Forzin?
+
+2D SOLDIER.
+                   I'm not ashamed! There's none
+      But weeps, save Mark alone! The very stones
+      Must weep!
+
+1ST SOLDIER.
+                It makes me shudder when I think
+      Of it.
+
+2D SOLDIER.
+            Come, come, let's all go home.
+
+A GIRL.
+                                        Oh hark!
+      Methought I heard one moan!
+
+2D GIRL.
+                                 Oh God! Behold!
+      Here lies the Queen!
+
+3D GIRL.
+                        They've murdered her!
+
+1ST SOLDIER (running to the spot).
+                                      The Queen!
+
+2D SOLDIER.
+      My God!
+
+1ST SOLDIER.
+            The King doth call!
+
+A MAN.
+                              She lives no more.
+
+3D GIRL.
+      Here lies another!
+
+1ST SOLDIER (running up).
+                        Lord Denovalin!
+      Stone dead!
+
+A VOICE.
+            Who? Where?
+
+2D SOLDIER.
+                    He bleeds and does not move!
+
+PARANIS (rushes up and throws himself down beside ISEULT).
+      Oh God! My queen!
+
+1ST SOLDIER (pulling him away).
+                          Stand back there, boy!
+
+PARANIS.
+                                          Oh let
+      Me kneel beside the Queen!--I always did!
+      Oh, Queen Iseult, how pale thou art!--But, see,
+      She breathes!
+
+2D SOLDIER.
+            The Queen still breathes!
+
+PARANIS.
+                                She is not dead!
+
+A GIRL.
+      Go call it out within that all may come,
+      She is not dead!
+
+A KNIGHT.
+                  Why shout ye so?
+
+A BOY.
+                                         Behold,
+      The lepers would not have Iseult!
+
+2D BOY.
+                                        Proclaim
+      It round about!
+
+A MAN.
+                  Be still, here comes the King!
+      Make room!
+
+      [Mark comes down the steps and stops on
+      the last one, motionless and staring.]
+
+1ST SOLDIER.
+          King Mark, here lies the Queen Iseult.
+      She breathes, but shows no signs of life.
+
+2D SOLDIER.
+                                        And here
+      Lies Lord Denovalin. He's dead, King Mark.
+
+      [Mark leans against a column to support
+      himself and stares down upon the scene.
+      The crowd groups itself and throngs the
+      door of the church behind him.]
+
+GIMELLA.
+      What's this?
+
+A BOY.
+               The lepers would not have Iseult.
+
+A GIRL (to GIMELLA).
+      Here lies the Queen!
+
+A MAN.
+                        Untouched and pure!
+
+A WOMAN.
+                                        A great,
+      And wondrous thing!--A judgment from the sky!
+
+GIMELLA.
+      No one has touched her, see!
+
+A VOICE.
+                                  Is she asleep?
+
+A MAN.
+      See, one has wrapped her in a cloak!
+
+SHEPHERD (calling aloud).
+                                       The cloak
+      Shall hang within the church!
+
+A GIRL.
+                                Brangaene, come!
+      She's smiling through her tears.
+
+BRANGAENE (bending over ISEULT--softly).
+                                 Oh dear Iseult!
+      Beloved one!
+
+GIMELLA.
+                  She breathes as feverishly
+      And deep as does a sick and suffering child
+      At midnight in its sleep!
+
+1ST SOLDIER.
+                                I'll to the gate
+      And ask the guards if they have seen some sign
+      Or token how this miracle occur'd!
+
+MARK (cries angrily).
+      I'll crucify the man who asks!
+
+      [All heads turn then in his direction and a
+      terrified expression comes over all
+      countenances. MARK speaks harshly and calmly.]
+
+                        Dinas
+      Of Lidan? Is he here?
+
+1ST GUARD.
+                                 Lord Dinas left
+      The castle gate today at dawn, my Lord.
+
+MARK.
+      Did Lord Denovalin receive his wound
+      In front, or from behind?
+
+1ST GUARD.
+                            Here, at the throat.
+      The wound is small and deep, as though a shaft
+      Of lightning struck him there between the helm
+      And gorget--sharp and swift.
+
+VOICES.
+                                Oh listen! See,
+      'Twas God that struck Denovalin, since he
+      Had falsely testified against the Queen!
+      Then let the executioner strip off
+      His arms, and hang them in my armory,
+      So that the sun shall shine thereon. The corpse
+      Shall he bind to a horse's tail, and drag
+      It o'er the common land and let it rot!
+      Where lies the Queen!
+
+SHEPHERD.
+                 Stand back there, for King Mark
+      Would see the Queen in her pale beauty! Back!
+
+      [The crowd stands back and a space is
+      cleared around ISEULT. MARK looks down
+      upon her from above and speaks coldly
+      and slowly, controlling himself.]
+
+MARK.
+      Let Queen Iseult be carried on that cloak
+      Within the castle. Place her there upon
+      Soft pillows. Strew fresh flowers round about
+      Her bed, and moisten all her robes and clothes
+      With sweetest perfumes. Kneel ye down and pray
+      When she doth speak to you, for she must be
+      In some way sacred, since God loves her thus.
+
+      (Almost shouting.)
+
+      And if she should be found in Tristram's bed
+      I'll kill the man who tells me of it, ay,
+      And let his body rot upon the ground!
+      Now saddle me a horse that I may go
+      To seek Lord Dinas, my most loyal friend!
+
+
+
+
+ACT IV
+
+
+The High Vaulted Hall of the Castle.--In the middle of the hall on the
+left opens a high, wooden staircase. In the background on the left,
+bay-windows; on the right, a broad, barred door. Through the grating
+one sees the outer court. In the middle of the wall on the right is a
+wide fireplace on each side of which jut out low stone benches. In
+front of the windows stands a table at which DINAS and GANELUN, the
+First and Second Barons, are playing chess. In the foreground, a table
+on which chess-boards stand prepared for play. The table by the
+stone-bench stands on a dais which is shut off from behind by a
+railing. On the dais and on the floor are carpets. Servants take
+wine-flagons from a sideboard which stands on the left beside the
+stairs, and place them in front of the players. In front of the raised
+table UGRIN, the King's Jester, is asleep. The oil-torches give only a
+dim light. For a moment the players continue their game in silence.
+
+
+
+                                SCENE I
+
+1ST BARON.
+      Take heed unto thy queen, Lord Ganelun,
+      Unless thou willingly dost sacrifice
+      Her to my pawns, as Mark gave Queen Iseult
+      Unto his lepers!
+
+GANELUN.
+                           Wait! for see, I move
+      My bishop back.
+
+2D BARON.
+                   Check! Dinas, check and mate!
+      Thou mad'st it easy, friend. Thou never shouldst
+      Have sacrificed the knight, for thus my rook
+      Escaped, attacking thee.
+
+DINAS.
+                            Forgive; my thoughts
+      Were troubled, ay, and wandered from the game.
+
+      [Two knights come in from the courtyard.]
+
+1ST KNIGHT.
+      I cannot make one ray of sense from all
+      These strange occurrences, my Lords! I greet
+      Thee, Ganelun!
+
+      [Shakes hands with the Barons.]
+
+2D KNIGHT (shaking hands).
+                    At chess! At chess my Lords!
+      Your blood must run full slowly in your veins!
+
+      [Comes forward.]
+
+GANELUN.
+      King Mark has bid us play, and order'd wine
+      For us to drink, since otherwise 'twould be
+      A dull and sombre evening here tonight
+      Within the castle hall, for Queen Iseult,
+      I ween, will stay in her retirement.
+
+1ST KNIGHT.
+      King Mark bade us come hither too.
+
+UGRIN.
+                                        "Oh God!
+      Men! Men! Bring lights and let me see the face
+      Of human beings 'round about!" So cried
+      My cousin Mark not half an hour agone,
+      As one on whom the mirth of loneliness
+      Falls all too heavily!
+
+2D BARON.
+                           What think ye, Lords,
+      Of this most wondrous thing?
+
+2D KNIGHT.
+                                  And do ye know
+      That Kaad, King Mark's old stable groom, beheld
+      St. George leap from the battlement where wall
+      And rock drop off an hundred fathom sheer?
+
+      [The Barons stand up and crowd about him.]
+
+1ST BARON.
+      St. George?
+
+GANELUN.
+            What's that thou say'st?
+
+DINAS.
+                            Dost thou know more?
+
+2D KNIGHT.
+      I know but what old Kaad himself recounts;
+      That, as he led Mark's charger down to drink,
+      There suddenly appeared before his eyes
+      The lofty shape of good St. George, erect,
+      Upon the wall!
+
+1ST BARON (crossing himself).
+      God save my soul!
+
+2D BARON.
+                                       And then?
+      What happened then?
+
+2D KNIGHT.
+                           Kaad thought at first
+      He was some mortal man and cried to him
+      To heed; but in that selfsame moment leapt
+      The holy knight, and cleared the wall, and fell
+      The hundred fathoms. But when Kaad ran up,
+      With all the speed he might unto the spot,
+      St. George had vanished and had left no trace.
+
+1ST BARON.
+      No trace?
+
+2D BARON.
+               'Tis strange!
+
+DINAS.
+                           A wondrous thing!
+
+GANELUN.
+                                        But say,
+      By what did Kaad first recognize the saint?
+
+2D KNIGHT.
+      I know not, but he says 'twas he; and all
+      The people, are rejoicing at this new
+      And wondrous miracle of good St. George.
+
+1ST KNIGHT.
+      What says King Mark about this miracle,
+      This saving of the Queen by God Himself?
+      Hast seen him, Dinas?
+
+DINAS (returning to the table).
+                          Ay, his heart and mind
+      Are heavy and his soul distressed.
+
+2D KNIGHT.
+                                       And Queen
+      Iseult?
+
+1ST KNIGHT.
+            What said the King of her?
+
+GANELUN.
+                                        The King
+      Refused to see her, or to speak with her,
+      Since neither dares to speak of this foul deed
+      Which has occurred; its memory still throbs,
+      And tingling flows throughout their blood.
+
+2D BARON.
+                                         And yet
+      He sent the Queen, and without message too,
+      The head that pledged a perjured oath today,
+      Upon a silver shield. And well he did.
+
+2D KNIGHT.
+      My Lord Denovalin a victim fell
+      Unto a saintly and a holy hand,
+      But died ingloriously!
+
+DINAS.
+                                  As he deserved
+      So died he. Sir.
+
+      [The Barons and Knights sit down again
+      at the table. King MARK, unnoticed by
+      the others, comes slowly down the steps,
+      and walks about. He is oppressed and
+      agitated. At length he stops, and, leaning
+      against the end post of the bannister,
+      listens to the conversation of the others.]
+
+1ST KNIGHT.
+                         A leper has been stoned
+      Because he cried throughout Lubin that 'twas
+      The devil who had done the thing.
+
+DINAS.
+                                      Such leaps
+      By God or devil can alone be done.
+
+GANELUN.
+      'Tis true, my Lords, no mortal man can spring
+      An hundred fathoms.
+
+      [Mark steps up to the table and lays his
+      arm about Dinas' neck.]
+
+
+
+SCENE II
+
+MARK.
+                             True, Lord Ganelun!
+
+2D BARON (springing up).
+      The King!
+
+1ST BARON
+            The King here! Pardon, sire!
+
+MARK.
+                                         I thank
+      You all, my Lords, that ye were not enraged
+      And angered at a weak old man, and came
+      Again to me. I would not willingly
+      Have spent this night alone.
+
+2D BARON.
+                                 Most cheerfully
+      We came. The Queen's miraculous escape
+      O'er joys us all.
+
+1ST BARON.
+                    There lack but three to make
+      The tale complete; those three, my Lords, who stood
+      As sponsors of the bond.
+
+MARK.
+                        They're coursing through
+      The gloomy forest paths and seek to catch
+      That which, since God hath spoken, cannot be
+      Therein. I've sent my riders to recall
+      Them here to me.
+
+GANELUN.
+                    Give me thy hand, King Mark,
+      For I am glad that thou didst err!
+
+MARK (his voice is bitter and despairing).
+                                         I, too,
+      Am glad, for if this morning I appeared
+      A wreckless youth, a foolish boy who dared
+      In arrogant presumption to assert
+      Himself and to rebel against your word,
+      Forgive me. Passion is the heritage
+      Of man; his deeds the natural consequence
+      Of passion. Think ye not the same? And see,
+      How God, now for the second time, has wrought,
+      And sternly proved the truth! Is it, perchance,
+      His will that I should learn unseeingly,
+      Unquestioningly to revere His stars
+      On which our actions here on earth depend?
+      What think ye, sirs? for so it seems to me;
+      And therefore hath He hid from me that which
+      Most eagerly I wish to know, so that
+      Before this veiled uncertainty, my blood
+      Ran riot in my veins. But from this day
+      I'll change my mode of life; I will regard
+      My blindness and His unavoidable
+      Decree; for wisdom lies in piety,
+      As says an ancient proverb; hence I will,
+      From this day on, learn piety that I
+      Become a very sage for wisdom.
+
+      [Goes away.]
+
+A KNIGHT.
+                                          Calm
+      Thyself!
+
+UGRIN (calling to MARK).
+                Ay, cousin, make thyself a monk!
+
+MARK (turning back).
+      And I will learn to laugh at God that He
+      Should give Himself such trouble for a man
+      Like me--poor fool! Enough! Forgive my wrongs
+      In friendly wise, as I will overlook
+      Your sins with all my heart. But, if a man
+      Grown lately wise may counsel you, sin not;
+      Your work is the beginning, God's the end.
+
+UGRIN (calling out to him).
+      Amen.
+
+MARK.
+                   I've broken in upon your game
+      My friends, and chattered on. Forgive it me;
+      Resume your play and cups; drink on, I pray.
+
+      [He goes over to UGRIN.]
+
+      Thy jokes are empty of all wit today,
+      Ugrin.
+
+UGRIN.
+             My wit has fallen off, say'st thou?
+      Decay of time, believe me Mark; for wit
+      Is wine, and wine is poured into a cup
+      Of sparkling gold, and not into a crack'd
+      Old jug, and thou, illustrious cousin, art
+      Become a broken pot since noon today!
+
+      [Hands him his jester's sceptre.]
+
+      Here, hit thyself! Behold the ring is gone!
+      My wit's too precious for a ringless cup.
+      At Easter tide I'll seek me out as lord
+      Some jovial soul who loves his wine; who plays
+      Wild pranks, and gives his wife away when he
+      Is tired of her!
+
+MARK (sitting down on the stone bench).
+                            Friend Ugrin, I warn
+      Thee, heed thy tongue!
+
+UGRIN.
+                     Ay, cousin! Ay, 'twere best
+      Since thou'st forsworn all quarreling!
+
+MARK.
+                                          I wish
+      That I might put thee on the rack and have
+      Thee whipped before I go to rest! Instead
+      I'll give thee two broad marks of gold if thou
+      Can'st move Iseult to laughter; and I'll give
+      Besides the gold a brand-new cloak to wear
+      In winter time!
+
+UGRIN.
+                  Well lined?
+
+MARK (takes him by both ears).
+                               I've set my heart
+      Upon it that Iseult shall laugh, so do
+      Thy best, my friend!
+
+UGRIN (stands up).
+                    With some well-chosen words,
+      Perhaps, I briefly might describe to her
+      The leper's throng! What say'st thou, cousin?
+
+MARK.
+                                           Fool!
+
+UGRIN.
+      Or I might ask her what it's like when one's
+      Own husband, from unfeeling jealousy,
+      Ordains one to be burnt; or yet again
+      I might, with due solemnity, implore
+      Her to be kind--to love thee once again,
+      Good cousin! Surely she must laugh at that!
+
+MARK.
+      Peace, fool! Thou weariest me.
+
+UGRIN.
+                                  If thou intend
+      To grow thy beard in this new way I'll turn
+      Thy barber! I shall serve thee better then
+      Than now as fool! What say'st to this?
+
+MARK.
+                                        Oh fool,
+      If only thou wast not a fool!
+
+UGRIN (noticing ISEULT at the head of the stairs).
+                                         No fool
+      So great as thou thyself! Behold her now,
+      The woman whom thou gav'st away! Oh fie!
+      Fool cousin, art thou not ashamed?
+
+      (Sinks to his knees and calls out.)
+
+                                       The Queen
+      Approaches! Queen Iseult!
+
+
+
+SCENE III
+
+The Knights and Barons rise; MARK springs up and steps back a pace.
+ISEULT remains standing on the bottom step. BRANGAENE, GIMELLA and
+PARANIS are behind her.
+
+ISEULT.
+                                   I beg of you,
+      My Lords, consider what is past as 'twere
+      A dream, since otherwise we could not find
+      Fit words or proper sentiments to stand
+      Before each other with unblushing cheek,
+      For very shame and horror at this deed.
+
+      [She steps down into the hall.]
+
+      My Lords, I bid you welcome, one and all!
+
+GANELUN.
+      I kiss thy mantle's hem, oh Queen!
+
+1ST BARON.
+                                           So do
+      We all who stand before thee now. We feel
+      That thou art holy, Queen Iseult!
+
+ISEULT.
+                                           Ye do
+      Me wrong in praising me too much, good friends.
+      I did but swear the truth and keep what I
+      Had sworn. Continue now your play. I would
+      Not hinder you!
+
+      [She turns to MARK; both stare at each
+      other for a moment and then ISEULT
+      speaks timidly, almost childishly.]
+
+                         I wish to play at chess
+      --With Mark and Dinas--that true, loyal friend--
+
+MARK (after a short pause, quietly and kindly).
+      Play thou with Dinas first, since I, this morn,
+      Did interrupt thy game. I promised him
+      That he should play with thee.
+
+      [He goes to the chest.]
+
+      (Breaking out.)
+
+                               I'll choose Ugrin
+      As my opponent! Come, Sir Fool, and play
+      With me! [Sits down on the chest.]
+
+ISEULT.
+      So be it, Mark. Friend Dinas, come;
+      And thou Gimella play with Ganelun.
+
+      (To BRANGAENE.)
+
+      Stand thou beside me here and help me worst
+      Mine adversary. Come.
+
+      [She seats herself with DINAS at the raised
+      table. BRANGAENE stands beside the table
+      and leans over the bannister. PARANIS
+      seats himself at ISEULT'S feet. GIMELLA
+      takes her place at the other table. The
+      Strange Jester slinks across the court
+      and presses his pale, beardless face,
+      drawn with suffering, against the bars
+      of the grating. His head is shaved and
+      his clothes are torn and ragged.]
+
+UGRIN.
+                             Laugh at me, Queen.
+
+ISEULT.
+      Tell me, Ugrin, why should I laugh at thee?
+
+UGRIN.
+      I beg thee laugh; most fondly I implore
+      Thee laugh at me, Iseult. My cousin here
+      Hath promised me much gold if I can make
+      Thee laugh at me but once--I want that gold
+      So much!--Come, laugh at me, Iseult!
+
+ISEULT.
+                                      First earn
+      Thy gold, good fool. Be off and let us play.
+
+UGRIN (kneels down by MARK beside the chest).
+      Thy wife's not in her sweetest mood today,
+      Good cousin. Know'st thou why perhaps?
+
+MARK.
+                                         A truce
+      To thy dull jokes! Come, play the game. Sir Knave!
+
+ISEULT. I'll take thy castle, Dinas! Heed thy game.
+
+UGRIN (humming).
+      Oh once there was a mighty King,
+        Who had a lady fair.
+      This King did love his beauteous dame
+        As though his wife she were--
+
+ISEULT.
+      Thy castle falls--
+
+      (Softly.)
+
+                       I hardly see the squares!
+      They sway and rock like billows on the sea.
+
+DINAS.
+      Why weepest thou?
+
+ISEULT.
+                         I am not happy, friend.
+
+PARANIS (softly).
+      Oh God!--There, see! Through yonder window's bars
+      There peers a man.
+
+DINAS.
+                  Where, boy?
+
+PARANIS.
+                              There! There!
+
+STR. JESTER (calling through the grating).
+                                          Holla!
+      King Mark! Holla!
+
+DINAS.
+                  What's that!
+
+MARK (rising).
+                              Who storms outside
+      My door? Such noises in the night I will
+      Not brook! Who's there?
+
+      [UGRIN runs to the grating.]
+
+STR. JESTER.
+                          A jester, King; a poor
+      And witless fool. Let me come in! I'll crack
+      New jokes to make thee laugh!--Let me come in.
+
+UGRIN.
+      A fool!
+
+GIMELLA.
+            How came he here?
+
+BRANGAENE.
+                                 He startled me!
+
+ISEULT.
+      Indeed we weary of Ugrin's stale jests.
+
+STR. JESTER.
+      I'm a poor jester that would come to thee,
+      So let me in. King Mark.
+
+MARK (going to the grating).
+                            The fools, it seems,
+      Smell out my door as carrion-vultures smell
+      A corpse.
+
+UGRIN.
+                  Cousin; let him be driven out!
+      I beg thee, have him whipped.
+
+1ST GUARD (from without).
+                        I've caught thee, rogue!
+
+MARK.
+      How came this strange fool past the gates, Gilain?
+      Wast thou asleep?
+
+1ST GUARD.
+                  King Mark, this man has slunk
+      About the gate since it grew dark. He says
+      He wants to see thee. Many times have we
+      Already driven him away, but still
+      He sticks like pitch about the gate.
+
+STR. JESTER.
+                                            I am
+      A jester from a foreign land--I wish
+      To come to thee. King Mark!
+
+1ST GUARD.
+                                Behold the fool!
+      He cries like that unceasingly.
+
+MARK.
+                                    Speak, fool,
+      What need hast thou of me?
+
+STR. JESTER.
+                                Mark, let me in!
+      I'll make such jests that thou, and all thy lords
+      And ladies die from laughing at my wit.
+
+GIMELLA (laughing).
+      The merry jests!
+
+ISEULT.
+                   This wandering knave intrudes
+      Too boldly!
+
+UGRIN.
+              Rogue! Oh shameless one. I'll give
+      Thee such a drubbing as thou ne'er hast felt.
+
+MARK.
+      Know'st thou, in truth, new jests.
+
+STR. JESTER.
+                             Ay, Mark, new jests
+      To make thee laugh or weep. Ay, merry jests!
+
+
+
+SCENE IV
+
+MARK opens the grating and lets the Strange Jester in. The Jester
+advances a few feet on the right, and stops to stare at ISEULT. UGRIN
+walks about him, examining him.
+
+MARK.
+      Then come, thou jail-bird. Hark, Gilain, let now
+      The guard be doubled at the lower gate
+      That none, unnoticed, may come in.
+
+STR. JESTER.
+                                      But should
+      A stranger King arrive,--a stranger King,
+      The master of this stranger fool--let him
+      Come in, Gilain.
+
+ISEULT.
+      Play, Dinas, play thy game!
+      Their chatter wearies me.
+
+MARK.
+                             Now tell me, rogue,
+      Why clamorest thou so loudly at my gate?
+      What wouldst thou? Speak.
+
+STR. JESTER.
+                       I wish to stay with thee.
+
+      [Laughter.]
+
+2D BARON.
+      What cooked they in thy kitchen, Mark, tonight
+      That all the fools have smelt it out?
+
+STR. JESTER.
+                                           I saw
+      The fire glowing in thy hall; I saw
+      The light and so I came--I'm cold.
+
+UGRIN.
+                                       Then wrap
+      Thyself more closely in thy cloak, thou fool!
+
+STR. JESTER.
+      I've given it away.
+
+BRANGAENE (laughing).
+                        It seems thou art
+      A tender hearted fool!
+
+GIMELLA.
+                              And yet it does
+      Not seem as though thou couldst give much away!
+
+MARK (looking at the fool carefully).
+      Whence comest thou, Sir Fool!
+
+STR. JESTER.
+                             I come from there--
+      From there outside, from nowhere else--
+
+      (Looking at ISEULT and in a soft voice--
+      almost singing.)
+
+                                         And yet
+      My mother was Blanchefleur!
+
+      [ISEULT starts and stares across at him.]
+
+MARK (goes back laughing to his seat. UGRIN follows him).
+                                Ha! ha! The jest
+      Is poor. Hast thou no better ones, my friend?
+      Blanchefleur was mine own sister. She begat
+      No fool like thee!
+
+STR. JESTER.
+                             'Twas then some other one
+      Who bore the self-same name and me the pain
+      And sorrow, Mark. What matters it to thee?
+
+      [Laughter.]
+
+1ST KNIGHT (laughingly).
+      Our jesting rogue grows bitter in his mirth!
+
+ISEULT.
+      Let this strange jester stand a little forth
+      That we may see him in the light.
+
+MARK.
+                                      Come here,
+      Sir Fool, and stand before the Queen.
+
+UGRIN.
+                                           He is
+      An ass as awkward as I e'er beheld!
+      So cousin, judge by contrast 'twixt us two,
+      And see the priceless thing thou hast in me!
+
+MARK.
+      Go, fool, be not afraid.
+
+STR. JESTER (steps in front of the stone bench on
+      the left, opposite ISEULT'S table).
+                          --I'm cold!--I'm cold!
+
+ISEULT (after looking at him for a moment breaks
+      into a clear and relieved laugh).
+      A sorry sight to look upon!
+
+      [The Strange Jester hides his face in his
+      hands.]
+
+GIMELLA (springing forward).
+                                       The Queen
+      Is laughing--see!
+
+BRANGAENE.
+                        Made he some witty jest?
+
+GIMELLA.
+      Why laughst thou so, Iseult?
+
+DINAS.
+                                   'Tis horrible
+      To see the fool's distorted face!
+
+ISEULT.
+                                        He looks
+      So pitifully at me! it makes me laugh!
+
+UGRIN.
+      I'm angry with thee, Queen Iseult! Oh fie!
+      For shame, how couldst thou laugh at that strange fool?
+
+      (Turning to MARK.)
+
+      I pray thee, Mark, good cousin, wilt thou give
+      To him the two whole marks of gold?
+
+      [During this time the Strange Jester sits
+      on the railing which joins the bench to the
+      fireplace. He rests his elbows on his
+      knees and his face on his hands. He
+      stares at ISEULT.]
+
+BRANGAENE.
+                                        Rejoice!
+      The King will give thee a reward since thou
+      Hast cheered the Queen.
+
+STR. JESTER (without changing his attitude).
+                   Would that I'd make her weep,
+      This Queen, instead of laugh!
+
+      [Soft and low laughter.]
+
+MARK.
+                              How's that?
+
+STR. JESTER.
+                                         Because
+      I am a fool for sorrow, not for mirth!
+
+      [Laughter; the fool springs up.]
+
+      And none shall laugh when he beholds my face!
+
+      [Laughter; the fool seats himself again.]
+
+ISEULT (earnestly).
+      How strangely speaks the fool!
+
+MARK.
+                             My friend, I think,
+      That some one cut thee from the gallows!
+
+STR. JESTER (stares at ISEULT--slowly).
+                                           Mark,
+      How proud and cold a wife thou hast! Her name's
+      Iseult, I think. Am I not right?
+
+MARK (smiling).
+                                        Doth she
+      Please thee. Sir Fool?
+
+STR. JESTER.
+                         Ay! ay! She pleases me.
+
+      [Laughter.]
+
+      Iseult the Goldenhaired!--I'm cold, King Mark!
+
+ISEULT.
+      The fool is mad!--I like him not.
+
+UGRIN (to the Strange Jester).
+                                       Thou hast
+      Thine answer now!
+
+GIMELLA.
+                     Is this the first time thou
+      Beheldst the Queen?
+
+MARK.
+                    Art thou a stranger, friend?
+
+STR. JESTER.
+      Mayhap I've seen the Queen before; mayhap
+      I never have.--I know not, Mark.
+
+      [Laughter.]
+
+GIMELLA (laughing).
+                                       A strange
+      And curious jest, i' faith!
+
+      (To those laughing at the other table.)
+
+                            Come here, my Lords,
+      For this new jester is most wondrous strange.
+
+STR. JESTER (in rising grief).
+      I had a sweetheart once, and she was fair!
+
+MARK (laughing).
+      Ay! I believe thee, friend!
+
+STR. JESTER.
+                              Yea, she was fair,
+      Almost as fair as Queen Iseult, thy wife.
+
+      [Laughter.]
+
+      I'm cold!
+
+ISEULT (angrily).
+              Thou fool, why starest thou at me?
+      Avaunt!
+
+STR. JESTER.
+               Laugh once again at me, Iseult!
+      Thy laugh was fair, and yet, methinks, those eyes
+      Must be still fairer when they overflow
+      With tears.--I wish that I could make thee weep,
+      Iseult!
+
+      [A silence.]
+
+UGRIN (going over to him).
+          Ho, ho! Are those thy jokes! I'll fall
+      A weeping straight, thou croaking raven!
+
+STR. JESTER (springing up).
+                                      Take
+      This fool away, or else I'll smite him dead!
+
+      [UGRIN jumps backward.]
+
+MARK.
+      Thou art a gloomy jester, boy!
+
+GIMELLA.
+                                    His jests
+      Are all of some new fangled sort.
+
+MARK.
+                                    Speak, fool,
+      Whom hast thou served till now?
+
+STR. JESTER.
+                           I've served King Mark
+      In far off Cornwall--.
+
+      [Laughter.]
+
+                             And he had a wife,
+      And she was fair, with long and golden hair!
+
+      [Laughter.]
+
+      Why laughst thou Dinas, friend?
+
+      [The laughter dies suddenly; the Barons
+      and Knights, who, with the exception of
+      those at the Queen's table, had formed a
+      circle around the Strange Jester, shrink
+      back.]
+
+DINAS (startled).
+                                My God! He knows
+      My name as well!
+
+1ST BARON.
+                  'Tis passing strange!
+
+2D BARON.
+                                  Thou!--Fool--!
+
+GANELUN.
+      He's quick, and makes good use of what he hears!
+
+ISEULT.
+      His jests are impudent,--I wish that he
+      Would go away! He wearies me.
+
+MARK.
+                                         And yet
+      There's something in the knave that pleases me.
+      His madness lies still deeper than it seems--
+
+UGRIN.
+      Ay, cousin, in his belly, for, methinks,
+      He has a stomachache!
+
+MARK.
+                           Come, friend, tell us
+      A tale.
+
+STR. JESTER (starting up).
+                  Why stare ye so at me, ye pack
+      Of rogues? Why mock ye me?
+
+      (In anguish.)
+
+                                 I'm but a fool!
+      A wretched fool! Send them away. King Mark,
+      And listen thou to me. We'll stay here all
+      Alone:--the Queen, and thou, and I, and then
+      I'll tell thee pretty things, sweet things,--so sweet
+      That one must shiver when one hears! Now send
+      Away the rest!
+
+1ST BARON.
+                     Take heed. Sir Fool, be not
+      Too bold.
+
+2D BARON.
+                  He should be soundly beaten!
+
+MARK.
+                                           Leave
+      Him, Lords, in peace. I like his foolishness,
+      Because he does not crack the silly jokes
+      That other jesters do.
+
+STR. JESTER.
+                              I, too, was once
+      As good a knight as they--!
+
+      [Laughter.]
+
+GANELUN (laughing).
+                                 I wish I'd seen
+      Thee, knave!
+
+STR. JESTER (steadily).
+              Thou saw'st me many times and wast
+      My friend, Lord Ganelun!
+
+      [All step back nervously.]
+
+1ST KNIGHT (crossing himself).
+                           God save us, friends!
+      He knows us all by name!
+
+ISEULT.
+                                a gruesome fool!
+      Send him away. King Mark; he's mad.
+
+MARK.
+                                       Speak on!
+
+STR. JESTER.
+      My tongue cleaves to my gums; my throat is parch'd!
+      Give me to drink.
+
+MARK (stands up and takes a goblet from the table).
+                        I had forgot, poor fool!
+      But thou shalt drink wine from a golden cup.
+      Thy foolishness has touched my heart. At times.
+      My Lords, 'twould be an easy thing to turn
+      To such a fool. Iseult! Come pledge the cup
+      That he may have somewhat of which to dream
+      On cold and thirsty nights. Grant him this
+      boon.
+
+      [He gives Iseult the cup.]
+
+ISEULT.
+      I pledge--
+
+STR. JESTER (jumping down from the bench).
+            Drink not! Drink not!--She drank!
+
+      [He waves aside the cup.]
+
+                                          I will
+      Not drink.
+
+GIMELLA.
+                  A brazen knave!
+
+BRANGAENE.
+                            Fie, fie! For shame!
+
+STR. JESTER.
+      I'll not drink with a woman from one cup
+      The self-same wine again.
+
+MARK.
+                              What hinders thee?
+
+STR. JESTER.
+      Ask Queen Iseult.
+
+ISEULT (angrily and fearfully).
+                     Oh, Mark! He mocks me. Send
+      The fool away!
+
+STR. JESTER (he throws himself on the ground before the
+      dais and whispers low and tensely to ISEULT).
+                     "For they who drink thereof
+      Together, so shall love with every sense
+      Alive, yet senseless--with their every thought,
+      Yet thoughtless, too, in life, in death, for aye--
+      Yet he, who having known the wond'rous bliss
+      Of that intoxicating cup of love.
+      Spits out the draught disloyally, shall be
+      A homeless and a friendless worm,--a weed
+      That grows beside the road"--So spake my love,
+      And handed me a golden cup of wine
+      And bade me drink,--But evil came thereof--.
+
+      [During his speech ISEULT sits up in her
+      chair, and bending backward, stares down
+      at him in horror.]
+
+PARANIS.
+      The Queen turns pale!
+
+BRANGAENE.
+                         Iseult! My God! Iseult!
+
+GANELUN.
+      He conjures!
+
+1ST BARON.
+                  'Twas a magic spell!
+
+2D KNIGHT.
+                                        Lay hold
+      Of him! He is a conjurer.
+
+      [A few men start to seize the jester--he
+      jumps upon the bench.]
+
+ISEULT (trembling with fright).
+                                        Excuse--
+      My weakness--'tis--'tis but--let be--this fool's
+      Strange jesting is most ghastly--it revolts my soul
+      And--made me faint--.
+
+MARK.
+            Thou knave! I'll have thee whipped!
+      Tell me thy name--Who art thou? Speak!
+
+STR. JESTER.
+                                        Come not
+      Too near!
+
+MARK.
+               I have a dungeon deep and strong,
+      And I can have thee thrown to Husdent. He
+      Will tear thee limb from limb, thou conjurer!
+      Who art thou?
+
+UGRIN (in a friendly tone).
+                 Answer, friend, our Cousin Mark
+      Speaks not in jest!
+
+MARK.
+                             Call in the guards!
+
+      [A Knight tries to lay hold of the Strange
+      Jester.]
+
+STR. JESTER.
+                                         Let go!
+      I'm but a wretched fool!--I have no name!
+      What matters it to you? I've smirched my good
+      And noble name--so now I have no name.
+      I had one once that rang full true and high!
+      I've twisted it about, and broken it!
+
+      (In rising agitation.)
+
+      I broke my name, and throwing up the bits
+      I caught them as they fell, and threw them up
+      Again; and so I played with my fair name
+      Until the fragments rang again and fell
+      At last back to my hand, deformed and changed,
+      To stick, and make a name that is no name--
+      So call me Tramtris.
+
+ISEULT.
+            --Tramtris--!
+
+      [UGRIN claps his hands and rolls laughing
+      on the ground.]
+
+MARK.
+                                 Fool, what ails
+      Thee now?
+
+UGRIN.
+             The jester jesteth. Seest thou not?
+      Why, turn it 'round! Tramtris--Tristram!
+        He says
+      He was Lord Tristram! Ho!
+
+      [Laughter.]
+
+GANELUN.
+                               That was the jest
+      That he so cunningly devised!
+
+1ST BARON.
+                                      This shaft
+      Of irony has struck the mark and hits
+      This day and thee, King Mark!
+
+2D KNIGHT.
+                                  A clever fool!
+
+MARK (laughing softly).
+            I wish Lord Tristram saw the knave!
+
+2D BARON.
+                                     He'd laugh!
+
+ISEULT (trembling with anger).
+      Let not thy nephew Tristram's knightly fame
+      And noble name serve as a mockery
+      To such a ghoul!
+
+MARK (gaily).
+                        Forgive me, fair Iseult;
+      And yet it makes me laugh to think that this
+      Poor fool went mad from thinking that he was
+      My noble nephew Tristram. Speak, thou toy of fate,
+      Wast thou Lord Tristram once!
+
+STR. JESTER (almost timidly).
+                                Ay, Mark, I was;
+      And often was I with Iseult, thy wife!
+      Forgive it me!
+
+      [Laughter.]
+
+ISEULT.
+                        Dost thou permit that he
+      Should heap such insults on thy wife's fair
+      name?
+
+MARK (gaily).
+
+      Heed not his words; the people love such jests.
+
+      (To the jester.)
+
+      Give us a sign, Sir Fool.
+
+UGRIN.
+                                 A sign! A sign!
+
+1ST BARON.
+      Ay, let the fool describe the Queen. Give ear.
+
+UGRIN.
+      'Twill be a royal sport! And first he shall
+      Describe her feet! Speak on!
+
+      [UGRIN sits on the ground. ISEULT hides
+      her face in BRANGAENE'S breast.]
+
+GIMELLA (to ISEULT laughingly).
+                                He'll liken thee
+      Unto his wench!
+
+MARK.
+                         Why dost thou hesitate?
+      I grant thee jester's freedom, Fool. Begin!
+
+STR. JESTER (softly and hesitatingly).
+      From pedestals white snowy columns rise
+      Of ivory, draped in softly whispering silk,
+      That arched, and all immaculate, stretch up,--
+      The swelling pillars of her body's frame--
+
+MARK.
+      A graceful speech, my friend. Canst thou go on?
+
+STR. JESTER (in rising agitation and feverish emotion).
+      Her body is a gleam of silvery light
+      Cast by the full moon in the month of May
+      Changed to the snowy marvel of herself.
+      Thou art a garden wild wherein there grow
+      Deep purple fruits that stupefy and yet
+      That make one burn! Thy body is a church
+      Of rarest marble built--a fairy mount
+      Where sounds the music of a golden harp;
+      A field of virgin snow! Thy breasts are buds
+      Of the most sacred plant that flowering grows
+      Within the garden,--swelling fruits that wait
+      To suck the honeyed dew of summer moons!
+      Thy neck is like a lily's stem! Thy arms
+      Are like the blossoming branches of a young
+      And tender almond-tree, directing us
+      Within that Paradise where rules the chaste
+      Perfection of thy rounded limbs, enthroned
+      Within thy wondrous body like a God
+      Who threatens from on high. Thou art--
+
+MARK.
+                                         Oh hear
+      How this impostor talks! The token, fool!
+
+STR. JESTER (softly, trembling and feverishly).
+      Below the left breast of this master-piece
+      Of His creation God has set his mark--
+      A darkened cross--!
+
+MARK (hoarsely).
+                    O seize the knave! The cross
+      Is there.--She bears the mark!
+
+GANELUN.
+                            Christ save my soul!
+
+1ST BARON.
+      I feel an awful dread of this strange fool!
+
+1ST KNIGHT (drawing).
+      I'll run him through the body with my sword!
+
+STR. JESTER. (tears the sword from his hand, and springs
+      upon the bench).
+      Take heed unto thyself! Come not too near!
+      I'll tear thee like a beast.
+
+ISEULT.
+                               His words are not
+      So marvelously strange. Hast thou forgot,
+      King Mark, that once, before a heaped up pyre
+      Thou bad'st me stand, stark naked and exposed
+      Unto the rabble's gaze? It well may be
+      That this low jester cast his shaming eyes
+      Upon me then.
+
+MARK.
+                  Saw'st thou the Queen when she
+      Stood on the burning pile?
+
+STR. JESTER.
+                                I saw the Queen;
+      I stood beside her there!
+
+GIMELLA.
+                              Behold, that sight
+      Has made him lose his wits!
+
+BRANGAENE.
+                              Poor witless fool!
+
+STR. JESTER.
+      Glare not at me! I'm but a fool, a poor
+      Mad fool--a wretched fool that wished to tell
+      You tales to make you laugh!
+
+      (Almost screaming.)
+
+                           For God's sake laugh!
+
+      [He throws the sword down. It falls clattering
+      on the floor. The First Guard enters while two
+      others stand outside the grating with the Strange
+      Knight.]
+
+MARK.
+      Whom bring'st thou there?
+
+1ST GUARD.
+                       King Mark, thy messengers
+      Have found the witnesses that signed the bond
+      Too late, for in the forest they had caught
+      A man whom they have sent to thee. The man
+      Is wounded; when they called on him to stand
+      He fled. His horse fell dead. They know him not.
+      He is a stranger in the land.
+
+MARK.
+                                     How heavily
+      God's wrath descends upon my head. This blood
+      I've spilled was innocent!
+
+1ST GUARD.
+                                This man is near
+      His end; his dying wish is to behold
+      The Queen Iseult. He much desires it.
+
+GIMELLA.
+      Poor soul!
+
+MARK.
+      Bring in the man. How things mischance!
+      My castle is a gruesome place today.
+      An idiot first, and then a corpse have knocked
+      To crave admittance to my hall! My Lords,
+      I pray you to forgive my sins.
+
+PARANIS.
+                                     There comes
+      The wounded Knight.
+
+      [The Strange Knight is led before ISEULT.
+      He walks firmly, standing erect.]
+
+STR. KNIGHT.
+                      --Art thou Iseult?--Iseult
+      The Goldenhaired? May God be merciful
+      Unto thy soul!
+
+STR. JESTER (crouches on the bench, taking no interest in
+      what is said).
+      My brother Kuerdin!
+      Dear friend! In a disastrous hour went
+      We forth. I pity thee!
+
+      [The Strange Knight turns and looks at
+      him searchingly.]
+
+GANELUN (angrily and oppressed).
+                            Will death not close
+      Thy mouth, thou cur!
+
+MARK.
+                   Dost thou then know this man?
+
+STR. JESTER.
+      I've said so, Mark! I'll sit beside him here
+      Until he dies. I'll be his priest.
+
+[Illustration: APPROACHING THUNDERSTORM]
+KARL HAIDER
+
+STR. KNIGHT.
+                                       Keep off.
+      This babbling fool; his chatter shames my death.
+
+DINAS.
+      Methinks this was the man I saw at dawn
+      Today as I rode through the wood, and yet
+      He bore a shield on which I thought I saw
+      Lord Tristram's arms.
+
+MARK.
+                            Unhappy man, who art
+      Thou?
+
+STR. KNIGHT (calmly and quietly).
+            One who knoweth how to die. Lay me
+      On yonder bench and wrap me in my cloak.
+
+      [He is laid on the bench near the chimney,
+      and lies there like an effigy.]
+
+MARK (to the First Guard).
+      Where are his shield and arms?
+
+STR. KNIGHT.
+                               I bore the shield
+      Of Tristram, Lord of Lyonesse, since we,
+      For our great love, exchanged our arms. I am
+      His brother, for my sister is his wife.
+      Lord Tristram greets thee, Mark.
+
+MARK (to him passionately).
+                          Speak, friend, and put
+      An end unto the quandary in which
+      I stand. God shall reward thee soon. Where is
+      Lord Tristram?
+
+STR. KNIGHT (groaning).
+      With his wife whom he holds dear.
+
+STR. JESTER.
+      Thou liest, brother, yet thou speak'st the truth!
+
+MARK.
+      God mocks me, Lords! God mocks me!
+
+STR. JESTER.
+                                    I will watch
+      By him and guard his body through the night.
+
+GANELUN.
+      Be still, thou toad! Be still!
+
+1ST GUARD.
+                           King Mark, the Knight
+      Upon his left hand wears a ring--a stone
+      Rich set in gold. Shall he retain the ring
+      Upon his hand?--He's dead.
+
+STR. JESTER (seizing the ring).
+                               The ring is mine!
+      I gave it him!
+
+GANELUN (striking him).
+                        Away! Thou damned thief!
+
+STR. JESTER.
+      The ring is mine, I say. My love once gave
+      It me and sware thereon; but now I'll give
+      It as a jester's gift unto the Queen.
+      I pray thee take the ring, Iseult.
+
+      [ISEULT takes the ring, looks at it a moment
+      and lets it fall. She totters.]
+
+                                        Cast not
+      Away my gift!
+
+BRANGAENE.
+            Help! Help! The Queen.
+
+ISEULT (in great agitation).
+                                         Oh God,
+      I pray Thee open now mine eyes, and set
+      Me free! I know not if I am alive!
+      There lies a corpse--There stands a ghost and I
+      Between them, here! I hear a moaning sound
+      Pass whimpering through the halls--!
+
+      [She runs to the stairs.]
+
+                                         Let me go up!
+      Brangaene, come, and thou Gimella, too!
+
+      [Half way up the stairs she turns.]
+
+      Be not too angry with me, Mark, for thou
+      Hast set a loathsome ghost to mock and jeer
+      At me to make thee laugh. He makes my heart
+      Grow cold with horror! Come, my ladies, come!
+      Stand by me now--this awful game has made
+      Me shudder.
+
+      [She hastens up the stairs.]
+
+STR. JESTER (springs onto the table to look after her).
+                 Queen Iseult, thou fairest one.
+      Have pity on my leper's soul!
+
+GANELUN.
+                                       Be still,
+      Thou croaking raven!
+
+1ST BARON.
+                         Smite him dead and spit
+      Upon his corpse!
+
+2D BARON.
+                        Thou filthy worm!
+
+MARK.
+                                              Lay hold
+      Upon the jester! Hold him fast. Thou fool,
+      Thou base-born cur, how dar'st thou vex my wife
+      So bitterly with thy presumptuous wit?
+
+STR. JESTER.
+      Mark, heed thy words!
+
+1ST KNIGHT (catching his wrists from behind).
+                   I have the knave!
+
+MARK.
+                                      The Guards
+      Shall whip the rogue for his bold impudence,
+      And cast him from the castle gates. Let loose
+      The dogs upon him if he does not run,
+      And leave my walls as though they were on fire!
+      Away with him!
+
+UGRIN (in greatest haste and agitation).
+                   King Mark, oh good King Mark,
+      Behold, he is my brother in my kind,
+      A much abused and crazy fool who means
+      No evil with his foolish jests! See now
+      How pitiful his mien! He strove to make
+      Thee laugh in his poor way as I in mine.
+      Forgive the knave, and drive him not away
+      Into the darkness like a snarling cur
+      That whines about the house! He hungers, too,
+      For thou hast given him naught to eat or drink
+      Since he has been beneath thy kingly roof.
+      I am an old, old man, King Mark; he is
+      My brother, and a jester like myself;
+      I pity him! I pray thee let me keep
+      Him here with me until tomorrow's morn,
+      That he may sleep with me within my bed.
+      Then, when the sun shall shine upon his road,
+      He shall depart and seek a dwelling place.
+      'Twas thou thyself encouraged him to jest;
+      Judge then thy guilt and his with equal eye.
+      He is a fool, a crazy, blundering fool,
+      Yet drive him not away! I pray thee let
+      Him sleep beside me here a while that he
+      Refresh himself! He looks so pitifully!
+
+MARK.
+      Why, Ugrin, friend, 'tis new for thee to act
+      The part of charity!
+
+UGRIN.
+                             I serve thee, Mark,
+      With foolishness and jests--and thou but knowest
+      Me by my services.
+
+MARK.
+                                I still can make
+      One person glad tonight! Keep, then, thy fool
+      But thou stand'st surety for him if he should
+      Attempt to burn the castle or to do
+      Some other mischief in his madness.
+
+       [The Knight lets the Strange Jester go; he
+      crouches on the dais.]
+
+UGRIN.
+                                           Mark,
+      Thou art indeed my dear, kind, cousin, still!
+      Good-night, fair cousin, go and sleep. Thou needst
+      It sorely--and--I pray that thou forget
+      Not my new wisdom!
+
+MARK.
+                            Sirs, I wish you all
+      A restful night for this has been a day
+      Of many cares and many tribulations.
+      Tomorrow shall we bury this brave Knight
+      With all the honors due his noble rank,
+      For he was innocent.
+
+GANELUN.
+                          Sleep well. King Mark!
+
+1ST BARON.
+      May God watch o'er thee, Mark!
+
+      [The Barons go up the stairs; the Knights
+      and guards go out. The servants extinguish
+      all but a few of the lights.]
+
+MARK (on the stairs).
+                               Come, Dinas, come
+      With me, and we will watch a little while.
+      My heart is sorrowful tonight!
+
+DINAS (following him up the stairs).
+                                       I'll stay
+      With thee until the morning break if thou
+      Desire it so.
+
+UGRIN (calling after them).
+                      And cousins take good heed
+      Ye catch not cold!
+
+       [They leave the stage, the moon shines
+      through the grating, and the shadow of
+      the bars falls into the hall. The Strange
+      Jester crouches motionless. UGRIN turns
+      to him.]
+
+
+
+                                SCENE VI
+
+UGRIN.
+      Ay, so they are! "Whip, whip the fool!"
+        We wrack
+      Our weary brains to make a jest and then,
+      In payment, we are whipped if they so feel
+      Inclined! They treat us more like dogs than men!
+
+      [He goes to the table where the food stands,
+      and takes a bite.]
+
+      Art hungry, brother? Wait, I'll bring my cloak.
+      For thou art cold.
+
+      [He draws a cloak from under the stairs.]
+
+                  'Tis here, beneath the stairs,
+      I sleep.--A very kennel! 'Tis a shame.
+
+      [He eats again.]
+
+      Wilt thou not eat a morsel of what's left
+      Upon the table here? Nor drink a drop?
+      'Tis not forbidden, friend; our cousin lets
+      Us eat and drink of what is left.
+
+      [He goes into the middle of the hall and
+      bends down to look into the Strange
+      Jester's face.]
+
+                                         Art sad
+      Dear brother? Speak to me! Come, come, look not
+      So sorrowful!
+
+      [Bending over the corpse of the dead Knight.]
+
+                        This man is colder still
+
+      Than thou! Art thou afraid? He'll not awake.
+
+      [Comes close to the Strange Jester.]
+
+      I'll wrap thee close within my cloak that thou
+      May'st sleep. Dost thou not wish to sleep!
+      Why then I'll sing a song to make thee sleep. Alas!
+      I know but joyous, silly songs! Come lay
+      Thee down.
+
+      [He sits on the bench and draws the head
+      upon his lap.]
+
+           Thou look'st not happy, brother. Hast
+      A sorrow? Tell it me; here canst thou rest
+      At ease, and I will sing a song. Thou seemst
+      A child to whom one must sing songs to make
+      It sleep. I'll sing the song that Queen Iseult
+      Is wont to sing at even when she thinks
+      Of Tristram, her dear friend, sitting beside
+      Her open casement. 'Tis a pretty song.
+
+      [With bowed head and closed eyes he hums
+      very softly as if in his sleep. The body
+      of the Strange Jester under the black
+      cloak that covers it is shaken by sobs
+      of anguish.]
+
+      "Lord Tristram, my friend, is unfaithful,
+      And God's wrath on him shall descend;
+      Though cruelly he has betrayed me--"
+
+
+
+
+ACT V
+
+
+Same as Act IV.--The first glow of dawn shines through the grated door
+and windows, becoming brighter until the end of the Act. The Strange
+Jester sits cowering on the steps of the dais. BRANGAENE comes
+hesitatingly down the steps; she carries an oil-lamp in her hand.
+
+
+
+                                SCENE I
+
+BRANGAENE (her voice is muffled by fear).
+      Art thou still here, thou ghastly being? Ghost
+      Of awful midnight hours?
+
+STR. JESTER.
+                                     Brangaene I
+      Am here, and here I shall remain.
+
+BRANGAENE (looking for something on the ground).
+                                       Methought
+      King Mark had paid thy jests with whips and had
+      Then driven thee away; and yet thou sitst
+      Here in the self-same place and starest still
+      With blear'd and fish-like eyes. Dost thou not know
+      That day is come? Fool, if thou hast a heart
+      Through which the warm blood flows, I pray thee go!
+      Go ere the Queen come down and see thee here!
+      Begone!
+
+STR. JESTER.
+      What seekest thou?
+
+BRANGAENE.
+                                I seek the ring;
+      The ring that Queen Iseult let fall last night.
+
+STR. JESTER.
+      The ring is mine; I picked it up!
+
+BRANGAENE (angrily).
+                                          Iseult
+      Desires the ring! Str. Jester. I will not give it up!
+
+BRANGAENE.
+      The Queen will have thee hung unless thou give
+      The ring to her. She wants the ring!
+
+STR. JESTER.
+                                          Iseult
+      Received the ring; she cast my gift away,
+      As she threw me away. I'll keep it now.
+      But if she wishes it so earnestly
+      Let her then come and beg the ring of me.
+
+BRANGAENE.
+      Audacious knave! How vauntest thou thyself!
+      Give me the ring, and then begone, thou fool,
+      Ere Mark awake!
+
+STR. JESTER.
+                         To Queen Iseult herself
+      I'll give the ring, and to none else. She shall
+      Not let me die in misery as she
+      Desires God may help her in her grief!
+
+BRANGAENE (going up the stairs).
+      Thou fool, may God's damnation strike thee dead,
+      Thou and Lord Tristram for the night that's passed!
+      I'll bring thy words into the Queen that she
+      May have thee slain in secret by Gwain!
+
+
+
+                                SCENE II
+
+BRANGAENE disappears above; the Strange Jester cowers motionless, his
+head buried in his hands. After a moment ISEULT, in a white night robe,
+comes down the stairs with BRANGAENE. She steps close in front of the
+Jester, who does not move. BRANGAENE remains on the lowest step,
+leaning against the post of the bannister.
+
+ISEULT.
+      Thou gruesome fool, art thou some bird of prey.
+      Some wolf that comes to feed upon my soul?
+      Wilt thou not go? Why liest thou in wait
+      For me here in the dawning light like some
+      Wild beast that waits its quarry?
+
+STR. JESTER (looking up heavily).
+                                   Queen Iseult!
+      Oh dearest, fairest, sweetest one!
+
+ISEULT.
+                                      How dar'st
+      Thou call me by such names! My boiling blood
+      Turns cold and shudders! Go!
+
+STR. JESTER (groaning softly).
+                                Where, lady, can
+      I find a sea whose endless depths are deep
+      Enough to drown my bitter misery?
+      Where? Tell me where, and I will go.
+
+ISEULT.
+                                        Go where
+      Thou wilt, so it be far away--so far
+      That the whole world shall sever thee and me,
+      And shall divide me from thy woe! My soul
+      Bleeds like an unheal'd wound when thou art near.
+      As though thou wert its murderer, and lo,
+      'Twill bleed to death from thy propinquity,
+      Thou fool! Hence, go, but give me first the ring
+      Thou stol'st last night and which in wanton jest
+      Thou torest from the hand of yon dead Knight.
+      It is Lord Tristram's ring.
+
+STR. JESTER.
+                               Ay, Queen Iseult,
+      The ring is his--above all other things
+      He values it!
+
+ISEULT.
+                    Give me the ring, else shalt
+      Thou die! I'll have thee slain, I swear, as sure
+      As I have suffered all this night such pangs
+      As suffered Mary at the cross of Christ.
+
+STR. JESTER (standing up).
+      The ring is mine! I gave it yonder man
+      To cherish like his life.--He's died for thee
+      And me;--I gave him too my soul to guard
+      That by this ring he might compel and bring
+      Thee to me in the wood tonight. Oh, 'twas
+      An evil hour for us both, Iseult,
+      That Lord Denovalin rode through the wood
+      Today. Now, answer me, Iseult, wilt thou
+      Still keep the oath thou sware to Tristram once?
+
+ISEULT (fixedly).
+      I'll break no oath that I have sworn, for God
+      Has sanctioned all my vows.
+
+STR. JESTER.
+                               Then call I thee,
+      Iseult the Goldenhaired, in Tristram's name,
+      And by this ring. [He hands her the ring.]
+
+ISEULT.
+                  Knowst thou that oath as well.
+      Thou ghost!
+
+      (Solemnly.)
+
+            Oh God, here in this hand, grown pale
+      And hot from resting on my heart all night,
+      I hold the ring of gold and emerald stone
+      By which I sware to Tristram to obey
+      His will, and come to him when one should call
+      Upon me by this ring and in his name!
+      Lo, thou hast called upon me; I obey!
+      What wishest thou of me, thou evil ghost
+      With hollow sunken eyes? What wouldst thou have.
+      Thou spectre of the twilight gloom?
+
+STR. JESTER.
+                                          I call
+      On thee, Iseult, my love, in my distress!
+      Oh know me now, who was thy lover once!
+
+ISEULT.
+      Thou suck'st my blood!
+
+STR. JESTER.
+                   Thy blood was mine! Thy blood
+      Was once mine own! It was a crimson trust
+      reposing in my knightly hands to keep
+      Irrevocably until Death. And where
+      Thou goest there go I; and where thou stayst
+      There stay I too. So spoke thy blood--I come
+      To claim but what is mine.
+
+ISEULT (in great passion).
+                                What have I done
+      To thee that thou recountest my past life
+      As 'twere a mocking song? Who art thou, fool?
+      Who art thou? Speak? I'm knocking at thy soul
+      As knocks a dead man's soul outside the gates
+      Of Paradise! Who art thou, fool? Art thou
+      Magician? Art thou ghost? Art thou some soul
+      Forever wandering for some evil deed?
+      Art thou some faithless lover barred from Heav'n
+      And Hell eternally, whose punishment
+      It is to wander restless through the world
+      Forever begging love from women's hearts?
+      Did God permit that thou shouldst know what none,
+      Save only Tristram and myself have known?
+      That thou shouldst taste of bitter torment still
+      By thinking thou art Tristram and shouldst thus
+      Make greater expiation for thy sins?
+
+STR. JESTER.
+      I am a faithless lover who has loved
+      Most faithfully, Iseult, beloved one!
+
+ISEULT.
+      Why criest thou my name unceasingly,
+      As scream enhungered owls, thou pallid fool?
+      Why starest thou at me with eyes that tears
+      And pain have rendered pitiless? I know
+      Naught of thy grief and am no leech to cure
+      Thy fool's disease!
+
+STR. JESTER.
+                        Iseult!
+
+ISEULT (in growing agitation).
+                               Shall I shave off
+      My hair as thou hast done? Shall I too wear
+      A jester's parti-colored garb? Shall I
+      Go through the land, and howling in the streets
+      Bawl out Lord Tristram's name to make the throng
+      Of greasy knaves laugh? Speak? Is this the cure
+      Thou needest for thy grief? Does Tristram mock
+      Me through thy ribald wit? Does he revenge
+      Himself upon me thus because I loved
+      Him long before he saw Iseult, the Fair
+      Whitehanded Queen, and gave my soul and blood
+      To him? In scornful and in bitter words
+      Has he revealed our secret love to thee?
+      Has he betrayed me to his wife? Art thou
+      In league with her? Has her black spirit sent
+      Thee here to torture me by raising up
+      The phantom images of that past life
+      Which once I knew, but which is dead?
+       Confess!
+      And! I will load thee down with precious gifts,
+      And daily pray for thee! I'll line thy way
+      With servants and I'll honor thee as though
+      Thou wert of royal blood where e'er thou art!
+
+                        [She falls on her knees.]
+
+      Release my soul, thou fool, before I turn
+      A fool from very horror and from dread!
+
+STR. JESTER (raising her).
+      Kneel not to me, Beloved One! Arise!
+
+ISEULT (remains a moment in his arms and then draws
+      away shuddering).
+      When Tristram called, the Heavens echoed back
+      A golden peal, as echoes through the land
+      The music of a golden bell; the world rejoiced
+      And from its depths sprang up sweet sounds of joy.
+      And with them danced my heart exultingly!
+      When Tristram stood beside me, all the air
+      Was wont to quiver with a secret bliss
+      That made the beasts move 'round uneasily.
+      The birds sang in the dead of night and so
+      Betrayed us! Say, who broke the bond that knit
+      Our kindred souls in one?
+
+STR. JESTER.
+                             Lord Tristram broke
+      The bond and, faithless, took another wife!
+      Oh see, Iseult, how great the wrong he did
+      Us both!
+
+ISEULT (looking at him fixedly).
+                  I hear a raven's croak; I feel
+      The icy breath of some strange body when
+      Thou standest burning by my side, thou fool!
+      Thou pallid ghost!
+
+STR. JESTER.
+                      Yet hast thou oft embraced
+      These limbs upon the journey o'er the wide
+      And purple sea along the starry way
+      Of our great happiness--just thou and I,
+      Alone in blissful loneliness! And thou
+      Hast often listened to this voice when it.
+      In the deep forest, called the nightingales,
+      Alluring them to sing above thy head,
+      And like them whispered in thine ears
+      Soft words that made a wave of passion flow,
+      Sweet and voluptuous, through thy burning veins!
+      Iseult, shall I repeat those words? Wilt thou
+      Again go wandering through the world
+      With singing blood that makes our hearts beat high
+      In perfect unison of love, with souls that dream
+      In silent happiness?
+
+ISEULT.
+                           Lord Tristram's steps
+      Beside me made my blood soar heavenward
+      And bore me up until the earth bowed down,
+      And bent beneath our feet like surging waves,
+      And carried us like lofty ships that sail
+      To victory!
+
+STR. JESTER.
+              y, Ay, Iseult, 'Twas so we walked!
+      Iseult, art thou still mindful of the day
+      When, hawk on fist, we galloped o'er the downs,
+      For Mark was with Lord Dinas on that day?
+      Dost thou remember how I lifted thee
+      From thy good steed and placed thee on mine own,
+      And held thee close embraced, while thou didst cling
+      To me like some fond child.
+
+ISEULT.
+                              And Tristram, bold
+      In the intoxication of his love,
+      Let go the reins, and gave his horse the spurs,
+      Till, like an arrow in full flight, it clove
+      The golden air and bore us heavenward!
+      How often have I dreamed of that wild ride.
+      And now with Isot of the Fair White Hands
+      He rides, as formerly with me--!
+
+STR. JESTER.
+                                       And shall
+      I sing to thee, Iseult the Goldenhaired,
+      The lay of that White-handed wife who sits
+      And grieves by day and night? It is the sad
+      And sombre song of my great guilt. Her eyes
+      Are red from weeping--!
+
+ISEULT.
+                            Ay, and mine are red
+      From weeping too! Fool, Fool, why mock'st thou me?
+      But since thou knowst so much of Tristram, tell
+      Me this; why did Lord Tristram marry her--,
+      This Isot of the Fair White Hands?
+
+STR. JESTER (slowly and painfully).
+                                     There plays
+      About her mouth a silver smile; this smile
+      Enchanted him one lonely night. But, when,
+      At cold gray dawn, he heard her called Iseult
+      He nigh went mad with sorrow and with joy
+      From thinking of the real Iseult--of her,
+      The Goldenhaired--the beautiful, about
+      Whose mouth there plays a golden smile.
+        Then, sick
+      At heart, and weary of this life, he wished
+      To die, until his sorrow drove him here,
+      To Cornwall, once again to see his love
+      Before he died and, face to face stand once
+      Again with her!--The rest thou knowest well.
+
+ISEULT (angrily).
+      Ay, fool, I know the rest, and I know too
+      That for these black and loathsome lies of thine
+      There's one reward!--And that is death!
+        I'll put
+      An end to my great suffering! If thou
+      Art Tristram thou shalt live, and, in mine arms,
+      That yearn for Tristram, thou shalt find a hot
+      And passionate forgetfulness of cool
+      And silver smiles thou fledest from! If thou
+      Hast lied no longer shalt thou dream at night
+      Of golden and of silver smiles!
+
+      (To BRANGAENE.)
+
+                                        Go fetch
+      The key, Brangaene, of the upper cell!
+
+BRANGAENE (horrified).
+      Iseult, what wouldst thou do?
+
+ISEULT.
+                                  Obey me, girl!
+      Now listen, spectre, to my words. There lives
+      Within these walls a hound who has become
+      A wild and raging beast from his great love
+      For Tristram, once his master. Fool, this dog
+      Is full as savage as a fierce white wolf
+      That lusts for human flesh; his food is thrust
+      Into his cage on sticks. Since Tristram left,
+      The beast has slain three keepers. Fool, what think'st
+      Thou of this hound? Would he attack and tear
+      Lord Tristram like a wolf should Tristram chance
+      To step within his cage?
+
+STR. JESTER (rising, tall, determined, and noble).
+                              Oh Queen Iseult--!
+      Oh Queen Iseult--! Old Husdent ever was
+      My faithful hound--. Let me go to him now.
+
+ISEULT (starting back).
+      Thou knowst his name--!
+
+STR. JESTER.
+                       Brangaene, lead the fool.
+      Obey thy mistress's command. Thou needst
+      Not lead me to the cage! I know the way.
+      Give me the key!
+
+      [He snatches the hey from BRANGAENE'S
+      hand and disappears with long strides
+      behind the stairs. He is erect and proud.
+      The two women stand looking at each
+      other amazed and motionless.]
+
+
+
+                              SCENE III
+
+BRANGAENE.
+                          Poor fool, I pity him!
+
+ISEULT (breaking out passionately).
+      He must not go! My God, he must not! Call
+      Him back, Brangaene, call him back!
+
+THE VOICE OF THE JESTER (joyfully).
+                                        Husdent!
+
+BRANGAENE.
+      Oh, hark!
+
+ISEULT (in increasing fear).
+            His cry! His dying cry, perhaps!
+      Brangaene, dearest sister, what thinkst thou
+      Of this Strange Jester Tramtris?
+
+      [The women stare at each other without
+      speaking.]
+
+                                    Wilt thou go
+      And look between the bars?
+
+      [BRANGAENE goes after the Strange Jester.]
+
+                                Oh Thou who hast
+      Created this great world, why didst Thou then
+      Create me, too?
+
+BRANGAENE (reentering in great excitement).
+                         Iseult! Oh God, Iseult!
+      Old Husdent's cage is empty, and the fool
+      With Husdent leapt the wall and they are gone!
+
+      [She hastens to the window.]
+
+ISEULT.
+      Has he then slain the dog and fled away?
+
+BRANGAENE.
+      Behold! There goes the fool, and Husdent jumps
+      And dances round him as he walks and, mad
+      With joy, leaps howling up and licks his face
+      And hands!
+
+ISEULT (jumps on to the bench before the window and
+      waves her hand joyously).
+          Oh Tristram, Tristram, thou dear fool!
+      My dear beloved friend!--He does not turn!
+      --Oh call! Oh call him back!--Run! Run! Make haste
+      To follow him and bring him back! He does
+      Not hear my voice!
+
+BRANGAENE (shaking the bars of the gate).
+                     The gate! my God, the gate!
+      The guards are still asleep!
+
+ISEULT.
+                                  Oh God! I die!
+      Oh Tristram! Tristram! Tristram! See, he turns
+      Not back! God is unkind. He loves me not.
+      I'll bathe thy feet with tears and dry them then
+      With burning kisses! Tristram! Tramtris, come!
+      Beloved fool, turn back! He goes! He's gone!
+      See how the sun shines on his jester's garb,
+      And makes his red cloak gleam! How grand, how tall
+      He is! See! Tristram goes back to the world
+      Forever now!
+
+      [She raises herself to her full height--
+      fixedly.]
+
+                        My friend, Brangaene, my
+      Beloved friend was here!
+
+      [She sinks back into BRANGAENE'S arms.]
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The German Classics, v. 20, by Various
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GERMAN CLASSICS, V. 20 ***
+
+***** This file should be named 31081.txt or 31081.zip *****
+This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
+        https://www.gutenberg.org/3/1/0/8/31081/
+
+Produced by Charles Bowen, from scans obtained from The
+Internet Archive.
+
+
+Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions
+will be renamed.
+
+Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no
+one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation
+(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without
+permission and without paying copyright royalties.  Special rules,
+set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to
+copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to
+protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark.  Project
+Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you
+charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission.  If you
+do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the
+rules is very easy.  You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose
+such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and
+research.  They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do
+practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks.  Redistribution is
+subject to the trademark license, especially commercial
+redistribution.
+
+
+
+*** START: FULL LICENSE ***
+
+THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
+PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
+
+To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
+distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
+(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at
+https://gutenberg.org/license).
+
+
+Section 1.  General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic works
+
+1.A.  By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
+and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
+(trademark/copyright) agreement.  If you do not agree to abide by all
+the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy
+all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession.
+If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the
+terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or
+entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
+
+1.B.  "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark.  It may only be
+used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
+agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement.  There are a few
+things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
+even without complying with the full terms of this agreement.  See
+paragraph 1.C below.  There are a lot of things you can do with Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement
+and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.  See paragraph 1.E below.
+
+1.C.  The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation"
+or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works.  Nearly all the individual works in the
+collection are in the public domain in the United States.  If an
+individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are
+located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from
+copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative
+works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg
+are removed.  Of course, we hope that you will support the Project
+Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by
+freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of
+this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with
+the work.  You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by
+keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.
+
+1.D.  The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
+what you can do with this work.  Copyright laws in most countries are in
+a constant state of change.  If you are outside the United States, check
+the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement
+before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or
+creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project
+Gutenberg-tm work.  The Foundation makes no representations concerning
+the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United
+States.
+
+1.E.  Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
+
+1.E.1.  The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate
+access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently
+whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the
+phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed,
+copied or distributed:
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+1.E.2.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived
+from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is
+posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied
+and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees
+or charges.  If you are redistributing or providing access to a work
+with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the
+work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1
+through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the
+Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or
+1.E.9.
+
+1.E.3.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
+with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
+must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional
+terms imposed by the copyright holder.  Additional terms will be linked
+to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the
+permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.
+
+1.E.4.  Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
+work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.
+
+1.E.5.  Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
+electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
+prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
+active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm License.
+
+1.E.6.  You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
+compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any
+word processing or hypertext form.  However, if you provide access to or
+distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than
+"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version
+posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org),
+you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a
+copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon
+request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other
+form.  Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
+
+1.E.7.  Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
+performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
+unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
+
+1.E.8.  You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
+access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided
+that
+
+- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
+     the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
+     you already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  The fee is
+     owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he
+     has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the
+     Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.  Royalty payments
+     must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you
+     prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax
+     returns.  Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and
+     sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the
+     address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to
+     the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."
+
+- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
+     you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
+     does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+     License.  You must require such a user to return or
+     destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium
+     and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of
+     Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any
+     money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
+     electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days
+     of receipt of the work.
+
+- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
+     distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+1.E.9.  If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set
+forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from
+both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael
+Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark.  Contact the
+Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.
+
+1.F.
+
+1.F.1.  Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
+effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
+public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm
+collection.  Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain
+"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or
+corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual
+property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a
+computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by
+your equipment.
+
+1.F.2.  LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
+of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
+liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
+fees.  YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
+LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
+PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3.  YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
+TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
+LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
+INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
+DAMAGE.
+
+1.F.3.  LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
+defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
+receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
+written explanation to the person you received the work from.  If you
+received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with
+your written explanation.  The person or entity that provided you with
+the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a
+refund.  If you received the work electronically, the person or entity
+providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to
+receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund.  If the second copy
+is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further
+opportunities to fix the problem.
+
+1.F.4.  Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
+in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER
+WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO
+WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
+
+1.F.5.  Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
+warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.
+If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the
+law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
+interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by
+the applicable state law.  The invalidity or unenforceability of any
+provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.
+
+1.F.6.  INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
+trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
+providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance
+with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production,
+promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works,
+harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees,
+that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do
+or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm
+work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any
+Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause.
+
+
+Section  2.  Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
+electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers
+including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers.  It exists
+because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from
+people in all walks of life.
+
+Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
+assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
+goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
+remain freely available for generations to come.  In 2001, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
+and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.
+To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
+and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4
+and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org.
+
+
+Section 3.  Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
+Foundation
+
+The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
+501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
+state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
+Revenue Service.  The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
+number is 64-6221541.  Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at
+https://pglaf.org/fundraising.  Contributions to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent
+permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.
+
+The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S.
+Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered
+throughout numerous locations.  Its business office is located at
+809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email
+business@pglaf.org.  Email contact links and up to date contact
+information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official
+page at https://pglaf.org
+
+For additional contact information:
+     Dr. Gregory B. Newby
+     Chief Executive and Director
+     gbnewby@pglaf.org
+
+
+Section 4.  Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
+spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
+increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
+freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
+array of equipment including outdated equipment.  Many small donations
+($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
+status with the IRS.
+
+The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
+charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
+States.  Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
+considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
+with these requirements.  We do not solicit donations in locations
+where we have not received written confirmation of compliance.  To
+SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any
+particular state visit https://pglaf.org
+
+While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
+have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
+against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
+approach us with offers to donate.
+
+International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
+any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
+outside the United States.  U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
+
+Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
+methods and addresses.  Donations are accepted in a number of other
+ways including including checks, online payments and credit card
+donations.  To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate
+
+
+Section 5.  General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.
+
+Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm
+concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared
+with anyone.  For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project
+Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.
+
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
+editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S.
+unless a copyright notice is included.  Thus, we do not necessarily
+keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.
+
+
+Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:
+
+     https://www.gutenberg.org
+
+This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
+including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
+Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
+subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.