Margot.
If ever again--then you'll be lost--forever! Then there can be no more
ideals, no more poetry--nothing lofty--nothing for which to work--and,
worst of all, nothing of which to dream. For to dream--ah, one must
dream, mustn't one? When one no longer has _that_!----
Ebeling (_moved_).
Yes, dear child.
Margot.
But you mustn't think that I'm trying to make myself interesting, or
that I stand here before you beautifully whitened and purified! Oh, no!
What I'm going to say to you now has never been said to any one, to any
man before. And you are going to despise me utterly. But I must say
it--once, once in my life--and then the old hypocrisy can go on again.
Well, I don't know what it is, but it's like a fire in me. No, worse,
much worse! When I think of that frightful man, my heart fairly
shrivels up. And yet--I can never get away from it. There's always a
terror, a horror in me; and yet there is always an eternal--an eternal
hunger. Yes--a restlessness--a search--the whole day long. It's
strongest toward twilight. Then I want to go out--out into the wide
world--to fly to unknown lands. Then I think to myself--out there, no
one knows you; out there, there is no sin. Ah, it's as if I were
lashed! And I heap such reproaches upon myself because of it! Even now
you have not heard the worst. I must tell you the worst, too. Well, you
know how I hate that man--yet, sometimes it seems to me that I must go
to him and say to him--Behold, here I am again!
Ebeling (_jumps up, muttering to himself_).
What has he done? The scoundrel! The blackguard!
Margot.
There! Now you know on whom you've wasted your sympathy! Now I can go.
(_Stands up, snatches her muff, and prepares to leave._)
Ebeling.
(_Who has been silently walking up and down more hotly._) It appears
then that you still love that man.
Margot (_with a short, cutting laugh_).
Oh, Herr Ebeling, if you've gathered _that_ from all I've said, then I
might just as well have addressed myself to the four walls. I've been
hoping for three long years that you would secretly manage the thing in
such a way that I'd never have to see him again in all my life--never,
never--not even from a distance.
Ebeling.
Why did you never confide in me before? Why to-day for the first time?
Margot.
_Can_ one do such a thing? Is one ever allowed to? I'm a well-bred
young girl, you know. I must observe the conventions. How I came to do
it to-day, I don't know myself. But formerly when you were alone with
me, did you ever, at any time, give me to understand, even by a glance,
that you--you knew anything--about me? Do you think such an attitude
gives one courage? Ah, and in my need I've prayed so often, "Dear God,
let him see into my soul! If _he_ doesn't free me, no one will."
Instead, you've only plunged me the deeper--pushed me before
you--always deeper into misery--into the arms of that beast--into the
filth. (_Sinks into a chair, sobbing._)
Ebeling.
(_Regards her confusedly, then approaches her._) Dear child! That
wasn't my intention! (_Laying his hand on her shoulder caressingly._)
My dear, dear child!
Margot.
(_Grasps his hand, and presses her cheek to it. As he tries to free it,
she holds it the more closely._) Oh, don't leave me. I'm so lonely!
Ebeling.
My dear, dear child. (_He bends down to her and kisses her on the brow.
She throws her arms about his neck and draws herself close to him. He
kisses her lips. She lets her head fall heavily upon his shoulder and
remains motionless while he caresses her gently. With a sudden impulse
she flings him from her, and sinks back in the chair._) Margot, my
darling. Have I hurt you? Are you offended at what I did? If I've
misunderstood, if I have abused your confidence, I earnestly beg you to
forgive me.
Margot.
Oh, I've so hungered--so hungered--for this--kiss!
Ebeling (_turning eagerly toward her_).
Margot!
Margot (_warding him off_).
No! Go away! Go away!
Ebeling.
But you don't refuse me? And I'm not too old?
Margot (_passionately bursting into laughter_).
Oh!
Ebeling.
I was never free from the fear that you might not see anything in me
except an image of that wasted, old creature. (_Instead of answering_,
Margot _stretches out her arms to him with a soft cry of longing_.
Ebeling _draws the low stool to the writing-chair on which she is
sitting, sits down upon it, and embraces her._) Margot, my youth, my
whole youth that I've squandered and frittered away comes back to me
once more through you. And now all will be well with you, too. It was
only a nightmare. Your true self had nothing to do with it. Only--you
must take heart again--you must think of yourself now.
Margot (_ecstatically_).
Yes, I am equal to anything now. I am not afraid to face the worst.
I can even marry that man. I shall send him my acceptance quite
calmly.--Of course. Why not?
Ebeling (_shocked_).
What!
Margot.
Why should you be astonished at that? Now that I know you love me? Only
for a year! Perhaps for two! Yes, two! Oh, please, two! Then, later,
when you've left me, let others come! It's all the same, who! For
marriage, of course, I'm entirely spoiled! But I'll be revenged on him!
On him and on Virtue and on Loyalty and on all that stuff with which
they've so long tormented me. And the evening before my wedding--then
may I--come to you again? Toward twilight! It must be on a Sunday. I'll
arrange for that, so we can be alone. Ah, I shall count the days till
then! Why do you look at me like that? (Ebeling _stands up and throws
himself on the sofa, burying his face in his hands. A long pause._)
What can I have done? (_She stands up. Another pause._) Surely I
haven't done you any wrong by loving you?
Ebeling.
Go home now, my child.
Margot.
I wanted to leave some time ago, but you made me stay. (_She buttons
her coat, throws on her boa, and is about to go out. Then she turns
around resolutely, and places herself before him._) Oh, I know--I'm
disgraced--I'm not worthy of anything better--; but I needn't have had
to endure _such_ scorn and contempt! (Ebeling _rises, looks at her,
groans, buries his face in his hands, and falls back into the chair_.
Margot _kneels beside him, weeping._) Dear--dearest--what is it? What's
wrong, my darling?
Ebeling (_compelling himself to be composed_).
Stand up! (_She does so._) I am going to tell you. (_Stands up
himself._) I asked your mother's consent to my marrying you to-day.
There, now you know it. Good-bye. (_Sits down in the writing-chair. A
pause._)
Margot.
(_Does not move. Her face becomes hard and bitter._) And now that you
see what sort I am----H'm, yes. Ah, well, you'll soon console yourself.
There are so many others. Why should it be just I? Let me suggest one
of my friends--a dear--a pretty girl--with white teeth. Why take it to
heart? It hurts for the moment--but one easily forgets. Such girls as I
deserve nothing better. To them--one does this! (_Plucks the petals
from the roses which are standing before her in the vase._) And then
one throws them away--like this! (_Throws the petals in his face._)
Ebeling (_brushing away the petals_).
What have the roses done to you, my child?
Margot.