something about yourself at last. I suppose you have already moved into
your new house?
SALA
Yes.
JULIAN
And what plans have you for the immediate future?
SALA
I am thinking of going to Asia with Count Ronsky.
JULIAN
With Ronsky? Are you going to join that expedition about which so much
has been written?
SALA
Yes. Some such undertaking has been tempting me for a long time. Are
you perhaps familiar with the Rolston report on the Bactrian and Median
excavations of 1892?
JULIAN
No.
SALA
Well, it is positively staggering. Think of it--they suspect that under
the refuse and the dust lies a monster city, something like the present
London in extent. At that time they made their way into a palace, where
the most wonderful paintings were found. These were perfectly preserved
in several rooms. And they dug out stairways--built of a marble that is
nowhere to be found nowadays. Perhaps it was brought from some island
which since then has sunk beneath the sea. Three hundred and twelve
steps glittering like opals and leading down into unknown depths....
Unknown because they ceased digging after they had reached the three
hundred and twelfth step--God only knows why! I don't think I can tell
you how those steps pique my curiosity.
JULIAN
But it has always been asserted that the Rolston expedition was lost?
SALA
No, not quite as bad as that. Out of twenty-four Europeans, eight got
back after three years in spite of all--and half a dozen of them had
been lost before they ever got there. You have to pass through pretty
bad fever belts. And at that time they had to face an attack of the
Kurds, too, by which several were done for. But we shall be much better
equipped. Furthermore, at the border we shall be joined by a Russian
contingent which is traveling under military escort. And here, too,
they think of putting a military aspect on the affair. As to the
fever--that doesn't scare me--it can't do me any harm. As a young man I
spent a number of particularly dangerous Summer nights in the _thermae_
of Caracalla--you know, of course, what boggy ground that is--and
remained well.
JULIAN
But that doesn't prove anything.
SALA
Oh yes, a little. There I came across a Roman girl whose home was right
by the Appian Way. She caught the fever and died from it.... To be
sure, I am not as young as I was then, but so far I have been perfectly
well.
JULIAN (_who has already smoked several cigarettes, offers one to
Sala_) Don't you smoke?
SALA
Thanks. Really, I shouldn't. Only yesterday Dr. Reumann told me I
mustn't.... Nothing particular--my heart is a little restless, that's
all. Well, a single one won't do any harm, I suppose.
VALET (_enters_)
Miss Herms, sir. She's asking whether she can see you.
JULIAN
Certainly. Ask her to come in.
VALET (_goes out_)
IRENE HERMS (_enters. She is about forty-three, but doesn't look it.
Her dress is simple and in perfect taste. Her movements are vivacious,
and at times almost youthful in their swiftness. Her hair is deeply
blonde in color and very heavy. Her eyes are merry, good-humored most
of the time, and easily filled with tears. She comes in with a smile
and nods in a friendly manner to Sala. To Julian, who has gone to meet
her, she holds out her hand with an expression on her face that is
almost happy_) Good evening. Well? (_She has the habit of pronouncing
that "well" in a tone of sympathetic inquiry_) So I did right after all
in keeping my patience a couple of days more. Here I've got you back
now. (_To Sala_) Can you guess the length of time we haven't seen each
other?
JULIAN
More than three years.
IRENE (_nods assent and permits him at last to withdraw his hand from
hers_) In all our lives that has never happened before. And your last
letter is already two months old. I call it "letter" just to save my
face. But it was only a view-card. Where in the world have you been
anyhow?
JULIAN
Sit down, won't you? I'll tell you all about it. Won't you take off
your hat? You'll stay a while, I hope?
IRENE
Of course.--And the way you look! (_To Sala_) Fine, don't you think?
I've always known that a gray beard would make him look awfully
interesting.
SALA (_to Julian_)
Now you'll have nothing but pleasantries to listen to. Unfortunately I
shall have to be moving.
IRENE
You're not leaving on my account, I hope?
SALA
How can you imagine such a thing, Miss Herms?
IRENE
I suppose you are bound for the Wegrats'?--What do you think of it,
Julian? Isn't it dreadful? (_To Sala_) Please give them my regards.
SALA
I'm not going there now. I'm going home.
IRENE
Home? And you say that in such a matter-of-fact way? I understand you
are now living in a perfect palace.
SALA
No, anything but that. A modest country house. It would give me special
pleasure, Miss Herms, if sometime you would make sure of it in person.
My garden is really pretty.
IRENE
Have you fruit trees, too, and vegetables?
SALA
In this respect I can only offer you a stray cabbage and a wild cherry
tree.
IRENE
Well, if my time permit, I shall make a point of coming out there to
have a look at your villa.
JULIAN
Must you leave again so soon?
IRENE
Certainly. I have to get home again. Only this morning I had a letter
from my little nephew--and he's longing for me. A little rascal of
five, and he, too, is longing already. What do you think of that?
SALA
And you are also longing to get back, I suppose?
IRENE
It isn't that. But I'm beginning to get accustomed to Vienna again. As
I'm going about the streets here, I run across memories at every
corner.--Can you guess where I was yesterday, Julian? In the rooms
where I used to live as a child. It wasn't easy by any means, as a lot
of strangers are living there now. But I got into the rooms just the
same.
SALA (_with amicable irony_)
How did you manage it, Miss Herms?
IRENE
I sneaked in under a pretext. I pretended to believe that there was a
room to be let--for a single elderly lady. But at last I fell to
weeping so that I could see the people thought me out of my mind. And
then I told them the true reason for my coming there. A clerk in the
post-office is living there now with his wife and two children. One of
these was such a nice little chap. He was playing railroad with an
engine that could be wound up, and that ran over one of my feet all the
time.... But I can see that all this doesn't interest you very much,
Mr. von Sala.
SALA
How _can_ you interrupt yourself like that, Miss Herms, just when it is
most exciting? I should have loved to hear more about it. But now I
must really go, unfortunately. Good-by, Julian.--Then, Miss Herms, I
may count on a visit from you. (_He goes out_)
IRENE
Thank God!
JULIAN (_smiling_)
Do you still have the same antipathy for him?
IRENE
Antipathy?--I hate him! Nothing but your incredible kindness of heart
would let him come near you. For you have no worse enemy.
JULIAN
Where did you get that idea?
IRENE
My instinct tells me--you can feel such things.
JULIAN
I fear, however, that even now you cannot judge him quite objectively.
IRENE
Why not?
JULIAN
You can't forgive him that you failed in one of his plays ten years
ago.
IRENE
Unfortunately it's already twelve years ago. And it wasn't my fault.
For my opinion in regard to his so-called poetry is, that it's
nonsense. And I am not the only one who thinks so, as you know. But you
don't know him, of course. To appreciate that gentleman in all his
glory, you must have enjoyed him at a rehearsal. (_Imitating Sala_) Oh,
madam, that's verse--it's verse, dear madam.... Only when you have
heard that kind of thing from him can you understand how limitless his
arrogance is.... And everybody knows, by the way, that he killed his
wife.
JULIAN (_amused_)
But, girl, who in the world put such horrible ideas into your head?
IRENE
Oh, people don't die willy-nilly like that, at twenty-five....
JULIAN
I hope, Irene, that you don't talk like this to other people?
IRENE
What would be the use? Everyone knows it but you. And I for my part
have no reason to spare Mr. von Sala, who for twenty years has pursued
me with his jeers.
JULIAN
And yet you are going to call on him?
IRENE
Of course. Beautiful villas interest me very much. And they tell me his
is ravishing. If you were only to see people who....
JULIAN
Hadn't killed anybody....
IRENE
Really, we show him too much honor in talking so long about him. That
ends it.--Well, Julian? How goes it? Why haven't you written me
oftener? Is it possible you didn't dare?
JULIAN
Dare...?
IRENE
Were you forbidden, I mean?
JULIAN
I see.--Nobody can forbid me anything.
IRENE
Honestly? You live all by yourself?
JULIAN
Yes.
IRENE
I'm delighted. I can't help it, Julian, but I am delighted. Although
it's sheer nonsense. This day, or the next, there'll be something new
going on.
JULIAN
Those days are past.
IRENE
If it were only true!--Can I have a cup of tea?
JULIAN
Certainly. The samovar is right there.
IRENE
Where?--Oh, over there. And the tea?--Oh, I know! (_She opens a small
cupboard and brings out what she needs; during the next few minutes she
is busy preparing the tea_)
JULIAN
So you are really going to stay here only a couple of days more?
IRENE
Of course. I have done all my ordering. You understand, in my sister's
house out there one doesn't need to dress up.
JULIAN
Tell me about it. How do you like it out there?
IRENE
Splendidly. Oh, it's bliss merely to hear nothing more about the
theater.
JULIAN
And yet you'll return to it sometime.
IRENE
That's where you are completely mistaken. Why should I? You must
remember that I have now reached the goal of all my desires: fresh air,
and woods right by; horseback riding across meadows and fields; early
morning seated in the big park, dressed in my kimono, and nobody daring
to intrude. To put it plainly: no people, no manager, no public, no
colleagues, no playwrights--though, of course, all are not as arrogant
as your precious Sala.--Well, all this I have attained at last. I live
in the country. I have a country house--almost a little palace, you
might say. I have a park, and a horse, and a kimono--to use as much as
I please. It isn't all mine, I admit--except the kimono, of course--but
what does that matter? In the bargain, I live with the best people one
could hope to find in this world. For my brother-in-law is, if
possible, a finer fellow than Lora herself even.
JULIAN
Wasn't he rather making up to you once?
IRENE
I should say he was! He wanted to marry me at any cost. Of course!--It
was always in me that they were at first--I mean that they always _have
been_ in love with me. But as a rule the clever ones have gone over to
Lora. In fact, I have always felt a little distrustful toward you
because you never fell in love with Lora. And how much she is ahead of
me--well, _you_ know, and it's no use talking of it. What all don't I
owe to Lora!... If it hadn't been for her...!--Well, it's with them I
have been living the last half year.
JULIAN
The question is only how long you are going to stand it.
IRENE
How long...? But, Julian, I must ask you what there could be to make me
leave such a paradise and return to the morass where I (_in a lowered
voice_) spent twenty-five years of my life. What could I possibly
expect out of the theater anyhow? I am not made for elderly parts. The
heroic mother, the shrewish dame and the funny old woman are equally
little to my liking. I intend to die as "the young lady from the
castle"--as an old maid, you might say--and if everything goes right, I
shall appear to the grandchildren of my sister some hundred years from
now as the Lady in White. In a word, I have the finest kind of a life
ahead of me.--Why are you laughing?
JULIAN
It pleases me to see you so jolly again--so youthful.
IRENE
It's the country air, Julian. You should try it yourself for a good
long while. It's glorious! In fact, I think I have missed my true
calling. I'm sure the good Lord meant me for a milkmaid or farm girl of
some kind. Or perhaps for a young shepherd. I have always looked
particularly well in pants.--There now. Do you want me to pour a cup
for you at once? (_She pours the tea_) Have you nothing to go with
it?
JULIAN
I think there must still be a few crackers left in my bag. (_He takes
a small package out of his traveling bag_)
IRENE
Thanks. That's fine.
JULIAN
This is quite a new fancy of yours, however.
IRENE
Crackers...?
JULIAN
No, nature.
IRENE
How can you say so? I have always had a boundless love for nature.
Don't you recall the excursions we used to make? Don't you remember how
once we fell asleep in the woods on a hot Summer afternoon? And don't
you ever think of that shrine of the Holy Virgin, on the hill where we
were caught by the storm?... Oh, mercy! Nature is no silly illusion.
And still later--when I struck the bad days and wanted to kill myself
for your sake, fool that I was ... then nature simply proved my
salvation. Indeed, Julian! I could still show you the place where I
threw myself on the grass and wept. You have to walk ten minutes from
the station, through an avenue of acacias, and then on to the brook.
Yes, I threw myself on the grass and wept and wailed. It was one of
those days, you know, when you had again sent me packing from your
door. Well, and then, when I had been lying half an hour in the grass,
and had wept my fill, then I got up again--and began to scamper all
over the meadow. Just like a kid, all by myself. Then I wiped my eyes
and felt quite right again. (_Pause_) Of course, next morning I was at
your door again, setting up a howl, and then the story began all over
again.
[_It is growing dark._
JULIAN
Why do you still think of all that?
IRENE
But you do it, too. And who has proved the more stupid of us two in the
end? Who? Ask yourself, on your conscience. Who?... Have you been more
happy with anybody else than with me? Has anybody else clung to you as
I did? Has anybody else been so fond of you?... No, I am sure. And as
to that foolish affair into which I stumbled during my engagement
abroad--you might just as well have overlooked it. Really, there isn't
as much to that kind of thing as you men want to make out--when it
happens to one of us, that is to say. (_Both drink of their tea_)
JULIAN
Should I get some light?
IRENE
It's quite cosy in the twilight like this.
JULIAN
"Not much to it," you say. Perhaps you are right. But when it happens
to anybody, he gets pretty mad as a rule. And if we had made up
again--it would never have been as before. It's better as it is. When
the worst was over, we became good friends once more, and so we have
been ever since. And that is a pretty fine thing, too.
IRENE
Yes. And nowadays I'm quite satisfied. But at that time...! Oh, mercy,
what a time that was! But you don't know anything about it, of course.
It was afterward I began really to love you--after I had lost you
through my own thoughtlessness. It was only then I learned how to be
faithful in the true sense. For anything that has happened to me since
then.... But it's asking too much that a man should understand that
kind of thing.
JULIAN
I understand quite well, Irene. You may be sure.
IRENE
And besides I want to tell you something: it was nothing but a
well-deserved punishment for both of us.
JULIAN
For both of us?
IRENE
Yes, that's what I have figured out long ago. A well-deserved
punishment.
JULIAN
For both of us?
IRENE
Yes, for you, too.
JULIAN
But what do you mean by that?
IRENE
We had deserved no better.
JULIAN
We...? In what way?
IRENE (_very seriously_)
You are so very clever otherwise, Julian. Now what do you say--do you
think it could have happened as it did--do you think I could have made
a mistake like that--if we--had had a child? Ask yourself on your
conscience, Julian--do you believe it? I don't, and you don't either.
Everything would have happened in a different way. Everything. We had
stayed together then. We had had _more_ children. We had married. We
might be living together now. I shouldn't have become an old-maidish
"young lady from the castle," and you wouldn't have become....
JULIAN
An old bachelor.
IRENE
Well, if you say it yourself. And the main thing is this: we _had_ a
child. I had a child. (_Pause_)
JULIAN (_walking back and forth_)
What's the use, Irene? Why do you begin to talk of all those forgotten
things again...?
IRENE
Forgotten?
JULIAN
... Things gone by.
IRENE
Yes, they are bygone, of course. But out there in the country you have
plenty of time. All sorts of things keep passing through your head. And
especially when you see other people's children--Lora has two boys, you
know--then you get all sorts of notions. It almost amounted to a vision
not long ago.
JULIAN
What?
IRENE
It was toward evening, and I had walked across the fields. I do it
quite often, all by myself. Far and wide there was nobody to be seen.
And the village down below was quite deserted, too. And I walked on and
on, always in direction of the woods. And suddenly I was no longer
alone. You were with me. And between us was the child. We were holding
it by the hands--our little child. (_Angrily, to keep herself from
crying_) It's too silly for anything! I know, of course, that our child
would be a gawky youngster of twenty-three by now--that it might have
turned into a scamp or a good-for-nothing girl. Or that it might be
dead already. Or that it had drifted out into the wide world, so that
we had nothing left of it--oh, yes, yes.... But we should have had it
once, for all that--once there would have been a little child that
seemed rather fond of us. And.... (_She is unable to go on; silence
follows_)
JULIAN (_softly_)
You shouldn't talk yourself into such a state, Irene.
IRENE
I am not talking myself into anything.
JULIAN
Don't brood. Accept things as they are. There have been other things in
your life--better things, perhaps. Your life has been much richer than
that of a mere mother could ever have been.... You have been an artist.
IRENE (_as if to herself_)
I don't care that much for it.
JULIAN
A great, famous one--that means something after all. And your life has
brought you many other exquisite experiences--since the one with me. I
am sure of it.
IRENE
What have I got left of it? What does it amount to? A woman who has no
child has never been a woman. But a woman who once might have had
one--who should have had one, and who--(_with a glance at
him_)--has never become a mother, she is nothing but--oh! But that's
what a man cannot understand! It is what not one of them can
understand! In this respect the very best one of the lot will always
remain something of a cad. Is there one of you who knows how many of
his own offspring have been set adrift in the world? I know at least
that there are none of mine. Can you say as much?
JULIAN
And if I did know....
IRENE
How? Have you got one really?--Oh, speak, please! You can tell _me,_
Julian, can't you? Where is it? How old is it? A boy? Or a girl?
JULIAN
Don't question me.... Even if I had a child, it wouldn't belong to you
anyhow.
IRENE
He has a child! He has a child! (_Pause_) Why do you permit it to be
drifting around in the world then?
JULIAN
You yourself have given the explanation: in this respect the very best
of us remains always something of a cad. And I am not the best one at
that.
IRENE
Why don't you go and get it?
JULIAN
How could it be any of my concern? How could I dare to make it my
concern? Oh, that's enough.... (_Pause_) Do you want another cup of
tea?
IRENE
No, thanks. No more now. (_Pause; it is growing darker_) He has a
child, and I have never known it! (_Protracted silence_)
VALET (_enters_)
JULIAN
What is it?
VALET
Lieutenant Wegrat asks if you are at home, sir?
JULIAN
Certainly. Ask him in.
VALET (_goes out after having turned on the light_)
IRENE
Young Wegrat?--I thought he had already left again.--The poor chap! He
seemed utterly stunned.
JULIAN
I can imagine.
IRENE
You visited him at Salzburg?
JULIAN
Yes, I happened to be there a couple of days last August.
FELIX (_enters, dressed as a civilian_)
Good evening.--Good evening, Miss Herms.
IRENE
Good evening, Lieutenant.
JULIAN
My dear Felix--I was going to call on you--this very evening. It's
extremely nice of you to take the trouble.
FELIX
I have to be off again the day after to-morrow, and so I wasn't sure
whether I could find any chance at all to see you.
JULIAN
Won't you take off your coat?--Think of it, I didn't have the slightest
idea.... It was Sala who told me--less than an hour ago.
[_Irene is looking from one to the other._
FELIX
We didn't dream of this when we took that walk in the Mirabell
Gardens[4] last summer.
[4] The palace of Mirabell is one of the sights of Salzburg,
the city near the Bavarian border, where Felix's regiment was
stationed. It is now used as a museum. The gardens adjoining
it are of the formal type so dear to, and so characteristic
of, the eighteenth century.
JULIAN
Was it very sudden?
FELIX
Yes. And I, who couldn't be with her.... Late that evening I had to
leave, and she died during the night.
IRENE
Say rather that she didn't wake up again next morning.
FELIX
We owe a lot of thanks to you, Miss Herms.
IRENE
Oh, please...!
FELIX
It always gave my mother so much pleasure to have you with her,
chatting, or playing the piano to her.
IRENE
Oh, don't mention my playing...!
[_A clock strikes._
IRENE
Is it that late? Then I have to go.
JULIAN
What's the hurry, Miss Herms?
IRENE
I'm going to the opera. I have to make good use of the few days I shall
still be here.
FELIX
Shall we see you at our house again, Miss Herms?
IRENE
Certainly.--You'll have to leave before me, won't you?
FELIX
Yes, my furlough will be up....
IRENE (_as if en passant_)
How long have you been an officer anyhow, Felix?
FELIX
For three years really--but I didn't apply for a commission until this
year--a little too late, perhaps.
IRENE
Too late? Why?--How old are you, Felix?
FELIX
Twenty-three.
IRENE
Oh! (_Pause_) But when I saw you four years ago as a volunteer, I
thought at once you would stay in the service.--Do you remember,
Julian, I told you so at the time?
JULIAN
Yes....
FELIX
That must have been in the summer, the last time you called on us.
IRENE
I think so....
FELIX
Many things have changed since then.
IRENE
Indeed! Those were still happy days.--Don't you think so, Julian? For
we haven't met either since we spent those beautiful summer evenings in
the garden of the Wegrats.
JULIAN (_nods assent_)
IRENE (_stands again looking now at Julian and now at Felix; brief
pause_) Oh, but now it's high time for me to be gone.--Good-by.
Remember me at home, Lieutenant.--Good-by, Julian. (_She goes out,
accompanied to the door by Julian_)
FELIX
Haven't you made some changes here?
JULIAN
Not to my knowledge. And how could you know anyhow? You have only been
here two or three times.
FELIX
Yes. But the last time at one of the most important moments in my life.
I came here to get your advice.
JULIAN
Well, everything has turned out in accordance with your wish. Even your
father has resigned himself to it.
FELIX
Yes, he has resigned himself. Of course, he would have preferred to see
me continue my technical studies. But now he has seen that it is quite
possible to lead a sensible life in uniform too--without any debts or
duels. In fact, my life is almost too smooth. However, there is at
least more to anticipate for one of us than for most people. And that's
always something.
JULIAN
And how are things at home?
FELIX
At home.... Really, it's almost as if that word had lost its meaning.
JULIAN
Has your father resumed his duties again?
FELIX
Of course. Two days later he was back in his studio. He is wonderful.
But I can't quite understand it.... Am I disturbing you, Mr. Fichtner?
You were putting your papers in order, I think.
JULIAN
Oh, there's no hurry about that. They're easily put in order. Most of
them I burn.
FELIX
Why?
JULIAN
It's more sensible, don't you think, to destroy things one hardly cares
to look at any more?
FELIX
But doesn't it make you rather sad to clean out your past like that?
JULIAN
Sad?... No, it's entirely too natural a process for that.
FELIX
I can't see it that way. Look here. To burn a letter, or a picture, or
something of that kind, immediately after you have got it--that seems
quite natural to me. But something at all worthy of being kept as a
remembrance of some poignant joy or equally poignant sorrow would seem
incapable of ever losing its significance again. And especially in the
case of a life like yours, that has been so rich and so active.... It
would seem to me that at times you must feel something like--awe in the
face of your own past.
JULIAN
Where do you get such thoughts--you, who are so young?
FELIX
They just came into my head this minute.
JULIAN