_A drawing-room in the Empire style in_ Count Kellinghausen's _house.
In front, on the left, a fireplace; to the left, in the background, a
door to the inner apartments; to the right, back, a door into the front
passage; in the foreground, on the right, a window. In the centre of
back wall a wide opening between two columns, partly closed by an old
Gobelins tapestry. On the right a sofa, table and chairs. On the left,
in front of the fireplace, several low seats. Near the middle, placed
diagonally, a writing-table with shelves; beside the table two seats
with low backs and a comfortable arm-chair. Old portraits and coloured
prints on the walls._
Holtzmann _is seated at the back of the room, a portfolio on his lap_.
Conrad _ushers in_ Baron Ludwig.
Conrad (_in the doorway_).
If your Excellency will kindly come this way--the doctor is with Madame
von Kellinghausen.
Baron Ludwig.
Ah? In that case perhaps I had better----
Conrad.
Madame von Kellinghausen will be here in a moment, your Excellency. The
other gentleman has already been announced. (_Indicating_ Holtzmann.)
Baron Ludwig.
Very well. (Conrad _goes out_.)
Holtzmann (_rises and makes a deep bow_).
Baron Ludwig.
(_Bowing slightly in return wanders about the room and at last pauses
before_ Holtzmann.) I beg your pardon but--surely I know your face.
Holtzmann.
Very likely, your Excellency. My name is Holtzmann, private secretary
to Baron Richard von Voelkerlingk.
Baron Ludwig.
Indeed? I am so seldom at my brother's. The fact is--er, well.
Yesterday was election-day at Lengenfeld, by the way. The papers were
full of it this morning. It seems to cause a good deal of surprise that
Count Kellinghausen should not only have withdrawn in favour of my
brother, but should actually have gone about canvassing for him. I
daresay that's an exaggeration, though?
Holtzmann.
On the contrary, your Excellency. The Count has been down in the
country electioneering for weeks.
Baron Ludwig.
Really? And you were with him, I suppose?
Holtzmann (_with a dry smile_).
Very much so, your Excellency. I should be sorry to be answerable for
all the nonsense I've had to talk and write!
Baron Ludwig.
H'm--just so. Nonsense always wins. Who said that, by the way? Julian
the Apostate, wasn't it?
Holtzmann.
No, your Excellency. Talbot.
Baron Ludwig.
Julian might have said it. The losing side always philosophises.
Holtzmann.
I hope we sha'n't be on the losing side.
Baron Ludwig.
H'm. What is your profession?
Holtzmann.
Theology, your Excellency.
Baron Ludwig.
And how long do you think it will be before it lands you in socialism?
Holtzmann (_offended_).
Excellency!
Baron Ludwig.
My dear sir, look at the examples! I remember a predecessor of yours at
my brother's--a theological student also, I believe. Well, he landed
with both feet in the middle of the Socialist camp.
Holtzmann.
Yes, I know, your Excellency. You mean Meixner.
Baron Ludwig.
That reminds me--I hear the fellow has actually been taking a leading
hand in the fight against my brother.
Holtzmann.
The report is true.
Baron Ludwig.
Well, I hope you hit back hard.
Holtzmann.
That is what I was there for, your Excellency.
_Enter_ Beata _and_ Dr. Kahlenberg.
Beata.
I hadn't dared to hope that your Excellency would answer my summons so
promptly.
Baron Ludwig (_kissing her hand_).
My dear Countess, your summons was a command--and one I was only too
happy to obey. (Beata _turns to_ Holtzmann.) Ah, good-morning, my dear
doctor.
Kahlenberg.
Good-morning, your Excellency. How is it you haven't been in lately to
let me look you over? A guilty conscience, eh?
Baron Ludwig.
Lack of time, doctor. Give me a day of twenty-five hours, and I'll
devote one of them to consulting my physician.
Kahlenberg.
Who will order you to rest during the other twenty-four.
Baron Ludwig.
We all get that order sooner or later, doctor--and from a chief we have
to obey. (_In a low voice_.) How is the Countess?
Kahlenberg (_same tone_).
No worse. (_To_ Beata.) And now, my dear lady, I must be off--but
what's the matter?
Beata (_joyously excited, a paper in her hand_).
Oh, nothing--nothing--nothing----
Kahlenberg (_in a tone of friendly reproach_).
You know I've warned you----
Beata.
Not to feel, not to think, not to laugh, not to cry--not to live, in
short, dear doctor!
Kahlenberg.
Well, I don't object to the laughing.
Beata.
It's just as well you don't, for it's a habit you couldn't break me of.
There is so much to laugh at in this vale of tears! Well, good-bye,
doctor! (Kahlenberg _goes out_.)
Beata (_to_ Baron Ludwig).
This will interest you too. Herr Holtzmann--you know Herr
Holtzmann?--has just brought me the returns from Lengenfeld. Only
fancy, your brother has a majority of a hundred and thirty-one! Think
of that!
Baron Ludwig.
Don't let us be too sanguine.
Beata.
Oh----
Holtzmann.
Six districts are still to be heard from, Countess, and we know that
four of these belong to the Socialists. It is still doubtful if we can
gain a majority.
Beata (_concealing her disappointment_).
And when do you expect to hear the final result?
Holtzmann.
At any moment now.
Beata.
And when you _do_ hear----
Holtzmann.
I will jump into a cab and bring you the news instantly.
Beata.
Thank you so 'much. (_Gives him her hand_.) Is Baron Voelkerlingk at
home?
Holtzmann.
He went for a ride. I daresay I shall find him on my return.
Beata.
Remember me to him, won't you? (Holtzmann _takes leave with a bow_.)
Baron Ludwig.
What do you hear from Kellinghausen? He is still at Lengenfeld, I hear.
Beata.
I have just had a letter. Now that the elections are over he means to
take a day's shooting, and then he is coming home--free from his
party-duties for the first time in years!
Baron Ludwig.
And what does the Egeria of the party say to such a state of things?
Beata.
Do you mean _me_, your Excellency?
Baron Ludwig.
I mean the woman at whose delightful dinner-table the fate of more than
one important bill has been decided. Now that Kellinghausen has retired
into private life, do you mean to keep up the little political dinners
we've always been so much afraid of?
Beata.
I hope so, your Excellency. And if you care to beard the lion in his
den, I shall be charmed to send you an invitation. You haven't dined
with us in an age. I've always fancied that the estrangement between
your brother and yourself might be the cause of our seeing so little of
you.
Baron Ludwig.
My dear Countess, those eyes of yours see through everything; and I
read in them all the answers I might make to that question. Ah,
well--Richard had the good luck, the unspeakable good luck, to win your
friendship, and under your influence, to develop into the man he is!
Beata.
I know how to listen when clever men are talking. That is the secret of
what you call my influence.
Baron Ludwig.
You think so?--Well--there was Richard, dabbling in poetry and
politics, in archaeology and explorations, like the typical noble
amateur. He had a fortune from his mother, while I was poor. But in one
respect I was richer than he; for he married a fool who dragged him
down to the level of her own silly snobbishness. But then you came--and
lifted him up again. Then all his dormant powers awoke--he discovered
his gift as a speaker, he became the mouthpiece of the party, he got
into the Reichstag, and----
Beata.
And dropped out again.
Baron Ludwig.
Exactly. And the estrangement between us dates from that time. It was
reported that government had left him in the lurch, and I was thought
to be more or less responsible.
Beata.
At all events, his career was cut short. And he failed again at the
next election.
Baron Ludwig.
And now your friendship has helped him to success.
Beata.
My husband's friendship, you mean.
Baron Ludwig.
In my loveless household I know too little of the power of woman to
pronounce definitely on that point.
Beata.
You do well to suspend your judgment.
Baron Ludwig.
Ah, now you are displeased with me. I am sorry. I might be of use to
you.
Beata.
If you wish to be of use to me you can do so by becoming your brother's
friend. It was to ask you this that I sent for you.
Baron Ludwig.
Countess, I wonder at your faith in human nature!
Beata.
Human nature has never deceived me.
Baron Ludwig.
One would adore you for saying that if one hadn't so many other reasons
for doing so!
Beata (_laughing_).
Pretty speeches at our age?
Baron Ludwig.
You may talk of my age, but not of yours.
Beata.
Look at the grey hair--here, on my temples; and my medicine-bottles
over there. I never stir without them now.
Baron Ludwig.
I have been distressed to hear of your illness.
Beata.
Yes, my heart bothers me--an old story. My heart is tired--and I--I'm
not. And when I drive it too hard it grows a little restive now and
then. But it doesn't matter! (_Enter_ Ellen.) Is that you, Ellen? Come
in, dear.
Ellen (_in skating dress_).
Mother, dear, I didn't know you had a visitor. How do you do, your
Excellency?
Baron Ludwig.
How do you do, young lady? Dear me dear me what have you been growing
into?
Ellen.
Into life, your Excellency!
Baron Ludwig.
Ha--very good--very neat. So many people just grow past it.
Beata.
And how was the skating, dear?
Ellen.
Oh, heavenly. Norbert and I simply flew. Poor Miss Mansborough--we left
her miles behind!
Beata.
Well, run away now. Take off your fur jacket--you're too warm.
Ellen.
Good-bye, your Excellency.
Baron Ludwig.
_Au revoir_, little Countess. (Ellen _goes out_.)
Baron Ludwig.
What a little wonder you've made of her!
Beata.
She _is_ developing, isn't she?
Baron Ludwig.
And my nephew Norbert--you have developed him too. A very comprehensive
piece of work. (Beata _laughs_.)
Baron Ludwig.
If only he doesn't stray from the path you've marked out for him.
Beata.
Ah--you are thinking of that pamphlet of his?
Baron Ludwig (_nods_).
An attack on duelling, I understand? Well, it's no business of mine.
Beata.
He is not as immature as you think.
Baron Ludwig.
Indeed?
_Enter_ Conrad.
Conrad (_announcing_).
Baron von Brachtmann, his Highness Prince Usingen.
Baron Ludwig.
The pillars of the state! Brachtmann especially. This is something for
me to remember, Countess.
_Enter_ Brachtmann _and_ Prince. Conrad _goes out_.
Brachtmann.
My dear Countess----
Beata.
I am so glad to see you. And you, Prince. Always faithful to the cause?
Prince.
Yes, Countess; as far as fidelity is consonant with perfect inactivity.
Glad to shake hands between two rounds, your Excellency.
Baron Ludwig.
Our encounters are not sanguinary, your Highness.
Prince.
No although one adversary occasionally cuts another. (_Laughter_.)
Brachtmann.
We ventured to call, Countess, because we fancied that Voelkerlingk
would keep you posted as to the news from Lengenfeld.
Beata.
Baron Voelkerlingk has done me no such honour. But--by the merest
accident--his secretary was here just now. Here are the latest returns.
(_Hands him the paper_.)
Brachtmann (_bending over the paper_).
H'm, h'm----
Prince.
Let me see.
Brachtmann.
Well, we'll hope for the best. Kellinghausen's personal popularity has
secured a conservative majority till now; but now that he has withdrawn
in favour of another man--even though that man is Voelkerlingk--the
result is more than doubtful.
Baron Ludwig.
I confess, Countess, that even if Kellinghausen looked upon his
politics merely as a branch of sport, I don't quite understand his
sacrificing his career to my brother.
Beata.
My husband is very easy-going. He has no ambition. They had bothered
him dreadfully at their committee-meetings about things he didn't
understand--at least he said he didn't. The truth is, it probably bored
him.
Brachtmann.
But how about his fanatical devotion to the party? If we are all
monomaniacs on that subject, he is certainly the worst. He felt more
keenly than any of us what the party lost in losing your brother (_to_
Baron Ludwig)--he realised our need of Voelkerlingk's efficiency and
energy. He saw what a great power was lying idle. Doesn't that explain
his action?
Baron Ludwig.
I needn't tell you, Herr von Brachtmann, how pleasant it is to hear my
brother praised. I quite realise how much you need him at this
particular moment with the debate on the civil code pending, and the
serious questions likely to come up in connection with it. (_To_
Beata.) But that Kellinghausen should have consented to withdraw, even
in such an emergency-- I have so often heard him say, Countess, that it
was the duty of a landed proprietor to represent the district in which
his property lay. He said it was the only justification of a
representative government.
Beata.
But you know you, all say that!
Prince.
My dear Countess, the revolutionary spirit has entered into our
traditions, and the modern idea of making a revolution is to gird at
existing institutions. Why deprive us of such an innocent amusement?
Baron Ludwig.
Really, Prince--pardon me--but since, by birth and political
affiliations, you are a supporter of existing institutions, would it
not be well to speak of them less flippantly?
Prince.
Why, my dear Baron?--Countess, shall I show you the attitude of the
modern state toward its citizens? Here we are: the state with its hand
in its pocket, the citizen with his fist clenched. And the only way to
unclench the citizen's fist is for the state to pull something out of
its pocket. There's the situation in a nutshell. It's a matter of taste
whether one respects such an institution or not.
Brachtmann.
You know. Baron, he is the spoiled child of the party.
Prince.
Its prodigal son, you mean. I squandered all my original ideas long
ago, and am living on the husks of the feudal tradition. But we are
boring Madame von Kellinghausen. (_The three men rise_.)
Beata.
Good-bye, Prince--Herr von Brachtmann. (_To_ Baron Ludwig.) Whenever
your solitude weighs on you, come in and let me give you a cup of tea.
Baron Ludwig.
You are very good. But I am afraid it is too late to begin.
Beata.
It is never too late to renew an old friendship.
Baron Ludwig.
Thank you. (_Goes out with the two other men_.)
Ellen _enters_.
Ellen.
(_Throwing her arms about her mother's neck_.) Mother! You dear little
mamma!
Beata.
Well, madcap--what is it now?
Ellen.
Oh, nothing, nothing. I'm so happy, that's all.
Beata.
What are you happy about, dear?
Ellen.
I don't know--does one ever?
Beata.
Has anything in particular happened?
Ellen.
No; nothing. That is--Norbert said-- Oh, yes to be sure; we met Uncle
Richard.
Beata.
Ah--where?
Ellen.
In the Zoo. On horseback. He sent his love and said he would be in
before dinner. Norbert is coming too. Mother, is it true that Uncle
Richard is such a wonderful speaker? Norbert says he can do what he
likes with people.
Beata.
Some people--but only those whose thoughts he can turn into feelings,
or whose feelings he can turn into thoughts. Do you understand?
Ellen.
Oh, yes! You mean, one can give only to those who have something to
give in return?
Beata.
Yes.
Ellen.
But he must have great power--I am sure of it! He's always so quiet,
and says so little--yet one feels there's a great fire inside--and
sometimes it blazes up.
Beata (_laughing_).
What do you know about it?
Ellen.
Oh, I know. It's just the same with-- Mother, how can people _bear_
life sometimes? It's so beautiful one simply can't breathe!
Beata (_with emotion_).
Yes, it _is_ beautiful. And even when it's nothing but pain and fear
and renunciation, even then it's still beautiful, Ellen.
Ellen (_alarmed_).
Mother--what is the matter?
Beata.
Nothing, dear. I'm only a little tired. (_She goes to the door_.)
Conrad _enters_.
Conrad.
Baron Norbert. (_Goes out_.)
Norbert _enters_.
Norbert.
How d'ye do, Aunt Beata? How are you to-day?
Beata (_wearily_).
Very well, thanks.
Ellen (_anxiously_).
No, not very well. (Beata _signs her to be silent_.)
Norbert.
This is Thursday. Ellen and I were to read _I Promessi Sposi_ together;
but if I might say a word to you first----
Beata.
Presently, Norbert. Wait for me here.
Ellen.
Don't you want me, mother?
Beata.
No, dear. Stay with Norbert. I shall be back in a moment. (_She goes
out_.)
Ellen (_looking after her_).
Oh, Norbert!
Norbert.
Is she really worse?
Ellen.
No, she is just the same as usual. But at night--oh, Norbert, she's
never in bed. All night she wanders, wanders. When I hear her coming, I
lie quite still. If she knew I was awake she might not come any more.
She never touches me, but just bends over and strokes my pillow, oh, so
softly! And she breathes so hard, as if it hurt her--and then gradually
she grows quiet again. When you see her in the daytime, so gay and dear
and busy, so full of other people's pleasures, you'd never guess the
misery she endures. Oh, Norbert, you _do_ love her, don't you?
Norbert.
I believe I love her better than my own mother.
Ellen.
No, no, Norbert, that's wicked. You mustn't say that.
Norbert.
Perhaps not, but I can't help feeling it. And why shouldn't I, after
all? When I was a boy my father was everything to me--after that he was
always travelling, and I was left to my own devices. There are so many
things that puzzle a chap when there's no one to talk them over with.
It's different with girls, I suppose. At first I used to go to
my mother: _she's_ always found life simple enough. Visits, and
parties, and church--she looks upon church-going as another kind of
visiting--well, do you know what _she_ said to me? "In the first place,
my dear boy, your trousers are shocking. What you need is a good
tailor. Then you ought to take up lawn tennis--and after that, we'll
see." Well, that didn't help me much. And then your mother took pity on
me. Again and again she's let me sit up half the night, talking things
over with her.
Ellen.
And now you and she have got something to say to each other again. What
is it, Norbert? Do tell me! Why can't _I_ help you as well as mother?
Norbert.
Perhaps you'd like to do my examination papers for me?
Ellen.
Nonsense; it's not that.--But you don't care for me any more.
Norbert.
You silly child!
Ellen.
You told me you did once--long ago--but since then--you've never
once----
Norbert.
Listen, dear. I made an awful ass of myself that day. Do you know what
I did? I called on your father to ask his permission to marry you.
Ellen.
And you never told me?
Norbert.
Luckily your father was out--and as for your mother--well, she simply
laughed at me!
Ellen.
Oh!
Norbert.
Oh, you know how your mother laughs at one. It doesn't hurt. "Dear
boy," she said, in the kindest way, "it's too soon to talk of such
things to Ellen. You must give her time to grow up." And I gave her my
word I would; and you see I've kept it.
Ellen.
And if mother should----
Beata _enters_.
Beata.
Ellen, dear, go to Miss Mansborough. It's time for your reading.
Norbert will come in a moment.
Ellen.
Yes, mother. (_Goes out_.)
Beata (_who has been watching them closely_).
By the way, Norbert--what about that promise you made me?
Norbert.
I've kept it, Aunt Beata.
Beata.
Then you want to talk to me about something else?
Norbert.
Yes. The storm-signals are up. My college club has turned on me: one,
two, three, and out you go!
Beata.
Not in disgrace?
Norbert.
I'm not so sure. I got an official letter yesterday from the committee,
asking me if I was the author of a pamphlet called "The Ordeal."
Beata.
Why did you write it under an assumed name?
Norbert.
Only on my father's account.
Beata.
If you disguised yourself at all, you ought to have done so more
thoroughly.
Norbert.
Why, Aunt Beata! Haven't you often told me that every reformer must
have the courage of his convictions?
Beata.
Yes; but I've no sympathy with unnecessary martyrdom. Keep a cool head,
dear boy, and don't be drawn into controversy just yet. Haven't I often
told you that this college duelling you rail against is only a
preparation for the real battle of life--the battle of ideas and
beliefs? You'll come to that later--ask your father how it is!
Norbert.
Oh, father--of course he's only interested in big things.
Beata.
What does he say to your article?
Norbert.
Immature.
Beata.
Was he vexed?
Norbert.
When I asked him if it annoyed him, he laughed and said:--"I know the
world too well to agree with you. But you must work out the problem for
yourself. I sha'n't interfere."
Beata.
Well, what more do you want? Did you expect him to go into raptures?
Norbert.
Wait and see, Aunt Beata! I mean to suffer for my convictions. I mean
to brave persecution. Is that a laughing matter?
Beata.
Come! Come! No bragging--not even about persecution. It's intoxicating
at first, but the after-taste is bitter.
Norbert.
Don't make fun of me, Aunt Beata.
Beata.
Heaven forbid! You know _I_ don't disapprove of your article.
Norbert.
How could you? Isn't it all yours?
Beata.
I don't understand anything about duelling.
Norbert.
No, but my ideas are yours--every one of them. All I've said about
self-restraint--about striving toward an harmonious whole--about
the Greek ideal of freedom--and how posterity will smile at our
struggles--it's all yours, Aunt Beata, every word of it.
Beata.
Don't tell your father! And besides, it isn't. My ideas have got
twisted in that wild young brain of yours. And it might annoy him to
think that I had put them there----
Norbert.
Oh, Aunt Beata, _I_ know what you really think. But, of course, if you
don't want me to, I----
_Enter_ Conrad.
Conrad (_announcing_).
Baron Voelkerlingk.
_Enter_ Richard. Conrad _goes out_.
Richard.
Well, dear friend? What sort of a night have you had? Not good, I'm
afraid.
Beata.
There's no use in trying to deceive you. Have you just come from your
own house?
Richard.
Yes.
Beata.
Well? Telegrams?
Richard.
None for the last two hours. Well, Norbert, you here, as usual? (_To_
Beata.) So you have the younger generation on your hands too?
Beata (_laughing_).
So much the better, since the older shows itself so seldom nowadays.
Richard.
Ah, well----
Beata.
Good-bye, Norbert dear.
Norbert (_kissing_ Beata's _hand_).
Good-bye, father. (Richard _nods to him_. Norbert goes out.)
Beata.
Will you dine with me to-day, Richard? (Richard _shakes his head_.)
Beata.
Just we two?
Richard.
I can't: my wife has a dinner: an ambassador and his wife, two lights
of the Church, and others of the same feather. I must show myself on
such occasions, to keep up appearances.
Beata.
I'm sorry. I should have liked to have you with me--to-day. How do you
stand the suspense? Perhaps I don't show it--but I'm in a fever.
Richard.
It's telling on me too. The fact is, any poor devil of a mountebank is
a king compared to one of us. He does his trick and gets his pay.--Oh,
this last fortnight! If you'd seen me driven about from village to
village like a travelling quack! Freedom and hot words, free beer and
hot sausages! And, to cap the climax, a fellow who used to be my
private secretary leading the campaign against me! Bah--it was
horrible. As for Michael, with his Olympian calm, he saw only the
humorous side of it. (_Laughing_.)
Beata.
I wonder he let you leave before the election.
Richard.
He thought I ought not to make myself too cheap. I quite agreed with
him, and took myself off. Hang the democracy!
Beata.
If only the noblemen who want to rule could get on without it!
Richard.
They could, if the spirit of the age hadn't turned them into
demagogues.
Beata.
Did Holtzmann do as well as you expected?
Richard.
Admirably. But he's been going about with such a long face lately that
he's rather got on my nerves.--I heard you had told him to come back
when the returns are in--may I wait for him here?--When one thinks that
something will come in at that door presently--something dressed like
Holtzmann, looking like Holtzmann--and that that something will be
Fate--nothing more or less than Fate!
Beata.
And if he comes in and says--or rather, if he doesn't say anything?
Remember, Richard, even if _that_ happens, you've got to go on living!
Richard.
Of course. Why not? It's all in the day's work. An Indian penitent was
once asked: "Why do you go on living?" And his answer was: "Because I
am dead."--Oh, I don't mean to be ungrateful. As long as I have you,
dear--as long as you are here to live my life with me, to give it
colour and meaning and purpose--let come what may, nothing else
matters.
Beata.
Don't say that--don't----
Richard.
Am I exaggerating? Why, ever since we-- How long ago is it that we met
for the first time, in the wood at Tarasp? Fifteen years?
Beata.
It seems like yesterday.
Richard.
You passed between the dark pine-trunks like an apparition. You wore a
pink dress and had Ellen by the hand.
Beata.
She was tired and had begun to cry.
Richard.
I saw that she wanted to be carried.
Beata.
And I was just recovering from an illness, and was too weak to lift
her. You raised your hat--no, it was the white cap you wore----
Richard.
Do you remember that?
Beata.
Good heavens, what was I then, and what have you made of me? My
own--let me call you that just once, Richard, as I used to do--just
once, on this great day--my own! (Richard _looks nervously toward the
door_.)
Beata.
There is no one coming.
Richard.
_Let_ you!
Beata.
What a quiet happy little woman I was! That "happy" is not meant as a
reproach, dearest! I have a boundless capacity for happiness, and it
kept me company even in the loneliness of my early married life--for in
those days Michael didn't take much notice of me. It was you who showed
him that I was worth noticing. And so you built up my new life--a hard
life to carry, at times, a life bowed under its own wealth as the vine
is bowed under its fruit--but how it has grown under your hand,
dearest, how it has spread and strengthened!--Now you're laughing at
me, Richard.
Richard.
Beata--no one knows as you do how I have blundered and struggled. What
are you trying to do? Do you want to give me more faith in myself, or
do you really think I've done all that for you?
Beata.
I know every line in your forehead, I watch every look in your eye, I
read every thought in your soul--there are some I could wish away, for
they only make you miserable--but no one knows as I do what you are,
and what you have been to me!
Richard.
When will Michael be here?
Beata.
How suddenly you ask that! You are tormenting yourself again.
Dear--dearest--don't look like that! Why, it never really
happened--it's been dead and buried for years--dead and buried, every
trace of it. No one knows what we were to each other, no one even
dreams it. And we're old people now--you and I. Only think, I shall
soon be forty! Who is going to ask two old mummies what follies they
committed in the year one?
Richard.
You are pretending not to care, Beata. Don't do that!
Beata.
Don't weigh every word I say--just look into my wicked heart. Your
conscience has nothing to do with that! And if you're fond of
Michael--if we're both fond of him--and why shouldn't we both be fond
of him--that dear, good, cheery Michael of ours?--why, that needn't
make you probe the depths of your soul for fresh wickedness. I tell you
we've paid for everything, even to the uttermost farthing!
Richard.
Do you think so? It seems to me that when a man and a woman have found
everything in each other, as we have, when they have been to each other
the strength and the meaning and the object of life--when they've
resolved to die fighting back to back, together to the last, as you
used to say it seems to me that in such a case there isn't much room
for expiation. If Purgatory is like that it must be fairly habitable.
(Beata _laughs_.) Ah, now you are flippant.
Beata.
Be thankful that one of us is, dear!
Richard.
I remember when I lost my seat, six years ago--it was a hard knock, I
can tell you--everything went under at once--well, I said to myself:
This is my punishment. And the idea never left me. While I was
wandering about the world, or vegetating down in the country, I
actually used to get a kind of comfort out of it. And now? Do you know,
I sometimes fancy you wouldn't be altogether sorry if I lost my
election again.
Beata (_laughingly_).
Really? Do you think that?
Richard.
In fact I'm not at all sure you hold with the party any longer.
Beata.
What--I, its Egeria? An elderly party-nymph gone wrong? What a shocking
idea!
Richard.
I'm sure of one thing you enjoy looking over our heads.
Beata.
Don't say _our_ heads--don't include yourself with the rest. You think
of your duty; they think of their rights. You use the masses in order
to serve them. The others think only of power.
Richard.
Oh, as to that--we all want power.
Beata.
Yes: the question is, for whose benefit?--Ah, well, I see I shall have
to tell you--you ought to know--the sooner the better, I suppose!
Richard.
Tell me what?
Beata.
Dear--did you really think it was Michael's fondest wish to resign his
seat in Parliament, and live only for his horses?
Richard.
I've heard him say so often enough.
Beata.
And so you leaped into the breach--in the interests of the party?
Richard (_hesitating_).
And because--(_suddenly_) Beata--there's been some deception? (Beata
_nods_.) Some one has been working against me----?
Beata.
Or for you--as you please.--Sit down beside me, dear; give me
both your hands--so! And now listen. I couldn't bear to see your
disappointment--your suffering--I suffered with you too intensely! And
so--don't look so startled, or I shall lose heart and be afraid to go
on.--How shall I tell you?--It's taken me a year a whole year's work.
By degrees I persuaded him that he was unsuited to Parliamentary
life--gradually I turned him against the pottering routine-work which
is the only thing he can do--little by little I made him see what a
boon it would be for the country and the party if he would only let you
take his place. Till at last he did----
Richard (_rising_).
Ah----
Beata.
Can you say _now_ that I didn't want you elected? (Richard _is
silent_.) I should never have told you this if I hadn't known that his
pride in his heroic feat would make him betray himself sooner or later.
(_A pause_.) After all, think how little he's given up! To him it was
only a--pastime--to you it is life. I had no choice, had I? You do see
that, don't you? (_A pause_.) Richard, I may be a very wicked woman,
but at least I deserve one look from you!
Richard.
Beata! Beata! What can I say? What can I say? You know how I've always
tried to keep our feeling for each other within the bounds--the bounds
of-- You know how it was twelve years ago--when I found myself
gradually slipping into intimacy with him, I came to you and said:
"Either this thing ends here, or I tell him everything. I won't take
his hand and play the sneak. If I do, we shall lose our respect for
each other as well as our self-respect." And then we hit on this
friendship as a way out of it--a way of not losing each other
altogether. It wasn't a very honourable solution--but this--this new
sacrifice--if I accept this--God! If Holtzmann were to come in now and
tell me the other man has won, what a load he would take off my mind!
Beata.
Richard--how can you?
Richard.
Think of it: To-morrow I shall have to make that speech. My position,
my convictions, compel me to appear as the spokesman of the highest
ideals--and all the while I shall owe my seat to the friend whose
holiest ties I have trampled on----
Beata.
And if they were not the holiest----?
Richard (_startled_).
Beata!
Beata.
Don't turn from me. I've loved you so long!
Richard (_clasps her hands_).
One thing more. Listen to me. You played too reckless a game. Such
things are avenged. No one knows what happened in the past. Twelve
years have covered it; but it's ill disturbing the dead. Such things
are avenged. Remember that.
Beata.
Well--and what of it?
Richard.
What of it?
Beata.
I shouldn't care--except for Norbert and Ellen. For I mean them to have
all the happiness we have missed. Nothing must ever come between--
Hush! That is Holtzmann's voice. (_She presses her left hand to her
heart_.) Quite steady. (_She holds out her right hand to_ Richard.)
Feel my pulse it's perfectly steady.
Conrad _enters_.
Conrad.
Herr Holtzmann----
_Enter_ Holtzmann. Conrad _goes out_.
Holtzmann (_bowing quietly_).
We have a majority of twenty votes, Baron. Here are the final returns.
(_Hands telegram to_ Richard.)
Richard.
Official?
Holtzmann.
Virtually. As your co-worker, Baron, allow me to offer my
congratulations. (Richard _turns away without speaking_.)
Beata.
You see how overcome he is, dear Herr Holtzmann. Thank you with all my
heart. (_Gives him her hand_.)
Holtzmann (_turning to leave the room_).
Good-afternoon, Countess.
Richard.
Holtzmann! (Holtzmann _pauses_.) You've fought a good fight.
Holtzmann.
Oh, as to that----
Richard.
Thank you. (_Shakes his hand_.)
Holtzmann.
Don't mention it. I did my duty, that's all. (_Bows and goes out_.)
Beata.
Richard! Isn't the struggle over yet?
Richard.
Beata--you have made me believe--in spite of myself--that--even now--I
may be of use to the cause. I shall stick to my work, and try not to
think.
Beata.
It may not be as hard as you imagine.
Richard.
Perhaps not. But when the blow falls--if it falls----
Beata.
We'll laugh----
Richard.
And meanwhile----
Beata.
We'll live! (_They clasp each other's hands_.)
Curtain.