but the moment_ COTTON _turns she glances roguishly after his
retreating form; then while her glance revolves about the room, she
starts slightly as her gaze falls upon the clock. A smile of
mischievous delight flits over her countenance as she tiptoes in_
COTTON'S _wake until the clock is reached_. COTTON, _unsuspecting,
meanwhile, proceeds to do his duty as host, with never a backward
glance. While he is out in the hall_ BETTY, _with a lingering smile
of triumph, climbs into the clock and cautiously peeks forth as her
father opens the door and ushers in_ ADONIJAH, _whereupon the door
softly closes_.
ADONIJAH. Good-morrow, reverend sir.
COTTON. Enter, and doubly welcome.
ADONIJAH. I would inquire whether thy daughter Betty is within.
COTTON. We were but speaking of thee as thy knock sounded. Betty will be
here presently; she hath but retired for the moment. Remove thy wraps
and make thyself in comfort.
[ADONIJAH _is a lean, lank, lantern-jawed individual, clad in the
conventional sober gray of the Puritan, with high-crowned hat, and
a fur tippet wound about his neck up to his ears. He removes the
hat and tippet and hands them to_ COTTON, _who carefully places
them upon the table; meanwhile_ ADONIJAH _looks appraisingly about
him and judiciously selects the armchair by the fire. He pauses a
moment to rub his hands before the blaze, and then gingerly relaxes
into the depths of the armchair, as though fearful his comfort
would give way ere fully attained._ COTTON _places a chair on the
other side of_ ADONIJAH _and is seated_.
COTTON. And how is it with thee since I have seen thee last?
ADONIJAH. My business prospereth [_mournfully_], but not so finely as it
might well do.
[_The clock strikes four, but is unnoticed by the two men._
COTTON. Thou hast suffered some great loss?
ADONIJAH. But yes--and no--this matter of lending money hath many and
grievous complications, not the least of which is the duplicity of the
borrower. I but insist on the thirty pounds to the hundred as my due
recompense, and when I demand it they respond not, but let my kindness
lie under the clods of ingratitude. [_Straightening up, and speaking
with conviction._] They shall come before the council. I will have what
is mine own.
COTTON. [_Righteously._] And it is not unbecoming of thee to demand it.
I wist not what the present generation is coming to.
ADONIJAH. They have no sense of the value of money. They know not how to
demean themselves properly in due proportion to their worldly goods, as
the Lord hath prospered them. There be many that have nothing and do
hold their heads above us that be worthy of our possessions.
COTTON. The wicked stand in slippery places. It will not always be thus.
Judgment shall come upon them.
ADONIJAH. Aye, let them fall. I for one have upheld them too far. They
squander their means in riotous living, and walk not in the ways of
their fathers.
COTTON. There be many such--many such--but thou, my lad, thou art not
one of the multitude. As I have often observed to my Betty, thou
standest out as a most upright and God-fearing young man.
ADONIJAH. [_Brimming over with self-satisfaction._] That have I ever
sought to be.
COTTON. An example that others would do well to imitate.
ADONIJAH. [_All puffed up._] Nay, others value it not. They be envious
of my good fortune.
COTTON. A most prudent young man! Nay, be not so over-blushingly timid.
Thou'rt too modest.
ADONIJAH. [_His face falling._] But Betty--doth she regard me thus?
COTTON. The ways of a maid are past finding out; but despair not. I
think she hath thee much to heart, but, as the perverse heart of woman
dictateth, behaveth much to the contrary.
ADONIJAH. [_Brightening up as one with new hopes._] Thou thinkest----
COTTON. [_Interrupting._] Nay, lad, I am sure of it. Betty was ever a
dutiful daughter.
[_All unseen_, BETTY _peeks out mischievously_.
ADONIJAH. But I mistrust me her heart is elsewhere.
COTTON. Thou referr'st to young Manning without doubt. It can never be.
'Tis but a passing fancy.
ADONIJAH. Nay, but I fear Charles thinketh not so. I have been told in
secret [_leaning forward confidentially_] by one that hath every
opportunity to know, that he hath enjoined Goodman Shrewsbury to send
for--[_impressively_] a ring!
COTTON. [_Angered._] A ring, sayest thou?
ADONIJAH. [_Nodding._] Aye, even so.
COTTON. But he hath not signified such intention here to me.
ADONIJAH. Then there are no grounds for his rash presumption?
COTTON. Humph! Grounds! For a ring! Aye, there'll be no diabolical
circle here for the devil to daunce in. I will question Betty thereon.
[_Rises._] Do thou remain here and I will send her to thee. Oh, that he
should offer daughter of mine a ring!
[COTTON _leaves the room_. ADONIJAH _leans back in his chair in
supreme contentment at the turn affairs have taken. The clamorous
knocker arouses him from his reverie. He gazes stupidly around. The
continued imperious tattoo on the knocker finally brings him to his
feet. He goes into the hall and opens the door. His voice is
heard._
ADONIJAH. [_Frostily._] Good-afternoon, Sir Charles, mine host is
absent.
CHARLES. [_Stepping in._] My mission has rather to do with Mistress
Betty. Is she in?
ADONIJAH. [_Closing the hall door, and turning to_ CHARLES, _replies in
grandiose hauteur_.] Mistress Betty is otherwise engaged, I would have
thee know.
CHARLES. Engaged? [_Bowing._] Your humble servant, I trust, hath the
supreme pleasure of that engagement.
[_He glances inquiringly about the room, and places the hat on the
table beside that of_ ADONIJAH. _The two hats are as different as
the two men_: ADONIJAH'S _prim, Puritanic, severe_; CHARLES'S
_three-cornered, with a flowing plume_.
[CHARLES _is a handsome chap of goodly proportions, with a
straightforward air and a pleasant smile. He is dressed more after
the fashion of the cavaliers of Virginia, and wears a long wig with
flowing curls. The two men size each other up._
ADONIJAH. [_Meaningly._] Her father will shortly arrive.
CHARLES. [_Impatiently striding forth._] Devil take her father. 'Tis
Mistress Betty I would see. Where is she?
[CHARLES _continues pacing the floor_. ADONIJAH, _shocked beyond
measure, turns his back on the offending_ CHARLES, _and with folded
arms and bowed head stands aside in profound meditation. The clock
door slowly opens and_ BETTY _cautiously peeks out_. CHARLES _stops
short and is about to begin a decided demonstration, when_ BETTY,
_with a warning glance toward_ ADONIJAH, _checks him with upraised
hand. The clock door closes and_ CHARLES _subsides into the
armchair with a comprehending grin of delight_. ADONIJAH _slowly
turns and faces_ CHARLES _with a melancholy air_.
CHARLES. Prithee, why so sad?
[_The grin becomes a chuckle._
ADONIJAH. I do discern no cause for such unrighteous merriment.
CHARLES. 'Tis none the less for all of that. I take life as I find it,
and for that matter so do they all, even thou. The difference be in the
finding. [_Whistles._
ADONIJAH. [_Uneasily._] It is time her father did arrive.
CHARLES. Where then hath he been?
ADONIJAH. He but went in search of Betty.
CHARLES. Ah, then we'll wait.
[_He whistles, while_ ADONIJAH _moves uneasily about the room,
glancing every now and then at this disturbing element of his
peace, as if he would send him to kingdom come, if he only could_.
ADONIJAH. [_After considerable toleration._] Waiting may avail thee
naught.
CHARLES. And thee? Nevertheless we'll wait. [_Whistles._
ADONIJAH. [_Takes another turn or two and fetches up a counterfeit
sigh._] Methinks, her father's quest be fruitless.
CHARLES. [_Starting up._] Ah, then, let us go.
[ADONIJAH., _visibly relieved, sits down in the chair opposite_.
CHARLES. [_Amused._] Nay? [_Sits down and relaxes._] Ah, then, we'll
wait. [_Whistles._
ADONIJAH. [_Troubled._] 'Tis certain Mistress Betty be not here.
CHARLES. Nay, if she be not here, then I am neither here nor there. I
would wager ten pounds to a farthing she be revealed in time if she but
will it. Wilt take me up?
ADONIJAH. It be not seemly so to stake thy fortune on a woman's whim.
CHARLES. [_Laughs._] Thou'rt right on it. If she will, say I, for if she
will she won't, and if she won't she will.
ADONIJAH. False jargon! A woman has no will but e'en her father's as a
maid, her husband's later still.
[_Enter_ COTTON, _who stops short on seeing_ CHARLES, _rallies
quickly, and proceeds_.
COTTON. [_Stiffly._] Good-day to you, sir.
CHARLES. [_Bowing; he has risen._] And to you, sire.
COTTON. [_To_ ADONIJAH.] I am deeply grieved to report that Mistress
Betty is not to be found.
[ADONIJAH. _steals a sly look of triumph at_ CHARLES.
CHARLES. [_In mock solemnity._] I prithee present my deep regrets to
Mistress Betty. I will call again.
COTTON. God speed thee! [_And as_ CHARLES _takes his leave_ COTTON
_places his hand affectionately upon_ ADONIJAH'S _shoulder, saying
reassuringly_.] Come again, my son; Betty may not be afar off. I fain
would have her soon persuaded of thy worth. Improve thy time.
ADONIJAH. [_Beaming._] Good morrow, sir; I will.
[_As the door closes behind them_ COTTON _slowly walks toward the
fire, where he stands in complete revery. Still absorbed in thought
he walks slowly out the door at the right._ BETTY _peeks cautiously
out, but hearing footsteps quickly withdraws_. COTTON _re-enters
with hat on. He is talking to himself, reflectively._
COTTON. Where can she be? Mayhap at Neighbor Ainslee's.
[_He goes hurriedly out through the hall door. The banging of the
outside door is heard. The clock door once more slowly opens and_
BETTY _peers forth, listening. The sound of a door opening causes
her to draw back. As the noise is further emphasized by approaching
footsteps, she pulls the clock door quickly to._ CHARLES _enters.
He looks inquiringly about, tosses his hat on the table, and goes
for the clock. He opens it with a gay laugh._ BETTY _steps forth
out of the clock, very much assisted by_ CHARLES.
CHARLES. Blessed relief! Thou art in very truth, then, flesh and blood?
BETTY. And what else should I be, forsooth?
CHARLES. [_Laughing._] I marked thee for a mummy there entombed.
BETTY. [_Disengaging her hand._] What? Darest thou?
CHARLES. A lively mummy now thou art come to, whilst I [_sighs_]--I
waited through the ages!
BETTY. [_Laughingly._] A veritable monument of patient grief.
CHARLES. And Adonijah----
BETTY. Yea, verily, old Father Time but come to life. [_Mimics._] Thy
waiting may avail thee naught.
CHARLES. In truth, it may avail me naught; thy father may be back at any
time, while I have much to say, sweet Betty----
BETTY. [_Interrupting._] Nay, sweet Betty call me not.
CHARLES. Dear Betty, then, the dearest----
BETTY. [_Quickly._] Yea, call me dearest mummy, Hottentot, or what you
will, just so it be not _sweet_, like Adonijah. It sickens me beyond
expressing.
CHARLES. Then, _sweet_ Betty thou art _not_, say rather sour Betty,
cross Betty, mean Betty, bad Betty, mad Betty, sad Betty.
BETTY. [_Suddenly dimpling._] Nay, glad Betty!
CHARLES. Art then so glad? Wilt tell me why? In sooth, I know not
whither to be glad, or sad, or mad. Sometimes I am but one, sometimes I
am all three.
BETTY. Wilt tell me why?
CHARLES. [_Stepping closer and imprisoning her left hand._] Thou wilt
not now escape it, for I will tell thee why, and mayhap this will aid
me. [_Slips ring, which he has had concealed in his pocket, on her
finger._] Hath this no meaning for thee?
BETTY. [_Her eyes sparkling with mischief._] Aye, 'tis a diabolical
circle for the devil to daunce in!
CHARLES. [_In astonishment._] A what?
BETTY. [_Slowly._] A diabolical circle for the devil to daunce in--so
father saith. Likewise Adonijah.
CHARLES. [_Weakly endeavoring to comprehend._] A diabolical circle--but
what!--say it again, Betty.
BETTY. [_Repeats slowly, emphasizing it with pointed finger._] A
diabolical circle for the devil to daunce in.
CHARLES. [_Throws back his head and laughs._] May I be the devil!
BETTY. [_Shaking her finger at him._] Then daunce!
[_They take position, as though for a minuet. The knocker sounds._
BETTY _runs to the window_.
BETTY. Aye, there's ADONIJAH at the knocker. Into the clock--hie
thee--quick, quick!
CHARLES. [_Reproachfully._] And would'st thou incarcerate me through the
ages? [_Turns to the clock._] O timely sarcophagus!
[CHARLES _is smuggled into the clock, and_ BETTY _has barely enough
time to make a dash for the hat and conceal it behind her before
the door opens and in stalks_ ADONIJAH. _He looks about
suspiciously._ BETTY _faces him with the hat held behind her. He
removes his hat and tippet and lays them on the table._
ADONIJAH. Methought I heard a sound of many feet.
BETTY. [_Looking down._] Two feet have I; no more, no less.
ADONIJAH. [_Dryly._] Aye, two be quite sufficient.
BETTY. An thou sayest the word, they yet can beat as loud a retreat as
an whole regiment.
ADONIJAH. Thou dost my meaning misconstrue.
BETTY. Construe it then, I prithee.
ADONIJAH. I came not here to vex----
BETTY. Then get thee hence. [_He steps forward._ BETTY _steps back_.]
But not behind me, Satan.
ADONIJAH. [_Coming closer._] And yet thou driv'st me to it.
BETTY. [_Backing off._] Indeed, thou hast a nature born to _drive_ and
not be driven.
ADONIJAH. [_Highly complimented._] So be it, yet I scarce had hoped that
thou would'st notice. [_Advancing._] Born to drive, thou sayest, not be
driven.
BETTY. [_Retreating._] Thou hast said it, born to _drive_. But what to
drive I have not said. That knowledge hath my father yet concealed.
ADONIJAH. [_Eagerly._] Thy father, then, hath told thee----
BETTY. [_Who is retreating steadily across the room._] Thou wert born to
_drive_!
[_Strikes settee and goes down on the hat._ ADONIJAH _seats himself
beside_ BETTY. BETTY _is of necessity forced to remain--on the
hat_. ADONIJAH _slides arm along the back of the settee. The clock
door strikes erratically. He jerks his arm back and gazes in the
direction of the clock. The clock hands wigwag._ ADONIJAH _stares
abstractedly and passes his hand over his forehead in a dazed
manner_.
BETTY. [_Solicitously._] What aileth thee?
ADONIJAH. [_Still staring._] The time!
BETTY. [_Stifles a yawn._] It doth grow late.
ADONIJAH. But not consistently; it changeth.
BETTY. 'Twas ever so with time.
ADONIJAH. [_Reminiscently._] Of a certainty they moved.
BETTY. Yea, verily, 'tis not uncommon.
ADONIJAH. But backwards!
BETTY. [_Joyfully._] Why, then, my prayers are answered. How often I
have prayed them thus to move! Yet hath it never come to pass.
ADONIJAH. Nay, had'st thou seen----
BETTY. Prithee calm thyself. Thou'rt ill.
ADONIJAH. [_Steals his arm along the back of the settee and moves over
closer._] Sweet Betty! [BETTY _looks away with a wry face_.] Thy
indifference in no wise blinds me to thy conception of my true value.
[BETTY _sits up, round-eyed_.] There was a time when I despaired--[_The
clock again strikes wildly. The hands drop and rise as before._ ADONIJAH
_excitedly points at the clock_.] Again! Did'st mark it? Something doth
ail the clock!
BETTY. Yea, truly thou art ill. The clock behaveth much more to the
point than thou.
ADONIJAH. [_Tearing his gaze from the clock._] As I was on the point of
saying--[_glances at the clock_] thy father hath given--[_another
glance_] me to understand--[_with eye on the clock he hitches up
closer_] that thou art not averse to mine affections----
[_As he attempts to put his arm around_ BETTY _the clock strikes a
tattoo and startles him excitedly to his feet, as the hands travel
all the way round_.
ADONIJAH. [_Pointing._] Now look! Mark the time!
[COTTON _enters_.
COTTON. Tarry yet awhile, my son, the time doth not prevent thee.
ADONIJAH. Tarry? Time doth not prevent? Little knowest thou! [_Gazes
abstractedly about. Sights the ring on_ BETTY'S _finger, who in
excitement has forgotten to keep her hands behind her back_.] Aye, there
it is, the diabolical circle. It is a charm. It harms her not, while all
about me is askew. Whence came she here? [_Points at_ BETTY.] She
neither came nor went, and yet she was not there and now she is. A manly
form did enter. Yet hath vanished into thin air. Yea, verily, it was
none other than the devil himself in one of his divers forms, of which
he hath aplenty. The very clock indulgeth in unseemly pranks. A strange
influence hangs over me. I cannot now abide. I must depart from hence.
My conscience bids me go.
COTTON. [_Striving to detain him._] Hold! Thou'rt mad!
BETTY. Nay, father, he is ill.
ADONIJAH. [_Wildly._] Aye, if I be mad, thy daughter be to blame. The
spell did come upon me. I have seen strange things.
COTTON. What meanest thou?
ADONIJAH. [_Pointing at_ BETTY, _who regards him wonderingly_.] Thy
daughter is a witch!
BETTY. [_Runs to_ COTTON.] Oh, father!
COTTON. [_Consoles_ BETTY; _thunders at_ ADONIJAH.] What? Darest thou to
being forth such an accusation?
ADONIJAH. Aye, while I yet have strength to order mine own will. We
shall see what we shall see when the fires leap round the stake. All the
diabolical circles the devil may invent or his helpmeets acquire will be
of small avail when the leaping tongues of flame curl round you, false
servant of the devil. I can delay no longer. I will repair to the
council at once, and report what I have seen.
[BETTY _faints away_. COTTON _is at once all paternal solicitude_.
ADONIJAH _gazes in stupefaction. All unobserved_ CHARLES _slips out
of the clock. Finally_ ADONIJAH, _as_ BETTY _shows signs of
reviving, turns himself away, only to find himself face to face
with_ CHARLES. ADONIJAH _stops dead in his tracks, absolutely
nonplussed_.
CHARLES. Thou goest to the council? Thou lackest evidence. Behold the
devil an' thou wilt.
[ADONIJAH'S _jaw drops. He stares unbelievingly._ COTTON _looks up
in surprise as_ CHARLES _continues_.
CHARLES. An' thou goest to the council with such a message, the devil
will dog thy very footsteps. And match word of thine with word of truth
in such a light that thine own words shall imprison thee in the stocks
over Sunday.
[ADONIJAH _recovers from his temporary abstraction, and seizing his
hat and tippet, tears out the door as if a whole legion of imps
were in full pursuit_. CHARLES _contemptuously turns on his heel
and goes over to_ BETTY, _who is now clinging to her father's arm_.
BETTY. [_Faintly._] They will not burn me for a witch?
CHARLES. [_Savagely._] Aye, let them try it an they will.
COTTON. [_Hotly._] Aye--let them! [_Then starting suddenly with a new
thought._] But how cam'st thou here? Yea, verily, it seemeth to me thou
did'st materialize out of thin air.
[_Surveys_ CHARLES _with piercing scrutiny_.
CHARLES. Nay, see through me an thou can'st. Thou wilt find me a most
material shadow, the like of which no eye hath ever pierced. 'Twas not
out of the air, but out of yonder clock that I materialized.
BETTY. Yea, father, I put him there.
COTTON. [_Going to the clock and opening it._] Of a truth, the evidence,
all told, is here. Thou wert of a certainty in the clock. [_Takes out
the detached pendulum. Steps back and surveys the timepiece, whose hands
clearly indicate a time long passed or not yet come._] And as far as
pendulums are concerned [_looking ruefully at the one in his hand_],
thou certainly wert no improve----
CHARLES. Aye, that I'll warrant. And may I never more be called to
fulfil such position; the requirements be far too exacting for one of my
build and constitution.
COTTON. But what extremity hath induced thee to take up thine abode in
such a place?
[_Lays the pendulum aside and gives_ CHARLES _his entire
attention_.
CHARLES. Why, that came all in the course of events as I take it. When I
returned a short time ago, hard upon mine heels came Adonijah; and,
being loath either to leave the field or share it, I hid within the
clock. Once there, the temptation to help time in covering its course
grew strong upon me in the hope that Adonijah, misled by the lateness of
the hour, would soon depart. Only I looked not for such a departure.
Judge me not too harshly, sire, for I love thy daughter, and if thou
wilt give thy consent to our marriage I will do all that becometh a man
to deserve such treasure.
COTTON. I like not thy frivolous manner of wearing hair that is not
thine own; it becomes thee not. And I strongly mistrust thine attitude
toward the more serious things of life.
CHARLES. If my wig standeth between me and my heart's desire, why, I'll
have no wig at all. [_He pulls the wig off and tosses it aside._ BETTY,
_with a little cry, picks it up and smooths its disarranged curls_.] And
as for mine outlook on life, I promise thee that hath but matched the
outer trappings, and can be doffed as quickly. I am as serious beneath
all outward levity as any sober-minded judge, and can act accordingly.
COTTON. See to it that thou suit the action to those words. My heart is
strangely moved toward thee, yet I would ponder the matter more deeply.
[_Turns to_ BETTY, _who has been absent-mindedly twirling the curls on
the wig_.] And where is thy voice, my daughter? Thou art strangely
silent--[_as an afterthought_] for the once. But it is of small wonder,
since thou hast had enough excitement for one evening. Methinks that
scoundrel, Adonijah, needeth following up. Do thou remain with Betty,
Charles, and I will hasten after him.
CHARLES. Nay, thou need'st not trouble thyself regarding Adonijah. He
hath much too wholesome a regard for the ducking-stool to cause further
mischief.
COTTON. Nevertheless, I will away to the council and make sure. [_He
plants his hat on his head and departs._
CHARLES. [_Turning to_ BETTY, _who has dropped the wig on the settee,
and who is now gazing demurely at the floor_.] And now to finish up
where we left off. The devil hath led us a merrier dance than we
suspected. Thou hast not truly given answer to the question I have asked
of thee.
BETTY. What more of an answer would'st thou yet require?
CHARLES. Why, I have yet had none at all.
BETTY. Must tell thee further?
CHARLES. [_Gravely._] Thou must.
BETTY. [_Mischievously._] Then--put the question once again.
CHARLES. Thou knowest the question, an thou wilt.
BETTY. An' thou knowest the answer.
[CHARLES _takes her in his arms_.
BETTY. [_Holding up her hand so that the ring sparkles._] Look,
Charles--the diabolical circle!
CURTAIN
THE FAR-AWAY PRINCESS
BY
HERMANN SUDERMANN
_The Far-Away Princess_ is reprinted by special arrangement with Charles
Scribner's Sons, the publishers of _Roses_, from which this play is
taken. For permission to perform address the publishers.
HERMANN SUDERMANN
Hermann Sudermann, one of the foremost of the Continental European
dramatists, was born at Matziken, in East Prussia, Germany, September
30, 1857. He attended school at Elbing and Tilsit, and then at fourteen
became a druggist's apprentice. He received his university training at
Königsberg and Berlin. Soon he devoted his energies to literary work.
His greatest literary work is in the field of the drama, in which he
became successful almost instantly. His strength is not in poetic beauty
and in deep insight into human character, as in the instance of a number
of other German dramatists. He is essentially a man of the theatre, a
dramatist, and a technician by instinct. He is a dramatic craftsman of
the first order.
His chief one-act plays are in two volumes: _Morituri_, which contains
_Teja_, _Fritchen_, and _The Eternal Masculine_; and _Roses_, which
contains _Streaks of Light_, _Margot_, _The Last Visit_, and _The
Far-Away Princess_.
_The Far-Away Princess_ is one of the most subtle and most delicate of
Sudermann's plays. Its technic is exemplary.
CHARACTERS
THE PRINCESS VON GELDERN
BARONESS VON BROOK, _her maid of honor_
FRAU VON HALLDORF
LIDDY } _her daughters_
MILLY }
FRITZ STRÜBEL, _a student_
FRAU LINDEMANN
ROSA, _a waitress_
A LACKEY
THE FAR-AWAY PRINCESS[L]
THE PRESENT DAY: _The scene is laid at an inn situated above a
watering-place in central Germany._