ladyship had gone to dine. Naturally I did not know.
RITA: Did he ask--anything else?
BERTHA: No, he looked at the photographs.
RITA (_in the door_): Well? And does he expect to come again to-day?
BERTHA: Yes, certainly. At four o'clock.
RITA (_looks at the clock_): Oh, but that's boring. Now it is already
half-past three. One cannot even drink coffee in peace. Hurry, Bertha,
prepare the coffee.
(_Bertha leaves the room, carrying the articles of attire._)
(_Rita, after a pause, singing a melancholy melody._)
(_Friedrich Stierwald, a man very carefully dressed in black, about
thirty years of age, with a black crêpe around his stiff hat, enters
from the rear into the antechamber, followed by Bertha._)
BERTHA: But the lady is not well.
FRIEDRICH: Please tell the lady that I am passing through here, and that
I must speak with her about a very pressing matter. It is absolutely
necessary. Please! (_He gives her money and his card._)
BERTHA: Yes, I shall take your card, but I fear she will not receive
you.
FRIEDRICH: Why not? O, yes! Just go----
BERTHA: This morning she sang at a charity matinée and so----
FRIEDRICH: I know, I know. Listen! (_Rita's singing has grown louder_)
Don't you hear how she sings? Oh, do go!
BERTHA (_shaking her head_): Well, then--wait a moment. (_She passes
through the room to the half-opened door of the sleeping apartment,
knocks_) Dear lady!
RITA (_from within_): Well? What's the matter?
BERTHA (_at the door_): Oh, this gentleman here--he wishes to see you
very much. He is passing through here.
RITA (_within; laughs_): Come in.
(_Bertha disappears._)
(_Friedrich has walked up to the middle door, where he remains
standing._)
RITA: Well. Who is it? Friedrich---- Hmm---- I shall come immediately.
BERTHA (_comes out and looks at Friedrich in surprise_): My lady wishes
you to await her. (_She walks away, after having taken another glance at
Friedrich._)
(_Friedrich looks about embarrassed and shyly._)
(_Rita enters attired in a tasteful dressing gown, but remains standing
in the door._)
FRIEDRICH (_bows; softly_): Good day.
(_Rita looks at him with an ironical smile and remains silent._)
FRIEDRICH: You remember me? Don't you?
RITA (_quietly_): Strange. You--come to see me? What has become of your
good training? (_Laughs._) Have you lost all sense of shame?
FRIEDRICH (_stretches out his hand, as if imploring_): Oh, I beg of you,
I beg of you; not this tone! I really came to explain everything to you,
everything. And possibly to set things aright.
RITA: You--with me! (_She shakes her head._) Incredible! But, please,
since you are here, sit down. With what can you serve me?
FRIEDRICH (_seriously_): Miss Hattenbach, I really should----
RITA (_lightly_): Pardon me, my name is Revera. Rita Revera.
FRIEDRICH: I know that you call yourself by that name now. But you won't
expect me, an old friend of your family, to make use of this romantic,
theatrical name. For me you are now, as heretofore, the daughter of the
esteemed house of Hattenbach, with which I----
RITA (_quickly and sharply_): With which your father transacts business,
I know.
FRIEDRICH (_with emphasis_): With which I now am myself associated.
RITA: Is it possible? And your father?
FRIEDRICH (_seriously_): If I had the slightest inkling of your address,
yes, even your present name, I should not have missed to announce to you
the sudden death of my father.
RITA (_after pause_): Oh, he is dead. I see you still wear mourning. How
long ago is it?
FRIEDRICH: Half a year. Since then I am looking for you, and I hope you
will not forbid me to address you now, as of yore, with that name, which
is so highly esteemed in our native city.
RITA (_smiling friendly_): Your solemnity--is delightful. Golden! But
sit down.
FRIEDRICH (_remains standing; he is hurt_): I must confess, Miss
Hattenbach, that I was not prepared for such a reception from you. I
hoped that I might expect, after these four or five years, that you
would receive me differently than with this--with this--how shall I say?
RITA: Toleration.
FRIEDRICH: No, with this arrogance.
RITA: How?
FRIEDRICH (_controlling himself_): I beg your pardon. I am sorry to have
said that.
RITA (_after a pause, hostile_): You wish to be taken seriously? (_She
sits down, with a gesture of the hand_) Please, what have you to say to
me?
FRIEDRICH: Much. Oh, very much. (_He also sits down._) But--you are not
well to-day?
RITA: Not well? What makes you say so?
FRIEDRICH: Yes, the maid told me so.
RITA: The maid--she is a useful person. That makes me think. You
certainly expect to stay here some time, do you not?
FRIEDRICH: With your permission. I have much to tell you.
RITA: I thought so. (_Calling loudly_) Bertha! Bertha! Do you suppose
one could get an electric bell repaired here? Impossible.
BERTHA (_enters_): My lady?
RITA: Bertha, when the Count comes--now I am really sick.
BERTHA (_nods_): Very well. (_She leaves._)
RITA (_calls after her_): And where is the coffee? I shall famish.
BERTHA (_outside_): Immediately.
FRIEDRICH: The--the Count--did you say?
RITA: Yes, quite a fine fellow otherwise, but--would not fit in now. I
wanted to say: I am passionately fond of electric bells. You know they
have a fabulous charm for me. One only needs to touch them softly, ever
so softly, with the small finger, and still cause a terrible noise.
Fine--is it not? You wanted to talk about serious matters. It seems so
to me.
FRIEDRICH: Yes. And I beg of you, Miss Erna----
RITA: Erna?
FRIEDRICH: Erna!
RITA: Oh, well!
FRIEDRICH (_continuing_): I beg of you; be really and truly serious.
Yes? Listen to what I have to say to you. Be assured that it comes from
an honest, warm heart. During the years in which I have not seen you, I
have grown to be a serious man--perhaps, too serious for my age--but my
feelings for you have remained young, quite young. Do you hear me, Erna?
RITA (_leaning back in the rocking chair, with a sigh_): I hear.
FRIEDRICH: And you know, Erna, how I have always loved you from my
earliest youth, yes, even sooner than I myself suspected. You know that,
yes?
(_Rita is silent and does not look at him_.)
FRIEDRICH: When I was still a foolish schoolboy I already called you my
betrothed, and I could not but think otherwise than that I would some
day call you my wife. You certainly know that, don't you?
RITA (_reserved_): Yes, I know it.
FRIEDRICH: Well, then you ought to be able to understand what dreadful
feelings overcame me when I discovered, sooner than you or the world,
the affection of my father for you. That was--no, you cannot grasp it.
RITA (_looks at him searchingly_): Sooner than I and all the world?
FRIEDRICH: Oh, a great deal sooner ... that was.... That time was the
beginning of the hardest innermost struggles for me. What was I to do?
(_He sighs deeply_.) Ah, Miss Erna, we people are really----
RITA: Yes, yes.
FRIEDRICH: We are dreadfully shallow-minded. How seldom one of us can
really live as he would like to. Must we not always and forever consider
others--and our surroundings?
RITA: Must?
FRIEDRICH: Well, yes, we do so, at least. And when it is our own father!
For, look here, Erna, I never would have been able to oppose my father!
I was used, as you well know, from childhood to always look up to my
father with the greatest respect. He used to be severe, my father, proud
and inaccessible, but--if I may be permitted to say so, he was an
excellent man.
RITA: Well?
FRIEDRICH (_eagerly_): Yes, indeed! You must remember that it was he
alone who established our business by means of his powerful energy and
untiring diligence. Only now I myself have undertaken the management of
the establishment. I am able to see what an immense work he has
accomplished.
RITA (_simply_): Yes, he was an able business man.
FRIEDRICH: In every respect! Ability personified, and he had grown to be
fifty-two years of age and was still, still--how shall I say?
RITA: Still able.
FRIEDRICH: Well, yes; I mean a vigorous man in his best years. For
fifteen years he had been a widower, he had worked, worked unceasingly,
and then--the house was well established--he could think of placing some
of the work upon younger shoulders. He could think of enjoying his life
once more.
RITA (_softly_): That is----
FRIEDRICH (_continuing_): And he thought he had found, in you, the one
who would bring back to him youth and the joy of life.
RITA (_irritated_): Yes, but then you ought to--(_Breaks off._) Oh, it
is not worth while.
FRIEDRICH: How? I should have been man enough to say: No, I forbid it;
that is a folly of age. I, your son, forbid it. I demand her for myself.
The young fortune is meant for me--not for you?----No, Erna, I could
not do that. I could not do that.
RITA: No.
FRIEDRICH: I, the young clerk, with no future before me!
RITA: No!
FRIEDRICH: My entire training and my conceptions urged me to consider it
my duty to simply stand aside and stifle my affection, as I did--as I
already told you even before any other person had an idea of the
intentions of my father. I gradually grew away from you.
RITA (_amused_): Gradually--yes, I recollect. You suddenly became
formal. Indeed, very nice!
FRIEDRICH: I thought----
(_Bertha comes with the coffee and serves._)
RITA: Will you take a cup with me?
FRIEDRICH (_thoughtlessly_): I thought----(_Correcting himself_) pardon
me! I thank you!
RITA: I hope it will not disturb you if I drink my coffee while you
continue.
FRIEDRICH: Please (_embarrassed_). I thought it a proper thing. I hoped
that my cold and distant attitude would check a possible existing
affection for me.
RITA: Possible existing affection! Fie! Now you are beginning to lie!
(_She jumps up and walks nervously through the room._) As though you had
not positively known that! (_Stepping in front of him_) Or what did you
take me for when I kissed you?
FRIEDRICH (_very much frightened, also rises_): O, Erna, I always----
RITA (_laughs_): You are delightful! Delightful! Still the same bashful
boy--who does not dare--(_she laughs and sits down again_.) Delightful.
FRIEDRICH (_after a silence, hesitatingly_): Well, are you going to
allow me to call you Erna again, as of yore?
RITA: As of yore. (_She sighs, then gaily_) If you care to.
FRIEDRICH (_happy_): Yes? May I?
RITA (_heartily_): O, yes, Fritz. That's better, isn't it? It sounds
more natural, eh?
FRIEDRICH (_presses her hand and sighs_): Yes, really. You take a heavy
load from me. Everything that I want to say to you can be done so much
better in the familiar tone.
RITA: Oh! Have you still so much to say to me?
FRIEDRICH: Well--but now tell me first: how was it possible for you to
undertake such a step. What prompted you to leave so suddenly? Erna,
Erna, how could you do that?
RITA (_proudly_): How I could? Can you ask me that? Do you really not
know it?
FRIEDRICH (_softly_): Oh, yes; I do know it, but--it takes so much to do
that.
RITA: Not more than was in me.
FRIEDRICH: One thing I must confess to you, although it was really bad
of me. But I knew no way out of it. I felt relieved after you had gone.
RITA: Well, then, that was _your_ heroism.
FRIEDRICH: Do not misunderstand me. I knew my father had----
RITA: Yes, yes--but do not talk about it any more.
FRIEDRICH: You are right. It was boyish of me. It did not last long, and
then I mourned for you--not less than your parents. Oh, Erna! If you
would see your parents now. They have aged terribly. Your father has
lost his humor altogether, and is giving full vent to his old passion
for red wine. Your mother is always ailing, hardly ever leaves the
house, and both, even though they never lose a word about it, cannot
reconcile themselves to the thought that their only child left them.
RITA (_after a pause, awakens from her meditation, harshly_): Perhaps
you were sent by my father?
FRIEDRICH: No--why?
RITA: Then I would show you the door.
FRIEDRICH: Erna!
RITA: A man, who ventured to pay his debts with me----
FRIEDRICH: How so; what do you mean?
RITA: Oh--let's drop that. Times were bad. But to-day the house of
Hattenbach enjoys its good old standing, as you say, and has overcome
the crisis. Then your father must have had some consideration--without
me. Well, then.----And Rudolstadt still stands--on the old spot. That's
the main thing. But now let us talk about something else, I beg of you.
FRIEDRICH: No, no, Erna. What you allude to, that----do you really
believe my father had----
RITA: Your father had grown used to buy and attain everything in life
through money. Why not buy me also? And he had already received the
promise--not from me, but from my father. But I am free! I ran away and
am my own mistress! (_With haughtiness._) A young girl, all alone! Down
with the gang!
(_Friedrich is silent and holds his head._)
RITA (_steps up to him and touches his shoulder, in a friendly manner_):
Don't be sad. At that time your father was the stronger, and----Life is
not otherwise. After all, one must assert oneself.
FRIEDRICH: But he robbed you of your happiness.
RITA (_jovially_): Who knows? It is just as well.
FRIEDRICH (_surprised_): Is that possible? Do you call that happiness,
this being alone?
RITA: Yes. That is MY happiness--my freedom, and I love it with
jealousy, for I fought for it myself.
FRIEDRICH (_bitterly_): A great happiness! Outside of family ties,
outside the ranks of respectable society.
RITA (_laughs aloud, but without bitterness_): Respectable society! Yes.
I fled from that--thank Heaven. (_harshly_) But if you do not come in
the name of my father, what do you want here? Why do you come? For what
purpose? What do you want of me?
FRIEDRICH: Erna, you ask that in a strange manner.
RITA: Well, yes. I have a suspicion that you--begrudge me my liberty.
How did you find me, anyway?
FRIEDRICH: Yes, that was hard enough.
RITA: Rita Revera is not so unknown.
FRIEDRICH: Rita Revera! Oh, no! How often I have read that name these
last years--in the newspapers in Berlin, on various placards, in large
letters. But how could I ever have thought that you were meant by it?
RITA (_laughs_): Why did you not go to the "Winter Garden" when you were
in Berlin?
FRIEDRICH: I never frequent such places.
RITA: Pardon me! Oh, I always forget the old customs.
FRIEDRICH: Oh, please, please, dear Erna; not in this tone of voice!
RITA: Which tone?
FRIEDRICH: Erna! Do not make matters so difficult for me. See, after I
had finally discovered, through an agency in Berlin, and after hunting a
long time, that you were the famous Revera, I was terribly shocked at
first, terribly sad, and, for a moment, I thought of giving up
everything. My worst fears were over. I had the assurance that you lived
in good, and as I now see, in comfortable circumstances. But, on the
other hand, I had to be prepared that you might have grown estranged to
the world in which I live--that we could hardly understand each other.
RITA: Hm! Shall I tell you what was your ideal--how you would have liked
to find me again? As a poor seamstress, in an attic room, who, during
the four years, had lived in hunger and need--but respectably, that is
the main point. Then you would have stretched forth your kind arms, and
the poor, pale little dove would have gratefully embraced you. Will you
deny that you have imagined it thus and even wished for it?
FRIEDRICH (_looks at her calmly_): Well, is there anything wrong about
it?
RITA: But how did it happen that, regardless of this, of this
disappointment, you, nevertheless, continued to search for me?
FRIEDRICH: Thank goodness, at the right moment I recollected your clear,
silvery, childlike laughter. Right in the midst of my petty scruples it
resounded in my ears, as at the time when you ridiculed my gravity. Do
you still remember that time, Erna?
(_Rita is silent._)
BERTHA (_enters with an enormous bouquet of dark red roses_): My
lady--from the Count.
RITA (_jumps up, nervously excited_): Roses! My dark roses! Give them to
me! Ah! (_She holds them toward Friedrich and asks_) Did he say
anything?
BERTHA: No, said nothing, but----
FRIEDRICH (_shoves the bouquet, which she holds up closely to his face,
aside_): I thank you.
RITA (_without noticing him, to Bertha_): Well?
BERTHA (_pointing to the bouquet_): The Count has written something on a
card.
RITA: His card? Where? (_She searches among the flowers_) Oh, here!
(_She reads; then softly to Bertha_) It is all right.
(_Bertha leaves_.)
RITA (_reads again_): "Pour prendre congé." (_With an easy sigh_) Yes,
yes.
FRIEDRICH: What is the matter?
RITA: Sad! His education was hardly half finished and he already
forsakes me.
FRIEDRICH: What do you mean? I do not understand you at all.
RITA (_her mind is occupied_): Too bad. Now he'll grow entirely stupid.
FRIEDRICH (_rises importantly_): Erna, answer me. What relationship
existed between you and the Count?
RITA (_laughs_): What business is that of yours?
FRIEDRICH (_solemnly_): Erna! Whatever it might have been, this will not
do any longer.
RITA (_gaily_): No, no; you see it is already ended.
FRIEDRICH: No, Erna, that must all be ended. You must get out of all
this--entirely--and forever.
RITA (_looks at him surprised and inquiringly_): Hm! Strange person.
FRIEDRICH (_grows more eager and walks up and down in the room_): Such a
life is immoral. You must recognize it. Yes, and I forbid you to live on
in this fashion. I have the right to demand it of you.
RITA (_interrupts him sharply_): Demand? You demand something of me?
FRIEDRICH: Yes, indeed, demand! Not for me--no--in the name of morals.
That which I ask of you is simply a moral demand, do you understand, a
moral demand, which must be expected of every woman.
RITA: "Must!" And why?
FRIEDRICH: Because--because--because--well, dear me--because--otherwise
everything will stop!
RITA: What will stop? Life?
FRIEDRICH: No, but morals.
RITA: Ah, I thank you. Now I understand you. One must be moral
because--otherwise morality will stop.
FRIEDRICH: Why, yes. That is very simple.
RITA: Yes--now, please, what would I have to do in order to fulfill your
demand? I am curious like a child now, and shall listen obediently.
(_She sits down again._)
FRIEDRICH (_also sits down and grasps her hand, warmly_): Well, see, my
dear Erna, everything can still be undone. In Rudolstadt everybody
believes you are in England with relatives. Even if you have never been
there----
RITA: Often enough. My best engagements.
FRIEDRICH: So much the better. Then you certainly speak English?
RITA: Of course.
FRIEDRICH: And you are acquainted with English customs. Excellent. Oh,
Erna. Your father will be pleased, he once confessed to me, when he had
a little too much wine. You know him: he grows sentimental then.
RITA (_to herself_): They are all that way.
FRIEDRICH: How?
RITA: Oh, nothing. Please continue. Well--I could come back?
FRIEDRICH: Certainly! Fortunately, during these last years, since you
have grown so famous, nobody has----
RITA: I have grown notorious only within a year.
FRIEDRICH: Well, most likely nobody in Rudolstadt has ever seen you on
the boards. In one word, you _must_ return.
RITA: From England?
FRIEDRICH: Yes, nothing lies in the way. And your mother will be
overjoyed.
RITA: Nay, nay.
FRIEDRICH: How well that you have taken a different name.
RITA: Ah, that is it. Yes, I believe that. Then they know that I am Rita
Revera.
FRIEDRICH: I wrote them. They will receive you with open arms. Erna! I
beg of you! I entreat you; come with me! It is still time. To-day. You
cannot know, but anybody from Rudolstadt who knows might come to the
theatre and----
RITA (_decidedly_): No one from Rudolstadt will do that. They are too
well trained for that. You see it by your own person. But go on! If I
would care to, if I really would return--what then?
FRIEDRICH: Then? Well, then, you would be in the midst of the family and
society again--and then----
RITA: And then?
FRIEDRICH: Then, after some time has elapsed and you feel at home and
when all is forgotten, as though nothing had ever happened----
RITA: But a great deal has happened.
FRIEDRICH: Erna, you must not take me for such a Philistine that I would
mind that. At heart I am unprejudiced. No, really, I know (_softly_) my
own fault, and I know Life. I know very well, and I cannot ask it of
you, that you, in a career like yours, you----
RITA: Hm?
FRIEDRICH: Well, that you should have remained entirely faultless. And I
do not ask it of you either.
RITA: You do well at that.
FRIEDRICH: I mean, whatever has happened within these four years--lies
beyond us, does not concern me--but shall not concern you any longer
either. Rita Revera has ceased to be--Erna Hattenbach returns to her
family.
RITA: Lovely, very lovely. Hm!--but then, what then? Shall I start a
cooking school?
FRIEDRICH (_with a gentle reproach_): But, Erna! Don't you understand
me? Could you think of anything else than---- Of course, I shall marry
you then.
(_Rita looks at him puzzled._)
FRIEDRICH: But that is self-evident. Why should I have looked you up
otherwise? Why should I be here? But, dear Erna, don't look so stunned.
RITA (_still stares at him_): "Simply--marry." Strange. (_She turns
around towards the open piano, plays and sings softly_) Farilon, farila,
farilette.
FRIEDRICH (_has risen_): Erna! Do not torment me!
RITA: Torment? No. That would not be right. You are a good fellow. Give
me a kiss. (_She rises._)
FRIEDRICH (_embraces and kisses her_): My Erna! Oh, you have grown so
much prettier! So much prettier!
(_Rita leans her head on his shoulder._)
FRIEDRICH: But now come. Let us not lose one moment.
(_Rita does not move_.)
FRIEDRICH: If possible let everything be.... Come! (_He pushes her with
gentle force_) You cry?
RITA (_hastily wipes the tears from her eyes, controls herself_): O,
nonsense. Rita Revera does not cry--she laughs. (_Laughs forcedly._)
FRIEDRICH: Erna, do not use that name. I do not care to hear it again!
RITA: Oh--you do not want to hear it any more. You would like to command
me. You come here and assume that that which life and hard times have
made of me you can wipe out in a half hour! No! You do not know life and
know nothing of me. (_Harshly_) My name is Revera, and I shall not marry
a merchant from Rudolstadt.
FRIEDRICH: How is that? You still hesitate?
RITA: Do I look as though I hesitated? (_She steps up closer to him._)
Do you know, Fred, that during the years after my escape I often went
hungry, brutally hungry? Do you know that I ran about in the most
frightful dives, with rattling plate, collecting pennies and insults? Do
you know what it means to humiliate oneself for dry bread? You see; that
has been my school. Do you understand that I had to become an entirely
different person or go to ruin? One who owes everything to himself, who
is proud of himself, but who no longer respects anything, above all, no
conventional measures and weights? And do you understand, Fred, that it
would be base on my part were I to follow you to the Philistine?
FRIEDRICH (_after a pause, sadly_): No, I do not understand that.
RITA (_again gaily_): I thought so. Shall I dread there every suspicion
and tremble before every fool, whereas I can breathe free air, enjoy
sunshine and the best conscience. You know that pretty part in the
Walküre? (_She sings_):
"Greet Rudolstadt for me,
Greet my father and mother
And all the heroes....
I shall not follow you to them!"
Now you know. (_She sits down at the piano again._)
FRIEDRICH (_after silence_): Even if you have lived through hard times,
that still does not give you the right to disregard the duties of morals
and customs.
RITA (_plays and sings_): "Farilon, farila, farilette--"
FRIEDRICH: I cannot understand how you can refuse me, when I offer you
the opportunity of returning to ordered circumstances.
RITA: I do not love the "ordered" circumstances. On the contrary, I must
have something to train.
FRIEDRICH: And I? I shall never be anything to you any more? You thrust
me also aside in your stubbornness.
RITA: But not at all. Why?
FRIEDRICH: How so? Did you not state just now that you would never marry
a merchant from Rudolstadt.
RITA: Certainly----